e_^£) ~^Uz '///
THE
PLAYS
OF
PHILIP MASSINGER,
IN FOUR VOLUMES. WITH NOTES CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY,
BY W. GIFFORD, ESQ.
HAUD TAMEN INVIDEAS TATI QUEM PULPITA PASCUNT.
THE SECOND EDITION.
VOLUME THE FOURTH.
CONTAINING
THE CITY MADAM. THE GUARDIAN. A VERY WOMAN. THE BASHFUL LOVER. THE OLD LAW.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR G. AND W. NICOL ; F. C. AND J. RIVINGTON ; CAD ELL AND DAVIES; LONGMAN AND CO.; LACKINGTON AND CO.; J. BARKER ; WHITE AND COCHRANE ; R. H. EVANS ; J. MURRAY;
J. MAWMAN; j. FAULDER, AND R. BALDWIN;
By W. Bulmer and Co. Cleveland-Row, St. Jame*'*.
1813.
THE
CITY MADAM
VOL. IV.
*B
THE CITY MADAM.] This " Comedy," of which it is not easy to speak in appropriate terms of praise, was licensed by sir Henry Herbert, May 25th, 1632, and acted by the king's company.
" Th6 plot, the business, the conduct, and the language of the piece," as the Companion to the Playhouse justly observes, u are all admirable;" yet I do not know that it was ever revived till the year 1771, when the late Mr. Love made some changes in it, and procured it to be acted at Richmond.
Mr. Waldron, of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, is in pos session of a very old alteration of this Play, in which, as usual, not only the titles, but the names of the dramatis per- sonae are changed. I have looked through it, but can find no thing to commend : it is called the Cure of Pride. This gentle man informs me that Mr. Love, who was the manager of the Richmond Theatre, played the part of Luke with great success; and that he afterwards prevailed on Mr. Garrick to bring the Play forward at Drury Lane. A short time since it was repro duced, with considerable alterations, by Sir J. B. burges under the name of the Wife and Brother, and acted, for a Jew nights, at the Lyceum. But the drift of the original was totally mis- taken, and the failure was, of course, complete.
The City Madam was received, as the quarto says, with great applause; it was, however, kept in the players' hands till 1659,* when it was given to the press by Andrew Penny cuicke, one of the actors.
* This is the date of all the copies which T have s^en, with the exception of one that lately tell into tny hands : this has the year 1658 on the title-page. It was probably thrown off in 1658-0.
TO
The truly Noble and Virtuous
LADY ANN COUNTESS OF OXFORD*
HONOURED LADY,
IN that age when wit and learning were not conquered by injury and violence, this poem was the object of love and commendations , it being composed by an infallible pen, and censured by an unerring auditory. In this epistle I shall not need to make an apology for plays in general, by exhibiting their antiquity and utility : in a word, they are mirrors or glasses which none but deformed faces, and fouler consciences fear to look into. The encouragement I had to prefer this dedi cation to your powerful protection proceeds from the universal fame of the deceased author, who (although he composed many) wrote none amiss, and this may justly be ranked among his best. 1 have redeemed it from the teeth of Time, by com mitting of it to the press, but more in imploring your patro nage. I will not slander it with my praises, it is commendation enough to call it MASSINGER'S^ if it may gain your allow ance and pardon, I am highly gratified, and desire only to wear the happy title of,
Madam,
your most humble servant,
ANDREW PENNYCUICKE.
* Daughter of Paul viscount Binnyng, and wife of Aubrey de Vere earl of Oxford.
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Lord Lacy.
Sir John Frugal,* a merchant.
Sir Maurice Lacy,* son to lord Lacy.
Mr. Plenty, a country gentleman.
Luke Frugal, brother to sir John.
Gold wire senior, > gentlemen.
Trade well senior, \
Goldwirejwm'or, 7 £te> sows, apprentices to sr Tradewelf/wwor, 3 John Frugal. Stargaze, <m astrologer. Hoyst, 0 decayed gentleman.
PeiHir116' } ^^ merchants. Holdfast, steward to sir John Frugal.
Ding'em, a pimp.
Gettall, « box-keeper.^
Page, Sheriff', Marshal, Serjeants.
Lady Frugal.
M™6' } ^er dau8hters- Milliscent, her woman. Shave'em, a courtezan. Secret, a bawd.
Orpheus, Charon, Cerberus, Chorus, Musicians, Porters, Servants.
SCENE, London.
* In the old list of dramatis personae these two characters arc named Sir John Rich and Sir John Lacy, notwithstanding the former is called Sir John Frugal in every part of the play, and the latter Sir Maurice Lacy, in the only two places in which his Christian name is mentioned.
•f- Gettall, a box-keeper.'] Or, as he is usually called, — groom- porter to a gambling-house. This important character, as I am told, never plays, but is seated in a bux or elevated chair, «' where he declares the state of the game, the odds, and the suc cess of the parties.'*
THE
CITY MADAM,
ACT I. SCENE I.
A Room in Sir John Frugal's House. Enter GOLD WIRE junior and TEA DEW ELL junior.
Gold. The ship is safe in the Pool then? Trade. And makes good, In her rich fra'ught, the name she bears, The
Speedwell :
My master will find it ; for, on my certain know ledge,
For every hundred that he ventured in her, She hath return'd him five.
Gold. And it comes timely ; For, besides a payment on the nail for a manor Late purchased by my master, his young daugh ters Are ripe for marriage.
Trade. Who ? Nan and Mall ?
Gold. Mistress Anne and Mary, and with some
addition,
Or 'tis more punishable in our house Than scandalum magnatum.
6 THE CJTY MADAM.
Trade. 'Tis great pity
Such a gentleman as my master (for that title His being a citizen cannot take from him) Hath no male heir to inherit his estate, And keep his name alive.
Gold. The want of one,
Swells my young mistresses, and their madam- mother, With hopes above their birth, and scale : their
dreams are
Of being made countesses ; and they take state, As they were such already. When you went To the Indies, there was some shape and pro portion
Of a merchant's house in our family ; but since My master, to gain precedency for my mistress, Above some elder merchants' wives, was knighted, 'Tis grown a little court in bravery, Variety of fashions, and those rich ones : There are few great ladies going to a mask That do outshine ours in their every-day habits.
Trade. 'Tis strange, my master, in his wisdom,
can Give the reins to such exorbitance.
Gold. He must,
Or there's no peace nor rest for him at home : I grant his state will bear it; yet he's censured For his indulgence, and, for sir John Frugal, By some styled sir John Prodigal.
Trade. Is his brother, Master Luke Frugal, living ?
Gold. Yes ; the more His misery, poor man !
Trade. Still in the counter?
Gold. In a worse place. He was redeem'd from the hole,
THE CITY MADAM. 7
To live, in our house, in hell ;* since, his base usage Consider'd, 'tis no better. My proud lady Admits him to her table; marry, ever Beneath the salt,2 and there he sits the subject Of her contempt and scorn ; and dinner ended, His courteous nieces find employment for him
He was redeem 'd from the hole,
To live, in our house, in hell ;] This passage alludes to a pas time called Barley-brake. M. MASON.
Never did so strange a conceit enter mortal head. What is there in the miserable situation of Luke that could possibly put Goldwire, or rather Mr. M. Mason, in mind of a pastime? The hole was one of the wretched departments of a gaol, in which prisoners, who could not afford to pay for better accom modations, were obliged to take up their residence. It is fre quently mentioned by our old writers. Thus Wilkins : " Can it accord with the state of gentry, to submit myself, from the feather-bed in the master's side, or the flock-bed in the knights' ward, to the straw -bed in the hole?" Miseries of inforced Marriage.
Hell was a spot yet more wretched than the hole : " For in the lowest deep, a lower deep " Still threaten'd to devour,"
It was a cant name for the darkest part of the hole, or for an obscure dungeon in some of our prisons, for which the former appellation appeared too favourable a term. Thus in the Coun ter-rat, 1658 :
"• In Wood-street's hole, or Poultry's hell." And to this sense of the word Goldwire alludes. The Counter, from the hole of which Luke was redeemed, stood in Wood-street.
»- marry, ever
Beneath the salt,] Thus Cartwright :
« Where you are best esteem'd
" You only pass under the favourable name u Of humble cousins that sit beneath the salt."
Love's Convert* And see Vol. I. p. 170.
Massingcr generally opens his plots with great ingenuity; but here he is particularly happy. We are at once admitted into the interior ut the merchant's utmily, and prepared for the conduct of the different branches of it, before they appear, by a dialogue as natural as it is easy and unforced.
8 THE CITY MADAM.
Fitting an undcr-prentice, or a footman, And not an uncle.
Trade. I wonder, being a scholar Well read, and travell'd, the world yielding means For men of such desert, he should endure it
Gold. He does, with a strange patience ; and
to us, The servants, so familiar, nay humble !
Enter STARGAZE, Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, MARV, and MILLTSCENT, in several affected postures, with looking-glasses at their girdles. 3
I'll tell you — but I am cut off. Look these Like a citizen's wife and daughters ?
Trade. In their habits
They appear other things : but what are the mo tives Of this strange preparation ?
Gold. The young wagtails
Expect their suitors: the first, the son apd heir Of the lord Lacy, who needs my master's money, As his daughter does his honour; the second, Mr. Plenty,
3 ' with looking-glasses at their girdles.] It appears
from innumerable passages in our old writers, that it was cus tomary, not only for ladies, but for gentlemen, to carry mirrors about them. The former, we see, wore them at their girdles. Thus Jonson :
" I confess all, I replied, " And the glass /tangs by her side, " And the girdle 'bout her waist, " All is Venus, save unchaste." Underwoods. The latter, it is to bo hoped, like the fine gentlemen of the pre sent day, kept them in their pockets: — and yet there are instances of their displaying them as ostentatiously as the vainest of the fair sex. Thus Jonson again :
" Where is your page? call for your casting bottle, and place your mirror in your hat, as I told you." Cynthia's Revels.
THE CITY MADAM. 9
A rough-hewn gentleman, and newly come To a great estate ; and so all aids of art In them's excusable.
L. Fru%. You have done your parts here : To your study ; and be curious in the search Of the nativities. [Exit Stargaze.
Trade. Methinks the mother, As if she could renew her youth, in care, Nay curiosity,1 to appear lovely, Conies not behind her daughters.
Gold. Keeps the first place; And though the church-book speak her fifty, they That say she can write thirty, more offend her, Than if they tax'd her honesty: t'other day, A tenant of hers, instructed in her humour, But one she never saw, being brought before her, For saying only, Good young mistress, help me To the speech of your lady-mother, so far pleased
her, That he got his lease renewed :for't.
Trade. How slve bristles ! Prithee, observe her.
Mill. As I hope to see A country knight's son and heir walk bare before
you
When you are a countess, as you may be one When my master dies, or leaves trading; and I,
continuing
Your principal woman, take the upper hand Of a squire's wife, though a justice, as I must By the place you give me ; you look now as
young As when you were married.
Z. Fritg. I think I bear my years well.
4 Nay curiosity, to appear lovely, ~] Curiosity here, as in many other passages of these plays, signi6cs scrupulous attention, anxiety, &c.
VOL. IV. * C
10
THE CITY MADAM.
Mill. Why should you talk of years ? Time
hath not plough'd One furrow in your face; and were you not
known
The mother of my young 5 ladies, you might pass For a virgin of fifteen.
Trade. "Here's no gross flattery ! Will she swallow this ?
Gold. You see she does, and glibly.
Mill You never can be old ; wear but a mask Forty years hence, and you will still seem young In your other parts. What a waist is here ! O
Venus !
That I had been born a king ! and here a hand To be kiss'd ever ; — pardon my boldness, madam. Then, for a leg and foot, you will be courted When a great grandmother.
L. Frug. These, indeed, wench, are not So subject to decayings as the face ; Their comeliness lasts longer.
Mill. Ever, ever !
Such a rare featured and proportion'd madam, London could never boast of.
L. Frug. Where are my shoes?
Mill. Those that your ladyship gave order,
should Be made of the Spanish perfum'd skins?
L. Frug. The same.
5 The mother of my young ladies,] So the old copy ; the mo dern editors, in compassion to the author's irregularities, have reformed his text, and printed, The mother of these ladies : in the preceding line too, they have interposed their aid. Seriously, these impertinent deviations cannot be too strongly reprobated. Massinger's ear was so exquisitely touched, that I could almost venture to affirm he never made use of his ten fingers in the con struction of a single verse ; and his bungling editors, therefore, who try his poetry by such coarse mechanism, will more fre quently injure his sense, thau improve his metre.
THE CITY MADAM. 11
Mill. I sent the prison-bird this morning for
them ; But he neglects his duty .
Anne. He is grown Exceeding careless.
Mary. And begins to murmur At our commands, and sometimes grumbles to us, He is, forsooth, our uncle !
L. Frug. He is your slave, And as such use him.
Anne. Willingly ; but he's grown Rebellious, madam.
Gold. Nay, like hen, like chicken.
L. Frug. I'll humble him.
Enter LUKE, with shoes, garters, fans, and roses.
Gold. Here he comes, sweating all over: He shews like a walking frippery.*
L. Frug. Very good, sir: Were you drunk last night, that you could rise
no sooner,
With humble diligence, to do what my daughters And woman did command you ?
6 He shews like a walking frippery.] A frippery is an old- clothes shop ; the word is pure French, but occurs in most of our ancient dramatists :
" If I carry . any lady of the laundry,
" Chambering or wantonness behind my gelding, «' With all her streamers, knapsacks, glasses, gewgaws, " As if I were a running frippery,
" I'll give them leave," &c. Wit without Money.
The roses mentioned among the articles brought by Luke, were not the flowers of that name, but knots of ribands to be fixed on the shoes: it appears from old paintings, and, indeed, from the description of them in various authors, that they were of a preposterous size. Thus Jonson :
" Service ! 'fore hell, my heart was at my mouth,
'" Till I had view'd his shoes well, for these roses
u Were big enough to hide a cloven foot." Devil's an Ass.
12 THE CITY MADAM.
Luke. Drunk, an't please you !
L. Frug. Drunk, I said, sirrah ! dar'st thou, iri
a look,
Repine, or grumble? Thou unthankful wretch, Did our charity redeem thee out of prison, (Thy patrimony spent,) ragged, and lousy, When the sheriff's basket, and his broken meat, Were your festival-exceedings ! and is this So soon forgotten ?
Luke. I confess I am Your creature, madam.
L. Frug. And good reason why You should continue so.
Anne. Who did new clothe you ? Marg. Admitted you to the dining-room? Mill. Allowed you A fresh bed in the garret .? L. Frug. Or from whom Received you spending money ?
Luke. I owe all this To your goodness, madam ; for it you have mjr
prayers,
The beggar's satisfaction : all my studies (Forgetting what I was, but with all duty Remembering what I am) are how to please you. And if in my long stay I have offended, I ask your pardon ; though you may consider, Being forced to fetch these from the Old Ex change,
These from the Tower, and these from West minster, I could not come much sooner.
7 When the sheriff's basket, &c.j " The poorer sort of pri soners," says Stow, u as well in this counter, as in that in Wood-street, receive daily relief from the sheriff's table of all the broken bread and meat." B. iii. p. 51.
s, gee vol. iii. p. 21 0.
THE CITY MADAM. 13
Gold. Here was a walk To breathe a footman !
Anne. 'Tis a curious fan.
Mary. These roses will shew rare : would
'twere in fashion That the garters might be seen too !
Mill. Many ladies That know they have good legs, wish the same
with you ; Men that way have the advantage.
Luke. I was with
The lady, and delivered her the satin For her gown, and velvet for her petticoat; This night she vows she'll pay you.
[Aside to Goldwire*
Gold. How I am bound To your favour, master Luke !
Mill. As I live, you will Perfume all rooms you walk in,
L. Frug. Get your fur,8 You shall pull them on within. [Exit Luke.
Gold. That servile office Her pride imposes on him.
Sir John, [within.] Gold wire ! Trade well !
Trade. My master calls. — We come^ sir.
[Exeunt Goldwire and Tradewcll.
Enter HOLDFAST, and Porters with baskets, $c.
L. Frug. What have you brought there ? Hold. The cream o'the market; Provision enough to serve a garrison.
8 L. Frug. Get your fur,3 To put under her feet while he tried on her shoes, M. MASON.
Or rather, was not the fur a piece of undressed skin, such as is sometimes used by ladies of the present day, in lieu of a shoe ing horn ? Grande certame'n /
14 THE CITY MADAM.
I weep to think on't : when my master got His wealth, his family fed on roots and livers,
And necks of beef on Sundays.
But now I fear it will be spent in poultry ; Butcher's-meat will not go clown.
Z. Frug. Why, you rascal, is it At your expense? what cooks have you provided?
Hold. The best of the city : they've wrought at my lord mayor's.
Anne. Fie on them ! they smell of Fleet-lane, and Pie-corner.
Mary. And think the happiness of man's life
consists In a mighty shoulder of mutton.
L. Frug. I'll have none
Shall touch what I shall eat, you grumbling cur, But Frenchmen and Italians ; they wear satin, And dish no meat but in silver.
Hold. You may want, though, A dish or two when the service ends.
L. Frug. Leave prating ; I'll have my will: do you as I command you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The Street before Frugal's House. Enter Sir MAURICE LACY and Page.
Sir Maur. You were with Plenty? Page. Yes, sir. Sir Maur. And what answer Return'd the clown ?
Page. Clown, sir ! he is transform'd,
THE CITY MADAM. 15
And grown a gallant of the last edition ;' More rich than gaudy in his habit; yet The freedom and the bluntness of his language Continues with him. When I told him that You gave him caution, as he loved the peace And safety of his life, he should forbear To pass the merchant's threshold, until you, Of his two daughters, had made choice of her Whom you design'd to honour as your wife, He smiled in scorn.
Sir Maur. In scorn !
Page. His words confirmed it; They were few, but to this purpose : Tell your
master,
Though his lordship in reversion were now his, It cannot awe me. I was born a freeman, And will not yield, in the way of affection, Precedence to him : I will visit them, Though he sate porter to deny me entrance: When I meet him next, I'll say more to his face. Deliver thou this : then gave me a piece, To help my memory, and so we parted.
Sir Maur. Where got he this spirit?
Page. At the academy of valour, Newly erected for the institution Of elder brothers; where they are taught the
ways,
Though they refuse to seal for a duellist, How to decline a challenge. He himself Can best resolve you.
Enter PLENTY and three Servants. Sir Maur. You, sir !
9 And grown a gallant of the last edition ;] i. e. of the newest fashion. It was the application of this common phrase to Ed- wards (who misunderstood it) which provoked that gentleman so highly against Warburton.
16 THE CITY MADAM.
Plenty. What with me, sir? How big you look ! I will not loose a hat To a hair's breadth: move your beaver, I'll move
mine ;
Or if you desire to prove your sword, mine hangs As near my right hand, and will as soon out ;
though I keep not
A fencer to breathe me. Walk into Moorfields— I dare look on your Toledo. Do not shew A foolish valour in the streets, to make Work for shopkeepers and their clubs,1 'tis scurvy, And the women will laugh at us.
Sir Maur. You presume On the protection of your hinds,
Plenty. I scorn it :
Though I keep men, I fight not with their ringers, Nor make it m^ religion to follow The gallant's fashion, to have my family Consisting in a footman and a page, And thosetwosometimeshungry. I can feed these, And clothe them too, my gay sir.
Sir Maur. What a fine man Hath your tailor made you!
Plenty. }Tis quite contrary,
I have made my tailor, for my clothes are paid for As soon as put on ; a sin your man of title Is seldom guilty of; but Heaven forgive it 1 I have other faults, too, very incident To a plain gentleman : I eat my venison With my neighbours in the country, and present
not 'My pheasants, partridges, and growse to the
usurer;
Nor ever yet paid brokage to his scrivener. I flatter not my mercer's wife, nor feast her
1 Work for shopkttpers and their clubs,] See Vol. II. p. 142.
THE CITY MADAM. 17
With the first cherries, or peascods, to prepare me Credit with her husband, when I come to London. The wool of my sheep, or a score or two of fat oxen In Smithfield, give me money for my expenses, I can make my wife a jointure of such lands too As are not encumher'd ; no annuity Or statute lying on them. This I can do, An it please your future honour, and why, there fore,
You should forbid my being suitor with you, My dullness apprehends not.
Page. This is bitter. [Aside.
Sir Maur. I have heard you, sir, and in my'
patience shewn
Too much of the stoic. But to parley further, Or answer your grossjeers, would write me coward. This only,— thy great grandfather was a butcher,2 And his son a grazier; thy sire, constable Of the hundred, and thou the first of your dunghill Created gentleman. Now you may come on, sir, You and your thrashers.
Plenty. Stir not, on your lives. This for the grazier,— this for the butcher.
\Theyftght.
Sir Maur. So, sir !
Page. I'll not stand idle; draw! \tothe Servants.] my little rapier,3
1 This only, — thy great grandfather was a butcher, &c.] Mas- singer did not intend Lacy for a fool, and yet his reply to the high-spirited and characteristic speech of his competitor savours strongly of fatuity. It must be confessed that the young gen tleman is warm, yet he should not, for that, have adopted the language and sentiments of a tishwoman.
3 draw ! My little rapier ,
Against your bumb blades ! &c.] So I have regulated the text by the advice of Mr. Waldron. It stood thus before, draw, (i. e. I will draw) my little rapier Against your bumb blades, &c.
18 THE CITY MADAM.
Against your bumb blades ! I'll one by one dis patch you, Then house this instrument of death and horror.
Enter Sir JOHN FRUGAL, LUKE, GOLDWIRE Junior, and TRAWEW ELL junior.
Sir John. Beat down their weapons. My gate
ruffian's hall ! What insolence is this ?
Luke. Noble sir Maurice, Worshipful master Plenty —
Sir John. I blush for you. Men of your quality expose your fame To every vulgar censure ! this at midnight, After a drunken supper in a tavern, (No civil man abroad to censure it,)4 Had shewn poor in you ; but in the clay, and view Of all that pass by, monstrous !
Plenty. Very well, sir ; You look'd for this defence.
Sir Maur. Tis thy protection ; But it will deceive thee,
Sir John. Hold, if you proceed thus, I must make use of the next justice' power, And leave persuasion ; and in plain terms tell you,
Enter Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, MARY, and MIL- LISCENT.
Neither your birth, sir Maurice, nor your wealth, Shall privilege this riot. See whom you have
drawn
To be spectators of it ! can you imagine It can stand with the credit of my daughters,
* .No civil man abroad'] No citizen, or perhaps, no man in. rested with civil authority. See Vol. II. p. 218.
THE CITY MADAM. 19
To be the argument of your swords? i'the street
too? "
Nay, ere you do salute, or I give way To any private conference, shake hands^ In sign of peace : he that draws back, parts with My good opinion. [They shake hands.} This is
as it should be.
Make your approaches, and if their affection Can sympathise with yours, they shall not come, On my credit, beggars to you. I will hear What you reply within.
Sir Maur. May I have the honour To support you, lady ? [To Anne.
Plenty. I know not what's supporting, But by this fair hand, glove and all, I love you.
[To Mary. [Exeunt all but Luke.
Enter HOYST, PENURY, and FORTUNE.
Luke. You are come with all advantage. I
will help you To the speech of my brother,
For. Have you moved him for us ?
Luke. With the best of my endeavours, and I
hope
You'll find him tractable. Pen. Heaven grant he prove so ! Hoyst. Howe'er, I'll speak my mind.
Enter Lord LACY.
Luke. Do so, master Hoyst. Go in : I'll pay my duty to this lord, And then I am wholly yours.
[Exeunt Hoyst, Penury, and Fortune. Heaven bless your honour !
20 THE CITY MADAM.
L. Lacy. Your hand, master Luke : the world's
much changed with you Within these few months; then you were the
gallant :
No meeting at the horse-race, cocking*, hunting, Shooting, or bowling, at which master Luke Was not a principal gamester, and companion For the nobility*
Luke. I have paid dear For those follies, my good lord ; and 'tis but
justice
That such as soar above their pitch, and will not Be warn'd by my example, should, like me, Share in the miseries that wait upon it. Your honour, in your charity, may do well Not to upbraid me with those weaknesses, Too late repented.
L. Lacy. I nor do, nor will; And you shall find I'll lend a helping hand To raise your fortunes : how deals your brother with you ?
Luke. Beyond my merit, I thank his goodness
for't.
I am a free man, all my debts discharged ; Nor does one creditor, undone by me, Curse my loose riots. I have meat and clothes, Time to ask heaven remission for what's past; Cares of the world by me are laid aside, My present poverty's a blessing to me ; And though I have been long, I dare not say I ever lived till now.
L. Lacy. You bear it well ; Yet as you wish I should receive for truth What you deliver, with that truth acquaint me With your brother's inclination. I have heard, In the acquisition of his wealth, he weighs not Whose ruins he builds upon.
THE CITY MADAM. 21
Luke. In that, report Wrongs him, my lord, He is a citizen, And would increase his heap, and will not lose What the law gives him : such as are worldly
wise
Pursue that track, or they will ne'er wear scarlet.5 But if your honour please to know his temper, You are come opportunely. I can bring you Where you, unseen, shall see and hear his carriage Towards some poor men, whose making, or un doing, Depends upon his pleasure.6
L. Lacy. To my wish:
I know no object that could more content me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE It!.
A Counting-room in Frugal's House.
Enter Sir JOHN FRUGAL, HOYST, FORTUNE, PENURY, and GOLD WIRE junior.
Sir John. What would you have me do? reach
me a chair.
When I lent my monies I appear'd an angel ; But now I would call in mine own, a devil.
* or they will ne'er wear scarlet.] i. e;
never rise to city honours. Our old writers have innumerable allusions to the scarlet gowns of the mayors and aldermen of London.
6 The old copy has a marginal direction here, to set out a table, count book, standish, chair and stool. Nothing can more fully demonstrate the poverty of our ancient theatres, than these hints to the property-man. Of what we now call scenery, there is not the slightest indication in any of these dramas. What was the street before the merchant's house, is converted, by simply thrusting forward a table, into a counting-room : Luke and lord Lacy go out, the Ibthers take their places, and then the former two re-enter behind them.
22 THE CITY MADAM.
Hoyst. Were you the devil's dam, you must
stay till I have it, For as I am a gentleman
Re-enter LUKE, behind, with Lord LACY, whom he places near the door.
Luke. There you may hear all.
Hoyst. I pawn'd you my land for the tenth
part of the value*:
Now, 'cause I am a gamester, and keep ordinaries, And a livery punk or so, and trade not with The money-mongers' wives, not one will be
bound for me :
'Tis a hard case; you must give me longer day, Or I shall grow very angry.
Sir John. Fret, and spare not. I know no obligation lies upon me With my honey to feed drones. But to the pur pose, How much owes Penury ?
Gold. Two hundred pounds : His bond three times since forfeited.
Sir John. Is it sued ?
Gold. Yes, sir, and execution out against him.
Sir John. For body and goods ?
Gold. For both, sir.
Sir John. See it served.
Pen. I am undone ; my wife and family Must starve for want of bread.
Sir John. More infidel thou, In not providing better to support them. What's Fortune's debt ?
Gold. A thousand, sir.
Sir John. An estate
For a good man ! You were the glorious trader, Embraced all bargains; the main venturer
THE CITY MADAM. 23
In every ship that launch'd forth ; kept your wife
As a lady ; she had her carocb, her choice
Of summer-houses, built with other men's monies,
Ta'en up at interest, the certain road
To Ludgate in a citizen.7 Pray you acquaint me,
How were my thousand pounds employ'd ?
For. Insult not
On my calamity ; though, being a debtor, And a slave to him that lends, I must endure it. Yet hear me speak thus much in my defence ; Losses at sea, and those, sir, great and many, By storms and tempests, not domestical riots In soothing my wife's humour, or mine own, Have brought me to this low ebb.
Sir John. Suppose this true, What is't to me? I must and will have my money, Or I'll protest you first, and, that done, have The statute made for bankrupts served upon you. For. Tis in your power, but not in mine to
shun it. Luke, [comes forward.} Not as a brother, sir,
but with such duty, As I should use unto my father, since Your charity is my parent, give me leave To speak my thoughts.
Sir John. What would you say ? Luke. No word, sir,
I hope, shall give offence ; nor let it relish Of flattery, though I proclaim aloud, I glory in the bravery of your mind, To which your wealth's a servant. Not that riches
the certain road
To Ludgate in a citizen.] This prison was anciently appro. priated to the freemen of the city, and to clergymen : it is, sayl the Companion for Debtors, (a book of Massinger's age,) th* best prison about London, both in regard to its endowment and government.
84 THE CITY MADAM,
Is, or should be, contemn'd, it being a blessing Derived from heaven, and by your industry Pull'd down upon you ; but in this, dear sir, You have many equals : such a man's possessions Extend as far as yours ; a second hath His bags as full; a third in credit flies As high in the popular voice: but the distinction And noble difference by which you are Divided from them, is, that you are styled, Gentle in your abundance, good in plenty ; And that you feel compassion in your bowels Of others miseries, (I have found it, sir, Heaven keep me thankful for't !) while they are
curs'd As rigid and inexorable.
Sir John. I delight not To hear this spoke to my face.
Luke. That shall not grieve you. Your affability, and mildness, clothed In the garments of your [thankful] debtors'
breath,8
Shall everywhere, though you strive to conceal it, Be seen and wonder'd at, and in the act With a prodigal hand rewarded. Whereas, suclr As are born only for themselves, and live so, Though prosperous in worldly understandings, Are but like beasts of rapine, that, by odds Of strength, usurp, and tyrannize o'er others Brought under their subjection.
L. Lacy. A rare fellow ! I am strangely taken with him,
Luke. Can you think, sir, In your unquestion'd wisdom, I beseech you,
8 In tlie garments of your [thankful,] debtors'' breath,] A foot is wanting in 'the former editions. I do not flatter myself that the genuine word was that which is here enclosed between brackets, though it was not improbably somewhat similar to it.
THE CITY MADAM. 25
The goods of this poor man sold at an outcry,9 His wife turn'd out of doors, his children forced To beg their bread ; this gentleman's estate, By wrong extorted, can advantage you ?
Hoyst If it thrive with him, hang me, as it
will damn him, If he be not converted.
Luke. You are too violent.
Or that the ruin of this once brave merchant, For such he was esteem'd, though now decay'd, Will raise your reputation with good men? But you may urge, (pray you pardon me, my zeal Makes me thus bold and vehement,) in this You satisfy your anger, and revenge For being defeated. Suppose this, it will not Repair your loss, and there was never yet But shame and scandal in a victory, When the rebels unto reason, passions, fought it. Then for revenge, by great souls it was ever Contemn'd, though offered ; entertain'd by none But cowards, base and abject spirits, strangers To moral honesty, and never yet Acquainted with religion.
L. Lacy. Our divines Cannot speak more effectually.
Sir John. Shall I be Talk'd out of my money ?
Luke. No, sir, but entreated
9 The goods of this poor man sold at an outcry,] i. e. at a public auction. So Jonson :
" Their houses and fine gardens given away, " And all their goods, under the spear, at outcry." Catiline. Again,
" Ay, that was when the nursery's self was noble,
<fi And only virtue made it, not the market,
" That titles were not vented at the drumy
" Or common outcry." The New Inn.
vox. iv. * D
26 THE CITY MADAM.
To do yourself a benefit, and preserve What you possess entire.
Sir John. How, my good brother ?
Luke. By making these your beadsmen.1
When they eat, Their thanks, next heaven, will be paid to your
mercy ;
When your ships are at sea, their prayers will swell The sails with prosperous winds, and guard them
from
Tempests, and pirates ; keep your warehouses From fire, or quench them with their tears.
Sir John. No more.
Luke. Write you a good man in the people's
hearts, Follow you everywhere.
Sir John. If this could be —
Luke. It must, or our devotions are but words. I see a gentle promise in your eye, Make it a blessed act, and poor me rich, In being the instrument.
Sir John. You shall prevail ; Give them longer day : but, do you hear, no talk
oft.
Should this arrive at twelve on the Exchange, I shall be laugh'd at for my foolish pity, Which money-men hate deadly. Take your own
time.
But see you break not. Carry them to the cellar ; Drink a health, and thank your orator.
Pen. On our knees, sir.
1 Luke. By making them your beadsmen.] Beadsmen is pure Saxon, and means prayersmen; i. e. such as are engaged, in consequence of past or present favours, to pray for their bene. factors. The name was formerly given with great propriety to the inhabitants of alms-houses, and, in general, to the objects of our public charities.
THE CITY MADAM. 27
For. Honest master Luke !
Hoyst. I bless the counter, where You learn'd this rhetoric.
Luke. No more of that, friends.
[Exeunt Luke, Hoyst, Fortune, and Penury. Lord Lacy comes forward.
Sir John. My honourable lord.
L. Lacy. I have seen and heard all. Excuse my manners, and wish heartily You were all of a piece. Your charity to your
debtors,
I do commend ; but where you should express Your piety to the height, I must boldly tell you, You shew yourself an atheist.
Sir John Make me know My error, and for what I am thus censured, And I will purge myself, or else confess A guilty cause.
L. Lacy. It is your harsh demeanour To your poor brother.
Sir John. Is that all ?
L. Lacy. 'Tis more
Than can admit defence. You keep him as A parasite to your table, subject to The scorn of your proud wife ; an underling To his own nieces: and can I with mine honour Mix my blood with his, that is not sensible Of his brother's miseries ?
Sir John. Pray you, take me with you ; And let me yield my reasons why I am No opener-handed to him. I was born His elder brother, yet my father's fondness To him, the younger, robb'd me of my birthright: He had a fair estate, which his loose riots Soon brought to nothing ; wants grew heavy on him,
*Dg
28 THE CITY MADAM.
And when laid up for debt, of all forsaken, And in bis own hopes lost, I did redeem him,
L. Lacy. You could not do less.
Sir John. Was I bound to it, my lord? What I possess I may, with justice, call The harvest of my industry. Would you have me, Neglecting mine own family, to give up My estate to his disposure?
L. Lacy. I would have you, What's pass'd forgot, to use him as a brother ; A brother of fair parts, of a clear soul, Religious, good, and honest.
Sir John. Outward gloss Often deceives, may it not prove so in him i And yet my long acquaintance with his nature Renders me doubtful ; but that shall not make A breach between us : let us in to dinner, And what trust, or employment you think fit, Shall be conferr'd upon him : if he prove True gold in the touch, I'll be no mourner for it.
L. Lacy. If counterfeit, I'll never trust my judgment.
ACT II, SCENE I. A Room in Sir John Frugal's House.
Enter LUKE, HOLDFAST, GOLDWIRE junior, and TRADE WE LI. junior.
Hold. The like was never seen. Luke. Why in this rage, man ? Hold. Men may talk of country-christmasses, and court-gluttony,
THE CITY MADAM. 29
Their thirty-pound butter'd eggs, their pies of
carps' tongues, Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris, the
carcases
Of three fat wethers bruised for gravy, to Make sauce for a single peacock ; yet their feasts Were fasts, compared with the city's.
Trade. What dear dainty Was it, thou murmur's t at?
Hold. Did you not observe it ? There were three sucking pigs serv'd up in a dish, Ta'en from the sow as soon as farrowed, A fortnight fed with dates, and muskadine, That stood my master in twenty marks apiece, Besides the puddings in their bellies, made Of I know not what. — 1 dare swear the cook that
dress'd it Was the devil, disguised like a Dutchman.
Gold. Yet all this Will not make you fat, fellow Holdfast.
Hold* I am rather Starv'd to look on't. But here's the mischief —
though
The dishes were raised one upon another, As wood mongers do billets, ibr the first, The second, and third course, and most of the
shops
Of the best confectioners in London ransack'd, To furnish out a banquet ;a yet my lady
most of the shops
Of the best confectioners in London ransack'd To furnish out a banquet;] A banquet was what we now call a dessert ; it Mas composed of fruit, sweetmeats, &c. :
your citizen
" Is a most fierce devourer, sir5 of plums; " Six will destroy as many as might make " A banquet for an army." The Wits.
The banquet was usually placed in a separate room, to which
SO THE CITY MADAM.
Call'd me penurious rascal, and cried out, There was nothing worth the eating.
Gold. You must haye patience, This is not done often.
Hold. 'Tis not fit it should ; Three such dinners more would break an alderman, And make him give up his cloak : I am resolv'd To have no hand in't. I'll make up my accompts, And since my master longs to be undone, The great fiend be his steward : I will pray, And bless myself from him ! [Exit.
Gold. The wretch shews in this An honest care.
Luke. Out on him ! with the fortune Of a slave he has the mind of one. However She bears me hard, I like my lady's humour, And my brother's suffrage to it. They are now Busy on all hands ; one side eager for Large portions, the other arguing strictly For jointures and security; but this Being above our scale, no way concerns us. How dull you look! in the mean time, how intend
you To spend the hours ?
Gold. We well know how we would, But dare not serve our wills.
the guests removed as soon as they had dined : thus, in the Un natural Combat, Beaufort says :
" We'll dine in the great room, but let the music " And banquet be prepared here."
The common place of banqueting, or of eating the dessert, among our ancestors, was the garden-house, or arbour, with which almost every dwelling was once furnished : to this Shallow alludes in a simple passage, which has had a great deal of im pertinent matter written to confound it:
Shall. u Nay, you shall see mine orchard, where, in an ar bour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own graffing, with * dish of carraways," (a small kind of comfit,) " and so forth."
Henry IV. Part II.
THE CITY MADAM. SI
Trade. Being prentices, We are bound to attendance.
Luke. Have you almost served out The term of your indentures, yet make conscience By starts to use your liberty ! Hast thou traded
[To Tradewell.
In the other world,3 exposed unto all dangers, To in ike thy master rich, yet dar'st not take Some portion of the profit for thy pleasure? Or wilt thou; [foGoli/,] be ing keeper of the cash, Like an ass that carries dainties, feed on thistles? Are you gentlemen born, yet have no gallant
tincture
Of gentry in you ? you are no mechanics, Nor serve some needy shopkeeper, who surveys His every-day takings: you have in your keeping Amass of wealth, from which you may take boldly, And no way be discover'd. He's no rich man That knows all he possesses, and leaves nothing For his servants to make prey of. I blush for you, Blush at your poverty of spirit ; you, The brave sparks of the city !
Gold. Master Luke,
I wonder you should urge this, having felt What misery follows riot.
Trade, And the penance You endured for't in the counter.
Luke. You are fools,
The case is not the same; I spent mine own money, And my stock being small, no marvel 'twas soon
wasted ;
But you, without the least doubt or suspicion, If c-uiteious, may make bold with your master's. As, for example, when his ships come home, And you take your receipts, as 'tis the fashion,
3 In the other world,] i.e. the East Indies, from whence, a* the first scene informs us, Tradewell was just returned.
32 THE CITY MADAM.
For fifty bales of silk you may write forty ; Or for so many pieces of cloth of bodkin, Tissue, gold, silver, velvets, satins, taffetas, A piece of each deducted from the gross Will ne'er be miss'd, a dash of a pen will do it.
Trade. Ay, butourfathers' bonds, thatliein pawn For our honesties, must pay for't.
Luke. A mere bugbear, Invented to fright children ! As I live, Were I the master of my brother's fortunes, I should glory in such servants. Didst thou know What ravishing lechery it is to enter An ordinary, cap-a-pie, trimm'd like a gallant, For which, in trunks conceal'd, he ever furnish'd; The reverence, respect, the crouches, cringes, The musical chime of gold in your cramm'd
pockets,
Commands from the attendants, and poor por ters
Trade. O rare 1
Luke. Then sitting at the table with The braveries of the kingdom, you shall hear Occurrents from all corners of the world, The plots, the counsels, the designs of princes, And freely censure them ; the city wits Cried up, or decried, as their passions lead them; Judgment having nought to do there.
Trade. Admirable!
Luke. My lord no sooner shall rise out of his
chair,
The gaming lord I mean, but you may boldly, By the privilege of a gamester, fill his room, For in play you are all fellows; have your knife As soon in the pheasant ; drink your health as
freely,
And, striking in a lucky hand or two, Buy out your time.
THE CITY MADAM. S3
Trade, This may be ; but suppose We should be known ?
Luke. Have money and good clothes, And you may pass invisible. Or, if You love a madam-punk, and your wide nostril Be taken with the scent of cambric smocks, Wrought and perfumed •
Gold. There, there, master Luke, There lies my road of happiness !
Luke. Enjoy it.
And pleasures stolen, being sweetest, apprehend The raptures of being hurried in a coach To Brentford, Staines, or Barnet.
Gold. 'Tis enchanting. I have proved it.
Luke. Hast thou ?
Gold. Yes, in all these places I have had my several pagans billeted For my own tooth, and after ten-pound suppers The curtains drawn, my fiddlers playing all night The shaking of the sheets, which I have danced Again and again with my cockatrice : — master
Luke, You shall be of my counsel, and we two sworn
brothers ;
And therefore I'll be open. I am out now Six hundred in the cash, yet if on a sudden I should be calPd to account, I have a trick How to evade it, and make up the sum.
Trade. Is't possible ?
Luke. You can instruct your tutor. How, how, good Tom ?
Gold. Why, look you. We cash-keepers Hold correspondence, supply one another On all occasions : I can borrow for a week Two hundred pounds of one, as much of a second, A third lays down the rest ; and, when they want,
34 THE CITY MADAM.
As my master's monies come in I do repay it : Ka we, ka thee !3
Luke. An excellent knot ! 'tis pity It e'er should be unloosed ; for me it shall not. You are shewn the way, friend Trade well, you
may make use on't,
Or freeze in the warehouse, and keep company With the cater,4 Holdfast.
Trade. No, I am converted. A Barbican broker will furnish me with outside, And then, a crash at the ordinary !
Gold. I am for
The lady you. saw this morning, who indeed is My proper recreation.
Luke. Go to, Tom ; What did you make me ?
Gold. I'll do as much for you, Employ me when you please.
Luke. If you are enquired for, I will excuse you both.
5 Ka me, ka thee !] This, I believe, is a Scotish proverb, and means, indulge, or serve me, and I'll serve thee in my turn. It is not uncommon in our old dramas. Thus in Ram-Alley.
u Ka me, ka thee, one thing must rub another." Again, in Eastward Hoe:
" Thou .art pander to me, for my wench : and I to thee for thy couzenage. Kame, ka thee, runs through court and country." 4 With the cater, Holdfast.'] i. e. the purveyor. This word was in very general use in Massinger's time : though the editors of some of our old dramatists do not seem to be aware of it. Thus Jonson :
" He is my wardrobe-man, my cater, cook, " Butler, and steward." Dcroil& an Ass.
Here Mr. Whalley reads, with sufficient harshness, " He is my ward-robe man, macater^ cook," And Fletcher :
u See, sweet, I'm cook myself, and mine own cater."
Women pleased.
Here the editors propose to read caterer, which, they say, is the more probable word ? I suppose — because it injures the metre.
THE CITY MADAM. 35
Trade. Kind master Luke !
Gold. We'll break my master to make you.
You know
Luke. I cannot love money. Go, boys !
\_Exeunt Goldzvire and Tradewell.
When time serves, It shall appear I have another end in't.* [Exit.
SCENE II. Another Room in the same.
Enter Sir JOHN FRUGAL, Lord LACY, Sir MAU RICE LACY, PLENTY, Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, MARY, and MILLISCE^T.
Sir John. Ten thousand pounds a piece I'll
make their portions.
And after my decease it shall be double, Provided you assure them, for their jointures, Eight hundred pounds per annum, and entail A thousand more upon the heirs * male Begotten on their bodies.
L. Lacy. Sir, you bind us To very strict conditions.
Plenty. You, my lord,
May do as you please : but to me it seems strange,
s The real character of Luke opens, in this scene, with sur prizing art. He had deeply studied the dispositions of the two apprentices, and his language is nicely calculated to betray them into a confession of their respective propensities, and thus render them subservient to his future views.
* A thousand more upon the heirs male] Heirs must be pro nounced (as they say) as a dissyllable, though I do notprofesg to know how it can be done.
36 THE CITY MADAM.
d
We should conclude of portions, and of jointures, Before our hearts are settled.
Z. Frug. You say right :
There are counsels of more moment and impor tance,
On the making up of marriages, to be Consider'd duly, than the portion or the jointures, In which a mother's care must be exacted ; And I, by special privilege, may challenge A casting voice.
L. Lacy. How's this?
L. Frug, Even so, my lord ; In ;these affairs I govern.
Z. Lacy. Give you way to't ?
Sir John. I must, my lord.
Z. Frug. Tis fit he should, and shall . You may consult of something else, this province Is wholly mine.
Sir Maur. By the city custom, madam ?
Z Frug. Yes, my young sir ; and both must
look my daughters Will hold it by my copy.
Plenty. Brave, i' faith !
Sir John. Give her leave to talk, we have the
power to do ;
And now touching the business we last talk'd of, In private, if you please.
Z. Lacy. 'Tis well remember'd : You shall take your own way, madam.
[Exeunt Lord Lacy and Sir John Frugal.
Sir Maur. What strange lecture Will she read unto us ?
Z. Frug. Such as wisdom warrants From the superior bodies. Is Stargaze ready With his several schemes ?
Mill. Yes, madam, and attends Your pleasure.
THE CITY MADAM. 37
Sir Maur. Stargaze ! lady : what is he?
L. Frug. Call him in.— {Exit Millisctnt.~\ — You
shall first know him, then admire him For a man of many parts, and those parts rare ones. He's every thing, indeed ; parcel physician, And as such prescribes my diet, and foretels My dreams when I eat potatoes ; parcel poet, And sings encomiums to my virtues sweetly; My antecedent, or my gentleman-usher, And as the stars move, with that due proportion He walks before me : but an absolute master In the calculation of nativities ; Guided 'by that ne'er- erring science calFd, Judicial astrology.
Plenty. Stargaze ! sure I have a penny almanack about me Inscribed to you, as to his patronness, In his name publish'd.
L. Frug. Keep it as a jewel. Some statesmen that I will not name are wholly Govern'd by his predictions; for they serve For any latitude in Christendom, As well as our own climate.
Re-enter MILLISCKNT, followed by STARGAZE, with two schemes.
Sir Maur. I believe so.
Plenty. Must we couple by the almanack?
L. Frug. Be silent ; And ere we do articulate, much more Grow to a full conclusion, instruct us Whether this day and hour, by the planets, promise Happy success in marriage.
Star. In omni Pane, et toto.
Plenty. Good learn'd sir, in English ;
38 THE CITY MADAM.
And since it is resolved we must be coxcombs, Make us so in our own language.
Star. You are pleasant : Thus in our vulgar tongue then.
L. Frug. Pray you observe him.
Star. Venus, in the west angle, the house of marriage the seventh house, in trine of Mars, in conjunction of Luna; and Mars almuthen, or lord of the horoscope.
Plenty. Hey-day !
L. Frug. The angels' language! I am ravish'd: forward.
Star. Mars, as I said, lord of the horoscope, or geniture, in mutual reception of each other; she in her exaltation, and he in his triplicite trine, and face, assure a fortunate combination to Hy men, excellent, prosperous, and happy.
L. Frug. Kneel, and give thanks.
[The Women kneel.
Sir Maur. For what we understand not ?
Plenty. And have as little faith in?
L. Frug. Be incredulous ;7 To me, 'tis oracle.
Star. Now for the sovereignty of my future ladies, your daughters, after they are married.
Plenty. Wearing the breeches, you mean?
L. Frug. Touch that point home: It is a principal one, and, with London ladies, Of main consideration.
Star. This is infallible: Saturn out of all dig nities in his detriment and fall, combust: and Venus in the south angle elevated above him,
7 L. Frug. Be ^credulous ;] This is the reading of Mr. M. Mason. The old copy has Be credulous, meaning, perhaps, follow my example, and believe; and so may be right; though incredulous is better adapted to the measure, and, indeed, occurs in the same sense in a Very Woman.
THE CITY MADAM. 39
lady of both their nativities, in her essential and accidental dignities; occidental from the sun, oriental from the angle of the east, in cazini of the sun, in her joy, and free from the malevolent beams of infortunes; in a sign commanding, and Mars in a constellation obeying; she fortunate, and he dejected: the disposers of marriage in the radix of the native in feminine figures, argue, foretel, and declare rule, pre-eminence, and absolute sovereignty in women.8
L. Frug. Is't possible!
Star, 'Tis drawn, I assure you, from the apho risms of the old Chaldeans, Zoroastes the iirstand greatest magician, Mercurius .Trismegistus, the later Ptolemy, and the everlasting prognosticator, old Erra Pater.
L. Frug. Are you yet satisfied ?
Plenty. In what?
L. Frug. That you
Are bound to obey your wives ; it being so Determined by the stars, against whose influence There is no opposition.
Plenty. Since I must
Be married by the almanack, as I may be, 'Twere requisite the services and duties Which, as you say, I must pay to my wife, Were set down hi the calendar.
Sir Maur. With the date Of my apprenticeship.
L. Frti-g. Make your demands; I'll sit as moderatrix, if they press you With over-hard conditions.
* I have contented myself with correcting the errors of the former editors in printing the obsolete jargon of this ignorant impostor, without attempting to explain any part of it. If the reader will follow my example, and not waste a thought on it, he will lose nothing by his negligence.
40
THE CITY MADAM.
Sir Maur. Mine hath the van ; I stand your charge, sweet.
Star. Silence.
Anne. I require first,
And that, since 'tis in fashion with kind hus bands,
In civil manners you must grant, my will In all things whatsoever, and that will To be obey'd, not argued.
L. Frug. And good reason.
Plenty. A gentle imprimis!
Sir Maur. This in gross contains all : But your special items, lady.
Anne. When I am one,
And you are honour'd to be styled my husband, To urge my having my page, my gentleman- usher,
My woman sworn to my secrets, my caroch Drawn by six Flanders mares, my coachman,
grooms, Postillion, and footmen.
Sir Maur. Is there aught else To be demanded?
Anne. Yes, sir, mine own doctor. French and Italian cooks, musicians, songsters, And a chaplain that must preach to please my
fancy :
A friend at court to place me at a masque ; The private box ta'en up at a new play, For me and my retinue ; a fresh habit, Of a fashion never seen before, to draw The gallants' eyes, that sit on the stage, upon me; Some decayed lady for my parasite, To flatter me, and rail at other madams; And there ends my ambition.
Sir Maur. Your desires Are modest, I confess !
THE CITY MADAM, 41
Anne. These toys subscribed to, And you continuing an obedient husband, Upon all fit occasions you shall find me • A most indulgent wife.
L. Frug. You have said ; give place, And hear your younger sister.
Plenty. If she speak Her language, may the great fiend,' booted and
spurr'd,
With a si the at his girdle, as the Scotchman says, Ride headlong down her throat !
Sir Maur. Curse not the judge, Before you hear the sentence.
Mary. In some part
My sister hath spoke well for the city pleasures, But I am for the country's ; and must say, - Under correction, in her demands She was too modest.
Sir Maur. How like you this exordium ?
Plenty. Too modest, Math a mischief!
Mary. Yes, too modest : I know my value, and prize it to the worth, My youth, my beauty
Plenty. How your glass deceives you I
Mary. The greatness of the portion I bring
with me, And the sea of happiness that from me flows to you.
Sir Maur. She bears up close.
Mary. And can you, in your wisdom, Or rustical simplicity, imagine You have met some innocent country girl, that never
9 . may the great fand, &c.] This
i* one of Ray's Proverbs. It is found in the Tamer Tamed: "A Sedgly curse light on him! which is, Pedro, The fiend ride through him booted and spurr'd, with a sithe at bis bacfc," And also in the Goblins, by sir John Suckling. VOL. JV. •* E
42 THE CITY MADAM.
Look'd further than her father's farm, nor knew
more Than the price of corn in the market ; or at what
rate Beef went a stone? that would survey your
dairy,
And bring in mutton out of cheese and butter ? That could give directions at what time of the
moon
To cut her cocks for capons against Christmas, Or when to raise up goslings ?
Plenty. These are arts Would not misbecome you, though you should
put in Obedience and duty.
Mary. Yes, and patience,
To sit like a fool at home, and eye your thrashers; Then make provision for your slavering hounds, When you come drunk from an alehouse, after
hunting With your clowns and comrades, as if all were
yours,
You the lord paramount, and I the drudge ; The case, sir, must be otherwise. Plenty. How, I beseech you? Mary. Marry, thus : I will not, like my sister,
challenge
What's useful or superfluous from my husband, That's base all o'er; mine shall receive from me What I think fit; I'll have the state 'convey'd Into my hands, and he put to his pension, Which the wise viragos of our climate practise ; — I will receive your rents.
Plenty. You shall be hang'd first.
Mary. Make sale or purchase : nay I'll have
my neighbours Instructed, when a passenger shall ask,
THE CITY MADAM. 43
Whose house is this ? (though you stand by) to
answer,
The lady Plenty's. Or who owns this manor? The lady Plenty. Whose sheep are these, whose
oxen ? The lady Plenty's.
Plenty. A plentiful pox upon you !
Mary. And when I have children, if it be
enquired By a stranger, whose they are r — they shall still
echo,
My lady Plenty's, the husband never thought on. Plenty. In their begetting : I think so. Mary. Since you'll marry In the city for our wealth, injustice, we Must have the country's sovereignty. Plenty. And we nothing. Mary. A nag of forty shillings, a couple of
spaniels,
With a sparhawk, is sufficient, and these too, As you shall behave yourself, during my pleasure, I will not greatly stand on. I have said, sir, Now if you like me, so.1
I have said) sir,
Now if you like we, so.~\ Before we accuse the poet of abusing the license of comedy in these preposterous stipulations, it may not be improper to look back for a moment on the period in which he wrote, and enquire if no examples of a similar nature were then to be found in real life. It was an ago of profusion and vanity ; and the means of enjoying them both, as they per suaded to condescension on the one side, so they engendered rapacity on the other : it is not, therefore, a very improbable conjecture, that Massinger has but slightly taxed our credulity, and but little overcharged his glaring description of female extravagance and folly. The reader Mrho is still inclined to hesitate, may peruse the extract subjoined. A short time before this Play was written, Elizabeth Spencer, daughter and heir of sir John Spencer, lord mayor of London, (whom I once considered as the prototype of sir Giles Overreach,) was mar ried to William lord Compton. With less integrity and candour
44 THE CITY MADAM.
L. Frug. At my entreaty, The articles shall be easier.
Plenty. Shall they, i' faith? Like bitch, like whelps.
than the daughters of sir John Frugal, she made few previous stipulations, but not long after the conclusion of the nuptial ceremony, sent her husband a modest and consolatory letter, which is yet extant ; and from which the following items, among many others, are verbally taken :
" Alsoe I will have 3 horses for my owne saddle, that none shall dare to lend or borrowe ; none lend but I, none borrowe but you. Alsoe, I would have two gentlewomen, leaste one should be sicke, or have some other lett. Alsoe beleeve yt, it is an undecent thinge for a gentlewoman to stand mumpinge alone, when God hath blessed their lord and lady wth a greate estate. Alsoe, when I ride a huntinge or a hawkeinge, or tra- Tayle from one howse to another, I will have them attendinge ; soe for either of those said woemen, I must and will have for either of them a horse. Alsoe, I will have 6 or 8 gentlemen ; and I will have my twoo coaches, one lyned with velvett to myselfe, wth 4 very fayre horses, and a coache for my woemen, lyned wth sweetc cloth, one laced wlh gold, the other wth scar- lett, and laced with watched lace and silver, wth 4 good horses. Alsoe, I will have twoe coachmen, one for my own coache, the other for my women. Alsoe, att any tyme when I trava) le, I will be allowed not only carroches, and spare horses for me and my women, but I will have such carryadgs, as shal be fittinge for me all orderly; not pestringe my things wth my woemens, nor theirs wth either chambermayds, or theirs \vth wase maids. Alsoe, for laundresses, when I travayle I will have them sent away before wth the carryadgs to see all safe, and the chambermayds I will have goe before wth the groomes, that a chamber may be ready, sweete and cleane. Alsoe, for that yt is undecent to croud upp myself wth my gentl. usher in my coache, I will have him to have a convenyent horse to attend me either in city or country. And I must have 2 footeinen. And my desire is, that you de fray all the chardges for me."
It may not be impertinent to add, that lord Compton, as might reasonably be conjectured, after such a letter as this, reaped little comfort from his. wife, and less from her immense fortune. This scene (as much of it, at least, as relates to the two young ladies and their lovers) is imitated with infinite plea santry by Glapthorne, in that admirable old comedy, Wit in a Constable.
THE CITY MADAM. 45
Sir Maur. Use fair words,
Plenty. I cannot ; I have read of a house of pride, and now I have
found one : A whirlwind overturn it !
Sir Maur. On these terms, Will your minxship be a lady?
Plenty. A lady in a morris : I'll wed a pedlar's punk first —
Sir Maur. Tinker's trull, A beggar without a smock.
Plenty. Let monsieur almanack, Since he is so cunning with his Jacob's staff, Find you out a husband in a bowling-alley.
Sir Maur. The general pimp to a brothel.
Plenty. Though -that now
All the loose desires of man were raked up in me, And no means but thy maidenhead left to quench
them,
I would turn cinders, or the next sow-gelder, On my life, should lib me, rather than embrace thee.
Anne. Wooing do you call this !
Mary. A bear-baiting rather.
Plenty. Were you worried, you deserve it, and
I hope I shall live to see it.
Sir Maur. I'll not rail, nor curse you : Only this, you are pretty peats, and your great
portions
Add much unto your handsomeness ; but as You would command your husbands, you are
beggars, Deform 'd and ugly.
L. Frug. Hear me.
Plenty. Not a word more*
[Exeunt Sir Maurice Lacy and Plenty.
46 THE CITY MADAM.
Anne. I ever thought it would come to this.
Mary. We may
Lead apes in hell for husbands, if you bind us To articulate thus with our suitors.
[Both speak weeping.
Star. Now the cloud breaks, And the storm will fall on me,. [Aside.
L. Frug. You rascal ! juggler !
[She breaks Stargazed head, and beats him.
Star. Dear madam.
L. Frug. Hold you intelligence with the stars, And thus deceive me!
Star. My art cannot err;
If it does, I'll burn my astrolabe. In mine own star I did forsee this broken head, and beating ; And now your ladyship sees, as I do feel it, It could not be avoided.
L. Frug Did you ?
Star. Madam.
Have patience but a week, and if you find not All my predictions true, touching your daughters, And a change of fortune to yourself, a rare one, Turn me out of doors. These are not the men
the planets
Appointed for their husbands ; there will come Gallants of another metal.
Mill. Once more trust him.
Anne. Mary. Do, lady-mother.
L. Frug. I am vex'd, look to it ; Turn o'er your books; if once again you fool me, You shall graze elsewhere : come, girls.
Star. I am glad I scaped thus.
[Aside. Exeunt.
THE CITY MADAM. 47
SCENE III.
Another Room in the same. Enter Lord LACY and Sir JOHN FRUGAL.
L. Lacy. The plot shews very likely.*
Sir John. I repose
My principal trust in your lordship; 'twill prepare The physic I intend to minister To my wife and daughters.
L. Lacy. I will do my parts, To set it off to the life.
Enter Sir MAURICE LACY, and PLENTY,
Sir John. It may produce A scene of no vulgar mirth. Here come the
suitors ; When we understand how they relish my wife's
humours, The rest is feasible.
L. Lacy. Their looks are cloudy.
Sir John. How sits the wind? are you ready to
launch forth Into this sea of marriage ?
Plenty. Call it rather, A whirlpool of afflictions. Sir Maur. If you please To enjoin me to it, I will undertake
* L. Lacy. The plot shews very likely.'] It appears from this that sir John had instilled his suspicions of his brother into lord Lacy. It is finely contrived, to confirm them ih the execution of their design by a new instance of unfeeling pride in his family.
48 THE CITY MAD^M.
To find the north passage to the Indies sooner,3 Than plough with your proud heifer.
Plenty. I will make A voyage to hell first. —
Sir John. How, sir !
Plenty. And court Proserpine, In the sight of Pluto, his three-headed porter, Cerherus, standing by, and all the Furies With their whips to scourge me for't, than say, I
Jeffrey Take you, Mary, for my wife.
L. Lacy. Why, what's the matter ?
Sir Maur. The matter is, the mother (with
your pardon,
I cannot but speak so much)isamostunsufferable, Proud, insolent lady.
Plenty. And the daughters worse. The dam in years had the advantage to be wicked, But they were so in her bell}7.
Sir Maur. I must tell you, With reverence to your wealth, I do begin To think you of the same leaven.
Plenty. Take my counsel ; 'Tis safer for your credit to profess Yourself a cuckold, and upon record, Than say they are your daughters.
Sir John. You go too far, sir.
Sir Maur. They have so articled with us !
Plenty. And will not take us For their husbands, but their slaves; and so
aforehand They do profess they'll use us.
* Tojind the north passage to the Indies sooner, ~] This wai the grand object of our maritime expeditions in those days, and was prosecuted with a boldness, dexterity, and perseverance •which, though since equalled, perhaps, in the same fruitless pur suit, have not yet been surpassed.
THE CITY MADAM. 49
\
Sir John. Leave this heat : Though they are mine, I must tell you, the per-
verseness Of their manners (which they did not take from
me,
But from their mother) qualified, they deserve Your equals.
Sir Maur. True; but what's bred in the bone, Admits no hope of cure.
Plenty. Though saints and angels Were their physicians.
Sir John. You conclude too fast,
Plenty. God be wi' you ! 4 I'll travel three years, ,
but I'll bury This shame that lives upon me.
Sir Maur. With your license, I'll keep him company.
L. Lacy. Who shall furnish you For your expenses.
Plenty. He shall not need your help, My purse is his; we were rivals, but now friends, And will live and die so.
Sir Maur. Ere we go, I'll pay My duty as a son.
Plenty. And till then leave you.
[Exeunt Sir Maurice Lacy and Plenty.
L. Lacy. They are strangely moved.
Sir John. What's wealth, accompanied With disobedience in a wife and children? My heart will break.
L. Lacy. Be comforted, and hope better : We'll ride abroad ; the fresh air and discourse May yield us new inventions.
4 Plenty. God be wi' you!] For this valedictory phrase, so common in our old writers, the modern editors with equal ele gance and judgment have substituted, Good-by to you !
50 THE CITY MADAM.
Sir John. You are noble,
And shall in all things, as you please, command me. {Exeunt*
ACT III. SCENE I.
A Room in Secret's House.
Enter SHAVE'EM and SECRET.
Secret. Dead doings, daughter.
Shave. Doings! sufferings, mother: [For poor] men have forgot3 what doing is ; And such as have to pay for what they do, Are impotent, or eunuchs.
Secret. You have a friend yet, And a striker too, I take it.
Shave. Gold wire is so, and comes To me by stealth, and, as he can steal, maintains me In clothes, I grant ; but alas ! dame, what's one
friend ?
I would have a hundred; — for every hour, and use, And change of humour I am in, a fresh one : 'Tis a flock of sheep that makes a lean wolf fat, And not a single lambkin. I am starv'd, Starv'd in my pleasures; I know not what a
coach is, To hurry me to the Burse,* or Old Exchange :
* [For poor] men haveforgot^ &c.] A foot appears to be lost in the original : I have substituted the words between brackets in the hope of restoring the sense of the passage.
6 To hurry me to the Burse,] To the New Exchange, which was then full of shops, where all kinds of finery for the ladies, trinkets, ornaments, &c. were sold. It was as much frequented
THE CITY MADAM. 51
The neathouse*for musk-melons, and the gardens, Where we traffic for asparagus,., are, to me, In the other world.
Secret. There are other places, lady, Where you might find customers.
Shave. You would have me foot it To the dancing of the ropes, sit a whole afternoon
there
In expectation of nuts and pippins j Gape round about me, and yet not find a chapman That in courtesy will hid a chop of mutton, Or a pint of drum-wine for me/
Secret, You are so impatient ! But I can tell you news will comfort you, And the whole sisterhood.
Shave. What's that ?
Secret. I am told
Two ambassadors are come over: a French mon sieur,
And a Venetian, one of the clarissimi, A hot-rein'd marmoset.' Their followers, For their countries' honour, after a long vacation, Will make a full term with us.
Shave. They indeed are
by the fashionable world in James's days, as Exeter Change In those of Charles II.
* The neathouse/or musk-melons,] The neathouse was a cele brated garden and nursery, near Chelsea.
7 Or a pint of drum- wine/or me.] So the old copy; meaning perhaps sutler's wine, or such sophisticated stuff as is disposed of at the drum-head. Thus Shirley :
" What we have more than to supply our wants, " Consumes on the drum head."
Or it may signify such wine as is to be found at common auctions, or outcries, to which the people were, at this time, usually summoned by beat of drum. See p. 25. Coxeter and M. Mason read strum-wine ; Dodsley, stum-\\ine9 which pro. mises fairer to be right.
1 A hot-rein'd marmoset.] I. e. a monkey, a libidinous animal.
52 THE CITY MADAM.
Our certain and best customers : — [knocking within.'] — Who knocks there ?
Ramb. [within.'] Open the door.
Secret. What are you ?
Ramb. \within.] Ramble.
Scuff, [within.'] Scuffle,
Ramb. [within.] Your constant visitants.
Shave. Let them not in ;
I know them, swaggering, suburbian roarers, Sixpenny truckers.
Ramb. [within.] Down go all your windows, And your neighbours' too shall suffer.
Scuff, [within,] Force the doors i
Secret. They are outlaws, mistress Shave'em,
and there is
No remedy against them. What should you fear? They are but men ; lying at your close ward, You have foil'd their betters.
Shave. Out, you bawd ! you care not Upon what desperate service you employ me, Nor with whom, so you have your fee.
Secret. Sweet lady-bird, Sing in a milder key."
Exit, and re-enters with RAMBLE and SCUFFLE.
Scuff. Are you grown proud ? Ramb. I knew you a waistcoateer in the gar den alleys,'
9 Ramb. I knew you a waistcoateer, &c.] It appears from innumerable passages in our old plays, that icaistcoateer was a cant term for a strumpet of the lowest kind ; probably given to them from their usually appearing, cither through choice or necessity, in a succinct habit. Thus Beaumont and Fletcher:
<•. u j)0 yOU think you are here, sir,
" Amongst your uaistcoatetrs., your base wenches, " That scratch on such occasions." Wit "without Money. Again ;
" This is the time of night, and this the haunt.
THE CITY MADAM. 53
And would come to a sailor's whistle.
Secret. Good sir Ramble, Use her not roughly ; she is very tender.
Ramb. Rank and rotten, is she not ?
[Shave'em draws her knife.
Shave. Your spittle rogueships1 »
[Ramble draws his sword. Shall not make me so.
Secret. As you are a man, squire Scuffle, Step in between them : a weapon of that
length, Was never drawn in my house.
Shave. Let him come on. I'll scour it in your guts, you dog !
Ramb. You brache ! 2
" In which I use to catch my waistcoateers : *4 I hope they haye not left their walk.*'
The Noble Gentleman.
1 Your spittle rogueships^ &c.] Mr. M. Mason, following hi* usual practice of altering what he dislikes or misunderstands, changed spittle into spital. But our old writers carefully dis tinguished between these two words ; with the,m a hospital or spital signified a charitable institution for the advantage of poor, infirm, and aged persons, an alms-house, in short ; while spittles were mere lazar-houscs, receptacles for wretches in the leprosy, and other loathsome diseases, the consequence of debauchery and vice. " Dishonest women/' says Barnaby Rich, in his English Hue and Crie. " thrive so ill, that if they do not turns bawd, when they be some foure or five and thirty yeeres of age, they must either be turned into some hospitall, or end the rest of their days in a spittle.''
And Beaumont and Fletcher :
" The very vomit, sir, of hospitals,
" Bridewells, and spittle-houses." Nice Valour, A. IV. S. 1.
2 Ramb. You brache !
Are, you turn'd mankind?] i. e. are you become masculine? is your nature changed into that of a maiv? this is the common acceptation of the word, though, as Upton observes, it some times bears a stronger sense, and signifies violent, ferocious, wicked. It is singular, however, that not one of Upton'8
54 THE CITY MADAM.
Are you turn'd mankind ? you forgot I gave you, When we last join'd issue, twenty pound —
Shave. O'er night, And kick'd it out of me in the morning. I was
then
A novice, but I know to make my game now. Fetch the constable.
Enter GOLDWIRE junior, disguised like a Justice of Peace, DING' EM like a Constable, and Musi- dans like Watchmen.
Secret. Ah me ! here's one unsent for, And a justice of peace, too.
Shave. I'll hang you both, you rascals ! I can but ride :3 — you for the purse you cut In Paul's at a sermon ; I have smoak'd you, ha ! And you for the bacon you took on the high way,
From the poor market woman, as she rode From Rumford.
Ramb. Mistress Shave'em.
Scuff. Mistress Secret, On our knees we beg your pardon.
examples justifies his position, or means more than masculine, or mannish : he is, notwithstanding, correct in his assertion. Thus Chapman :
u Cor. I will hear thee no more, I will take no compassion on thce.
" Page. Good Signior Cornelio, be not too mankind against your wife." All Fools. And Hall :
" I ask't phisitians what their counsell was " For a mad dogge, or for a mankind asse."
Brache (which Ramble uses as the " retort courteous," for Shave'em's " dog,") has been already explained. See Vol. I p. 210.
3 I can but ride.] i. e. I know the worst of my punishment ; I can but be carted for a strumpet.
THE CITY MADAM. 55
Ramb. Set a ransome on us.
Secret. We cannot stand trifling: if you mean
to save them, Shut them out at the back-door.
Shave. First, for punishment, They shall leave their cloaks behind them; and
in sign
I am their sovereign, and they my vassals, For homage kiss my shoe-sole, rogues, and vanish! [Exeunt Ramble and Scuffle.
Gold. My brave virago ! The coast's clear ; strike up. [Goldwire, and the rest discover themselves.
Shave. My Gold wire made a justice !
Secret. And your scout Turn'd constable, and the musicians watchmen !
Gold. We come not to fright you, but to make
you merry : A light lavolta.4 [They dance.
Shave. I am tired ; no more. This was your device ?
Ding. Wholly his own ; he is No pig-sconce,5 mistress.
Secret. He has an excellent headpiece.
Gold. Fie! no, not I; your jeering gallants say, We citizens have no wit.
Ding. He dies that says so : This was a masterpiece.
* A lisht layolta.] See Vol. II. p. 496.
5 he is
No pig-sconce."] No heavy dull-pated fellow. The term appears in the complimentary verses prefixed to the author'! Duke of Milan :
" Thou mak'st a garland for thy touch unfit,
" And boldly deckst thy pig-brain'd sconce with it,
" As if it were the supreme head of wit."
56 THE CITY MADAM.
Gold. A trifling stratagem, Not worth the talking of.
Shave. I must kiss thee for it, Again, and again. \They kiss.
Ding. Make much of her. Did you know What suitors she had since she saw you—
Gold. I'the way of marriage ?
Ding. Yes, sir ; for marriage, and the other
thing-too ; The commodity is the same. An Irish lord
offer 'd her Five pound a week.
Secret. And a cashier'd captain, half Of his entertainment,
Ding. And a new-made courtier, The next suit he could beg.5
Gold. And did rny sweet one Refuse all this, for me?
Shave. Weep not for joy ;
'Tistrue. Let others talk of lords and commanders, And country heirs for their servants; but give me My gallant prentice ! he parts with his money So civilly, and demurely, keeps no account Of his expenses, and comes ever furnished. — I know thou hast brought money to make up My gown and petticoat, with the appurtenances.
Gold. I have it here, duck; thou shalt want for nothing.
Shave. Let the chamber be perfumed ; and get you, sirrah, [To Ding* em.
His cap and pantofles ready.
Gold. There's for thee, And thee : that for a banquet.
5 The next suit he could beg.~] Omnia cum pretio ! Justice was extremely venal in this age : — but the allusion, perhaps, is to the crying grievance of the times, monopolies. A favourite, who
THE CITY MADAM. 57
Secret. And a caudle Again you rise.
Gold. There. [Gives them money.
Shave. Usher us up in state. „
Gold. You will be constant ? Shave. Thou art the whole world to me. [E.veut2t ; Gold, and Shave, embracing, music playing before, them.
SCENE II.
A Room in Sir John Frugal's House. Enter LUKE.
Anne, [within.] Where is this uncle ?
L. Frug. [within.] Call this beadsman-brother;* He hath forgot attendance.
Mary, [within.] Seek him out ; Idleness spoils him.
Luke. I deserve much more Than their scorn can load me with, and 'tis but
justice
That I should live the family's drudge, design'd To all the sordid offices their pride Imposes on me; since, if now I sat A judge in mine own cause, I should conclude I am not worth their pity. Such as want Discourse,7 and judgment, and through weakness fall,
could obtain a grant of these from the easy monarch, considered his fortune as established by the vast sums at which he disposed of them to rapacious adventurers, who oppressed the people without shame, and without pity.
6 L. Frug. [within.] Call this beadsman-6ro^er:] i. e. this poor dependent on our charity. See p. 26.
7 Discourse, &c.] i, e. reason. See vol. i. p. 148. VOL. IV. * F
58 THE CITY MADAM.
May merit man's compassion ; but I,
That knew profuseness of expense the parent
Of wretched poverty, her fatal daughter,
To riot out mine own, to live upon
The alms of others, steering on a rock
I might have shunn'd ! O Heaven ! it is not fit
I should look upward, much less hope for mercy.*
Enter Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, MARY, STARGAZE,
MlLLISCENT.
L. Frug. What are you devising, sir?
Anne. My uncle is much given To his devotion.
Mary. And takes time to mumble A paternoster to himself.
L. Frug. Know you where Your brother is ? it better would become you (Your means of life depending wholly on him) To give your attendance.
Luke. In my will I do :
But since he rode forth yesterday with lord Lacy, I have not seen him.
L. Frug. And why went not you By his stirrup ? How do you look ! were his eyes
closed, You'd be glad of such employment.
Luke. 'Twas his pleasure
I should wait your commands, and those I am ever Most ready to receive.
L. Frug. I know you can speak well ; But say, and do.
8 This penitential speech of Luke is introduced with admi rable artifice, at the period of his breaking forth in his true character; nor is the insolence of lady Frugal and her daughter* less judiciously timed.
THE CITY MADAM. 59
Enter Lord LACY.
Luke. Here comes my lord.
L. Frug. Further off:
You are no companion for him, and his business Aims not at you, as I take it.
Luke. Can I live In this hase condition ! [He stands aside.
L. Frug. I hope, my lord, You had brought master Frugal with you;* for
I must ask An account of him from you.
L. Lacy. I can give it/lady ; But with the best discretion of a woman, And a strong fortified patience, I desire you To give it hearing.
Luke. My heart beats.
L. Frug. My lord, you much amaze me.
L. Lacy. I shall astonish you. The noble mer chant,
Who, living, was, for his integrity And upright dealing, (a rare miracle In a rich citizen,) London's best honour; Is 1 am loth to speak it.
9 You had brought Mr. Frugal with you;] So the quarto reads, and probably by inadvertence, of which it furnishes many ex amples. Or may we venture to conjecture that Massinger interfiled, in this place, to ridicule a species of affectation then in vogue ? It appears that the city ladies, though extremely tena cious of their own titles, thought it a part of high breeding to address the knights, their husbands, by the name of master. One example of this is now before me :
Fitchew. And what said master Luckless ?
Ho-w&ye. Sir Philip you mean.
Fit. The very same: but I begin to call him now, as I must call him hereafter. Ladies do not call their husbands, as they are knights, as sir Philip, sir Timothy, or sir Gregory. Did you ever hear lady Squelch call her husband sir Paul? No j but master Squelch. Northern Lass, A. 1. S. 6.
*
60 THE CITY MADAM.
Luke. Wonderous strange !
L. Frug. I do suppose the worst ; not dead, I hope ?
Z. Lacy. Your supposition's true, your hopes
are false ; He's dead.
Z. Frug. Ah me !
Anne. My father !
Mary. My kind father !
Luke. Now they insult not.
Z. Lacy. Pray hear me out. He's dead ; dead to the world and you, and, now, Lives only to himself.
Luke. What riddle's this?
Z. Frug. Act not the torturer in1 my afflictions; But make me understand the sum of all That I must undergo.
Z. Lacy. In few words take it : He is retired into a monastery, Where he resolves to end his days.
Luke. More strange.
Z. Lacy. I saw him take post for Dover, and
the wind
Sitting so fair, by this he's safe at Calais, And ere long will be at Lovain.
Z. *Frug. Could I guess
What were the motives that induced him to it, 'Twere some allay to my sorrows.
Z. Lacy. I'll instruct you, And chide you into that knowledge; 'twas your
pride
Above your rank, and stubborn disobedience Of these your daughters, in their milk suck'd from you :
1 L. Frug. Act not tltt torturer in my afflictions;'] Mr. M. Mason reads, it is impossible to say why,
Act not the torturer of my afflictions !
THE CITY MADAM. 61
At home the harshness of his entertainment,
You wilfully forgetting that your all
Was borrow'd from him ; and to hear abroad
The imputations dispers'd upon you,
And justly too, I fear, that drew him to
This strict retirement: and, thus much said forhim,
I am myself to accuse you.
L. Frug. I confess
A guilty cause to him ; but, in a thought, My lord, I ne'er wrong'd you.
Z, Lacy. In fact, you have. The insolent disgrace you put upon My only son, and Plenty, men that loved Your daughters in a noble way, to wash off 'The scandal, put a resolution in them For three years travel.
L. Frug. I am much grieved for it.
L.Lacy. One thing I had forgot; your rigour to His decay'd brother, in which your flatteries, Or sorceries, made him a co-agent with you, Wrought not the least impression.
Luke. Hum ! this sounds well.
L. Frug. Tis now past help : after these storms,
my lord, A little cairn, if you please.
Z. Lacy. If what I have told you, Shew'd like a storm, what now I must deliver, Will prove a raging tempest. His whole estate, In lands and leases, debts and present monies, With all the moveables he stood possessed of, With the best advice which he could get for gold From his learned counsel, by this formal will Is pass'd o'er to his brother. — [Giving the will to
Luke, who comes forward.] — With it take The key of his counting-house. Not a groat left
Which you can call your own.
62 THE CITY MADAM.
Z. Frug. Undone for ever !
Anne. Mary. What will become of us ?
Luke. Hum ! [Aside,,
L, Lacy. The scene is changed, And he that was your slave, by Fate appointed
[Lady Frugal, Mary, and Anne kneel. Your governor : you kneel to me in vain, I cannot help you; I discharge the trust Imposed 'upon me. This humility, From him may gain remission, and, perhaps, Forgetfulness of your barbarous usage to him.
L. Frug. Am I come to this ?
L. Lacy. Enjoy your own, good sir, But use it with due reverence. I once heard you Speak most divinely in the opposition Of a revengeful humour; to these shew it, And such who then depended on the mercy Of your brother, wholly now at your devotion, And make good the opinion I held-of you, Of which I am most confident.
Luke* Pray you rise, [Raises them,
And rise with this assurance, I am still, As I was of late, your creature ; and if raised In any thing, 'tis in my power to serve you, My will is still the same. O my good lord ! This heap of wealth which you possess me of, Which to a worldly man had been a blessing, And to the messenger might with justice chal lenge
A kind of adoration, is to me A curse I cannot thank you for; and, much less, Rejoice in that tranquillity of mind My brother's vows must purchase. I have made A dear exchange with him : he now enjoys My peace and poverty, the trouble of His wealth conferr'd on me, and that a burthen Too heavy for my weak shoulders.
THE CITY MADAM. 63
L. Lacy. Honest soul, With what feeling he receives it !
L. Frug. You shall have My best assistance, if you please to use it, To help you to support it.
Luke. By no means ;
The weight shall rather sink me, than you part With one short minute from those lawful pleasures Which you were born to, in your care to aid me: You shall have all abundance. In my nature, I was ever liberal ; my lord, you know it ; Kind, affable. — And now methinks I see Before my face the jubilee of joy, When 'tis assured my brother lives in me, His debtors, in full cups crown'd to my health, With paeans to my praise will celebrate ! For they well know 'tis far from me to take The forfeiture of a bond : nay, I shall blush, The interest never paid after three years, When I demand my principal : and his servants, Who from a slavish fear paid their obedience, By him exacted, now, when they are mine, Will grow familiar friends, and as such use me; Being certain of the mildness of my temper, Which my change of fortune, frequent in most
men, Hath not the power to alter.
L. Lacy. Yet take heed, sir, You ruin not, with too much lenity, What his fit severity raised.
L. Frug. And we fall from That height we have maintained.
Luke. I'll build it higher, To admiration higher. With disdain I look upon these habits, no way suiting The wife and daughters of a knighted citizen Bless'd with abundance.
64 THE CITY MADAM.
L. Lacy. There, sir, I join with you ; A fit decorum must be kept, the court Distinguish'el from the city.
Luke. With your favour,
I know what you would say; but give me leave In this to be your advocate. You are wide, Wide the whole region,3 in what I purpose. Since all the titles, honours, long descents, Borrow their gloss from wealth, the rich with
reason
May challenge their prerogatives: and it shall be My glory, nay a triumph, to revive, In the pomp that these shall shine, the memory Of the Roman matrons, who kept captive queens To be their handmaids. And when you appear^ Like Juno, in full majesty, and my nieces, Like Iris, Hebe, or what deities else Old poets fancy, (your cramm'd wardrobes richer Than various nature's,) and draw down the envy Of our western world upon you ; only hold me Your vigilant Hermes with aerial wings, (My caduceus, my strong zeal to serve you,) Prest3 to fetch in all rarities may delight you, And I am made immortal.
X. Lacy. A strange frenzy \ [Aside.
Luke. Off with these rags, and then to bed ; there dream
You are wide,
Wide the whole region, in what I purpose.'] This is a most admirable stroke, and shows with what exquisite judgment Massinger dis criminates his characters. Lord Lacy had touched a discordant string, and the vanity of Luke, already raised to an inordinate pitch by his recent glimpse of wealth, is irritated and alarmed. The expression, You are wide, wide the whole region, is a La- tinism, toto cff/o, tota region e oberras.
3 Prest to fetch in &c.] i. e. ready, prepared, to fetch in. The word occurs so frequently in this sense, that it is unnecessary to produce any example of it.
THE CITY MADAM. 65
Of future greatness, which, when you awake, I'll make a certain truth : but I must be A doer, not a promiser. The performance Requiring haste, I kiss your hands, and leave you. [Exit.
L. Lacy. Are we all turn'd statues ? have his
strange words charm'd us? What muse you on, lady ?
L. Frug. Do not trouble me.
L. Lacy. Sleep you too, young ones ?
Anne. Swift-wing'd time till now Was never tedious to me. Would 'twere night!
Mary. Nay, morning rather.
L. Lacy. Can you ground your faith On such impossibilities? have you so soon Forgot your good husband ?
L. Frug. He was a vanity I must no more remember.
L. Lacy. Excellent! You, your kind father?
Anne. Such an uncle never Was read of in story !
L. Lacy. Not one word in answer Of my demands ?
Mary. You are but a lord ; and know, My thoughts soar higher.
L. Lacy. Admirable ! I'll leave you To your castles in the air. — When I relate this, Jt will exceed belief; but he must know it.
[Aside, and exit.
Star. Now I may boldly speak. May it please
you, madam,
To look upon your vassal ; I foresaw this, The stars assured it.
L. Frug. I begin to feel Myself another woman.
Star. Now you shall find
66 THE CITY MADAM.
All my predictions true, and nobler matches Prepared for my young ladies.
Mill. Princely husbands.
Anne. I'll go no less.4
Mary. Not a word more ; Provide my night- rail.5
Mill. What shall we be to morrow ! [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Another Room in the same. Enter LUKE.
Luke. 'Twas no fantastic object, but a truth, A real truth,; nor dream : I did not slumber, And could wake ever with a brooding eye To gaze upon't ! it did endure the touch ; I saw and felt it ! Yet what I beheld And handled oft, did so transcend belief, (My wonder and astonishment pass'd o'er,) I faintly could give credit to my senses. Thou dumb magician, — [Taking out a key.] — that
without a charm
Didst make my entrance easy, to possess What wise men wish, and toil for ! Hermes' moly, Sibylla's golden bough, the great elixir, Imagined only6 by the alchemist,
4 Anne. I'll go no less.] This is a gaming phrase, and means, I will not play for a smaller stake.
5 Provide my night-rail.] " Enter Crowstitch with a night- rail. Crow. Pray, madam, does this belong to you, or miss ? O la ! Mr. Semibrief here 1 (Folds up the night-shift hastily.") Love for Money
6 Imagined only by the alchemist ?] i. e. which only exists in the imagination of the alchemist.
THE CITY MADAM. 67
Compared with thee are shadows, — thou the
substance,
And guardian of felicity ! No marvel, My brother made thy place of rest his bosom, Thou being the keeper of his heart, a mistress Te be hugg'd ever ! In by-corners of This sacred room, silver in bags, heap'd up Like billets saw'd and ready for the fire, Unworthy to hold fellowship with bright gold That flow'd about the room, conceal'd itself. There needs no artificial light ; the splendour Makes a perpetual day there, night and darkness JBy that still-burning lamp for ever banish'd ! But when, guided by that, my eyes had made Discovery of the caskets, and they open'd, Each sparkling diamond, from itself, shot forth A pyramid of flames, and, in the roof, Fix'd it a glorious star, and made the place Heaven's abstract, or epitome ! — rubies, sapphires, Arid ropes of orient pearl, these seen, I could not But look on with contempt/ And yet I found/
and made the place
Heaven's abstract or epitome : — rubies,' sapphires , And ropes of orient pearl, these seen, I could not But look on with contempt.] For these most beautiful lines, which I have faithfully taken from the old copies, the modern editors give us,
' and made the place
Heaven's abstract or epitome. Rubies, saphires^ And ropes of oriental pearl. These seen, I could not But look on gold with contempt !
These vile and senseless interpolations utterly subvert not only the metre, but the meaning of the passage : indeed it is evident that neither Coxeter nor Mr. M. Mason (I am loth to speak of Dodsley) understood a syllable of what they were mangling under the idea of reforming. The sense now is clear : the diamonds, which are described by one of the most magnificent figures to be found in all poetry, so ravished his sight, that he looked upon the other precious stones, rubies, sapphires^ and
68 THE CITY MADAM.
What weak credulity could have no faith in, A treasure far exceeding these : here lay A manor bound fast in a skin of parchment, The wax continuing hard, the acres melting; Here a sure deed of gift for a market-town, If not redeem'd this day, which is not in The unthrift's power: there being scarce one
shire
In Wales or England, where my monies are not Lent out at usury, the certain hook To draw in more. I am sublimed ! gross earth Supports me not ; I walk on air ! — Who's there?
Enter Lord LACY, with Sir JOHN FRUGAL, Sir MAURICE LACY, and PLENTY, painted and dis guised as Indians.
Thieves ! raise the street ! thieves !
L. Lacy. What strange passion's this ! Have you your eyes? do you know me?
Luke. You, my lord,
I do : but this retinue, in these shapes too, May well excuse my fears. When 'tis your
pleasure
That I should wait upon you, give me leave To do it at your own house, for I must tell you, Things as they now are with me well considered, I do not like such visitants.
L. Lacy. Yesterday, When you had nothing, praise your poverty for't,
pearls, (not the go/J, which he had already dismissed from his thoughts,) with contempt. Errors of this nature arc the more to be regretted, as they have induced many critics (and among them Dr. Ferriar*) to complain of a want of harmony in a »peoch rhythmical and melodious almost beyond example.
* See the Ss$ay onMassinger, prefixed to vol. i.
THE CITY MADAM. 69
You could have sung secure before a thief; But now you are grown rich, doubts and sus picions, And needless fears, possess you. Thank a good
brother ; But let not this exalt you.
Luke. A good brother ! f Good in his conscience, I confess, and wise, In giving o'er the world. But his estate, Which your lordship may conceive great, no way
answers
The general opinion : alas ! With a great charge, I am left a poor man by him.
L. Lacy. A poor man, say you ?
Luke. Poor, compared with what *Tis thought I do possess. Some little land, Fair household furniture, a few good debts, But empty bags, I find : yet I will be A faithful steward to his wife and daughters; And, to the utmost of my power, obey His will in all things.
L. Lacy. I'll not argue with you Of his estate, but bind you to performance Of his last request, which is, for testimony Of his religious charity, that you would Receive these Indians, lately sent him from Virginia, into your house ; and labour, At any rate, with the best of your endeavours, Assisted by the aids of our divines, To make them Christians,
Luke. Call you this, my lord,
8 Luke. A good brother !
Good in his conscience, I confess^ &c.] Luke alludes here to the mercantile sense of the word gooc?, i. e. rich. See vol. iii. p. 373. In lord Lacy's speech, there is an allusion to the well-known Terse :
Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator.
70 THE CITY MADAM;
Religious charity; to send infidels, Like hungry locusts, to devour the bread Should feed his family ? I neither can, Nor will consent to't.
L. Lacy. Do not slight it ; 'tis With him a business of such consequence, That should he only hear 'tis not embraced, And cheerfully, in this his conscience aiming At the saving of three souls, 'twill draw him o'er To see it himself accomplish'cl.
Luke. Heaven forbid
I should divert him from his holy purpose, To worldly cares again ! I rather will Sustain the burthen, and, with the converted, Feast the converters, who, I know, will prove The greater feeders.
Sir John. Oh9 ha, enewah Chrish bully leika.
Plenty. Enaula.
Sir Maur. Harrico botikia bonnery.
Luke. Ha ! in this heathen language, How is it possible our doctors should Hold conference with them, or I use the means For their conversion ?
L. Lacy. That shall be no hindrance To your good purposes : they have lived long In the English colony, and speak our language As their own dialect ; the business does concern
you :
Mine own designs command me hence. Continue, As in your poverty you were, a pious And honest man. f\E<nY.
Luke. That is, interpreted, A slave and beggar.
Sir John. You conceive it right ; There being no religion, nor virtue, But in abundance, and no vice but want, All deities serve Plutus.
THE CITY MADAM. 71
Luke. Oracle !
Sir John. Temples raised to ourselves in the
increase
Of wealth and reputation, speak a wise man ; But sacrifice to an imagined Power, Of which we have no sense but in belief, A superstitious fool.
Luke. True worldly wisdom!
Sir John. All knowledge else is folly.
Sir Maur. Now we are yours, Be confident your better angel is Enter'd your house.
Plenty. There being nothing in The compass of your wishes, but shall end In their fruition to the full.
Sir John. As yet,
You do not know us ; but when you understand The wonders we can do, and what the ends were That brought us hither, you will entertain us With more respect.
Luke. There's something whispers to me These are no common men. [Aside.] — My house
is yours,
Enjoy it freely : only grant me this, Not to be seen abroad till I have heard More of your sacred principles. Pray enter : You are learned Europeans, and we worse Than ignorant Americans.
Sir John. You shall find it. [Exeunt.
72 THE CITY MADAM.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
A Room in Frugal's House. Enter DING'EM, GETTALL, and HOLDFAST.
Ding. Not speak with him ! with fear survey
me better, Thou figure of famine !
Gett. Coming, as we do,
From his quondam patrons, his dear ingles now,' The brave spark Trade well —
Ding. And the man of men In the service of a woman, gallant Goldwire !
Enter LUKE.
0
Hold. I know them for his prentices, without These flourishes. — Here are rude fellows, sir.
Ding. Not yours, you rascal !
Hold. No, don pimp ; you may seek them In Bridewell, or the hole ; here are none of your comrogues.1
Luke. One of them looks as he would cut my
throat : Your business, friends ?
Hold. I'll fetch a constable ; *
Let him answer him in the stocks.
9 his dear ingles noiv^] i. c. his bosom
friends, his associates ; enghle, which the commentators some times confound with this word, differs from it altogether, both in its derivation and its meaning.
1 Here are none of your comrogues.] This is absurdly changed in the modern editions into comrades, a very superfluous word after fellows.
THE CITY MADAM. 73
Ding. Stir, an thou dar'st : Fright me with Bridewell and the stocks ! they
are fleabitings I am familiar with. [Draws.
Luke. Pray you put up : And, sirrah, hold your peace. [To Holdfast.
Ding. Thy word's a law,
And I obey. Live, scrape-shoe, and be thankful. Thou man of muck and money, for as such I now salute thee, the suburbian gamesters Have heard thy fortunes, and I am, in person, Sent to congratulate.
Gett. The news hath reach'd The ordinaries, and all the gamesters are Ambitious to shake the golden golls2 Of worshipful master Luke. I come from
Tradewell, Your fine facetious factor.
Ding. I from Gold wire: He and his Helen have prepared a banquet; With the appurtenances, to entertain thee; For, I must whisper in thine ear, thou art To be her Paris: but bring money with thee, To quit old scores.
Gett. Blind chance hath frown'd upon Brave Tradewell : he's blown up, but not without Hope of recovery, so you supply him With a good round sum. In my house, I can
assure you, There's half a million stirring.
— the golden golls &c.] Golls is a cant word for
hands, or rather fists : it occurs continually in our old poets. Thus Decker : " Hold up thy hands : I have seen the day when thou didst not scorn to hold up thy golls." Satiromastix.
" Bid her tie up her head, and wish her " To wash her hands in bran or flower, " And do you, in like manner, scour « Your dirty golfs." Cotton's rirgil, B. IV.
VOL. IV. * G
74
THE CITY MADAM.
Luke. What hath he lost ? Gett. Three hundred. Luke. A trifle.
Gett. Make it up a thousand, And I will fit him with such tools as shall Bring in a myriad.
Luke. They know me well,
Nor need you use such circumstances for them : What's mine, is theirs. They are my friends, not
servants,
But in their care to enrich me ; and these courses, The speeding means. Your name, I pray you ?
Gett. Gettall.
I have been many years an ordinary-keeper, My box my poor revenue.3
Luke. Your name suits well With your profession. Bid him bear up ; he shall
not
Sit long on Penniless-Bench. Gett. There spake an angel ! Luke. You know mistress Shave'em ? Gett. The pontifical punk ? Luke. The same. Let him meet me there some
two hours hence :
And tell Tom Goldwire I will then be with him, Furnish'd beyond his hopes; and let your mistress Appear in her best trim.
Ding. She will make thee young,
* My box my poor revenue.'] " If the caster throws three mains, or wins - by throwing three times successively, he pays to the 6o#-keeper, for the use of the house, a stipulated sum (varying according to the dignity of the place, from eighteen pence to ten and six-pence) : if the caster wins six times suc cessively, he is expected, besides the usual payment to the house, to make the box-keeper a handsome dona! ion.'' For this and what else occurs on tht: subject or dice, I arn indebted to a writer in the Monthly Mirror, whom. I believe to be Mr. Du Bois.
THE CITY MADAM. 75
Old jEson : she is ever furnish'd with Medea's drugs, restoratives. I fly To keep them sober till thy worship come ; They will be drunk with joy else.
Gett. I'll run with you.
[Exeunt Ding' em and GettaU.
Hold. You will not do as you say, I hope ?
Luke. Enquire not ;
I shall do what becomes me. — [Knocking within.'} — To the door. [Exit Holdfast.
New visitants !
Re-enter HOLDFAST.
What are they?
Hold. A whole batch, sir,
Almost of the same leaven: your needy debtors, Penury, Fortune, Hoyst.
Luke. They come to gratulate The fortune fallen upon me.
Hold. Rather, sir, Like the others, to prey on you.
Luke. I am simple ; they Know my good nature : but let them in, however.
Hold. All will come to ruin ! I see beggary Already knocking at the door. — You may eater —
[Speaking to those without. But use a conscience, and do not work upon A tender-hearted gentleman too much ; 'Twill shew like charity in you.
Enter FORTUNE, PENURY, and HOYST.
Luke. Welcome, friends :
I know your hearts, and wishes ; you are glad You have changed your creditor.
Pen. I weep for joy, To look upon his worship's face. *G 2
76 THE CITY MADAM.
For. His worship's !
I see lord mayor written on his forehead ; The cap of maintenance, and city sword, ' Born up in state before him.
Hoy st. Hospitals, And a third Burse, erected by his honour.
Pen. The city poet on the pageant day Preferring him before Gresham.
Hoy st. All the conduits Spouting canary sack.
For. Not a prisoner left, Under ten pounds. >- „
Pen. We, his poor beadsmen, feasting Our neighbours on his bounty.
Luke. May I make good
Your prophecies, gentle friends, as I'll endeavour, To the utmost of my power!
Hold. Yes, for one year, And break the next.
Luke. You are ever prating, sirrah. Your present business, friends ?
For. Were your brother present, Mine had been of some consequence ; but now The power lies in your worship's hand, 'tis little, And will, I know, as soon as ask'd, be granted.
Luke. 'Tis very probable.
For. The kind forbearance Of my great debt, by your means, Heaven be
prais'd for't !
Hath raised my sunk estate. I have two ships, Which I long since gave for lost, above my hopes Return'd from Barbary, and richly freighted.
Luke. Where are they ?
For. Near Gravesend.
Luke. I am truly glad of it.
For. I find your worship's charity, and dare swear so.
THE CITY MADAM. 77
Now may I have your license, as I know
With willingness I shall, to make the best
Of the commodities, though you have execution,
And after judgment, against all that's mine,
As my poor body, I shall be enabled
To make payment of my debts to all the world,
And leave myself a competence.
Luke. You much wrong me, If you only doubt it Yours, master Hoyst ?
Hoyst. 'Tis the surrendering back the mort gage of My lands, and on good terms, but three days
patience;
By an uncle's death I have means left to redeem it, And cancel all the forfeited bonds I seaPd to, In my riots, to the merchant ; for I am Resolv'd to leave off play, and turn good husband.
Luke. A good intent, and to be cherish'd in you. Yours, Penury ?
Pen. My state stands as it did, sir : What I owed I owe, but can pay nothing to you. Yet, if you please to trust me with ten pounds more, I can buy a commodity of a sailor, Will make me a freeman. There, sir, is his name ; And the parcels I am to deal for.
[Gives him a paper.
Luke. You are all so reasonable In your demands, that I must freely grant them. Some three hours hence meet me on theExchange, You shall be amply satisfied.
Pen. Heaven preserve you !
For. Happy were London, if, within her walls, She had many such rich men !
Luke. No more; now leave me: I am full of various thoughts.- — [Exeunt Fortune, Hoyst, and Penury^ — Be careful, Holdfast ; I have much to do.
78
THE CITY MADAM.
Hold. And I something to say, Would you give me hearing.
Luke, At my better leisure. Till my return look well unto the Indians; In the mean time; do you as this directs you.
[Gives him a paper. Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Room in Shave'em's House.
Enter GOLDWIRE junior, TRADEWELL junior, SHAVE'EM, SECRET, GETTALL,
Gold. All that is mine is theirs. Those were his words ?
Ding. I am authentical.
Trade. And that / should not JSit long on Penniless- Bench ?
Gett. But suddenly start up A gamester at the height, and cry At all!*
Shave. And did he seem to have an inclination To toy with me?
Ding. He wish'd you would put on
— • and cry At all !] This expression
occurs in Skelton's bold and animated description of Ryotte, the prototype of a gamester :
" With that came Ryotte rushing all at ones, u A rustic galande, to ragged and to rente, " And on the borde he whirled a pair of bones u Quater treye dews ! he clatter'd as he went, " Now have at all ! by St. Thomas of Kent!"
Bouge of Court.
a If the caster is full of cash and spirit, it is usual for him to say At all in the ring ! meaning, that he will play for any sums the company may chuse to risk against him."
THE CITY MADAM. 79
Your best habiliments, for he resolved To make a jovial day on't.
Gold. Hug him close, wench, And thou mayst eat gold and amber. I welt
know him
For a most insatiate drabber : he hath given, Before he spent his own estate, which was Nothing to the huge mass he's now possessed of, A hundred pound a leap.
Shave. Hell take my doctor ! He should have brought me some fresh oil of talc; These ceruses are common.3
Secret, 'Troth, sweet lady, The colours are well laid on.
Gold And thick enough ; I find that on my lips.
Shave. Do you so, Jack Sauce ! I'll keep them further off.
Gold. But be assured first
Of a new maintainer, ere you cashier the old one. But bind him fast by thy sorceries, and thou shalt Be my revenue ; the whole college study The reparation of thy ruin'd face ; Thou* shalt have thy proper and bald-headed coachman ;
3 He should have brought me some fresh oil of talc ;
These ceruses are common.'] Talc is a fossil easily divisible into thin laminae. From its smoothness, unctuosity, and bright ness it has been greatly celebrated as a cosmetic, and the chy- mists have submitted it to a variety of operations for procuring from it oils, salts, tinctures, magisteries, &c. for that purpose^ but all their labours have been in vain, and all the preparations sold under the name of oil of talc, &c. have either contained nothing of that mineral, or only a fine power of it. To this information, which I owe to the Encyclopaedia Britannica, I have only to add that a deleterious composition, under this name, was sold by the quacks of Massinger's time, as a wash for the complexion, and is mentioned by all his contemporaries. Ceruse, (white paint,) I fear, is yet in use.
80
THE CITY MADAM.
Thy tailor and embroiderer shall kneel To thee, their idol : Cheapside and the Exchange Shall court thy custom, and thou shalt forget There e'er was a St. Martin's:4 thy procurer Shall be sheath'd in velvet, and a reverend veil Pass her for a grave matron. Have an eye to
the door,
And let loud music, when this monarch enters, Proclaim his entertainment. Ding. That's my office.
[flourish of cornets within. The consort's ready.
Enter LUKE.
Trade. And the god of pleasure, Master Luke, our Comus, enters.
Gold. Set your face in order, I will prepare him. — Live I to see this day, And to acknowledge you my royal master?
Trade. Let the iron chests fly open, and the gold, Rusty for want of use, appear again !
Gett. Make my ordinary flourish !
Shave. Welcome, sir, To your own palace ! [The music plays.
Gold. Kiss your Cleopatra,
And shew yourself, in your magnificent bounties, A second Antony !
Ding. All the nine worthies !
Secret. Variety of pleasures wait upon you, And a strong back !
thou shalt forget
There e'er was a St. Martin's :] The parish of St. Martin appears from the old histories of London, to have been distinguished, successively, for a sanctuary, a bridewell, a spittle, and an alms-house. Which of them was to be driven from the mind of mistress Shave'em, by the full tide of prosperity which is here anticipated, must be left to the sagacity of the reader.
THE CITY MADAM. 81
Luke. Give me leave to breathe, I pray you. I am astonish'd ! all this preparation For me? and this choice modest beauty wrought To feed my appetite ?
AIL We are all your creatures.
Luke. A house well furnish'd !
Gold. At your own cost, sir, Glad I the instrument. I prophesied You should possess what now you do, and therefore Prepared it for your pleasure. There's no rag This Venus wears, but, on my knowledge, was Derived from your brother's cash : the lease of
the house, And furniture, cost near a thousand, sir.
Shave. But now you are master both of it and
me, I hope you'll build elsewhere.
Luke. And see you placed, Fair one, to your desert. As I live, friend
Trade well, I hardly knew you, your clothes so well become
you, What is your loss ? speak truth.
Trade. Three hundred, sir.
Gett. But, on a new supply, he shall recover The sum told twenty times o'er.
Shave. There's a banquet, And after that a soft couch, that attends you.
Luke. I couple not in the daylight. Expec tation Heightens the pleasure of the night, my sweet
one !
Your music's harsh, discharge it; I have pro vided
A better consort, and you shall frolic it In another place. [The music ceases.
82 THE CITY MADAM.
Gold. But have you brought gold, and store, sir.9 Trade. I long to Wart the caster /*
* Gold. But have you brought gold, and store, sir f] This, as has been already observed, is a line of an old ballad.
* Trade. / long to wear the caster.] Tradewell is anxious for a supply of money, to return to the ordinary or gambling house. For caster Mr. M. Mason chooses to read castor: he then observes on his own sophistication, " alluding to the throwers of dice at hazard, and to the cloth made of the beaver's hair." The last supposition is unlikely, the former is probably right. The difficulty, however, is not in the word caster, but wear. Whether wear the castert signified, in the language of gaming, to tire out the caster, or had any other meaning more appropriate to the profession, I know not; but am willing to suppose so, in prefer ence to tampering with the text. 1805.
I have suffered this note, which I trust is sufficiently modest, to remain as a memento to those who, like myself, may have to treat of technical terms in an art to which they are strangers. While I was gravely labouring to reason on a printer's blunder, and to explain a text which, if correct, I should not have un derstood, the writer, to whom I have already confessed my obligations, steps forward, and, without effort, sets all right in an instant.
" Ware the caster!" (for so it should be, and not wear'} a When a setter supposes himself to possess more money than the caster, it is usual for him, on putting his stake into the ring, to cry, Ware caster ! the caster then declares at all under such a sum, ten, twenty, or fifty pounds, for instance; or else to place against the stakes of certain setters the corresponding sums, and cry, Ware cover'd only!" This explanation undoubt edly adds greatly to the force and humour of this character. " The ambitious Tradewell expects, by the assistance of Luke, to be lord-paramount of the gaming table : as caster, to be At all! (p. 78.) and, as setter, to Ware the caster!"
Mr. M. Mason's observation on caster, led me to observe, that this was also a cant term for a Plymouth cloak, i. e. a staff; which I mention, because it gives me an opportunity of adding the following lively and pleasing passage from Shirley, which the reader may, if he pleases, add to what has been advanced on this term, Vol. III. p. 494 :
" a reed
u But waved discreetly, has so many pores " It sucks up all the rain that falls about one..
THE CITY MADAM. 85
Gold. I to appear In a fresh habit.
Shave. My mercer and my silkman Waited me, two hours since.
Luke. I am no porter, To carry so much gold as will supply Your vast desires, but I have ta'en order for you ;
Enter Sheriff, Marshal, and Officers*
You shall have what is fitting, and they come here Will see it perform'd. — Do your offices: you have My lord chief-justice's warrant for't.
Sher. Seize them all.
Shave. The city marshal !
Gold. And the sheriff! I know him.
Secret. We are betray'd.
Ding. Undone.
Gett. Dear master Luke.
Gold. You cannot be so cruel; your persuasion Chid us into these courses, oft repeating, Shew yourselves city-sparks, and hang up money !
Luke. True; when it was my brother's, I con-
temn'd it; But now it is mine own, the case is alter'd.
Trade. Will you prove yourself a devil? tempt
us to mischief, And then discover it?
Luke. Argue that hereafter ; In the mean time, master Gold wire, you that
made
Your ten-pound suppers ; kept your punks at livery
" With this defence, when other men have been
" Wet to the skin through all their cloaks, I ha?e
" Defied a tempest, and walk'd by the taverns
u Dry as a bone." Lady of Pleasure, Act IV.
84
THE CITY MADAM.
In Brentford, Staines, and Barnet, and this, in
London ;
Held correspondence with your fellow-cashiers, Ka me, ka thee ! and knew, in your accompts, To cheat my brother ; if you can, evade me. If there be law in London, your fathers' bonds Shall answer for what you are out.
Gold. You often told us It was a bugbear.
Luke. Such a one as shall fright them Out of their estates, to make me satisfaction To the utmost scruple. And for you, madam, My Cleopatra, by your own confession, Your house, and all your moveables, are mine ; Nor shall you nor your matron need to trouble Your mercer, or your silkman ; a blue gown/ And a whip to boot, as I will handle it, Will serve the turn in Bridewell ; and these soft
hands,
When they are inured to beating hemp, be scour'd In your penitent tears, and quite forget their
powders And bitter almonds.
Shave. Secret. Ding. Will you shew no mercy? Luke. I am inexorable. Gelt. I'll make bold
To take my leave; the gamesters stay my coming. Luke. We must not part so, gentle master
Gettall.
Your box, your certain income, must pay back Three hundred, as I take it, or you lie by it. There's half a million stirring in your house, This a poor trifle. — Master shrieve and master
marshal, On your perils, do your offices.
7 a blue gown, &c.] See Act V. sc. 3.
THE CITY MADAM. 85
Gold. Dost them cry now [To TradewelL
Like a maudlin gamester after loss ? I'll suffer Like a boinan,8 and now, in my misery, In scorn of all thy wealth, to thy teeth tell thee Thou wert my pander.
Luke. Shall I hear this from My prentice ?
Mar. Stop his mouth.
Sher. Away with them.
[Exeunt Sheriff9, Marshal, and Officers, with Gold. Trade. Shave. Secret. Gett. and Ding.
Luke. A prosperous omen in my entrance to My alter'd nature! these house-thieves removed, And what was lost, beyond my hopes, recover'd, Will add unto my heap ; increase of wealth Is the rich man's ambition, and mine Shall know no bounds. The valiant Macedon Having in his conceit subdued one world, Lamented that there were no more to conquer : In my way, he shall be my great example. And when my privatehouse,incramm'd abundance, Shall prove the chamber of the city poor, And Genoa's bankers shall look pale with envy
s I'll suffer
Like a boman,] " A boman (Mr. M. Mason says) in the lan guage of Alsatia" (i. e. of White Friars, a receptacle for fraudu lent debtors, gamblers, and thieves) " means a gallant fellow." It does so ; but I doubt whether this was the author's word. Goldwire is not a gambler, nor does he affect the cant of one. Boman, in the quarto, is given with a capital letter, and is, not improbably, a misprint for Roman. To die, or to suffer, like a Roman^ occurs perpetually in our old comedies, and, generally, as here, in a kind of mock-heroic. Thus Lazarillo, in the Woman-Hater, " I will die bravely, and like a Roman!" and Forobosco, of a gambler or cheat,
" Only the foreman of their jury's dead, but he
" Died like a Roman." Fair Maid of the Inn.
Examples of this expression, if more were necessary, might b produced to any extent.
8<S THE CITY MADAM.
When I am mentioned, I shall grieve there is No more to he exhausted in one kingdom. Religion, conscience, charity, farewell ! To me you are words only, and no more ; All human happiness consists in store, [Exit.
SCENE III. A Street.
Enter Serjeants with FORTUNE, HOYST, and PENURY.
For. At master Luke's suit !6 the action twenty
thousand ! 1 Serj. With two or three executions, which
shall grind you
To powder, when we have you in the counter. For. Thou dost belie him, varlet ! he, good
gentleman, Will weep when he hears how we are used.
1 Serj. Yes, millstones.
Pen. He promised to lend me ten pound for a,
bargain, He will not do it this way.
2 Serj. I have warrant
For what I have done. You are a poor fellow, And there being little to be got by you,
6 At master Luke's suit ! The action twenty thousand /] The old copy reads, At M. -Luke's suit ! &c. which I only notice for the sake of observing that most of our old writers assumed to themselves the privilege of abridging the word master, and pro- nouncing only the initial letter of it (em), as in the line before us. Of this there are too many instances in this single play to admit a doubt; since without some license of this sort, many lines could not be spoken as verse.
THE CITY MADAM. 87
In charity, as I am an officer, I would not have seen you, but upon compulsion, And for mine own security. 3 Serj. You are a gallant, And I'll do you a courtesy, provided That you have money : for a piece an hour, I'll keep you in the house till you send for bail.
2 Serj. In the mean time, yeoman, run to the
other counter,7 And search if there be aught else out against him.
3 Serj. That done, haste to his creditors : he's
a prize,
And as we are city pirates by our oaths, We must make the best on't.
Hoyst. Do your worst, I care not. I'll be removed to the Fleet, and drink and drab
there
In spite of your teeth. I now repent I ever Intended to be honest.
Enter LUKE.
3 Serj. Here he comes You had best tell so.8
For. Worshipful sir,
You come in time to free us from these bandogs. I know you gave no way to't.
7 2 Serj. In the mean time, yeoman^ run to the other counter, &c.] Fielding has closely followed Massinger in his Amelia; indeed, he has done little more than copied him, or rather perhaps nature, which each of them had in view. The dialogue before us might have been written yesterday.
8 3 Serj. Here he comes
You had best tell so.] Mr. M. Mason reads,
Here he comes ;
You had best him tell so.
His false pointing made his barbarous interpolation necessary : the old copy is evidently right.
88
THE CITY MADAM.
Pen. Or if you did, 'Twas but to try our patience.
Hoy. I must tell you I do not like such trials.
Luke. Are you Serjeants, Acquainted with the danger of a rescue, Yet stand here prating in the street? the counter Is a safer place to parley in.
For. Are you in earnest ?
Luke. Yes, faith ; I will be satisfied to a token,' Or, build upon't, you rot there.
For. Can a gentleman
Of your soft and silken temper, speak such lan guage ?
Pen. So honest, so religious ?
Hoy. That preach'd So much of charity for us to your brother?
Luke. Yes, whenl was in poverty it shew'd well; But I inherit with his state, his mind, And rougher nature. I grant then, I talk'd, For some ends to myself conceal'd, of pity, The poor man's orisons, and such like nothings : But what I thought you all shall feel, and with
rigour; Kind master Luke says it. Who pays for your
attendance ? Do you wait gratis ?
For. Hear us speak.
Luke. White I,
Like the adder, stop mine ears : or did I listen, Though you spake with the tongues of angels to
me, I am not to be alter'd.
For. Let me make the best Of my ships, and their freight.
9 Luke. Yes, faith, I will be satisfied to a token,] i. e. to a farthing. See Vol. III. p. 496.
THE CITY MADAM. 89
Pen. Lend me the ten pounds you promised.
Hoy. A clay or two's patience to redeem my
mortgage, And you shall be satisfied.
For. To the utmost farthing.
Luke. I'll shew some mercy ; which is, that I
will not
Torture you with false hopes, but make you know What you shall trust to» — Your ships to my use Are seized on. — I have got into my hands Your bargain from the sailor, 'twas a good one For such a petty sum.— I will likewise take The extremity of your mortgage, and the forfeit Of your several bonds ; the use and principal Shall not serve. — Think of the basket, wretches, And a coal-sack for a winding-sheet.
For. Broker !
Hoy. Jew !
For. Imposter !
Hoy. Cut- throat!
For. Hypocrite !
Luke. Do, rail on ;
Move mountains with your breath, it shakes not me.
Pen. On my knees I beg compassion. My
wife and children Shall hourly pray for your worship.
For. Mine betake thee To the devil, thy tutor.4
Pen. Look upon my tears.
4 .F*or. Mine betake thee
To the devil, thy tutor.'] That is, says Mr. Davies, " may the earth open to swallow thee up, or mayst thou be undermined.'* Why, this " is the best fooling of all." To betake is to commit, to consign, to giye over : My wife and children, says Penury, shall pray for you. Mine, (i. e. my wife and children, or per- haps, my prayers,) adds Fortune, shall consign you to the devil, your tutor.
VOL. IV. * H
90 THE CITY MADAM.
Hoy st. My rage.
For. My wrongs.
Luke. They are all alike to me ; Entreaties, curses, prayers, or imprecations. Do your duties, Serjeants; I am elsewhere look'd for. \Exit.
3 Serj. This your kind creditor !
2 Serj. A vast villain, rather.
Pen. See, see, the Serjeants pity us ! yet he's marble.
Hoy st. Buried alive !
For. There's no means to avoid it. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
A Room in Sir John Frugal's House. Enter HOLDFAST, STARGAZE, and MILLISCENT*
Star. Not wait upon my lady ?
Hold. Nor come at her ; You find it not in your almanack.
Mill. Nor I have license To bring her breakfast ?
Hold. My new master hath Decreed this for a fasting-day. She hath feasted
long, And, after a carnival, Lent ever follows.
Mill. Give me the key of her wardrobe.
You'll repent this ; I must know what gown she'll wear.
Hold. You are mistaken, Dame president of the sweetmeats ; she and her
daughters Are turn'd philosophers, and must carry all
THE CITY MADAM. pi
Their wealth about them : they have clothes
laid in their chamber,
If they please to put them on, and without help too, Or they may walk naked. You look, master Star gaze, As you had seen a strange comet, and had now
foretold,
The end of the world, and on what day : and you, As the wasps had broke into the gallipots, And eaten up your apricots.
L. Frug. [within.] Stargaze! Milliscent!
Mill. My lady's voice.
Hold. Stir not, you are confined here. Your ladyship may approach them, if you pi-ease ; But they are bound in this circle. [Aloud.
L. Frug. [within,] Mine own bees Rebel against me!6 When my kind brother
knows this, I will be so revenged !
Hold. The world's well alter'd. He's your kind brother now ; but yesterday Your slave and jesting-stock.
Enter Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, and MARY, in coarse habits, weeping.
Mill. What witch hath transform'd you ?
Star. Is this the glorious shape your cheating
brother Promised you should appear in ?
Mill. My young ladies
In buffin gowns, and green aprons ! tear them off; Rather shew all than be seen thus.
5 L. Frug. Mine own frees
Rebel against me !~\ This is a strange expression ; but it is probably genuine : the lady seems still to consider herself as the queen of the hive.
92 THE CITY MADAM.
Hold. Tis more comely, I wis, than their other whim-whams.
Mill. A French hood too, Now 'tis out of fashion ! a fool's cap would shew
better.
L. Frug. We are fool'd indeed ! by whose command are we used thus?
Enter LUKE*
Hold. Here he comes can best resolve you.
L. Frug. O, good brother ! Do you thus preserve your protestation to me ? Can queens envy this habit? or did Juno E'er feast in such a shape ?
Anne. You talk'd of Hebe, Of Iris, and I know not what ; but were they Dress'd as we are ? they were sure some chandler's
daughters Bleaching linen in Moorfields.
Mary. Or Exchange wenches, Coining from eating pudding-pies on a Sunday, At Pimlico, or Islington.
Luke. Save you, sister ! I now dare style you so : you were before Too glorious to be look'd on, now you appear Like a city matron; and my pretty nieces Such things as were born and bred there. Why
should you ape
The fashions of court-ladies, whose high titles, And pedigrees of long descent, give warrant For their superfluous bravery? 'twas monstrous: Till now you ne'er look'd lovely.
L. Frug. Is this spoken In scorn?
Luke. Fie! no; with judgment. I make good My promise, and now shew you like yourselves,
THE CITY MADAM. 93
In your own natural shapes ; and stand resolved You shall continue so,
L. Frug. It is confessed, sir.7
Luke. Sir ! sirrah : use your old phrase, I can bear it.
L. Frug. That, if you please, forgotten, we
acknowledge
We have deserv'd ill from you; yet despair not, Though weareatyourdisposure, you'll maintain us Like your brother's wife and daughters.
Luke, 'Tis my purpose.
L. Frug. And not make us ridiculous.
Luke, Admired rather, As fair examples for our proud city dames, And their proud brood to imitate. Do not frown; If you do, I laugh, and glory that I have The power, in you, to scourge a general vice, And rise up a new satirist : but hear gently, And in a gentle phrase I'll reprehend Your late disguised deformity, and cry up This decency and neatness, with the advantage You shall receive by't.
L. Frug. We are bound to bear you.
Luke. With a soul inclined to learn. Your
father was
An honest country farmer, good man Humble, By his neighbours ne'er call'd Master. Did your
pride
Descend from him? but let that pass : your for tune, Or rather your husband's industry, advanced you
6 L. Frug. It is confessed, <z>.] A speech of Luke's appears to be lost here, for in that to which this now forms the reply, no accusation of lady Frugal is brought forward ; nor does it at all appear, what she so meekly admits.
94 THE CITY MADAM.
To the rank of a merchant's wife. He made a
knight,
And your sweet mistress-ship ladyfied, you wore Satin on solemn days, a chain of gold, A velvet hood, rich borders, and sometimes A dainty miniver cap,7 a silver pin, Headed with a pearl worth three-pence, and
thus far
You were privileged, and no man envied it ; It being for the city's honour that There should be a distinction between The wife of a patrician, and plebeian,
Mill. Pray you, leave preaching, or choose some
other text ;
Your rhetoric is toomoving, for it makes
Your auditory weep.
Luke. Peace, chattering magpie ! I'll treat of you anon : — but when the height And dignity of London's blessings grew Contemptible, and the name lady mayoress Became a by-word, and you scorn'd the means By which you were raised, my brother's fond
indulgence,
Giving the reins to it; and no object pleased you But the glittering pomp and bravery of the court; What a strange, nay monstrous, metamorphosis
follow'd !
7 A dainty miniver cap.,'] Miniver, as I learn from Cotgravr , is the fur of the ermine mixed with that of the small wesel. (menu vair,) called gris or gray. In the days of our author, and in. deed, long before, the use of furs was almost universal. The nobility had them of ermine and sable, the wealthy merchants, of vair and gray, (the dainty miniver of Luke,) and the lower order of people of such home materials as were easiest procured, squirrel, lamb, and above all, rabbit's skins. For this last article the demand was anciently so great, that innumerable warrens y/erc established in the vicinity of the metropolis.
THE CITY MADAM. 95
No Engl ish workman then could please your fancy, The French andTuscan dress your whole discourse; This bawd to prodigality, entertain'd To buzz into your ears what shape this countess Appear'd in the last masque, and how it drew The young lord's eyes upon her ; and this usher Succeeded in the eldest prentice' place, To walk before you
L. Frug. Pray you, end.
Hold. Proceed, sir;
I could fast almost a prenticeship to hear you, You touch them so to the quick.
Luke. Then, as I said,
The reverend hood cast off, your borrowed hair, Powder'd and curl'd, was by "your dresser's art Form'd like a coronet, hang'd with diamonds, And the richest orient pearl ; your carcanets That did adorn your neck, of equal value :8 YourHungerland bands, and Spanish quellio ruffs; Great lords and ladies feasted to survey Embroider'd petticoats; and sickness feign'd, That your night-rails of forty pounds a piece Might be seen, with envy, of the visitants ; Rich pantofles in ostentation shewn, And roses worth a family :9 you were served in
plate, Stirr'd not a foot without your coach, and going
your carcanets.
That did adorn your neck, of equal value :] with what he
had mentioned before. I should not have noticed this had not Mr. M. Mason, to spoil the sense of a plain passage, read, with equal value. Quellio (a corruption of cuello) niff's^ are ruffs for the neck. Luke furnishes the most complete picture of the dress, manners, &c. of the different classes of citizens' wives, at that time, that is to be found on the ancient stage.
9 And roses worth a family :] I have already said that these roses (knots of ribands) were enormously large; (see p. 11;) and it appears from Stow (who, 'as Mr. Gilchrist justly obser?es, is frequently the best commentator on Massinger) that they
96 T.HE CITY MADAM.
To church, not for devotion, but to shew Your pomp, you were tickled when the beggars.
cried,
Heaven save your honour ! this idolatry Paid to a painted room.
Hold. Nay, you have reason To blubber, ail of you.
Luke. And when you lay In childbed, at the christening of this minx, I well remember it, as you had been An absolute princess, since tbey have no more, Three several chambers hung, the first with arras> And that for waiters ; the second crimson satin, For the meaner sort of guests ; the third of scarlet Of the rich Tyrian die; a canopy To cover the brat's cradle; you in state, Like Pornpey's Julia.
L. Fntg.-No more, I pray you. Luke. Of this, be sure, you shall not. I'll cut off Whatever is exorbitant in you, Or in [your] daughters, and reduce you to Your natural forms and habits; not in revenge Of your base usage of me, but to fright Others by your example : 'tis decreed You shall serve one another, for I will Allow no waiter to you. Out of doors, With these useless drones ! Hold. Will you pack ? Mill. Not till I have My trunks along with me.
Luke. Not a rag; you came Hither without a box.
were extremely dear. u Concerning shoe-roses either of silke or what stuffe soever, they were not then (in the reign of queen Elizabeth) used nor known ; nor was there any garters above the price of five shillings a payre, altho at this day (James I.) men of meane rank weare garters and shoe-roses of more than five pounds price." P. 1039, fol. 1631.
THE CITY MADAM. 97
Star. You'll shew to me, hope, sir, more compassion.
Hold. Troth I'll be
hus far a suitor for him : he hath printed T ji almanack, for this year, at his own charge; Let him have the impression with him, to set up with.
Luke. For once I'll be entreated ; let it be Thrown to him out of the window.
Star. O cursed stars That reign'd at my nativity! "how have you
cheated Your poor observer !
Anne. Must we part in tears ?
Mary. Farewell, good Milliscent !
L. Frug. I am sick, and meet with A rough physician. O my pride and scorn ! How justly am I punish'd !
Mary. Now we surfer For our stubbornness and disobedience To our good father.
Anne. And the base conditions We imposed upon our suitors.
Luke. Get you in, And caterwaul in a corner.
L. Frug. There's no contending.
[Lady Frugal, Anne, and Mary, go off at one door, Stargaze and Milliscent at the other.
Luke. How Lik'st thou my carriage, Holdfast?
Hold. Well in some parts ; But it relishes, I know not how, a little Of too much tyranny.
Luke. Thou art a fool : He's cruel to himself, that dares not be pevere to those that used him cruelly.
98 THE CITY MADAM.
ACT V. SCENE I.
A Room in Sir .John Frugal 's House.
Enter LUKE, Sir JOHN FRUGAL, Sir MAURICE LACY, and PLENTY.
Luke. You care not then, as it seems, to be
converted To our religion ?
Sir John. We know no such word, Nor power hut the devil, and him we serve for
fear, Not love.
Luke. I am glad that charge is saved.
Sir John. We put
That trick upon your brother, to have means To come to the city. Now, to you, we'll discover The close design that brought us, with assurance, If you lend your aids to furnish us with that Which in the colony was not to be purchased, No merchant ever made such a return For his most precious venture, as you shall Receive from us ; far, far above your hopes, Or fancy, to imagine.
Luke. It must be
Some strange commodity, and of a dear value, (Such an opinion is planted in me You will deal fairly,) that I would not hazard : Give me the name of it.
Sir Maur. I fear you will make Some scruple in your conscience, to grant it.
Luke. Conscience ! no, no ; so it may be done
with safety, And without danger of the law.
THE CITY MADAM. 99
Plenty. For that,
You shall sleep securely : nor shall it diminish, But add unto your heap such an increase, As what you now possess shall appear an atom, To the mountain it brings with it.
Luke. Do not rack me With expectation.
Sir John. Thus then in a word : The devil — why start you at his name ? if you Desire to wallow in wealth and worldly honours, You must make haste to be familiar with him. — This devil, whose priest I am, and by him made A deep magician, (for I can do wonders,) Appear'd to me in Virginia, and commanded, With many stripes, for that's his cruel custom, I should provide, on pain of his fierce wrath, Against the next great sacrifice, at which We, grovelling on our faces, fall before him, Two Christian virgins, that, with their pure blood, Might die his horrid altars ; and a third, In his hate to such embraces as are lawful, Married, and with your ceremonious rites, As an oblation unto Hecate, And wanton Lust, her favourite.
Luke. A devilish custom ! And yet why should it startle me? — There are Enough of the sex fit for this1 use ; but virgins, And such a matron as you speak of, hardly To be wrought to it.
Plenty. A mine of gold, for a fee, Waits him that undertakes it and performs it.
Sir Maur. Know you no distressed widow, or poor maids,
* Enough of the sex Jit for this use ;] So the old copy, and rightly. The modern editors read;^jTor his use.
100 THE CITY MADAM.
Whose want of dower, though well born, makes
them weary Of their own country ? 2
Sir John. Such as had rather he Miserable in another world, than where They have surfeited in felicity ?
Luke. Give me leave \lValks aside.
I would not lose this purchase. A grave matron ! And two pure virgins ! Umph ! I think my sister, Though proud, was ever honest ; and my nieces Untainted yet. Why should not they be shipp'd For this employment ? they are burthensome to
me,
And eat too much ; and if they stay in London, They will find friends that, to my loss, will force
me
To composition: 'twere a masterpiece, If this could be effected. They were ever Ambitious of title : should I urge, Matching with these they shall live Indian
queens,
It may do much : but what shall I feel here, Knowing to what they are design'd ? they absent, The thought of them will leave me. It shall be
so. [Returns.
* Sir Maur. Know you no distressed widow, or poor maids, Whose "want of dower , though well born, makes them weary Of their own country?] I have silently reformed the metre of this (.and indeed of every other) Play, in innumerable places ; the reader, however, may not be unamused with a specimen, now and then, of the manner in which this most harmonious poet has been hitherto printed. The lines above are thus di vided by Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason :
Know you no distressed widow t or poor Maids, whose want of dower ^ though well borny Makes 'em weary of their own country?
THE CITY MADAM. 101
I'll furnish you, and, to endear the service, In mine own family, and my blood too.
Sir John. Make this good, and your house shall
not contain The gold we'll send you.
Luke. You have seen my sistef, And my two nieces ?
Sir John. Yes, sir.
Luke. These persuaded
How happily they shall live, and in what pomp, When they are in your kingdoms, for you must Work them a belief that you are kings
Plenty. We are so.
Luke, rilput it in practice instantly. 'Study you For moving language. Sister ! nieces !
3 Luke. Til put it in practice instantly. 1 Hitherto the charac ter of Luke has been supported with matchless judgment and dexterity : the present design, however, of sacrificing his bro ther's wife and daughters to Lust and Hecate has always struck the critics as unnatural and improbable in the highest degree. u Bloody, indeed, it is;" but is it out of character? Luke is the creature of no ordinary hand, and he who conducted him thus far with such unexampled skill, was little likely to desert him at the end. It appears that Massinger was desirous of shewing, in the person of Luke, the hideous portraiture of ava rice personified. The love of money is the ruling passion of his soul ; it gathers strength with indulgence ; and the prospect of such unbounded wealth as is here held out to him, is properly calculated to overcome the fear of law, and the remonstrances of the few scruples of conscience which yet torment him.
History furnishes examples of men who have sacrificed friends, kindred, all, to the distant view of wealth ; and we might have known, without the instance of Luke, that avarice, while it depraves the feelings, enfeebles the judgment, and renders its votaries at once credulous and unnatural.
With respect to another objection which has been raised, that " Luke is too much a man of the world to be so grossly imposed upon," it is more easily obviated. Instead of going back to the age of the poet, we inconsiderately bring him forward to our own, and invest him with all our knowledge. This is an evil as common as it is grievous. That the Indians do not worship the
102 THE CITY MADAM.
Enter Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, and M A R Y.
How ! Still mourning ? dry your eyes, and clear these
clouds
That do obscure your beauties. Did you believe My personated reprehension, though It shew'd like a rough anger, could be serious ? Forget the fright I put you in : my end, In humbling you, was to set off the height Of honour, principal honour, which my studies, When you least expect it, shall confer upon you ! Still you seem doubtful : be not wanting to Yourselves, nor let the strangeness of the means, With the shadow of some dangera render you Incredulous.
L. Frug. Our usage hath been such, As we can faintly hope that your intents And language are the same.
Luke. I'll change those hopes To certainties.
Sir John. With what art he winds about them !
[Aside.
l, we know ; but did Massinger know it ? Our old writers partook of the general credulity, and believed the wonders which they told ; they would not else have told them so well. All the first discoverers, and all the first historians, of America, were themselves fully persuaded, and earnestly laboured to persuade others, that the natives worshipped the devil. Every shapeless block, every rude stone painfully battered by the poor savages into a distant resemblance of animated nature, and therefore prized by them, was, by their more savage visitors, taken for a representation of some mis-shapen fiend to whom they offered human sacrifices : nay, so rooted was this opinion, that the author of the New English Canaan, (printed not many years before this play,) a man well disposed towards the Indians, says, u some correspondency they have with the devil, out of all doubt /" (p. 34.) and, indeed, 1 scarcely know a writer of Massinger's time, who was not of the same belief.
THE CITY MADAM. 103
Luke. What will you say, or what thanks shall
I look for,
If now I raise you to such eminence, as The wife and daughters of a citizen Never arrived at ! many, for their wealth, I
grant,
Have written ladies of honour, and some few Have higher titles, and that's the furthest rise You can in England hope for. What think you, If I should mark you out a way to live Queens in another climate?
Anne. We desire A competence.
Mary. And prefer our country's smoke Before outlandish fire.
L. Frug. But should we listen To such impossibilities, 'tis not in The power of man to make it good.
Luke. I'll do it :
Nor is this seat of majesty far removed ; It is but to Virginia.
L. Frug. How ! Virginia ! High heaven forbid ! Remember, sir, I beseech
What creatures are shipp'd thither.
Anne. Condemn'd wretches, - Forfeited to the law.
Mary. Strumpets and bawds, For the abomination of their life, Spew'd out of their own country.
Luke. Your false fears Abuse my noble purposes. Such indeed Are sent as slaves to labour there; but you, To absolute sovereignty. Observe these men, With reverence observe them : they are kings of Such spacious territories and dominions,
104 THE CITY MADAM.
As our Great Britain measured will appear A garden to it.
Sir Maur. You shall be adored there As goddesses.
Sir John. Your litters made of gold, Supported by your vassals, proud to bear The burthen on their shoulders.
Plenty. Pomp, and ease, With delicates that Europe never knew, Like pages shall wait on you.
Luke. If you have minds To entertain the greatness offer'd to you, With outstretch'd arms, and willing hands, em brace it.
But this refused, imagine what can make you Most miserable here ; and rest assured, In storms it falls upon you : take them in, And use your best persuasion. If that Fail, I'll send them aboard in a dry fat.
[Exeunt all but Sir John Frugal and Luke.
Sir John. Be not moved, sir ; We'll work them to your will. Yet, ere we part, Your worldly cares deferred, a little mirth Would not misbecome us.
Luke. You say well : and now It comes into my memory, 'tis my birthday, Which with solemnity I would observe, But that it would ask cost.
Sir John. That shall not grieve you. By my art I will prepare you such a feast, As Persia, in her height of pomp and riot, Did never equal ; and such ravishing music As the Italian princes seldom heard At their greatest entertainments. Name your guests.
Luke. I must have none.
THE CITY MADAM. 105
Sir John. Not the city senate ?
Luke. No ;
Noryet poor neighbours : the first would argue me Of foolish ostentation, and the latter Of too much hospitality; a virtue Grown obsolete, and useless. I will sit Alone, and surfeit in my store, while others With envy pine at it; my genius pamper'd With the thought of what I am, and what they
suffer I have mark VI out to misery.
Sir John. You shall :
And something I will add you yet conceive not, Nor will I be slow-paced.
Luke. I have one business, And, that dispatch'd, I am free.
Sir John. About it, sir, Leave the rest to me.
Luke, Till now I ne'er loved magic. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Another Room in the same.
Enter Lord LACY, GOLD WIRE senior, and TRADE - WELL senior.
L. Lacy. Believe me, gentlemen, I never was So cozen'd in a fellow. He disguised Hypocrisy in such a cunning shape Of real goodness, that I would have sworn This devil a saint. "M. Goldwire, and M. Trade- well, What do you mean to do ? Put on.5
* M. Goldwire, and M. Tradewdl^ See p. 83.
5 • Put on.] i. e. be covered : an expression
which frequently occurs.
VOL. IV. * I
106 THE CITY MADAM.
Gold. With your lordship's favour.
L. Lacy. I'll have it so.
Trade. Your will, my lord, excuses The rudeness of our manners.
L. Lacy. You have received Penitent letters from your sons, I doubt not?
Trade. They are our only sons.
Gold. And as we are fathers, Remembering the errors of our youth, We would pardon slips in them.
Trade. And pay for them In a moderate way.
Gold. In which we hope your lordship Will be our mediator.
L. Lacy. All my power
Enter LUKE, richly dressed.
You freely shall command; 'tis he ! You are well
met, And to my wish, — and wonderous brave ! your
habit Speaks you a merchant royal.
Luke. What I wear I take not upon trust.
L. Lacy. Your betters may, And blush not for't.
Luke. If you have nought else with me But to argue that, I will make bold to leave
you. L. Lacy. You are very peremptory ; pray you
stay : —
I once held you An upright honest man.
Luke. I am honester now
By a hundred thousand pound, I thank my stars for't,
THE CITY MADAM. 107
Upon the Exchange; and if your late opinion Be alter'd, who can help it? Good my lord, To the point; I have other business than to talk Of honesty, and opinions,
L. Lacy. Yet you may
Do well, if you please, to shew the one, and merit The other from good men, in a case that now Is offer'd to you.
Luke. What is it? I am troubled.
L. Lacy. Here are two gentlemen, the fathers of Your brother's prentices.
Luke. Mine, my lord, I take it.
L. Lacy. Gold wire, and Trade well.
Luke. They are welcome, if They come prepared to satisfy the damage I have sustain'd by their sons.
Gold. We are, so you please To use a conscience.
Trade. Which we hope you will do, For your own worship's sake.
Luke. Conscience, my friends, And wealth, are not always neighbours* Should I
part
With what the law gives me, I should suffer mainly In my reputation; for it would convince me Of indiscretion : nor will you, I hope, move me To do myself such prejudice.
L. Lacy. No moderation ?
Luke They cannot look for't, and preserve in me A thriving citizen's credit. Your bonds lie For your sons' truth, and they shall answer all They have run out: the masters never prospered Since gentlemen's sons grew prentices: when we
look
To have our business done at home, they are Abroad in the tennis-court, or in Partridge-alley, In Lambeth Marsh, or a cheating ordinary,
108
THE CITY MADAM.
Where I found your sons. I have your bonds,
look to't.
A thousand pounds apiece, and that will hardly Repair my losses.
L. Lacy. Thou dar'st not shew thyself Such a devil !
Luke. Good words.
Z. Lacy. Such a cut-throat ! I have heard of The usage of your brother's wife and daughters ; You shall find you are not lawless, and that your
monies Cannot justify your villainies.
Luke. I endure this.
And, good my lord, no wyou talk in time of monies, Pay in \yriat you owe me. And give me leave to
bonder
Your wisdom should have leisure to consider The business of these gentlemen, or my carriage To my sister, or my nieces, being yourself So much in my danger.' L. Lacy. In thy danger? Luke. Mine.
I find in my counting-house a manor pawn'd, Pawn'd, my good lord ; Lacy manor, and that
manor
From which you have the title of a lord, An it please your good lordship ! You are a
nobleman ;
Pray you pay in my monies : the interest Will eat faster in't, than aquafortis in iron. Now though you bear me hard, I love your lord ship.
I grant your person to be privileged 'From all arrests; yet there lives a foolish creature
6 So much in my danger.] i. e. in my debt. See Vol. III. p. 376.
THE CITY MADAM. 109
Call'cl an under-sheriff, who, being well paid, will
serve
An extent7 on lords or lowns' land. Pay it in : I would be loth your name should sink, or that Your hopeful son, when he returns from travel, Should find you my lord-without-land. You are
angry For my good counsel : look you to your bonds ;
had I known Of your coming, belie ve't, I would have had
Serjeants ready.
Lord, how you fret ! but that a tavern's near, You should taste a cup of muscadine in my house, To wash down sorrow ; but there it will do better : I know you'll drink a health to me. [Exit.
L. Lacy. To thy damnation. Was there ever such a villain! heaven forgive me For speaking so unchristianly, though he de serves it.
Gold. We are undone. Trade. Our families quite ruin'd. L. Lacy. Take courage, gentlemen; comfort
may appear, And punishment overtake him, when he least
expects it. [Exeunt.
1 An extent on lords or towns' land.~\ To extend^ as has been already observed, is a legal term for " laying an execution on." Thus Shad well, in the Virtuoso:
" Niece, my land in the country is extended^ and all my goods ieized on."
110 THE CITY MADAM.
SCENE III.
Another Room in the same. Enter Sir JOHN FRUGAL and HOLDFAST.
Sir John. Be silent, on your life.
Hold. I am o'erjoy'd.
Sir John. Are the pictures placed as I directed?
Hold. Yes, sir.
Sir John. And the musicians ready?
Hold. All is done As yon commanded.
Sir John, [goes to the door.~\ Make haste ; and
be careful ; You know your cue, and postures ?
Plenty. \within.'\ We are perfect.
Sir John. Tis well. The rest are come, too ?
Hold. And disposed of To your own wish.
Enter Servants with a rich banquet.
Sir John. Set forth the table : so ! A perfect banquet. At the upper end, His chair in state : he shall feast like a prince.
Hold. And rise like a Dutch hangman/
8 And rise like a Dutch hangman.] A similar expression occurs in the New Way to Pay old Debts:
"" come, gentleman,
I will not have you feed like the hangman of Flushing, Alone, while I am here." A. iv. S. 1.
In some old account of the Low Countries, while under the Spanish government, I remember to have read, among many things, that the office of a hangman was considered so infamous, that no one would sit at table with him, or even touch the meat of which
THE CITY MADAM. HI.
Enter LUKE.
Sir John. Not a word more.
How like you the preparation ? Fill your room, And taste the cates ; then in your thought consider A rich man, that lives wisely to himself, In his full height of glory,
Luke. I can brook
No rival in this happiness. How sweetly These dainties, when unpaid for, please my pa late ?
Some wine. Jove's nectar! Brightness to the star That govern'd at my birth ! shoot down thy
influence,
And with a perpetuity of being Continue this felicity, not gain'd
he partook. Not aware that such a passage would ever be of use to me, I n>ade no reference, arid cannot now discover the place. The allusion however, to the degraded state of com mon executioners on the continent, is to be found in others of our old writers. Thus in Lodge's Wits Miserie and the Worlds Madness^ " But if besotted with foolish vain glory, you fail to neglect one another, quod Deus amen avcrtat, doubtless it will be as infamous a thing shortly to present any book whatsoever learned to any Maecenas in England, as it is to be headsman in any free city in Germanic."
Indeed, in one of Broome's comedies, a principal part of the plot is made to turn on the horror with which the hangman was regarded :
— u Sir, you know what common disrepute Falls upon man or woman that is found Conversing with the common city hangman. The nearest kindred, after such converse, Shun their society, as they would do him, The hangman's self, so odious are they held." — And, again :
" But what disguise shall shroud the hangman hither. Whose own shape is as horrid as the plague?"
Novella, A. ii. S. 1.
112 THE CITY MADAM.
By vows to saints above, and much less purchased By thriving industry; nor fallen upon me As a reward to piety, and religion, Or service to my country : I owe all This to dissimulation, and the shape I wore of goodness. Let my brother number His beads devoutly, and believe his alms To beggars, his compassion to his debtors, Will wing his better part, disrobed of flesh, To soar above the firmament. I am well ; And so I surfeit here in all abundance, Though styled a cormorant, a cut-throat, Jew, And prosecuted with the fatal curses Of widows, undone orphans, and what else Such as malign my state can load me with, I will not envy it. You promised music.
Sir John. And you shall hear the strength and
power of it,
The spirit of Orpheus raised to make it good, And, in those ravishing strains, with which he
moved
Charon and Cerberus to give him way, To fetch from hell his lost Eurydice. — Appear! swifter than thought ! [Aloud.
Music. Enter at one door, Cerberus, at the other Charon, Orpheus, and Chorus.
Luke. 'Tis wonderous strange !
[They represent the story of Orpheus, with
dance and gesture. Sir John. Does not the object and the accent
take you? Luke. A pretty fable.' [Eve. Orph. and the rest.]
But that music should
* From this it appears that the fable of Orpheus and Eurydice
THE CITY MADAM. 113
Alter, in fiends, their nature, is to me
Impossible; since, in myself, I find,
What I have once decreed shall know no change.
Sir John. You are constant to your purposes ;
yet I think That I could stagg%er you.
Luke. How ?
Sir John. Should I present Your servants, debtors, and the rest that suffer By your fit severity, I presume the sight Would move you to compassion.
Luke. Not a mote.
The music that your Orpheus made was harsh, To the delight I should receive in hearing Their cries and groans: if it be in your power, I would now see them.
Sir John. Spirits, in their shapes, Shall shew them as they are : but if it should move you? —
Luke. If it do, may I ne'er find pity !
Sir John. Be your own judge. - Appear ! as I commanded.
Sad Music. Enter GCU.VW IKE junior,
WELL junior, as from prison; FORTUNE, HOYST, and PENURY ; Serjeants with TRADEWELL se nior, and GOLDWJRE senior ; — these followed by SHAVE'EM, in a blue gown* SECRET, and DING- 'EM ; they all kneel to LUKR, lifting up their hands. STARGAZE is seen, with a pack of almanacks, and MILLISCENT.
Luke. Ha, ha, ha ! This move me to compassion, or raise
was acted in dumb show. Few of Massinger's plays are with out a masque or an interlude of some kind or other.
1 SHAVE'EM tn a blue gown ;] i. e. in the livery of Bridewell.
114
THE CITY MADAM.
One sign of seeming pity in my face ! You are deceived : it rather renders me More flinty, and obdurate. A south wind Shall sooner soften marble, and the rain That slides down gently from his flaggy wings, O'erflow the Alps, than knees, or tears, or groans, Shall wrest compunction from me. 'Tis my glory That they are wretched, and by me made so ; It sets my happiness off: I could not triumph If these were not my captives. — Ha! my tarriers, As it appears, have seized on these old foxes, As I gave order; new addition to My scene of mirth : ha, ha ! — They now grow
tedious, Let them be removed. [Exeunt Gold, find the rest.
Some other object, if Your art can shew it.
Sir John. You shall perceive 'tis boundless. Yet one thing real, if you please?
Luke. What is it?
Sir John. Your nieces, ere they put to sea,
crave humbly.
Though absent in their bodies, they may takeleave Of their late suitors' statues.
Enter Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, and MARY.
Luke. There they hang : In things indifferent, I am tractable.
Sir John. There pay your vows, you have liberty. Anne. O sweet figure [kneels.
It appears from many passages in our old plays, particularly from the second part of Decker's Honest Whore, that this was the dress in which prostitutes were compelled to do penance there.
THE CITY MADAM. 115
my abused Lacy ! 2 when removed [nto another world, I'll daily pay A sacrifice of sighs to thy remembrance; And with a shower of tears strive to wash off The stain of that contempt my foolish pride And insolence threw upon thee.
Mary. I had been
Too happy, if I had enjoyed the substance; But far unworthy of it, now I fall Thus prostrate to thy statue. [kneels.
L. Frug. My kind husband, [kneels.
(Bless'd in my misery,) from the monastery To which my disobedience confined thee, With thy soul's eye, which distance cannot hinder, Look on my penitence. O, that I could Call back time past ! thy holy vow dispensed, With what humility would I observe My long-neglected duty!
Sir John. Does not this move you ?
Luke. Yes, as they do the statues, and her sorrow My absent brother. If, by your magic art, You can give life to these, or bring him hither To witness her repentance, I may have, Perchance, some feeling of it.
* Anne. 0 sweet figure
Of my abused Lacy /] There is some difficulty in understand ing the mechanism of this scene. Massinger, like all his contem poraries, confounds sfatue with picture, and this creates confu sion : — it seems as if Lacy and Plenty, by some contrivance, stood within the frames, and in the exact dress and attitudes of their respective portraits-, which sir John appears to have pro. cured, and, after taking out the canvas, hung up in the back part of the room; (see p, 110;) from whence, at a preconcerted signal, they descend, and come forward. The direction, in the quarto, is, Plenty and Lacy ready behind. The attempt to mark the stage arrangements of this interesting scene will, I hope, be received with that indulgence to which, from the wretched assistance afforded by the old copies, it is, in some measure, intitled.
116 THE CITY MADAM.
Sir John. For your sport,
You shall see a masterpiece. Here's nothing but A superficies ; colours, and no substance. Sit still, and to your wonder and amazement, I'll give these organs. This the sacrifice, To make the great work perfect.
[Burns incense, and makes mystical gesticula tions. Sir Maurice Lacy and Plenty give signs of animation . Luke. Prodigious !
Sir John. Nay, they have life, and motion. Descend ! [Sir Maurice Lacy and Plenty descend and
comej'orzvard.
And for your absent brother, — this wash'd off, Against your will you shall know him.
[Discovers himself.
Enter Lord LACY, with GOLD WIRE senior and ju nior, TRADEWELL senior andjunior, the Debtors, $c. $c. as before.
Luke. I am lost. Guilt strikes me dumb.
Sir John. You have seen, my lord, the
L. Lacy. I have, and am ravish'd with it.
Sir John. What think you now Of this clear soul ? this honest, pious man ? Have I stripp'd him bare, or will your lordship
have
A further trial of him ? Tis not in A wolf to change his nature.
L. Lacy. I long since Confess'd my error.
Sir John. Look up ; I forgive you, And seal your pardons thus. [Raises and embraces Lady Frugal, Anne, and Mary.
THE CITY MADAM. 117
L. Frug. I am too full Of joy, to speak it.
Anne. I am another creature ; Not what I was.
Mary. I vow to shew myself, When I arn married, an humble wife, Not a commanding mistress.
Plenty. On those terms, I gladly thus embrace you. [To Mary.
Sir Maur. Welcome to My bosom : as the one half of myself, I'll love and cherish you. [To Anne.
Gold.jun. Mercy !
Trade, jun. and the rest. Good sir, mercy !
Sir John. This day is sacred to it. All shall
find me,
As far as lawful pity can give way to't, Indulgent to your wishes, though with loss Unto myself. — My kind and honest brother, Looking into yourself, haveyouseen the Gorgon? What a golden dream you have had, in the pos session
Of my estate ! — but here's a revocation That wakes you out of it. Monster in nature ! Revengeful, avaricious atheist, Transcending all example ! — but I shall be A sharer in thy crimes, should I repeat them — What wilt thou do ? turn hypocrite again, With hope dissimulation can aid thee ? Or that one eye will shed a tear in sign Of sorrow for thee ? I have warrant to Make bold with mine own, pray you uncase : this
key, too, I must make bold with. Hide thyself in some
desart,
Where good men ne'er may find thee; or in justice Pack to Virginia, and repent ; not for
118 THE CITY MADAM.
Those horrid ends to which thou didst design
these. Luke, I care not where I go : what's done,
with words Cannot be undone. [Exit.
L. Frug. Yet, sir, shew some mercy ; Because his cruelty to me and mine, Did good upon us.
Sir John, Of that at better leisure, As his penitency shall work me. Make you good Your promised reformation, and instruct Our city dames, whom wealth makes proud, to
move
In their own spheres ; and willingly to confess, In their habits, manners, and their highest port, A distance 'twixt the city and the court.
[Exeunt*
3 Every friend to the reputation of MassSnger must cherish the remembrance of this play. It exhibits equal power of thought and copiousness of matter. The circumstantial detail of the man ners of the age, (though some part of it is to be regretted,) the impression with which the moral lessons are conveyed, and the strong incidents with which the scenes abound, fill the mind with variety of excellence. It is a powerful and a pregnant compo sition, and has the effect of history, satire, and comedy united.
The object of the Play is formally stated at the conclusion : but it is observable, that the person who incidentally partakes in the promotion of it, becomes the most marked character, and obscures those who are originally concerned. The effect is stronger through its own surprise ; and the address of Massinger is proved in proportion as he produces so important an agency from so indirect a promise. There is another mark of his ad- dress. The real character of Luke is unusually suspended ; and even when suspicion begins, it is balanced by a new contrivance of regard. The final disclosure of the villain, becomes, in this instance too, more striking, through the previous concealment, and we hate him the more on account of the good opinion we have wasted upon him. The character of Luke is so predomi nant, that it well deserves the particular attention of the reader,
He is originally self-indulgent, idle, riotous, prodigal, and
THE CITY MADAM. 119
yicious ; supported by his brother, he appears penitent, pious, unusually humble, compassionate, charitable, and draws much of our pity and esteem. When he hears of his supposed fortune, he assumes the most imposing hypocrisy, offers protection that he may betray, talks of kindness that he may be finally severe, and masks a decided cruelty with the most deceitful promises of liberality. Every restraint being at length removed, the appear- ance of his soft feeling is changed into a savage and ferocious avarice ; his glossy deceit -becomes avowed and daring villainy : he is insolent, oppressive, insatiable, obdurate, inexorable, and impious. The character is true, though some of its parts are opposite. The sufferings from his former profuseness, and per haps the exhaustion of its pleasures, might well prepare him for future avarice : nor are such changes unfrequent in common life. His intermediate shew of goodness is easily reconciled with the unextinguished viciousness of his mind His penitence is deceit, his piety is hypocrisy, his strange humility an inbred baseness, and his talk of liberality a genuine disregard of money that is not his own. — In short, the character is at once bold and natu ral, and is described with uncommon art and effect,
The other characters lose part of their importance through the ascendency of Luke. Yet the women are well represented ; and theirjgnorance and vulgarity,, their admiration of the unin telligible jargon of Stargaze, and their contented forgetfulness of Frugal amidst the new promises of Luke, are very amusing. Nor is the outrageous treatment of the suitors unnatural, though the desire of getting them as husbands might have been expected to teach some caution. It appears that the predictions of Star gaze had convinced them of the certain submission of Lacy, &c. and therefore caution was unnecessary. The unexampled impu dence of the demands is only explained by the blind credulity of the mother. Stargaze himself is humorously treated. In the Picture, Sophia speaks with all the seriousness of religion against the practice of magic. Ridicule alone is bestowed on judicial astrology. After various failures and renewals of credit, the wretched professor is driver, off the stage, disgraced, poor, beaten, and, worse than all, compelled to acknowledge the futility of his art. In the midst of this excellence, there is an inadvertence not wholly unimportant. The moral purpose of the Play is accomplished, even upon moral principles, by its most flagitious character. Luke is a declared villain, and a re former too ! He allows revenge to be the motive of his cruelty, yet he rises up a " new satirist'' against the vices of the city !— . it is obvious that Massinger has forgot himself. He has con founded in the same person his own general and patriotic views with the private malice of Luke : and in this mixture of design, Luke talks alternately for himself and for the poet !
120
THE CITY MADAM.
An instructive moral yet remains to be drawn from the ap parent humility of Luke. It is the excess of this quality which gives the reader the first suspicion of hypocrisy.
We must not administer to the follies or vices of others, by a base subserviency; nor must we console the disgrace of present submission with the prospect of future revenge. Humi lity, well understood, has true purity and true elevation. It raises us above all moral meanness ; and, while it prescribes an unaffected lowliness of service, it dignifies the obscurest actions through the principle from which they flow.
THE
GUARDIAN
VOL. IV.
*K
!
THE GUARDIAN.] This ec Comical History" was licensed by the Master of the Revels, October 3 1st, 1633; but not printed till 1655, when it was put to the press, together with the Bashful Lover, and the Very Woman, by Humphrey Moseley, the general publisher of that age.
Its plot is singularly wild and romantic; the most interest ing and probable part of it may, perhaps, be the poet's own ; the incident of lolante and Calipso is borrowed. The original tale is in the Heetopades ; whence it was transferred to the Fables of Pilpay : it was translated into Greek about the end of the ele venth century, by Simeon Seth, a learned Orientalist; and thus found its way into Latin, and made a part of those quaint col lections of ribald morality, which, in Massinger's time, were in every one's hands. A sneer at miracles was not likely to escape the wits of Italy ; it was therefore inserted by Boc- cacio in his Decameron, where it is but poorly told. Beaumont and Fletcher have introduced it with some degree of dexterity into the plot of Women Pleased; and it has been versified (from a translation of the Sanscrit) with exquisite humour, by my lamented friend, Mr. Hoppner.
It would be a miserable waste of time to examine from what specific work Massinger derived an adventure which probably existed in an hundred different publications, and which was scarcely worth the picking up any where : he is not unlikely, however, to have taken it from Westward for Smelts^ where it forms the first, or t he Jish-wife of Brainford 's tale. Those who wish for more on the subject, may consult the late Mr. Hole's Remarks on the Arabian Nights Entertainments.
This popular Drama was produced " at the Private-house in Black fryers." From a memorandum in the Office-book of Sir Henry Herbert, we learn, that, shortly after its appearance, it was acted before the king. " The Guardian, a play of Mr. Mas- singer*s, was performed at court on Sunday the 12 January, 1633, by the king's players, and well likte." Malone's Historical Account of the English Stage.
124]
PROLOGUE.
After twice putting forth to sea* his fame
Shipwrecked in either? and his once- known name
In two years silence buried, perhaps lost
In the general opinion ; at our cost
(A zealous sacrifice to Neptune made
For good success in his uncertain trade)
Our author weighs up anchors, and once more
Forsaking the security of the shore,
Resolves to prove his fortune : what 'twill be,
Is not in him, or us, to prophesie;
1 After twice putting forth, &c.] I scarcely know whether I understand this rightly or not, but it seems that the players allude to two pieces of Massinger, which were condemned on the first representation. This ill fortune appears to hare induced the modest poet to give up all further thoughts of writing for the stage; the players, however, who knew his worth, pre vailed on him to try his fate once more; and to obviate his objections to the uncertainty of popular favour, purchased the piece outright: this, indeed, was no uncommon circumstanre. The event proved that they had made no wrong estimate of his talents, for the Guardian is said to " have been often acted with great applause."
A difficulty yet remains. The prologue speaks of tu ~o years* silence, yet the City Madam was licensed on the 25th of May, 1632, and the present " Comical History," on the last day of October in the following year, an interval of only seventeen, months : but, perhaps, accuracy of computation is not to be looked for in these occasional productions. " his fame
Shipwreck 'd in either,] Mr. M. Mason chooses to read, in neither: but, according to his usual custom, assigns no reason for the variation, though it be important enough to require one, as it makes the passage arrant nonsense.
[ 325]
You only, can assure us : yet he prayed
This little, in his absence, might be said,
Designing me his orator. He submits
To the grave censure of those abler wits
His weakness ; nor dares he profess that when
The critics laugh, he'll laugh at them agen.
(Strange self-love in a writer !) He would know
His errors asyoufnd them, and bestow
His future studies to reform from this,
What in another might be judged amiss.
And yet despair not, gentlemen ; though he fear
His strengths to please, we hope that you shall hear
Some things so writ, as you may truly say
He hath not quite forgot to make a play,
As 'tis with malice rumoured : his intents
Are fair ; and though he want the compliments
Of wide-mouth' 'd promisers, who still engage,
Before their works are brought upon the stage,
Their parasites to proclaim them : this last birth>
Deliver d without noise, may yield such mirth,
As, balanced equally, will cry down the boast
Of arrogance, and regain his credit lost.
.
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Alphonso, king of Naples.
Duke Montpensier, general of Milan.
Severino, a banished nobleman.
Monteclaro, his brother "in- law, (supposed dead,)
disguised, under the name of Laval. Durazzo, the GUARDIAN.
Caldoro, his nephew and ward, in love with Calista. Adorio, a young libertine. Camillo, ^
Lentulo, ^Neapolitan gentlemen. Donate, J
Cario, cook to Adorio. Claudio, a conjidential servant to Severino. Captain. Banditti. Servants.
Ib'lante, wife to Severino.
Caiista, her daughter, in love with Adorio.
Mirtilla, Calista's maid,
Calipso, the confident 0/I61ante.
Singers, Countrymen.
SCENE, partly at Naples, and partly in the adjacent country.
THE
GUARDIAN.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Naples. A Grove.
Enter DURAZZO, CAMILLO, LENTULO, DONATO, and two Servants.
Dur. Tell me of his expenses ! Which of you Stands bound for a gazet ? he spends his own ; And you impertinent fools or knaves, (make
choice
Of either title, which your signiorships please,) To meddle in't,
Camil. Your age gives privilege To this harsh language.
Dur. My age ! do not use
That word again ; if you do, I shall grow young, And swinge you soundly : I would have you
know
Though I write fifty odd, I do not carry An almanack in my bones to pre-declare What weather we shall have; nor do I kneel In adoration, at the spring and fall, Before my doctor, for a dose or two Of his restoratives, which are things, I take it, You are familiar with.
Camil. This is from the purpose.
128 THE GUARDIAN.
Du?\ I cannot cut a caper, or groan like you When I have done, nor run away so nimbly Out of the field : but bring me to a fence-school, And crack a blade or two for exercise, Ride a barb'd horse, or take a leap after me, Following my hounds or hawks, (and, by your
leave,
At a gamesome mistress,) and you shall confess I am in the May of my abilities, And you in your December.
Lent. We are glad you bear Your years so well.
Dur. My years! no more of years ; If you do, at your peril.
CamiL We desire not To prove your valour.
Dur. 'Tis your safest course.
CamiL But as friends to your fame and repu tation,
Come to instruct you, your too much indulgence To the exorbitant waste of young Caldoro, Your nephew and your ward, hath rendered you But a bad report among wise men in Naples.
Dur. Wise men ! — in your opinion ; but to me, That understand myself and them, they are Hide-bounded money-mongers : they would have
me
Train up my ward a hopeful youth, to keep A merchant's book ; or at the plough, and clothe
him
In canvas or coarse cotton ; while I fell His woods,1 grant leases, which he must make good
while I fell
His woods, grant leases, &c.j This is by no means an exag gerated description of the tyranny which was sometimes exer cised by a guardian over the ward, whom law had put into his
THE GUARDIAN. 129
When he comes to a^e, or be compell'd to marry With a cast whore and three hastards; let him
know
No more than how to cipher well, or do His tricks by the square root ; grant him no
pleasure
But quoits and nine-pins ; suffer him to converse With none but clowns and cobblers : as the Turk
says,
Poverty, old age, and aches of all seasons, Light on such heathenish guardians !
Don. You do worse
To the ruin of his state, under your favour, In feeding his loose riots.
Dur. Riots ! what riots ? He wears rich clothes, I do so ; keeps horses,
games, and wenches ;
JTis not amiss, so it be done with decorum : In an heir 'tis ten times more excusable- Than to be over-thrifty. Is there aught else That you can charge him with ?
Camil. With what we grieve for, And you will not approve.
Dur. Out with it, man.
power. Thus Falconbridge threatens young Scarborow, wh* had fallen in love without his consent :
" My steward too ; — Post you to Yorkshire,
" Where lies my youngster's land : and, sirrah,
" Fell me his wood, make havoc, spoil, and waste;
" Sir, you shall know that you are ward to me,
u I'll make you poor enough : — then mend yourself."
Miseries of Infofced Marriage.
Wardship, which was a part of the royal prerogative under the feudal system, and another name for the most oppressive slavery, was happily abolished under Charles II. Before that time wardships were sold, with all their advantages, (which are detailed in Blackstone, vol. ii.) and sometimes begged by the favourite of the day. Our old poets are full of allusions t« these iniquitous transactions.
130
THE GUARDIAN.
Camil. His rash endeavour, without your consent, To match himself into a family Not gracious with the times.
Dur. Tis still the better; By this means he shall scape court visitants, And not be eaten out of house and home In a summer progress : 2 but does he mean to marry ?
Gamil. Yes, sir, to marry.
Dur. In a beardless chin
'Tis ten times worse than wenching. Family! whose family ?
Camil. Signor Severino's.
Dur. How ! not he that kill'd The brother of his wife, as it is rumour 'd, Then fled upon it ; since proscribed, and chosen Captain of the Banditti ; the king's pardon On no suit to be granted ?
Lent. The same, sir.
Dur. This touches near: how ishis love returned By the saint he worships?
* By this means he shall scape court-visitants, And not be eaten out of house and home In a summer progress.] This stroke of satire must hare been peculiarly well received ; as many of the gentry had found those summer progresses of the court almost too expensive for them to bear.
Puttenham, who was well acquainted with these matters, tells us, that Henry VII. was offended with his host if he undertool to defray u the charge of his dyet if he passed moe meales thai one." P. 247. And of Elizabeth he says, that " her majcstie hath been knowne often times to mislike the superfluous expense of her subjects bestowed upon her in times of her progresses." James was not so delicate : it appears from many scatten passages in the publications of those times, that he abused this part of the royal prerogative to a great degree, and lay heavj upon his subjects. Charles, who was now on the throne, was less burthensome ; and in the succeeding reign, these predator excursions, together with other oppressive claims of barbaroui times, were entirely done away.
THE GUARDIAN. .131
Don. She affects him not, But dotes upon another.
Dur. Worse and worse.
CamiL You know him, young Adorio.
Dur. A hrave gentleman ! What proof of this ?
Lent. I dogg'd him to the church ; Where he, not for devotion, as I guess, But to make his approaches to his mistress, Is often seen.
CamiL And would you stand couceal'd Among these trees, for he must pass this green, The matins ended, as she returns home, You may observe the passages.
Dur. I thank you ; This torrent must be stopt.
Don. They come.
CamiL Stand close. [They stand aside.
Enter ADOIIIO, CALISTA, MIRTILLA, and CAL- DORO muffled.
Calis. I know I wrong my modesty.
Ador. And wrong me, In being so importunate for that I neither can nor must grant.
Calis. A hard sentence ! And to increase my misery, by you, Whom fond affection hath made my judge, Pronounced without compassion. Alas, sir, Did I approach you with unchaste desires, A sullied reputation ; were deform 'd, As it may be I am, though many affirm I am something more than handsome
Dur. I dare swear it.
Calis. Or if I were no gentlewoman, but bred coarsely,
152 THE GUARDIAN.
You might, with some pretence of reason, slight What you should sue for.
Dur. Were he not an eunuch, He would, and sue again ; I am sure I should. Pray look in my collar, a flea trouhles me : Hey-day ! there are a legion of young Cupids At barley-break in my breeches.
Calls. Hear me, sir;
Though you continue, nay increase your scorn, Only vouchsafe to let me understand What my defects are ; of which once convinced, I will hereafter silence my harsh plea, And spare your further trouble.
Ador. I will tell you, And bluntly, as my usual manner is. Though I were a woman-hater, which I am not, But love the sex, — for my ends, take me with you; If in my thought I found one taint or blemish In the whole fabric of your outward features, I would give myself the lie. You are a virgin Possessed of all your mother could wish in you; Your father Severino's dire disaster In killing of your uncle, which I grieve for, In no part taking from you. I repeat it, A noble virgin, for whose grace and favours The Italian princes might contend as rivals ; Yet unto me, a thing far, far beneath you, (A noted libertine I profess myself,) In your mind there does appear one fault so gross> Nay, I might say unpardonable at your years, If justly you consider it, that I cannot As you desire, affect you.
Calls. Make me know it, I'll soon reform it.
Ador. Would you'd keep your word \
Calls. Put me to the test.
Ador. I will. You are too honest,
THE GUARDIAN. 133
And, like your mother, too strict and religious, And talk too soon of marriage ; I shall break, If at that rate I purchase you. Can I part with My uncurb'd liberty, and on my neck Wear such a heavy yoke ? hazard my fortunes, With all the expected joys my life can yield me, For one commodity, before I prove it? Venus forbid on both sides ! let crook'd hams, Bald heads, declining shoulders, furrow'd cheeks, Be awed by ceremonies : if you love me In the way young people should, I'll fly to meet it, And we'll meet merrily.
Calis. Tis strange such a man Can use such language.
Ador. In my tongue my heart Speaks freely, fair one. Think on't, a close
friend,
Or private mistress, is court rhetoric; A wife, mere rustic solecism : so good morrow ! [Adorio offers to go, Caldoro comes forward and stops him.
Camil. How like you this ?
Dur. A well-bred gentleman ! J am thinking now if ever in the dark, Or drunk, I met his mother: he must have Some drops of my blood in him, for at his years I was much of his religion.
Camil. Out upon you !
Don. The colt's tooth still in your mouth !
Dur. What means this whispering ? . Ador. You may perceive I seek not to displant
you,
Where you desire to grow ; for further thanks, '"Tis needless compliment.
Cald. There are some natures Which blush to owe a benefit, if not Received in corners ; holding it an impairing
134 THE GUARDIAN.
To their own worth, should they acknowledge it. I am made of other clay, and therefore must Trench so far on your leisure, as to win you To lend a patient ear, while I profess Before my glory, though your scorn, Calista, How much I am your servant.
A dor. My designs
Are not so urgent, but they can dispense With so much time.
Camil. Pray you now observe your nephew.
Dur. How he looks ! like a school-boy that
had play'd the truant, And went to be breech'd.
Cald. Madam !
Calis. A new affliction : Your suit offends as much as his repulse, It being not to be granted.
Mirt. Hear him, madam ; His sorrow is not personated ; he deserves Your pity, not contempt.
Dur. He has made the maid his ; And, as the master of the Art of Love Wisely affirms,3 it is a kind of passage To the mistress' favour.
Cald. I come not to urge My merit to deserve you, since you are, Weigh'd truly to your worth, above all value : Much less to argue you of want of judgment For following one that with wing'd feet flies
from you, While I, at all parts, without boast, his equal,
3 And as the master of the Art of Love Wisely affirms, &c.]
Sed prius ancillam captancloe nosse puellae
Cura sit : accfssus moliiat ilia tvos. Hanc tu pollicitis, lane tu corrumpe rogando :
Quod petisy efacili, si volet ilia, feres. Lib. i. 356.
THE GUARDIAN. 135
In vain pursue you ; bringing those flames with
me,
Those la wftil flames, (for, madam, know, with other I never shall approach you,) which Adorio, In scorn of Hymen and religious rites, With atheistical impudence contemns ; And in his loose attempt to undermine The fortress of your honour, seeks to ruin All holy altars by clear minds erected To virgin honour.
Dur. My nephew is an ass ; What a devil hath he to do with virgin honour, Altars, or lawful flames, when he should tell her They are superstitious nothings; and speak to the
purpose,
Of the delight to meet in the old dance, Between a pair of sheets ; my grandam calFd it, The Peopling of the World.
Calls. How, gentle sir ! To vindicate my honour? that is needless; I dare not fear the worst aspersion malice Can throw upon it.
Cold. Your sweet patience, lady, And more than dove-like innocence, render you Insensible of an injury, for which I deeply suffer. Can you undergo The scorn of being refused ? I must confess It makes for my ends ; for had he embraced Your gracious offers tender'd him, I had been In my own hopes forsaken ; and if yet There can breathe any air of comfort in me, To his contempt I owe it: but his ill No more shall make way for my good intents, Than virtue, powerful in herself, can need The aids of vice.
A dor. You take that license, sir, Which yet I never granted.
136
THE GUARDIAN.
CalcL I'll force more ; Nor will I for my own ends undertake it, As I will make apparent, but to do A justice to your sex, with mine own wrong And irrecoverable loss.4 To thee I turn, Thou goatish ribald, in whom lust is grown Defensible,5 the last descent to hell, Which gapes wide for thee : look upon this lady, And on her fame, (if it were possible, Fairer than she is,) and if base desires, And beastly appetite, will give thee leave, Consider how she sought thee, how this lady, In a noble way, desired thee. Was she fashion'd In an inimitable mould, (which Nature broke, The great work perfected,)6 to be made a slave To thy libidinous twines, and, when commanded, To be used as physic after drunken surfeits ! Mankind should rise against thee : what even now 1 heard with horror, shewed like blasphemy, And as such I will punish it.
[Strikes Adorio, the rest rush forward; they all draw.
Calls. Murder !
Mrt. Help !
4 And irrecoverable loss.'] So the old copy. Mr. M. Mason discards it from the text, for an improvement of his own ; be reads, irrevocable.
5 . jn w/lom iust is grown
Defensible,] i. e. as Mr. M. Mason observes, an object of
justification, rather than of shame.
which Nature broke^
The great work perfected,'] We have had this thought in several of the preceding plays : indeed, I know no idea so com mon ; scarce a sonetteer or playwright from Surrey to Shadvvel! being without it. It must have had considerable charms in the eyes of our forefathers, since neither its triteness nor its folly could prevent the eternal repetition. Twines^ which occurs in the next line, is constantly used by the writers of Massinger'a time for embraces, in a loose sense,
THE GUARDIAN. 137
Dur. After a whining prologue, who would
have look'd for Such a rough catastrophe ? Nay, come on, fear
nothing : Never till now my nephew ! and do you hear,
sir? (And yet I love thee too) if you take the wench
now,
I'll have it posted first, then chronicled, Thou wert beaten to it.
Ador. You think you have shewn A memorable masterpiece of valour In doing this in public, and it may Perhaps deserve her shoe-string for a favour : Wear it without my envy ; but expect, For this affront, when times serves, I shall call you To a strict accompt. [Exit.
Dur. Hook on, follow him, harpies ! You may feed upon this business for a month, If you manage it handsomely:
\_Exeunt Camilla, Lentulo, and Donato. When two heirs quarrel/ The swordmen of the city shortly after Appear in plush, for their grave consultations In taking up the difference; some, I know, Make a set living on't. Nay, let him go, Thou art master of the field; enjoy thy fortune With moderation :. for a flying foe, Discreet and provident conquerors buijd up A bridge of gold. To thy mistress, boy ! if I
were In thy shirt, how I could nick it !
CM. You stand, madam, As you were rooted, and I more than fear My passion hath offended : I perceive The roses frighted from your cheeks, and paleness
7 When two heirs quarrel, &c.] See Vol. III. p. 9. VOL. IV. * L
138 THE GUARDIAN.
To usurp their room ; yet you may please to
ascribe it
To my excess of love, and boundless ardour To do#ou right; for myself I have done nothing. I will not curse my stars, howe'er assured To me you are lost for ever : for suppose Adorio slain, and by my hand, my life Is forfeited to the law, which I contemn, So with a tear or two you would remember I was your martyr, and died in your service.
Cal Alas, you weep! and in my just compassion Of what you surfer, I were more than marble, Should I not keep you company : you have sought My favours nobly, and I am justly pumsh'd, In wild Adorio's contempt and scorn, For my ingratitude, it is no better, To your deservings : yet such is my fate, Though I would, I cannot help it. O Caldoro ! In our misplaced affection I prove Too soon, and \yith dear-bought experience,
Cupid
Is blind indeed, and hath mistook his arrows.* If it be possible, learn to forget, (And yet that punishment is too light,) to hate, A thankless virgin: practise it; and may Your due consideration that I am so, In your imagination, disperse Loathsome deformity upon this face That hath bewitch'd you ! more I cannot say, But that I truly pity you, and wish you A better choice, which, in my prayers, Caldoro, I ever will remember,
\Exeunt Calista, and Mirtilla.
Dur. 'Tis a sweet rogue. Why, how now ! thunderstruck ?
Cupid
Is blind indeed, and hath mistook Ids arrows.] See Vol. I. p. 19.
THE GUARDIAN. 139
Cald. I am not so happy : Oh that I were but master of myself ! You soon should see me nothing.
Dur. What would you do ?
Cald. With one stab give a fatal period To my woes and life together.
Dur. For a woman !
Better the kind were lost, and generation Maintain'd a new way.
Cald. Pray you, sir, forbear This profane language.
Dur. Pray you, be you a man, And whimper not like a girl : all shall be well, As I live it shall ; this is no hectic fever, But a lovesick ague, easy to be cured, And I'll be your physician, so you subscribe To my directions. First, you must change This city whorish air, for 'tis infected, And my potions will not work here; I must
have you
To my country villa : rise before the sun, Then make a breakfast of the morning dew, Served up by nature on some grassy hill; You'll find it nectar, and far more cordial Than cullises, cock-broth, or your distillations Of a hundred crowns a quart.
Cald. You talk of nothing.
Dur. This ta'en as a preparative, to strengthen Your queasy stomach, vault into your saddle ; With all this flesh I can do it without a stirrup : — My hounds uncoupled, and my huntsmen ready, You shall hear such music from their tunable
mouths,
That you shall say the viol, harp, theorbo, Ne'er made such ravishing harmony ; from the
groves And neighbouring woods, with frequent iterations,
140
THE GUARDIAN.
Enamour'd of the cry, a thousand echoes Repeating it.
Cald. What's this to me ?
Dur. It shall be,
And you give thanks for't. In the afternoon, For we will have variety of delights, We'll to the field again, no game shall rise But we'll be ready for't : if a hare, my grey hounds
Shall make a course ; for the pie or jay, a spar- hawk
Flies from the fist ; the crow so near pursued, Shall be compell'd to seek protection under Our horses bellies ; a hearn put from her siege,* And a pistol shot off in her breech, shall mount So high, that, to your view, she'll seem to soar Above the middle region of the air : A cast of haggard falcons, by me mann'd, Eyeing the prey at first, appear as if They did turn tail ; but with their labouring wings Getting above her, with a thought their pinions Cleaving the purer element, make in, And by turns bind with her;1 the frighted fowl,
9 A hearn put from her siege,] u Hern at Siege, is when you find a hern standing by the water side, watching for prey, 01 the like/' Gent. Recr. p. 165.
1 And by turns bind with her;] This exquisite description of rural amusements is from the hand of a great master. 1 lament that it is so technical ; but, in Massinger's time, this language •was perfectly familiar to the audience, who heard it, in a greate or less degree, in every play that came beiore them. To bint "with^ as I learn from the Gentleman's Recreation, quoted above, " is the same as to tire or seize. A hawk is said lo bind whei she seizeth her prey."
There is a striking similarity between this description, and passage in Spenser, who, like Mas&uiger, was probably sportsman :
v "As when a cast of faulcons make their flight " At an hernshaw, that lies aloft on wing,
THE GUARDIAN. 141
Lying at her defence upon her back, With her dreadful beak a while defers her death, But by degrees forced down, we part the fray, And feast upon her.
Cald. This cannot be, I grant, But pretty pastime.
Dur. Pretty pastime, nephew ! Tis royal sport. Then, for an evening flight, A tiercel gentle, which I call, my masters, As he were sent a messenger to the moon, In such a place flies,2 as he seems to say,
" The whiles they strike at him with heedless might, " The warie foule his bill doth backward wring ; u On which the first, whose force her first doth bring, u Herselfe quite through the bodie doth engore,
" And falleth downe to ground like senseless thing :" —
F. Q. B. vi. c. 7. s. 9.
* In such a place fiies^] So the old copy, and so, indeed, Coxeter. Mr. M. Mason, who, without ceremony, alters every thing that he does not comprehend, (which, by the bye, is no- small matter,) corrupts it into pace: a most injudicious attempt at improvement, for who ever heard of the pace of a bird, except, perhaps, of an ostrich ! But place is the genuine word ; and means, in falconry, the greatest elevation which a bird of prey attains in its flight. " Eagles," says Col. Thornton, (who, probably, had no intention of becoming a commentator on Massinger,) " can have no speed except when at their place; then to be sure their weight increases their velocity, and they aim with an incredible swiftness, seldom missing their quarry." Sporting Tour.
And lord Cecil, in a letter to the earl of Shrewsbury.— '* And so I end, with a release to you for a field hawke, if you can help me to a river hawke" (this is the hawk of which Durazzo speaks) <c that will fly in a high placc^ stick not to give gold so she fly high, but not else."
Lodges Illustrations. Vol. III. 187.
This too is the meaning of the expression in Macbeth, which has escaped the commentators. " A faulcon, tow'ring in his pride of place." u Finely expressed," says Warburton, " for confidence in its quality." " In a place of which she" (i. e. he) " seemed proud" — adds Mr. Malone. It is, as the reader now sees, a technical phrase for the " highest pitch."
142 THE GUARDIAN.
See me, or see me not ! the partridge sprung, He makes his stoop; but wanting breath, is forced To cancelier ; 3 then, with such speed as if He carried lightning in his wings, he strikes The trembling bird, who even in death appears Proud to be made his quarry.
Cald. Yet all this Is nothing to Calista.
Dur Thou shalt find Twenty Calistas there ; for every night, A fresh and lusty one ; I'll give thee a ticket, In which my name, Durazzo's name, subscribed, My tenants' nut-brown daughters, wholesome
girls,
At midnight shall contend to do thee service. I have bred them up to't; should their fathers
murmur,
Their leases are void, for that is a main point In my indentures ; and when we make our pro gress,
There is no entertainment perfect, if This last dish be not ofTer'd.*
Cald. You make me smile.
Dur. I'll make thee laugh outright. — My
horses, knaves !
'Tis but six short hours riding : yet ere night Thou shalt be an alter'd man.
Cald. I wish I may, sir. [Exeunt.
3 To cancelier,] " Canceller is when a high. flown hawk, in her stooping, turneth two or three times upon the wing, to re. cover herself before she seizeth her prey." Gent. Recreation.
* Durazzo's object e?idently is to dispel the gloom of his ne phew. It is to be wished, however, that his lively rhodomontade (for it is nothing more) bad been confined within the bounds of decorum. A little attention of the poet to this point, would have rendered this interesting character as unexceptionable as be is amusing.
THE GUARDIAN. 143
SCENE II.
A Room in Sever! no's House.
Enter IOLANTE, CALISTA, CALIPSO, and MIRTILLA.
Tol. I had spies upon you, minion ; the relation Of your behaviour was at home before you : My daughter to hold parley, from the church too, With noted libertines ! her fame and favours The quarrel of their swords !
Calls. -'Twas not in me To help it, madam.
Tol. No ! how have I lived r My neighbour knows my manners have been
such,
That 1 presume I may affirm, and boldly, In no particular action of my life I can be justly censured.
Calip, Censured, madam ! What lord or lady lives, worthy to sit A competent judge on you?
Calls. Yet black detraction Will find faults where they are not.
Callp. Her foul mouth
Is stopp'd, you being the object : give me leave To speak my thoughts, yet still under correction ; And if my young lady and her woman hear With reverence, they may be edified. You are my gracious patroness and supportress, And I your poor observer, nay, your creature, Fed by your bounties ; and but that I know Your honour detests flattery, I might say, And with an emphasis, you are the lady
144 THE GUARDIAN.
Admired and envied at, far, far above All imitation of the best of women That are or ever shall be. This is truth: I dare not be obsequious; and 'twould ill Become my gravity, and wisdom glean'd From your oraculous ladyship, to act The part of a she-parasite.
Tol. If you do, I never shall acknowledge you.
Calls. Admirable I This is no flattery ! [Aside to Mirt.
Mirt. Do not interrupt her : 'Tis such a pleasing itch to your lady-mother, That she may perad venture forget us, To feed on her own praises.
ToL I am not ;
So far in debt to age, but if I would Listen to men's bewitching sorceries, I could be courted.
Calip. Rest secure of that. All the braveries of the city run mad for you, And yet your virtue's such, not one attempts you.
ToL I keep no mankind servant in my house, In fear my chastity may be suspected : How is that voiced in Naples ?
Calip. With loud applause, I assure your honour.
ToL It confirms I can Command my sensual appetites.
Calip. As vassals to Your more than masculine reason, that commands
them :
Your palace styled a nunnery of pureness, In which not one lascivious thought dares enter, Your clear soul standing centinel.
Mirt. Well said, Echo ! [Aside,
THE GUARDIAN. 145
lol. Yet I have tasted those delights which
women
So greedily long for, know their titillations ; And when, with danger of his head, thy father Comes to give comfort to my widow'd sheets, As soon as his desires are satisfied, I can with ease forget them.
Calip. Observe that,
It being indeed remarkable : 'tis nothing For a simple maid, that never had her hand In the honey-pot of pleasure, to forbear it ; But such as have lick'd there, and lick'd there
often, And felt the sweetness oft —
Mirt. How her mouth runs o'er With rank imagination ! [Aside.
Calip. If such can,
As urged before, the kickshaw being oflfer'd, Refuse to take it, like my matchless madam, They may be sainted.
lol. I'll lose no more breath In fruitless reprehension ; look to it : I'll have thee wear this habit of my mind, As of my body.
Calip. Seek no other precedent : In all the books of Amadis de Gaul, The Palmerint, and that true Spanish story, The Mirror of Knighthood, which I have read
often,
Read feelingly, nay more, I do believe in't, My lady has no parallel.4
lol. Do not provoke me :
4 Calipso might pass for a pattern of perseverance even in these novel-reading days. Most of those old romances would outweigh scores of the flimsey productions of modern times : and that true Spanish story ^ the Mirror of Knighthood^ which she had read often, consists of three ponderous tomes in quarto !
146 THE GUARDIAN.
If, from this minute, thou e'er stir abroad, Write letter, or receive one ; or presume To look upon a man, though from a window, I'll chain thee like a slave in some dark corner ; Prescribe thy daily labour, which omitted, Expect the usage of a Fury from me, Not an indulgent mother. — Come, Calipso.
Calip. Your ladyship's injunctions are so easy, That I dare pawn my credit my young lady And her woman shall obey them.'
[ Extant lolante and Calipso.
Mirt. You shall fry first
For a rotten piece of touchwood, and give fire To the great fiend's nostrils, when he smokes
tobacco !
Note the injustice, madam ; they would have us, Being young and hungry, keep perpetual Lent, And the whole year to them a carnival. Easy injunctions, with a mischief to you ! Suffer this and suffer all.
Calls. Not stir abroad ! The use and pleasure of our eyes denied us !
Mirt, Insufferable.
Calls. Nor write, nor yet receive An amorous letter !
Mirt. Not to be endured.
Calls. Nor look upon a man out of a window !
Mirt* Flat tyranny, insupportable tyranny, To a lady of your blood.
Calls. She is my mother,5 And how should I decline it ?
5 She is my mother, &c.] The language of this play is beau tiful, even for Mass'mn;er : it is modulated with the nicest atten tion to rhythm, and laboured into an exactness of which Iknow not where to find another example : yet it is in this very play that the modern editors have chosen to evince their so?ereign contempt of their author's characteristic excellencies, and to turn
THE GUARDIAN. 147
Mirt. Run away from't; Take any course.
Calls, But without means, Mirtilla, How shall we live?
Mirt. What a question's that! as if A buxom lady could want maintenance In any place in the world, where there are meiij Wine, meat, or money stirring.
Calls. Be you more modest, Or seek some other mistress : rather than In a thought or dream I will consent to aught That may take from my honour, I'll endure More than my mother can impose upon me.
Mirt* I grant your honour is a specious dress ing*
But without conversation of men, A kind of nothing. I will not persuade you To disobedience : yet my confessor told me (And he, you know, is held a learned clerk) When parents do enjoin unnatural things, Wise children may evade them. She may as well Command when you are hungry, not to eat, Or drink, or sleep : and yet all these are easy, Compared with the not seeing of a man, As I persuade no further ; but to you There is no such necessity ; you have means To shun your mother^ rigour.
Calls, Lawful means ?
his sweetest metre into weak and hobbling prose. The reader^ who compares this with the former editions, will see that I have reformed what has already past of this act, in numberless in stances. A short quotation will give those who wish to decline that ungrateful trouble, a sufficient specimen of the disgraceful negligence to which I allude.
Calip. She is my mother, and how should I decline it ?
Mirt. Run away from t, take any course.
Calis. But wit/tout means, Mirtilla, how shall we live f
148
THE GUARDIAN.
Mirt. Lawful, and pleasing too; I will not urge Caldoro's loyal love, you being averse to't ; Make trial of Adorio.
Calls. And give up My honour to his lust !
Mirt. There's no such thing Intended, madam ; in few words, write to him What slavish hours you spend under your mother; That you desire not present marriage from him, But as a noble gentleman to redeem you From the tyranny you suffer. With your letter Present him some rich jewel; you have one, In which the rape of Proserpine, in little, Is to the life express'd : I'll be the messenger With any hazard, and at my return, Yield you a good account oft.
Calls. 'Tis a business To be consider'd of.
Mirt. Consideration,
When the converse of your lover is in question, Is of no moment : if she would allow you A dancer in the morning to well breathe you, A songster in the afternoon, a servant To air you in the evening;6 give you leave To see the theatre twice a week, to mark How the old actors decay, the young sprout up, (A fitting observation,) you might bear it; But not to see, or talk, or touch a man, Abominable !
Calls. Do not my blushes speak How willingly I would assent?
a servant
To air you in the evening; &c.] It has been already ob served that servant was the authorised term for a lover. From a subsequent passage it appears that this forward young lady was barely sixteen, Juliet, however, still more forward, is still younger.
THE GUARDIAN. 149
Mirt. Sweet lady,
Do something to deserve them, and blush after.
[Exeunt.
ACT II. SCENE I.
The same. A Street near Sever! no's House. Enter IOLANTE and CALIPSO.
lol. And are these Frenchmen, as you say,
such gallants? Calip. Gallant and active; their free breeding
knows not
The Spanish and Italian preciseness Practised among us; what we call immodest, With them is styled bold courtship : they dare
fight
Under a velvet ensign, at fourteen. lol. A petticoat, you mean ? Calip. You are in the right ; Let a mistress wear it under an armour of proof, They are not to beaten off.
lol, You are merry, neighbour.
Calip. I fool to make you so : pray you observe
them,
They are the forward'st monsieurs; born phy sicians
For the malady of young wenches, and ne'er miss: I owe my life to one of them. When I was A raw young thing, not worth the ground I trod
on, And long'd to dip my bread in tar, my lips
150 THE GUARDIAN.
As blue as salt-water, he came up roundly to me, And cured me in an instant ; Venus be praised for't !
Enter ALPHONSO, MONTPENSIER, LAVAL, Captain, and Attendants.
Tol. They come, leave prating.
Calip, I am dumb, an't like your honour.
Alph. We will not break the league corifirm'd
between us
And your great master: the passage of his army Through all our territories lies open to him ; Only we grieve that your design for Rome Commands such haste, as it denies us means To entertain you as your worth deserves, And we would gladly tender.
Mont. Royal Alphonso, The king my master, your confederate, Will pay the debt he owes, in fact, which I Want words t'express. I must remove to night; And yet, that your intended favours may not Be lost, I leave this gentleman behind me, To whom you may vouchsafe them, I dare say, Without repentance. I forbear to give Your majesty his character; in France He was a precedent for arts and arms, Without a rival, and may prove in Naples Worthy the imitation.
[Introduces Laval to the king.
Calip. Is he not, madam, A monsieur in print? what a garb was there ! O
rare ! Then, how he wears his clothes ! and the fashion
of them !
A main assurance that he is within All excellent: by this, wise ladies ever Make their conjectures.
THE GUARDIAN. 151
lot. Peace, I have observed him From head to foot.
Calip. Eye him again, all oven Lav. It cannot, royal sir, but argue me Of much presumption, if not impudence, To be a suitor to your majesty, Before I have deserved a gracious grant, By some employment prosperously achieved. But pardon, gracious sir: when I left France I made a vow to a bosom friend of mine, (Which my lord general, if he please, can
witness,)
With such humility as well becomes A poor petitioner, to desire a boon From your magnificence. [He delivers a petition v
Calip. With what punctual form He does deliver it !
lol. I have eyes : no more.
Alph. For Severino's pardon! — you must excuse
me, I dare not pardon murder.
Lav. His fact, sir,
Ever submitting to your abler judgment, Merits a fairer name: he was provoked, As by unanswerable proofs it is confirmed, By Monteclaro's rashness; who repining That Severino, without his consent, Had married lolante, his sole sister, (It being conceal'd almost for thirteen years,) Though the gentleman, at all parts, was his equal, First challenged him, and, that declined, he gave
him A blow in public.
Mont. Not to be endured, But by a slave.
Lav. This, great sir, justly weigh'd, You may a little, if you please, take from
152 THE GUARDIAN.
The rigour of your justice, and express An act of mercy.
lot. I can hear no more.
This opens an old wound, and makes a new one. Would it were cicatrized ! wait me. Calip. As your shadow.
[Exeunt lolante and Calipso. Alph. We grant you these are glorious pretences, Revenge appearing in the shape of valour, Which wise kings must distinguish : the defence Of reputation, now made a bawd To murder; every trifle falsely styled An injury, and not to be determined But by a bloody duel : though this vice Hath taken root and growth beyond the moun tains,
(As France, and, in strange fashions, her ape, England, can dearly witness with the loss Of more brave spirits, than would have stood the
shock
Of the Turk's army,) while Alphonso lives It shall not here be planted. Move me no further In this ; in what else suiting you to ask, And me to give, expect a gracious answer : However, welcome to our court. Lord General, I'll bring you out of the ports, and then betake
you To your good fortune.
Mont. Your grace overwhelms me. [Exeunt*
THE GUARDIAN. 153
SCENE II.
.
A Room in Severino's House. Enter CALIPSO and IOLANTE.
Calip. You are bound to favour him: mark
you how he pleaded For my lord's pardon.
lol. That's indeed a tie; But I have a stronger on me.
Calip. Say you love
His person, be not asham'd oft; he's a man, For whose embraces, though Endymion Lay sleeping by, Cynthia would leave her orb, And exchange kisses with him.
lol. Do not fan
A fire that burns already too hot in me; I am in my honour sick, sick to the death, Never to be recovered.
Calip t What a coil's here For loving a man ! It is no Africk wonder: If, like Pasiphae, you doted on a bull, Indeed 'twere monstrous; but in this you have A thousand thousand precedents to excuse you. A seaman's wife may ask relief of her neighbour, When her husband's bound to the Indies, and not
blamed for't;
And many more besides of higher calling, Though I forbear to name them. You have a
husband ;
But, as the case stands with my lord, he is A kind of no husband; and your ladyship As free as a widow can be. I confess, If ladies should seek change, that have their husbands
VOL. IV. * M
154 THE GUARDIAN.
At board and bed, to pay their marriage duties, (The surest bond of concord,) 'twere a fault, Indeed it were : but for your honour, that Do lie alone so often — body of me ! I am zealous in your cause — let me take breath. 707. I apprehend what thou wouldst say; I want
all As means to quench the spurious fire that burns
here. Calip. Want means, while I, your creature,
live ! I dare not Be so unthankful.
lot. Wilt thou undertake it? And, as an earnest of much more to come, Receive this jewel, and purse cramm'd full of
crowns. *•
How dearly I am forced to buy dishonour ! [dside. Calip. I would do it gratis, but 'twould il
become
My breeding to refuse your honour's bounty ; Nay, say no more, all rhetoric in this Is comprehended; let me alone to work him. He shall be yours;7 that's poor, he is already At your devotion. I will not boast My faculties this way, but suppose he were Coy as Adonis, or Hippolytus, And your desires more hot than Cytherea's,
7 He shall be yours ; that's poor, he is already
At your devotion.] This is parodied with some humour frc a spirited passage in Hercules Fur ens :
Si novi Herculem,
Lycus Creonti debitas poznas dabit :
Lentvm est, dabit ; dot : hoc quoque lentum est ; dedit.
Ver. 6< •which Jonson has thus closely imitated in his Catiline:
" He shall die ;
u Shall, was too slowly said : he's dying ; that " Is yet too slow : he's dead."
THE GUARDIAN. 155
Or wanton Phaedra's, I will bring him chain'd To your embraces, glorying in his fetters : I have said it.
lol. Go, and prosper ; and imagine A salary beyond thy hopes.
Calip. Sleep you
Secure on either ear;8 the burthen's yours To entertain him, mine to bring him hither.
[Exeunt.
8 Calip. Sleep you
Secure on either ear ;] Calipso seems to have joined the classics to Amadis de Gaul, Palmerin, and the Mirror of Knight hood. To sleep on either ear, is from the Heautont. of Terence, — in aurem utramvis dormire^ — and means, to sleep soundly, free from care, &c. It is used by Jonson, in his beautiful Masque of Oberon :
« Sirs, you keep
" Proper watch, that thus "do lie " Drown'd in sloth !
" Sat. 1. They have no eye " To wake withal.
" Sat. 2. Nor sense, I fear, u For they sleep on either ear.11
In Acerbi's Travels to the North of Europe, there is an extract from the bishop of Drontheim's Account of the Laplanders — " in utramvis dormiunt aurem^ nee plumis indormire mollibus magni cesti- mant." This Acerbi, or rather the English manufacturer of his work, who seems to have improved upon his author's scurrility, translates, " they sleep equally on both sides ! " He then re marks with an appearance of great sagacity, "Some physicians recommend sleeping on the right side, or right ear, the good bishop seems, however, to think that to sleep casually on either ear is the most conducive to health." The " good bishop" knew what he was saying very well, though his flippant trans lator did not: — but thus it is that we are disgraced in the eyes of Europe by needy adventurers, who set up for critics in literature with no other qualifications than ignorance and impudence !
*M2
156 THE GUARDIAN.
SCENE III. A Room in Adorio's House. Enter ADORIO, CAMILLO, LENTULO, a
Don. Your wrong's beyond a challenge, and
you deal
Too fairly with him, if you take that way To right yourself.
Lent. The least that you can do, In the terms of honour, is, when next you meet
him, To give him the bastinado.
Cam. And that done,
Draw out his sword to cut your own throat ! No, Be ruled by me, shew yourself an Italian, And having received one injury, do not put off Your hat for a second ; there are fellows that, For a few crowns, will make him sure, and so, With your revenge, you prevent future mischief.
Ador. I thank you, gentlemen, for your studied
care
In what concerns my honour ; but in that I'll steer my own course. Yet, that you may know You are still my cabinet counsellors, my bosom Lies open to you ; I begin to feel A weariness, nay, satiety of looseness, And something tells me here, I should repent My harshness to Calista.
Enter CARIO, hastily.
Camil. When you please, You may remove that scruple.
THE GUARDIAN. 157
Ador. I shall think on't.
Car. Sir, sir, are you ready ?
Ador. To do what? I am sure 'tis not yet dinner-time.
Car. True; but I usher
Such an unexpected dainty bit for breakfast, As yet I never cook'd : 'tis not botargo, Fried frogs, potatoes marrow'd, cavear, Carps' tongues, the pith of an English chine of
beef,
Nor our Italian delicate, oil'd mushrooms, And yet a drawer-on' too; and if you shew not An appetite, and a strong one, I'll not say To eat it, but devour it, without grace too, (For it will not stay a preface,) I am shamed, And all my past provocatives will be jeer'd at.
Ador. Art thou in thy wits ? what new-found
rarity Hast thou discover'd ?
Car. No such matter, sir; It grows in our own country.
Don. Serve it up, I feel a kind of stomach.
Camil. I could feed too.
Car. Not a bit upon a march ; there's other
lettuce
For your coarse lips ; this is peculiar only For my master's palate : I would give my whole
year's wages,
With all my vails, and fees due to the kitchen, But to be his carver.
Ador. Leave your fooling, sirrah, And bring in your dainty.
Car. 'Twill bring in itself, It has life and spirit in it ; and for proof,
9 And yet a drawer-on too;] i.e. an incitement to appetite: the phrase is yet in use.
158 THE GUARDIAN.
Behold! Now fall to boldly; my life on't, It comes to be tasted.
Enter MIRTILLA,
Camil. Ha! Calista's woman?
Lent. A handsome one, by Venus.
Ador. Pray you forbear : — You are welcome, fair one.
Don. How that blush becomes her !
Ador. Aim your designs at me ?
Mirt. I am trusted, sir, With a business of near consequence, which I
would To your private ear deliver.
Car. I told you so.
Give her audience on your couch ; it is fit state To a she-ambassador.
Ador. Pray you, gentlemen, For awhile dispose of yourselves, I'll straight attend you. [Exeunt Camil. Lent, and Don.
Car. Dispatch her first for your honour: the
quickly doing
You know what follows.
Ador. Will you please to vanish ? \_Exit Carlo. Now, pretty one, your pleasure? you shall find me Ready to serve you ; if you'll put me to My oath, I'll take it on this book.
[Offers to kiss her.
Mirt. O sir,
The favour is too great, and far above My poor ambition ; I must kiss your hand In sign of humble thankfulness/
Ador. So modest !
Mirt. It well becomes a maid, sir. Spare those
blessings For my noble mistress, upon whom with justice,
THE GUARDIAN. 159
And, with your good allowance, I might add With a due gratitude, you may confer them ; But this will better speak her chaste desires,
[Delivers a letter.
Than I can fancy what they are, much less With moving language, to their fair deserts. Aptly express them. Pray you read, but with Compassion, I beseech you : if you find The paper blurr'd with tears fallen from her
eyes,
While she endeavoured to set down that truth Her soul did dictate to her, it must challenge A gracious answer.
Ador. O the powerful charms By that fair hand writ down here! not like those Which dreadfully pronounced by Circe, changed Ulysses' followers into beasts ; these have An opposite working, I already feel, But reading them, their saving operations ; And all those sensual, loose, and base desires, Which have too long usurp 'd, and tyrannized Over my reason, of themselves fall off. Most happy metamorphosis ! in which The film of error that did blind my judgment And seduced understanding, is removed. What sacrifice of thanks can I return Her pious charity, that not alone Redeems me from the worst of slavery, The tyranny of my beastly appetites, To which I long obsequiously have bow'd ; But adds a matchless favour, to receive A benefit from me, nay, puts her goodness In my protection ?
Mirt. Transformed ! — it is A blessed metamorphosis, and works I know not how on me. [Aside,
Ador. My joys are boundless,
160 THE GUARDIAN.
Curb'd with no limits: for her sake, Mirtilla, Instruct me how I presently may seal To those strong bonds of loyal love, and service, Which never shall be cancell'd.
Mirt. She'll become
Your debtor, sir, if you vouchsafe to answer Her pure affection.
A dor. Answer it, Mirtilla! With more than adoration I kneel to it. Tell her, I'll rather die a thousand deaths Than fail, with punctuality, to perform All her commands.
Mirt. I am lost on this assurance, Which, if 'twere made to me, I should have faith
in't,
As in an oracle: ah me ! [Aside.} She presents you This jewel, her dead grandsire's gift, in which, As by a true Egyptian hieroglyphic, (For so I think she call'd it,) you may be Instructed what her suit is you should do, And she with joy will suffer.
Ador. [looking at the trinket.'] Heaven be
pleased
To qualify this excess of happiness With some disaster, or I shall expire With a surfeit of felicity. With what art The cunning5 lapidary hath here expressed The rape of Proserpine ! I apprehend Her purpose, and obey it ; yet not as A helping friend, but a husband : 1 will meet Her chaste desires with lawful heat, and warm Our Hymenaeal sheets with such delights £s leave no sting behind them.
With what art
The cunning lapidary &c.] Cunning is the Scriptural term for ingenuity in the arts.
THE GUARDIAN. 161
Mirt. I despair then. [Aside.
Ador. At the time appointed say, wench, I'll
attend her,
And guard her from the fury of her mother, And all that dare disturb her.
Mirt. You speak well ; And I believe you.
Ador. Would you aught else ?
Mirt. I would carry
Some love-sign to her; and now I think on it, The kind salute you ofTer'd at my entrance, Hold it not impudence that I desire it, I'll faithfully deliver it.
Ador. O, a kiss !
You must excuse me, I was then mine own, Now wholly hers : the touch of other lips I do abjure for ever : but there's gold To bind thee still my advocate. [Exit.
Mirt. Not a kiss !
I was coy when it was offer'd, and now justly, When I beg one am denied. What scorching fires My loose hopes kindle in me ! shall I be False to my lady's trust, and, from a servant, Ilise up her rival ? His words have bewitch'd me, And something I must do, but what? — 'tis yet An embryon, and how to give it form, Alas, I know not. Pardon me, Calista, I am nearest to myself, and time will teach me To perfect that which yet is undetermined.
[Exit.
162 THE GUARDIAN.
SCENE IV.
The Country. A Forest. Enter CLAUDIO and SEVERING.
Claud. You are master of yourself; yet,iflmay, As a tried friend in my love and affection, And a servant in my duty, speak my thoughts Without offence, i'the way of counsel to you ; I could allege, and truly, that your purpose For Naples, cover'd with a thin disguise, Is full of danger.
Sev. Danger, Claud io !
Tis here, and every where, our forced companion : The rising and the setting sun beholds us Environ'd with it; our whole life a journey Ending in certain ruin.
Claud. Yet we should not, Howe'er besieged, deliver up our fort Of life, till it be forced.
Sew. Tis so indeed
By wisest men concluded, which we should Obey as Christians; but when I consider How different the progress of our actions Is from religion, nay, morality, I cannot find in reason, why we should Be scrupulous that way only ; or like meteors Blaze forth prodigious terrors, till our stuff Be utterly consumed, which once put out, Would bring security unto ourselves, And safety unto those we prey upon. O Claudio ! since by this fatal hand The brother of my wife, bold Monteclaro, Was left dead in the field, and I prosciibed After my flight, by the justice of the king,
THE GUARDIAN. 163
My being hath been but a living death, With a continued torture.
Claud. Yet in that, You do delude their bloody violence That do pursue your life.
Sev. While I, by rapines, Live terrible to others as myself. — What one hour can we challenge as our own, Unhappy as we are, yielding a beam Of comfort to us ? Quiet night, that brings Rest to the labourer, is the outlaw's day, In which he rises early to do wrong, And when his work is ended, dares not sleep : Our time is spent in watches to entrap Such as would shun us, and to hide ourselves From the ministers of justice, that would bring us To the correction of the law. O, Claudio, Is this a life to be preserv'd,* and at So dear a rate? But why hold I discourse On this sad subject, since it is a burthen We are mark'd to bear, and not to be shook off But with our human frailty ? in the change Of dangers there is some delight, and therefore I am resolved for Naples.
0, Claudio,
Is this a life to be preserved, &c.J A state of insecurity and perpetual alarm was never described with more energy and beauty than in this scene. I know not whether Massinger ever reached Germany; but certainly many parts of Charles the Robber bear a striking resemblance to the character of Severino. There is a fine passage in Marston, which is not altogether un like the opening of this speech :
4< • O thou pale, sober night,
a Thou that in sluggish fumes all sense doth steep; " Thou that giv'st all the world full leave to play, '' Unbend'st the feeble veins of sweaty labour,'' &c.
The Malecontent. Act III. sc. 2.
Mr. Colman has laid this scene under heavy contribution in his Battle of Hcxliam.
THE GUARDIAN.
Claud. May you meet there All comforts that so fair and chaste a wife As Fame proclaims her, without parallel, Can yield to ease your sorrows !
Sev. I much thank you ;
Yet you may spare those wishes, which with joy I have proved certainties, and from their want Her excellencies take lustre.
Claud. Ere you go yet,
Some charge unto your squires not to fly out Beyond their bounds, were not impertinent : For though that with a look you can command
them, In your absence they'll be headstrong.
Sev. Tis well thought on,
I'lltouch my horn, — [Blowshis horn.~\ — they know my call.
Claud. And will,
As soon as heard, make in to't from all quarters, As the flock to the shepherd's whistle.
'.*.;;• o*rr. '^W Enter Banditti.
1 Ban. What's your will ?
Q Ban. Hail sovereign of these woods 1
3 Ban. We lay our lives At your highness' feet.
4 Ban. And will confess no king,
Nor laws but what come from your mouth; and
those We gladly will subscribe to.
Sev. Make this good,
In my absence, to my substitute, to whom Pay all obedience as to myself; The breach of this in one particular I will severely punish: on your lives, Remember upon whom with our allowance
THE GUARDIAN. 165
You may securely prey, with such as are Exempted from your fury.
Claud. 'Twere not amiss,
If you please, to help their memory; besides, Here are some newly initiated.
Sev. To these
Read you the articles ; I must he gone : Claud io, farewell ! [Exit.
Claud. May your return he speedy !
1 Ban. Silence ; out with your table-books.
2 Ban. And observe.
Claud, [reads,] The cormorant that lives in ex pectation
Of a long wish'd~for dearth, and, smiling, grinds The faces of the poor, you may make spoil of; Even theft to such is justice.
3 Ban. He's in my tables,
Claud. The grand encloser of the commons, for His private profit or delight, with all His herds that graze uporft, are lawful prize.
4 Ban. And we will bring them in, although
the devil Stood roaring by, to guard them.
Claud. If a usurer,
Greedy, at his own price, to make a purchase, Taking advantage upon bond or mortgage From a prodigal, pass through our territories. In the way of custom, or of tribute to us, You may ease him of his burthen.
% Ban. Wholesome doctrine.
Claud. Builders of iron mills, that grub up forests* With timber trees for shipping.
3 Claud. Builders of iron mills, that grub tip forests With timber trees for shipping.] Did this evil really exist in Massinger's days? or did the poet, in prophetic vision, visit the " well-wooded" mountains which overhang the Lakes of Cum berland and Westmoreland ? These articles are extremely curious.
166 THE GUARDIAN.
1 Ban. May we not Have a touch at lawyers ?
Claud. By no means ; they may Too soon have a gripe at us ; they are angry
hornets, Not to he jested with.
3 Ban. This is not so well.
Claud. The owners of dark shops, that vejit their
wares
With perjuries ; cheating vintners, not contented With half in half in their reckonings, yet cry out, When they find their guests want coin, 'Tis late, and
bed- time. These ransack at your pleasures.
3 Ban. How shall we know them ?
Claud. If they walk on foot, hy their rat-
colour'd stockings,
And shining-shoes ;4 if horsemen, hy short boots, And riding-furniture of several counties.
2 Ban. Not one of the list escapes us.
Claud. But for scholars,
Whose wealth lies in their heads, and not their pockets, Soldiers that have bled in their country's service ; The rent -racked farmert needy market folks ; The sweaty labourer, carriers that transport The goods of other men, are privileged ;
as they shew us what were accounted the chief grievances of the nation at that fortunate period.
4 And shining shoes;'] Our old dramatists make themselves Tery merry with these shining shoes, which appear, in their time, to have been one of the characteristic marks of a spruce citi zen. ThusNewcut, rallying Plotwell for becoming a merchant, exclaims :
" Slid ! his shoes shine too !» The City Mateh.
And Kitely observes that Wellbred's acquaintance
" mock him all over,
" From his flat cap unto his shining shoes."
Every Man in his Humour.
THE GUARDIAN. 167
But, above all, let none presume to offer Violence to women, for our king hath sworn. Who that ways a delinquent, without mercy Hangs for* tt by martial law.
All. Long live Severino, And perish all such cullions as repine5 At his new monarchy !
Claud. About your business, That he may find, at his return, good cause To praise your care and discipline.
All. We'll not fail, sir. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Naples. A Street Enter LAVAL and CALIPSO.
Lav. Thou art sure mistaken ; 'tis not possible That I can be the man thou art employ'd to.
Calip. Not you the man ! you are the man of
men,
And such another, in my lady's eye, Never to be discovered.
Laval. A mere stranger, Newly arrived !
Calip. Still the more probable. Since ladies, as you know, affect strange dainties, And brought far to them.* This is not an age
5 And perish all such cullions] A term taken from the Italians, and strongly expressive of contempt : — all such abject wretches. It frequently occurs in our old poets.
6 Since ladies, as you know, affect strange dainties,
And brought far to them.] This is proverbial: but it may, perhaps, allude to the title of a play, by Thomas Racket, " Farre fetched and dear bought ya good for Ladies.'* It was entered at Stationers' Hall, 1566.
163 THE GUARDIAN.
In which saints live; but women, knowing women, That understand their siimmum bonum is Variety of pleasures in the touch, Derived from several nations; and if men would Be wise by their example —
Lav. As most are : Tis a coupling age !
Calip. Why, sir, do gallants travel? Answer that question ; but, at their return, With wonder to the hearers, to discourse of The garb and difference in foreign females, As the lusty girl of France, the sober German, The plump Dutch frow, the stately dame of Spain, The Roman libertine, and sprightful Tuscan, The merry Greek, Venetian courtezan, The English fair companion, that learns some thing
From every nation, and will fly at all : — I say again, the difference betwixt these And their own country gamesters.
Lav. Aptly urged.
Some make that their main end : but may I ask, Without offence to your gravity, by what title Your lady, that invites me to her favours, Is known in the city ?
Calip. If you were a true-born monsieur, You would do the business first, and ask that after* If you only truck with her title, I shall hardly Deserve thanks for my travail ; she is, sir, No single-ducat trader, nor a beldam So frozen up, that a fever cannot thaw her; No lioness by her breath.
Lav. Leave these impertinencies, And come to the matter.
Calip. Would you'd be as forward, When you draw for the upshot ! she is, sir, a lady, A rich, fair, welt-complexion 'df and what is
THE GUARDIAN.
169
ISTot frequent among Venus' votaries, Upon my credit, which good men have trusted, A sound and wholesome lady, and her name is Madonna lolante.
Lav. lolante !
I have heard of her; for chastity,* and beauty* The wonder of the age.
Calip. Pray you, not too much Of chastity ; fair and free I do subscribe to, And so you'll find her.
Lav. Come, you are a base creature ; And, covering your foul ends with her fair name, Give me just reason to suspect you have A plot upon my life.
Calip. A plot ! very fine !
Nay, 'tis a dangerous one, pray you beware of *t ; 'Tis cunningly contriv'd : I plot to bring you Afoot, with the travel of some forty paces, To those delights which a man not made of snow Would ride a thousand miles for. You shall be Received at a postern door, if you be not cautious, By one whose touch would make old Nestor
young,
And cure his hernia; a terrible plot! A kiss then ravish'd from you by such lips As flow with nectar, a juicy palm more precious Than the famed Sibylla's bough, to guide you safe Through mists of perfumes to a glorious room, Where Jove might feast his Juno ; a dire plot ! A banquet I'll not mention, that is common : But I must not forget, to make the plot More horrid to you, the retiring bovver, So furnish'd as might force the Persian's envy, The silver bathing-tub, the cambric rubbers," The embroider'd quilt, the bed of gossamer And damask roses; a mere powder plot To blow you up ! and last, a bed-fellow, VOL. iv. * N
170
THE GUARDIAN.
To whose rare entertainment all these are But foils and settings off.
Lav. No more ; her breath Would warm an eunuch.
Calip. I knew I should heat you : Now he begins to glow !
Lav. I am flesh and blood,
And I were not man if I should not run the hazard, Had I no other ends in't. I have consider'd Your motion, matron.
Callp. My plot, sir, on your life, For which I am deservedly suspected For a base and dangerous woman ! Fare you well,
sir, I'll be bold to take my leave.
Lav. I will along too. Come, pardon my suspicion : I confess My error; and eyeing you better, I perceive There's nothing that is ill that can flow from you; I am serious, and, for proof of it, I'll purchase Your good opinion. [Gives her his purse*
Callp. I am gentle natured, And can forget a greater wrong upon Such terms of satisfaction.
Lav. What's the hour ?
Calip. Twelve.
Lav. I'll not miss a minute.
Calip. I shall find you At your lodging ?
Lav. Certainly ; return my service, And for me kiss your lady's hands,
Calip. At twelve I'll be your convoy.
Lav. I desire no better- [Exeunt.
THE GUARDIAN, 371
ACT III, SCENE I.
The Country. Enter DURAZZO, CALDORO, and Servant.
Dur. Walk the horses down the hill ; I have
a little To speak in private. [Exit Servant.
Cold. Good sir, no more anger.
Dur. Love do you call it 1 madness, wilful
madness ;
And since I cannot cure it, I would have you Exactly mad. You are a lover already, Be a drunkard too, and after turn small poet, And then you are mad, katexok6n the madman/
Cald. Such as are safe on shore may smile at
tempests ;
But I, that am embark'd, and every minute Expect a shipwreck, relish not your mirth : To me it is unseasonable.
Dur. Pleasing viands Are made sharp by sick palates. I affect A handsome mistress in my gray beard, as well As any boy of you all ; and on good terms Will venture as far i' the fire, so she be willing To entertain me ; but ere I would dote, As you do, where there is no flattering hope Ever t' enjoy her, I would forswear wine, And kill this lecherous itch with drinking water, Or live, like a Carthusian, on poor John,
7 And then you are mad, katexoken the madman.~\ i. ۥ svper-emincntly the madman.
172 THE GUARDIAN.
Then bathe myself night by night in marble dew, And use no soap but camphire-balls.
Cald. You may,
(And I must suffer it,) like a rough surgeon, Apply these burning caustics to my wounds Already gangrened, when soft unguents would Better express an uncle with some feeling Of his nephew's torments.
Dur. I shall melt, and cannot Hold out -if he whimper. O that this young
fellow,
Who, on my knowledge, is able to beat a man, Should be baffled by this blind imagined boy, Or fear his bird-bolts ! * [Aside*
Cald. You have put yourself already To too much trouble, in bringing me thus far : Now, if you please, with your good wishes, leave
me To my hard fortunes.
Dur. I'll forsake myself first. Leave thee 1 I cannot, will not ; thou shalt have No cause to be weary of my company, For I'll be useful ; and, ere I see thee perish* Dispensing with my dignity and candour,* I will do something for thee, though it savour Of the old squire of Troy.1 As we ride, we will Consult of the means : bear up.
8 Or fear his bird-bolts !] i. e. his blunt, pointless arrows ; for with such birds were brought down.
9 Dispensing with my dignity and candour,] This expression reconciles me to a passage in the Parliament of Lore, of which, though copied with my best care, I was extremely doubtful :
" And might I but persuade you to dispense " A little with your candour, &c." Vol. ii. p. 294.
It now appears that Massinger uses candour in both places as •ynonymous with honour, or fairness of reputation.
1 'uire of Troy.] The Pandarus of Shakspeare.
THE GUARDIAN. 173
Cald. I cannot sink,
Having your noble aids to buoy me up ; There was never such a guardian.
Dur. How is this ?
Stale compliments to me ! when my work's done, Commend the artificer, and then be thankful.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Naples. A Room in Severino's House.
Enter CALISTA richly habited, and MIRTILLA in
the gown which Calistay/r«s£ wore. .
Calls. How dost thou like my gown ?
Mirt. 'Tis rich and courtlike.
Calis. The dressings too are suitable?
Mirt. I must say so, Or you might blame my want of care.
Calls. My mother
Little dreams of my intended flight, or that These are my nuptial ornaments.
Mirt. I hope so.
Calls. How dully thou reply'st ! thou dost not
envy
Adorio's noble change, or the good fortune That it brings to me ?
Mirt. My endeavours that way Can answer for me.
Calls. True; you have discharged
This uncle is a most pleasant character; it is impossible not to be delighted with him, notwithstanding the freedom of his Ian. guage. As Caldoro justly observes,
There was never such a guardian.
174 THE GUARDIAN.
A faithful servant's duty, and it is
By me rewarded like a liberal mistress :
I speak it not to upbraid you with my bounties,
Though they deserve more thanks and ceremony
Than you have yet express'd.
Mirt. The miseries
Which, from your happiness, I am sure to suffer, Restrain my forward tongue; and, gentle madam, Excuse my weakness, though I do appear A little daunted with the heavy burthen I am to undergo : when you are safe, My dangers, like to roaring torrents, will Gush in upon me; yet I would endure Your mother's cruelty ; but how to bear Your absence, in the very thought confounds me. Since we were children I have loved and serv'd
you;
I willingly learn'd to obey, as you Grew up to knowledge, that you might command
me;
And now to be divorced from all my comforts !— « Can this be borne with patience?
Calls. The necessity
Of my strange fate commands it; but I vow By my Adorio's love, I pity thee.
Mirt. Pity me, madam ! a cold charity ; You must do more, and help me.
Calls. Ha ! what said you ? I must ? is this fit language for a servant ?
Mirt. For one that would continue your poor
servant,
And cannot live that day in which she is Denied to be so. Can Mirtilla sit Mourning alone, imagining those pleasures Which you, this blessed Hymeneal night, Enjoy in the embraces of your lord, And my lord too, in being your's ? (already
THE GUARDIAN. 175
As such I love and honour him.) Shall a stranger Sew you in a sheet, to guard that maidenhead You must pretend to keep; and 'twill become
you ?
Shall another do those bridal offices, Which time will not permit me to remember,2 And I pine here with envy? pardon me, — I must and will be pardon'd, — for my passions Are in extremes ; and use some speedy means That I may go along with you, and share In those delights, but with becoming distance; Or by his life, which as a saint you swear by, I will discover all !
Calls. Thou canst not be So treacherous and cruel, in destroying The building thou hast raised.
Mirt. Pray you do not tempt me, For 'tis resolv'd.
Calls. I know not what to think oft. In the discovery of my secrets to her, I have made my slave my mistress ; I must sooth
her,
There's no evasion else. [Aside."] Prithee, Mirtilla, Be not so violent, I am strangely taken With thy affection for me ; 'twas my purpose To have thee sent for.
Mirt. When?
Calls. This very night ; And I vow deeply I shall be no sooner In the desired possession of my lord,
* Which time will not permit me to remember,] i. e. to bring to your remembrance, to remind you of: so the word is fre quently used. See vol. ii. p. 86.
This scene, and indeed the whole of this play, is scandalously edited by Coxeter as well as Mr. M. Mason ; in the line before us, the former omits me9 and the latter, time, so that the metre halts miserably in both.
176 THE GUARDIAN.
But by some of his servants I will have thee Convey'd unto us.
Mlrt. Should you break !
Calls. I dare not.
Come, clear thy looks, for instantly we'll prepare For our departure.
Mlrt. Pray you, forgive my boldness, Growing from my excess of zeal to serve you.
Calls. I thank thee for't.
Mlrt. You'll keep your word ?
Calls. Still doubtful ! [Exit.
Mlrt. 'Twas this I aim'd at, and leave the rest to fortune. [Exit, following.
SCENE III. A Room in Adorio's House.
Enter ADORIO, CAMILLO, LENTULO, DONATO, CARIO, and Servants.
Ador. Haste you unto my villa, and take all Provision along with you, and for use And ornament, the shortness of the time Can furnish you ; let my best plate be set our,, And costliest hangings; and, ift be possible, With a merry dance to entertain the bride, Provide an epithalamium.
Car. Trust me
For belly timber : and for a song, I have A paper-bluner, who on all occasions, For all times, and all seasons> hath such trinket* Ready in the deck :2 it is but altering
3 Ready in the deck :] Mr. M. Mason reads, in the dtsk ; and, doubtless, applauded himself for the emendation ; but deck is right : it means the heap, or technically speaking, the
THE GUARDIAN. B 177
The names, and they will serve for any bride, Or bridegroom, in the kingdom,
Ador. But for the dance?
Car. I will make one myself, and foot it finely; And summoning your tenants at my dresser, Which is, indeed, my drum,4 make a rare choice Of the able youth, such as shall sweat sufficiently, And smell too, but not of amber, which, you
know, is The grace of the country-hall.
Ador. About it, Cario, And look you be careful.
Car. For mine own credit, sir.
[Exeunt Carlo and Servants.
Ador. Now, noble friends, confirm your loves,
and think not
Of the penalty of the law, that does forbid The stealing aw-ay an heir : I will secure you, And pay the breach oft.
Camil. Tell us what we shall do, We'll talk of that hereafter.
Ador. Pray you be careful To keep the west gate of the city open,
In our old poets, a pack of cards is called a deck: thus, in Seli- mus Emperor of the Turks, 15^4 :
<<; Well, if I chance but once to get the deck, " To deal about and shuffle as I would." * And summoning your tenants at my dresser,
Which is, indeed, m>j drum,] Thus the servant, in the Unna tural Combat :
" When the dresser, the cook's drum, thunders, Come on !"
See Vol. I. p. 166. And thus Suckling :
" Just in the nick the cook knock'd thrice, u And all the waiters in a trice
" His summons did obey; a Each serving-man, with dish in hand, " March'd boldly up, like our train'd band,
" Presented, and away." T/ie Wedding.
178 THE GUARDIAN.
That our passage may be free, and bribe the watch With any sum ; this is all.
Don. A dangerous business !
CamiL I'll make the constable^ watch, and
porter drunk, Under a crown.
Lent. And then you may pass while they
snore, Though you had done a murder.
CamiL Get but your mistress, And leave the rest to us.
Ador. You much engage me : But I forget myself.
CamiL Pray you, in what, sir ?
Ador. Yielding too much to my affection, Though lawful now, my wounded reputation And honour suffer: the disgrace, in taking A blow in public from Caldoro, branded With the infamous mark of coward, in delaying To right myself, upon my cheek grows fresher ; That's first to be consider'd.
CamiL If you dare Trust my opinion, (yet I have had Some practice and experience in duels,) You are too tender that way : can you answer The debt you owe your honour till you meet Your enemy from whom you may exact it ? Hath he not left the city, and in fear Conceal'd himself, for aught I can imagine ? What would you more ?
Ador. 1 should do.
CamiL Never think on't, Till fitter time and place invite you to it : I have read Caranza,5 and find not in his Grammar
s I have read Caranza,] This great man — " great let me call him," for be has obtained the praise of Bobadill, wrote ^ systematic treatise on duelling, which seems to ha?e bees the
THE GUARDIAN. 179
Of quarrels, that the injured man is bound To seek for reparation at an hour ; But may, and without loss, till he hath settled More serious occasions that import him, For a clay or two defer it.
Ador. You'll subscribe Your hand to this ?
Camil. And justify 't with my life ; Presume upon't.
Ador. On, then ; you shall o'er-rule me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
A Room in Severino's House. Enter IOLANTE and CALIPSO.-
»
loL I'll give thee a golden tongue, and have
it hung up, Over thy tomb, for a monument
Calip. I am not prepared yet To leave the world ; there are many good pranks I must dispatch in this kind before I die : And I had rather, if your honour please, Have the crowns in my purse.
T6L Take that.
Calls. Magnificent lady ! May you live long, and, every moon, love change,
Vade Mecum of the punctilious gallants about the court of James f . He is frequently mentioned by Beaumont and Flet cher, Jonson, and our author, and generally with the ridicule which he deserves. From a passage in the New Jww, it should seem that his reputation did not long outlive their sarcasms :
" Host. They had their times, and we can say, they were* " So had Caranza his."
180 THE GUARDIAN.
\
That I may have fresh employment ! You know
what Remains to be done ?
lol. Yes, yes ; I will command My daughter and Mirtilla to their chamber. Calip. And lock them up; such liquorish kit-.
lings are not To be trusted with our cream. Ere I go, I'll
help you To set forth the banquet, and place the candied
eringoes
Where he may be sure to taste them ; then un dress you, For these things are cumbersome, when you
should be active :
A thin night mantle to hide part of your smock, With your pearl- embroider'd pantofles on your
feet, And then you are ann'd for service! nay, no
trifling,
We are alone, and you know 'tis a point of folly To be coy to eat when meat is set before you.
[Exeunt*
SCENE V.
A Street before Severino's House. Enter ADORIO and Servant.
Ador. 'Tis eleven by my watch, the hour ap pointed. Listen at the door — hear'st thou any stirring?
Serv. No, sir; All's silent here.
Ador. Some cursed business keeps Her mother up, I'll walk a little circle,
THE GUARDIAN. 181
And shew where you shall wait us with the horses, And then return. This short delay afflicts me, And I presume to her it is not pleasing. [Exeunt.
Enter DURAZZO and CALDORO.
Dur. What's now to be done? prithee let's to
bed, I am sleepy ;
And here's my hand on't, without more ado, By fair or foul play we'll have her to morrow In thy possession.
Cald. Good sir, give me leave To taste a little comfort in beholding The place by her sweet presence sanctified. She may perhaps, to take air, ope the casement, And looking out, a new star to be gazed on By me with adoration, bless these eyes, Ne'er happy but when she is made the object,
Dur. Is not here fine fooling !
Cald. Thou great queen of love, Or real or imagined, be propitious To me, thy faithful votary ! and I vow To erect a statue to thee, equal to Thy picture, by Apelles' skillful hand Left as the great example of his art; And on thy thigh I'll hang a golden Cupid, His torches flaming, and his quiver full, For further honour !
Dur. End this waking dream, And let's away.
Enter from the house CALISTA and MIRTILLA.
Calls. Mirtilla!
Cald. 'Tis her voice !
Calls. You heard the horses' footing ?
Mlrt. Certainly.
382 THE GUARDIAN.
X
Calls. Speak low. My lord Adorio !
Cald. I am dumb.
Dur. The darkness friend us too ! Most ho-
nour'd madam, Adorio, your servant.
Calls. As you are so, I do command your silence till we are Further remov'd ; and let this kiss assure you (I thank the sable night that hides my blushes) I am wholly yours.
Dur. Forward, you micher !6
Mirt. Madam, Think on Mirtilla ! [Goes into the house.
Dur. I'll not now enquire The mystery of this, but bless kind fortune Favouring us beyond our hopes: yet, now I think
on't,
I had ever a lucky hand in such smock night- work. [Exeunt.
Enter ADORIO and Servant.
Ador. This slowness does amaze me: she's not
alter'd In her late resolution?
lol. [within.} Get you to bed, And stir not on your life, till I command you,
Ador. Her mother's voice ! listen.
Serv. Here comes the daughter.
Re-enter MIRTILLA hastily. Mirt. Whither shall I fly for succour r
6 Forward, you micher!] To mich is to lurk. I am ashamed to waste a word on what is known to every school-boy in the kingdom ; but I am told that there are some grown persons " who will be thankful for the information."
THE GUARDIAN. 183
x
Ador. To these arms, Your castle of defence, impregnable, And not to be blown up : how your heart beats ! Take comfort, dear Calista, you are now In his protection that will ne'er forsake you : Adorio, your changed Adorio, swears By your best self, an oath he dares not break, He loves you, loves you in a noble way, His constancy firm as the poles of heaven. I will urge no reply, silence becomes you ; And I'll defer the music of your voice, Till we are in a place of safety.
Mirt> O blest error ! [Aside. Exeunt.
Enter SEVERING.
Seo< Tis midnight: how my fears of certain
death,
Being surprised, combat with my strong hopes Raised on my chaste wife's goodness! lam grown A stranger in the city, and no wonder, I have too long been so unto myself:
Grant me a little truce, my troubled soul
I hear some footing, ha !
Enter LAVAL and CALIPSO.
Calip. That is the house,
And there's the key : you'll find my lady ready To entertain you; 'tis not fit I should Stand gaping by while you bill : I have brought
you on, Charge home, and come off with honour. [Exit,
Sev. It makes this way.
Lav. I am much troubled, and know not what
to think Of this design.
Sev. It still comes on.
184 THE GUARDIAN.
Lav. The watch ! I am betray'd.
Sev. Should I now appear fearful, It would discover me; there's no retiring. My confidence must protect me ; I'll appear As if I walk'd the round.6 — Stand !
Lav. I am lost.
Sev. The word ?
Lav. Pray you forbear ; I am a stranger, And missing, this dark stormy night, my way To my lodging, you shall do a courteous office To guide me to it.
Sev. Do you think I stand here For a page or a porter ?
Lav. Good sir, grow not so high : I can justify my being abroad ; I am No pilfering vagabond, and what you are Stands yet in supposition ; and I charge you, If you are an officer, bring me before your
captain ;
For if you do assault me, though not in fear Of wluat you can do alone, I will cry murder, And raise the streets.
Sev. Before my captain, ha ! And bring my head to the block. Would we were
parted, I have greater cause to fear the watch than .he.
Lav. Will you do your duty ?
Sev. I must close with him : — Troth, sir, whate'eryouare, (yet by your language, I guess you a gentleman,) I'Jl not use the rigour Of my place upon you : only quit this street, For your stay here will be dangerous ; and good night"!
rn
appear
As if ^ I walk'd the round.] i. e. As if I was one of tli* •watch. See Vol. III. p. 141.
THE GUARDIAN.
185
Lav. The like to you, sir; I'll grope out my way As well as I can. O damn'd bawd! — Fare you
well, sir. [Exit.
Sev. I am glad he's gone; there is a secret
passage, Unknown to my wife, through which this key
will guide me
To her desired embraces, which must be, My presence being beyond her hopes, most
welcome. [Exit*
SCENE VI. A Room in Severino's House.
IOLANTE is heard speaking behind a curtain.
IdL I am full of perplex'd thoughts. Impe rious blood,
Thou only art a tyrant; judgment, reason. To whatsoever thy edicts proclaim, With vassal fear subscribe against themselves. I am yet safe in the port, and see before me, If I put off, a rough tempestuous sea, The raging winds of infamy from all quarters Assuring my destruction ; yet my lust Swelling the wanton sails, (my understanding Stow'd under hatches,) like a desperate pilot, Commands me to urge on. My pride, my pride, Selr-love, and over-value of myself, Are justly punish'd : I, that did deny My daughter's youth allow'd and lawful pleasures, And would not suffer in her those desires She suck'd in tf'ith my milk, now in my waning Am scorch'd and burnt up with libidinous fire,
VOL. IV.
O
186 THE GUARDIAN.
That must consume my fame; yet still- 1 throw More fuel on it.
Enter SEVERING before the curtain.
Sev. 'Tis her voice, poor turtle : She's now at her devotions, praying for Her banish'd mate ; alas, that for my guilt Her innocence should suffer ! But I do Commit a second sin in my deferring The ecstasy of joy that will transport her Beyond herself, when she flies to my lips, And seals my welcome. — [Draws the curtain, and discovers lolante seated, with a rich banquet, and tapers, set forth.] — lolante !
lol. Ha! Good angels guard me !
Sev. What do I behold !
Some sudden flash of lightning strike me blind, Or cleave the centre of the earth, that I May living find a sepulchre to swallow Me and my shame together !
lol. Guilt and horror
Confound me in one instant; thus surprised, The subtilty of all wantons, though abstracted, Can shew no seeming colour of excuse, To plead in my defence. [Aside.
Sev. Is this her mourning ? O killing, object ! The imprison'd vapours Of rage and sorrow make an earthquake in me ; This little world, like to a tottering tower, Not to be miderpropp'd ; — yet in my faJl, I'll crush thee with my ruins. [Draws a poniard.
lol. [kneeling.] Good sir, hold : For, my defence unheard, you wrong your justice, If you proceed to execution; And will, too late, repent it.
THE GUARDIAN. 187
Sev. Thy defence !
To move it, adds (could it receive addition) Ugliness to the loathsome leprosy That, in thy being a strumpet, hath already Infected every vein, and spreads itself Over this carrion, which would poison vultures And dogs, should they devour it. Yet, to stamp The seal of reprobation on thy soul, I'll hear thy impudent lies, borrow'd from hell, And prompted by the devil, thy tutor, whore ! Then send thee to him. Speak.
lol. Your Gorgon looks Turn me to stone, and a dead palsy seizes My silenced tongue.
Sev. O Fate, that the disease Were general in women, what a calm Should wretched men enjoy ! Speak, and be
brief, Or thou shalt suddenly feel me.
lol. Be appeased, sir, Until I have deliver'd reasons for This solemn preparation.
Sev. On, I hear thee.
lol. With patience ask your memory ; 'twill
instruct you,
This very day of the month, seventeen years since, You married me.
Sev. Grant it, what canst thou urge From this ?
lol. That day, since your proscription, sir, In the remembrance of it annually, The garments of my sorrow laid aside, 1 have with pomp observed.
Sev. Alone !
161. The thoughts
Of my felicity then, my misery now, Were the invited guests ; imagination *O2!
188 THE GUARDIAN.
Teaching me to believe that you were present. And a partner in it.
Sev. Rare ! this real banquet To feastyour fancy : fiend ! could fancy drink off These flaggons to my health, or the idle thought, Like Baal, devour these delicates ? the room Perfumed to take his nostrils ! this loose habit, Which Messalina would not wear, put on To fire his lustful eyes ! Wretch, am I grown So weak in thy opinion, that it can Flatter credulity that these gross tricks May be foisted on me? Where's my daughter?
where
The bawd your woman ? answer me. — Calista ! Mirtilla ! they are disposed of, if not murder'd, To make all sure ; and yet methinks your neigh bour,
Your whistle, agent, parasite, Calipso, Should be within call, when you hem, to usher in The close adulterer. [Lays hands on her.
lot. What will you do ? Sev. Not kill thee, do not hope it ; I am not So near to reconcilement. Ha! this scarf, The intended favour to your stallion, now Is useful : do not strive ; — [He binds for.]— thus
bound, expect
All studied tortures my assurance, not My jealousy, thou art false, can pour upon thee. In darkness howl thy mischiefs ; and if rankness Of thy ^imagination can conjure The ribald [hither,*] glut thyself with him ; I will cry Aim I and in another room Determine of my vengeance. Oh, my heart strings ! [Exit with the tapers.
* The ribald [hither,] glut thyself wit h him ;] The word in- closed in brackets, or one of a similar meaning, seems necessary to complete the sense as well as the metre.
THE GUARDIAN. 189
lol. Most miserable woman ! and yet sitting A judge in mine own cause upon myself, I could not mitigate the heavy doom My incens'd husband must pronounce upon me. In my intents I am guilty, and for them Must suffer the same punishment, as if I had, in fact, offended.
Calip. \within.'] Bore my eyes out, If you prove me faulty : I'll but tell my lady What caused your stay, and instantly present you,
Enter CALIPSO.
How's this ? no lights ! What new device ? will
she play At blindman's-buff ? — Madam !
lol. Upon thy life, Speak in a lower key.
Calip. The mystery Of this, sweet lady ? where are you ?
lol. Here, fast bound.
Calip. By whom ?
lol. I'll whisper that into thine ear, And then farewell for ever,
Calip. How ! my lord ?
I am in a fever : horns upon horns grow on him ! Could he pick no hour but this to break a bargain Almost made up ?
lol. What shall we do ?
Calip. Betray him ; I'll instantly raise the watch.
lol. And so make me For ever infamous.
Calip. The gentleman, The rarest gentleman is at the door, Shall he lose his labour? Since that you must perish,
190 THE GUARDIAN.
'Twill shew a woman's spleen in you to fall Deservedly ; give him his answer, madam. I have on the sudden in my head a strange whim; But I will first unbind you. [Frees T6L
lol. Now what follows?
Calip. I will supply your place; [lol. binds CalipJ\
and, bound, give me
Your mantle, take my night-gown ; send away The gentleman satisfied. I know my lord Wants power to hurt you, I perhaps may get A kiss by the bargain, and all this may prove But some neat love-trick : if he should grow
furious,
And question me, I am resolv'd to put on An obstinate silence. Pray you dispatch the
gentleman, His courage may cool.
lol. I'll speak with him, but if To any base or lustful end, may mercy At my last gasp forsake me ! [Exit.
Calip. I was too rash, And have done what I wish undone: say he
should kill me ?
I have run my head.in a fine noose, and I smell The pickle I am in ! 'las, how I shudder Still more and more ! would I were a she Priapus, Stuck up in a garden to fright away the crows, So I were out of the house ! she's at her pleasure, Whate'ershe said; and I must endure the torture- He comes ; I cannot pray, my fears will kill me.
Re-enter SEVERING with a knife in his hand, throw ing open the doors violently.
Sev. It is a deed of darkness, and I need No light to guide me; there is something tells nn I am too slow-paced in my wreak, and trifle
THE GUARDIAN. 191
In my revenge. All hush'd ! no sigh nor groan, To witness her compunction ! can guilt sleep, And innocence he open eyed ? even now, Perhaps, she dreams of the adulterer, And in her fancy hugs him. Wake, thou strumpet, And instantly give up unto my vengeance The villain that defiles my bed ; discover Both what and where he is, and suddenly, That I may bind you face to face, then sew you Into one sack, and from some steep rock hurl you Into the sea together ; do not play with The lightning of my rage; break stubborn silence, And answer my demands ; will it not be ? I'll talk no longer ; thus I mark thee for A common strumpet.
[Strikes at her with the knife.
Calip. Oh !
Sev. Thus stab these arms
That have stretch'd out themselves to grasp a stranger.
Calip. Oh!
Sev. This is but an induction ; I will draw The curtains of the tragedy hereafter : Howl on, 'tis music to me. [Exit.
Calip. He is gone.
A kiss, and love-tricks ! he hath villainous teeth, May sublimed mercury draw them ! if all dealers In my profession were paid thus, there would be A dearth of cuckolds. Oh my nose ! I had one : My arms, my arms ! I dare not cry for fear ; Cursed desire of gold, how art thou punish'd !
Re-enter IOLANTE.
Tol. Till now I never truly knew myself, Nor by all principles and lectures read In chastity's cold school, was so instructed
192 THE GUARDIAN.
As by her contrary, how base and deform'd
Loose appetite is; as in a few short minutes
This stranger hath, and feelingly, deliver'd.
Oh ! that I could recall my bad intentions,
And be as I was yesterday, untainted
In my desires, as lam still in fact,
I thank his temperance ! I could look undaunted
Upon my husband's rage, and smile at it,
So strong the guards and sure defences are
Of armed innocence; but I will endure
The penance of my sin, the only means
Is left to purge it. The day breaks.— Calipso \
Calip. Here, madam, here.
707. Hath my lord visited thee ?
Calip. Hell take such visits ! these stabb'd
arms, and loss
Of my nose you left fast on, may give you a relish What a night I have had oft, and wnat you had
suffered, Had I not supplied your place.
lol. I truly grieve for't ; Did not my husband speak to thee ?
Calip. Yes, I heard him, And felt him, ecce signum, with a mischief ! But he knew not me ; like a true-bred Spartan
boy,'
With silence I endured it ; he could not get One syllable from me.
lol. Something may be fashion'd From this ; invention help me ! I must be sudden.
[Unbinds her. Thou art free, exchange, quick, quick ! now bind
me sure, And leave me to my fortune.
like a trvc-bred Spartan boy,] The old copy
reads/cu1. The amendment by Mr. M. Mason
THE GUARDIAN. 193
Calip. Pray you consider The loss of my nose ; had I been but carted for
you,
Though wash'd with mire and chamber-lie, I had Examples to excuse me : but my nose, My nose, dear lady ! «
'lol. Get off, I'll send to thee. [Exit Calipso. If so, it may take ; if it fail, I must Suffer whatever follows.
Re-enter SEVERING with the knife and taper.
Sev. I have search'd
In every corner of the house, yet find not My daughter, nor her maid ; nor any print Of a man's footing, which, this wet night, would Be easily discerned, the ground being soft, At his coming in or going out.
lol Tis he,
And within hearing ; heav'n forgi ve this feigning,* I being forced to't to preserve my life, To be better spent hereafter !
Sev. I begin
To stagger, and my love, if it knew how, (Her piety heretofore, and fame remembered,) Would plead in her excuse.
1 161. 'Tis he,
And within hearing: heaven forgive this feigning^ All the editions read :
'Tis he.
And I'm within hearing ; heaven, &c.
The unmetrical turn of the line shews that something is wrong ; and, indeed, what Ib'lante wanted was, that her husband should be within hearing, that she might begin her adjurations. " To remarkj" as Johnson says, (on another occasion,) u the impro bability of the fiction, or the absurdity of the conduct of this strange interlude, were to waste criticism upon unresisting im becility."
1Q.4 THE GUARDIAN.
707. [aloud.} You blessed guardians Of matrimonial faith, and just revengers Of such as do in fact offend against Your sacred rites and ceremonies ; by all titles And holy attributes you do vouchsafe To be invoked, look down with saving pity Upon my matchless sufferings !
Sev. At her devotions : Affliction makes her repent.
lot. Look down
Upon a wretched woman, and as I Have kept the knot of wedlock, in the temple By the priest fastened, firm ; (though in loose
wishes
I yield I have offended;) to strike blind The eyes of jealousy, that see a crime I never yet committed, and to free me From the unjust suspicion of my lord, Restore my martyr'd face and wounded arms To their late strength and beauty.
Seo. Does she hope To be cured by miracle ?
lol. This minute I Perceive with joy my orisons heard and granted.
You ministers of mercy, who unseen, And by a supernatural means, have done This work of heavenly chanty, be ever Canonized for't !
Sev. I did not dream, I heard her, And I have eyes too, they cannot deceive me : If I have no belief, in their assurance,2 I must turn sceptic. Ha ! this is the hand, And this the fatal instrument : these drops
* If I have no belief in their assurance,] So the quarto, Coxeter misprinted it — in their assistance, and Mr. M. Mason, as usual, followed him.
THE GUARDIAN. 19$
Of blood, that gush'd forth from her face and
arms, Still fresh upon the floor. This is something
more
Than wonder or amazement ; I profess I am astonish'd.
lol. Be incredulous still, And go on in your barbarous rage, led to it By your false guide, suspicion ; have no faith In my so long tried loyalty, nor believe That which you see; and for your satisfaction, My doubted innocence cleared by miracle, Proceed ; these veins have now new blood, if you Resolve to let it out.
Sev. I would not he fool'd With easiness of belief, and faintly give Credit to this strange wonder; 'tis now thought
on :
In a fitter place and time I'll sound this further.
[Aside.
How can I expiate my sin? or hope, [Unties her. Though now I write myself thy slave, the service Of my whole life can win thee to pronounce Despair'd-of pardon? Shall I kneel? that's
poor,
Thy mercy must urge more in my defence, Than I can fancy ; wilt thou have revenge ? .My heart lies open to thee.
lol. This is needless To me, who in the duty of a wife, Know I must suffer.
Sev. Thou art made up of goodness, And from my confidence that I am alone The object of thy pleasures, until death Divorce us, we will know no separation. Without inquiring why, as sure thou wilt not, Such is thy meek obedience, thy jewels
196 THE GUARDIAN.
And choicest ornaments packM up, thou shalt Along with me, and as a queen be honour'd By such as style me sovereign. Already My banishment is repeal'd, thou being present; The Neapolitan court a place of exile When thou art absent: my stay here is mortal, Of which thou art too sensible, I perceive it ; Come, dearest lolante, with this breath All jealousy is blown away. [Embraces her.
lot. Be constant. [Exeunt.
A C T I V. S C E N E I.
The Country.
A Noise within, as of a horse fallen; — then enter DURAZZO, CALDORO, and Servant, with CALISTA in their arms.
Dur. Hell take the stumbling jade!
Cald. Heaven help the lady !
Serv* The horse hath broke his neck.
Dur. Would thine were crack'd too, So the lady had no harm ! Give her fresh air, Tis but a swoon.
Cald. 'Tis more, she's dead.
Dur. Examine Her limbs if they be whole : not too high, not
too high,
You ferret ; this is no coney-burrow for you. How do you find her?
Cald. No breath of comfort, sir: too cruel fate! Had I still pined away, and linger'd under The modesty of just and honest hopes
THE GUARDIAN. 197
After a long consumption, sleep and death To me had been the same ; but now, as 'twere, Possess'd of all my wishes, in a moment To have them ravish'd from me! suffer shipwreck In view of the port I and, like a half-starv'd
beggar,
No sooner in compassion clothed, but coffin'd ! — Malevolent destinies, too cunning in Wretched Caldoro's tortures ! O Calista, If thy immortal part hath not already Left this fair palace, let a beam of light Dawn from thine eye, in this Cimmerian darkness, To guide my shaking hand to touch the anchor Of hope in thy recovery.
Calls. Oh !
Dur. She lives ;
Disturb her not: she is no right-bred woman, If she die with one fall; some of my acquaintance Have ta'en a thousand merrily, and are still Excellent wrestlers "at the close hug.
Cald. Good sir —
Dur. Prithee be not angry, I should speak
thus if My mother were in her place.
Cald. But had you heard The music of the language which she used To me, believed Adorio, as she rode Behind me ; little thinking that she did Embrace Caldoro —
Calls. Ah, Adorio !
Dur. Leave talking, I conceive it.
Calls. Are you safe ?
Cald. And raised, like you, from death to life, to hear you.
Calls. Hear my defence then, ere I take my veil off,
198 THE GUARDIAN.
A simple maid's defence, which, looking on you, I faintly could deliver ; willingly I am become your prize, and therefore use Your victory nobly ; heaven's bright eye, the
sun,
Draws up the grossest vapours, and I hope I ne'er shall prove an envious cloud to darken The splendour of your merits. I could urge With what disdain, nay scorn, I have declined The shadows of insinuating pleasures Tender d by all men else, you only being The object of my hopes : that cruel prince To whom the olive-branch of peace is offer'd, Is not a conqueror, but a bloody tyrant, If he refuse it; nor should you wish a triumph, Because Calista's humble : I have said, And now expect your sentence.
Dur. What a throng
Of clients would be in the court of Love, ' Were there many such she-advocates! Art thou
dumb ? Canst thou say nothing for thyself?
Cald. [Kneels.} Dear lady, Open your eyes, and look upon the man, The man you have elected for your judge, Kneeling to you for mercy.
Calls. I should know
This voice, and something more than fear I am Deceived ; but now I look upon his face, I am assured I am wretched.
Dur. Why, good lady ? Hold her up, she'll fall again before her time
else. The youth's a well-timber'd youth, look on his
making ; His hair curl'd naturally; he's whole-chested too,
THE GUARDIAN. 199
And will do his work as well, and go through
stitch with't,
As any Adorio in the world, my state on't ! A chicken of the right kind ; and if he prove not A cock of the game, cuckold him first, and after Make a capon of him.
Calls. I'll cry out a rape, If thoti unhand me not : would I had died In my late trance, and never lived to know I am hetray'd !
Dur. To a young and active husband ! Call you that treachery ? there are a shoal of Young wenches i'the city, would vowa pilgrimage Beyond Jerusalem, to be so cheated. — To her again, you milk-sop ! violent storms Are soon blown over.
Calls. How could 'st thou, Caldoro, With such a frontless impudence arm thy hopes So far, as to believe I might consent To this lewd practice? have I not often told thee, Howe'er I pitied thy misplaced affection, I could not answer it; and that there was A strong antipathy between our passions, Not to be reconciled ?
Cald. Vouchsafe to hear me With an impartial ear, and it will take from 'he rigour of your censure. Man was mark'd
friend, in his creation, to himself,
id may with fit ambition conceive 'he greatest blessings, and the highest honours ippointed for him, if he can achieve them
te right and noble way : I grant you were 'he end of my design, but still pursued
rith a becoming modesty, heaven at length Being pleased, and not my arts, to further it.
Dur. Now he comes to her : on, boy !
Cald. I have served you
200 THE GUARDIAN.
With a religious zeal, and born the burthen
Of your neglect, if I may call it so,
Beyond the patience of a man : to prove this,
I have seen those eyes with pleasant glances play1
Upon Adorio's, like Phoebe's shine,
Gilding a crystal river; and your lip
Rise up in civil courtship to meet his,
While I bit mine with envy: yet these favours,
Howe'er my passions raged, could not provoke me
To one act of rebellion against
My loyalty to you, the sovereign
To whom I owe obedience.
Calis. My blushes Confess this for a truth.
Dur. A flag of truce is Hung out in this acknowledgment.
Cald. I could add,
But that you may interpret what I speak The malice of a rival, rather than My due respect to your deserts, how faintly Adorio hath rcturn'd thanks to the bounty Of your affection, ascribing it As a tribute to his worth, and not in you An act of mercy: could he else, invited (As by your words I understood) to take you
J J have seen those eyes with pleasant glances play
Upon Adorio's, &c. This is a beautiful simile ; in the Winter's Tale we have one very much like it :
" — He says, he loves my daughter; " I think so too : for never gaz'd the moon cc Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read, " As 'twere, my daughter's eyes." COXETER. I would not deprive the reader of these pretty lines; though I cannot avoid observing, that they present an image totally distinct from that which they are cited to exemplify. One is the picture of complacent affection, the other of rapturous de light : the language of both is singularly happy.
THE GUARDIAN. 201
To his protection, grossly neglect So gracious an offer, or give power To Fate itself to cross him ? O, dear madam, We are all the halls of time, toss'd to and fro, From the plough unto the throne, and back again : Under the swing of destiny mankind suffers, And it appears, by an unchanged decree, You were appointed mine; wise nature always Aiming at due proportion : and if so, 'I may believe with confidence, heaven, in pity Of my sincere affection, and long patience, Directed you, by a most blessed error, To your vow'd servant's bosom.
Dui\ By my holidam, Tickling philosophy !
Calls. I am, sir, too weak To argue with you ; but my stars have better, I hope, provided for me.
Cald. If there be Disparity between us, 'tis in your Compassion to level it.
Dur. Give fire To the mine, and blow her up.
Calls. I am sensible
Of what you have endured ; but on the sudden, With my unusual travel, and late bruise, *:
I am -exceeding weary. In yon grove, While I repose myself, be you my guard ; My spirits with some little rest revived, We will consider further: for my part, You shall receive modest and gentle answers To your demands, though short; perhaps, to make
you Full satisfaction.
Cald. I am exalted
In the employment ; sleep secure, I'll be Your vigilant centinel.
VOL. IV. * P
£02 THE GUARDIAN.
Calls. But I command you, And as you hope for future grace, obey me, Presume not with one stolen kiss to disturb The quiet of my slumbers; let your temperance, And not your lust, watch o'er me.
Cald. My desires Are frozen, till your pity shall dissolve them.
Dur. Frozen ! think not of frost, fool, in the
dog-days.
Remember the old adage, and make use oft, Occasions bald behind.
Calls. Is this your uncle ?
Cald. And guardian, madam : at your better
leisure,
When I have deserved it, you may give him thanks For his many favours to me.
Calls. He appears A pleasant gentleman.
[Exeunt Caldoro and Callsta.
Dur. You should find me so, But that I do hate incest. I grow heavy ; Sirrah, provide fresh horses ; I'll seek out Some hollow tree, and dream till you return, Which I charge you to hasten.
Serv. With all care, sir. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The Country. A Room In Adorio's House. Enter CARIO with several Villagers, Musicians, 8$c.
Car. Let your eyes be rivetted to my heels,
and miss not
A hair's breadth of my footing; our dance has A most melodious note, and I command you
THE GUARDIAN. 203
*»
To have ears like hares this night, for my lord's
honour,
And something for my worship : your reward is To be drunk-blind like moles, in the wine-cellar; And though you ne'er see after, 'tis the better; You were born for this night's service. And, do
you hear, Wire-string and cat-gut men, and strong-
breath'ci hoboys, For the credit of your calling, have not your
instruments To tune when you should strike up; but twang
it perfectly, As you would read your neck-verse : and you,
warbler, Keep your wind pipe moist, that you may not
spit and hem,
When you should make division. How I sweat ! Authority is troublesome: — \_A horn within.] —
they are come,
I know it by the cornet that I placed On the hill to give me notice : marshal yourselves Fthe rear; the van is yours.
Enter ADORIO, MIRTILLA, CAMILLO, LENTULO, and DONATO.
Now chant it sprightly.
Ador. A well-penn'd ditty. CamiL Not ill sung.
Ador. What follows? [to the dancers.
Car. Use your eyes. If ever — now your master-piece !
4 See this SONG, with that p. 211, at the conclusion of the play.
204 THE GUARDIAN.
A DANCE.
Ador. 'Tis well perform'd : take that, but not
from me,
'Tis your new lady's bounty, thank her for it ; All that I have is her's.
Car. I must have three shares For my pains and properties, the rest shall be Divided equally. [Exeunt Carlo, Villagers, $c.
Mirt. My real fears
Begin, and soon my painted comforts vanish, In my discovery.
Ador. Welcome to your own ! You have (a wonder in a woman) kept Three long hours silence ; and the greater,
holding Your own choice in your arms ; a blessing for
which
I will be thankful to you : nay, unmask, And let mine eye and ears together feast, Too long by you kept empty. Oh, you want Your woman's help, I'll do her office for you.
[ Takes off her mask. Mirtilla !
Camil. It is she, and wears the habit In which Calista three days since appeared, As she came from the temple.
Lent. All this trouble For a poor waiting-maid !
JDon. We are grossly gull'd.
Ador. Thou child of impudence, answer me,
and truly,
Or, though the tongues of angels pleaded mercy, Tortures shall force it from thee.
Mirt. Innocence
Is tree, and open-breasted ; of what crime Stand I accused, my lord ?
THE GUARDIAN. 205
Ador. What crime ! no language Can speak it to the height ; I shall become Discourse for fools and drunkards How was this Contrived? who help'd thee in the plot? dis cover. Were not Calista's aids in't ?
Mirt. No, on my life ; Nor am I faulty.
Ador. No ! what May -game's this ? Didst thou treat with me for thy mistress' favours, To make sale of thine own ?
Mirt. With her and you I have dealt faithfully :5 you had her letter With the jewel I presented : she received Your courteous answer, and prepared herself To be removed by you : and howsoever You take delight to hear what you have done, From my simplicity, and make my weakness The subject of your mirth, as it suits well With my condition, I know you have her In your possession.
Ador. How ! has she left Her mother's house?
Mirt. You drive this nail too far. Indeed she deeply vow'd, at her departure, To send some of your lordship's servants for me, (Though you were pleased to take the pains
yourself,)
That I might still be near her, as a shadow To follow her, the substance.
Ador. She is gone then ?
-Mirt. This is too much; but, good my lord, forgive me,
5 I have dealt faithfully ;] So the old copy. Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason read faithful, which utterly destroys the metre: but there is no end of these blunders.
206 THE GUARDIAN.
I come a virgin hither to attend My noble mistress, though I must confess, I look with sore eyes upon her good fortune, And wish it were mine own.
Ador. Then, as it seems, You do yourself affect me ?
Mirt. Should she hear me, And in her sudden fury kill me for't, I durst not, sir, deny it ; since you are A man so form'd, that not poor I alone, But all our sex like me, I think, stand bound To be enamour'd of you.
Ador. O my fate !
How justly am I punish'd, in thee punish'd, For my defended wantonness !6 I, that scorn'd The mistress when she sought me, now I would Upon my knees receive her, am become A prey unto her bondwoman, my honour too Neglected for this purchase. Art thou one of
those
Ambitious servingwomen, who, contemning The embraces of their equals, aim to be The wrong way ladyfied, by a, lord ? was there No forward page or footman in the city, To do the feat, that in thy lust I am chosen To be the executioner ? dar'st thou hope I can descend so low?
Mirt. Great lords sometimes For change leave calver'd salmon, and eat sprats :7 In modesty I dare speak no more.
Camil. I ft were A fish-day, though you like it not, I could say
6 For my defended -wantonness /] i. e. forbidden, interdicted. The word occurs, in this sense, in many of our old writers.
7 Mirt. Great lords sometimes
For change leave calver'd salmon, and eat sprats :] See Vol. III. p. 54.
THE GUARDIAN. 207
I have a stomach, and would content myself With this pretty whiting-mop.8
Ador. Discover yet How thou cam'st to my hands.
Mirt. My lady gone,
Fear of her mother's rage, she being found absent, Moved me to fly ; and quitting of the house, You were pleased, unask'd, to comfort me ; (I
used
No sorceries to bewitch you ;) then vouchsafed (Thanks ever to the darkness of the night !) To hug me in your arms ; and I had wrong'd My breeding near the court, had I refused it.
Ador. This is still more bitter. Canst thou
guess to whom Thy lady did commit herself?
Mirt. They were Horsemen, as you are.
Ador. In the name of wonder, How could they pass the port, where you expected My coming ?
and would content myself
With this pretty whiting-mop.] This word occurs in the sublime strains of Bustopha :
" The thundering seas, whose watry fire " Washes the whiting-mops." Maid in the Mill. And again,
" — They will swim their measures
" Like whiting-mops^ as if their feet were fins," &c.
Martial Maid.
" A whiting-mop^ says the editor, " is a sort of Jish so called." But whether it is a seal or a soland-goose, he does not determine. And so notes are written ! A whiting-mop is a young whiting. Puttenham, in his Art of English Poesie, illustrates the figure " meiosis, or the disabler," by terming his muse his prettie moppe ; understanding, he says, " by this moppe a little prety lady, or tender young thing. For so we call little fishes, that be not come to their full growth, moppes ; as? whiting-moppes, gurnard-woppes, &c." p. 184.
208 THE GUARDIAN.
Camil. Now I think upon't, there came Three mounted by, and, behind one, a woman Embracing fast the man that rode before her.
Lent. I knew the men ; but she was veil'ci.
Ador. What were they ?
Lent. The first the lord Durazzo, and the second, Your rival, young Caldoro ; it was he That carried the wench behind him.
Don. The last a servant, That spurr'd fast after them.
Ador. Worse and worse ! 'twas she ! Too much assurance of her love undid me. Why did you not stay them?
Don. We had no such commission.
Camil. Or say we had, who durst lay fingers on The angry old ruffian ?
Lent. For my part, I had rather Take a baited bull by the horns.
Ador. You are sure friends For a man to build on !
Camil. They are not far off, Their horses appeared spent too ; let's take fresh
ones, And coast the country ; ten to one we find them.
Ador. I will not eat nor sleep, until I have
them : Moppet, you shall along too.
Mirt. So you please
I may keep my place behind you, I'll sit fast, And ride with you all the world o'er.
Camil. A good girl! [Exeunt*
THE GUARDIAN. 209
SCENE III.
Naples. A Street. Enter LAVAL and CALYPSO.
Lav. Her husband ? Severino?
Calip. You may see
His handywork by my flat face ; no bridge Left to support my organ, if I had one : The comfort is, I am now secure from the crin-
comes, I can lose nothing that way.*
Laval. Dost thou not know What became of the lady ?
Calip. A nose was enough to part with, I think, in the service ; I durst stay no logger : But I am full assured the house is empty, Neither poor lady, daughter, servant left there. I only guess he hath forced them to go with him To the dangerous forest, where he lives like a
king, Among the banditti ; and how there he hath used
them, Is more than to be fear'd.
Lav. I have play'd the fool, And kept myself too long conceal'd, sans question,
With the danger of her life. Leave me the
king !
9 / am now secure from the crincomes,
I can lose nothing that way.'] This passage scarcely deserves a'note : but Calipso's meaning is, that, by the previous loss of her nose, she is secured from one of the evils attendant on the disease yet known among the vulgar by the name which she assigns to it.
210 - THE GUARDIAN.
Enter ALPHONSO and Captain.
Calip. The surgeon must be paid.
Lav. Take that. [Gives her money.
Calip. I thank you ;
I have got enough by my trade, and I will build An hospital only for noseless bawds, ('Twill speak my charity,) and be myself The governess of the sisterhood. [Exit.
Alph. I may
Forget this in your vigilance hereafter ; But as I am a king, if you provoke me The second time with negligence of this kind, You shall deeply smart for't.
Lav. The king's moved.
Alph. To suffer
A murderer, by us proscribed,-at his pleasure To pass and repass through our guards !
Capt. Your pardon
For this, my gracious lord, binds me to be More circumspect hereafter.
Alph. Look you be so : Monsieur Laval, you were a suitor to me For Severino's pardon.
Lav. I was so, my good lord.
Alph. You might have met him here, to have
thank'd you for't, As now I understand.
Lav. So it is rumour'd ; And hearing in the city of his boldness, I would not say contempt of your decrees, As then I pleaded mercy, under pardon, I now as much admire the slowness of Your justice (though it force you to some trou ble) In fetching him in.
THE GUARDIAN. 211
Alph. I have consider'd it.
Lav. He hath of late, as 'tis suspected, done An outrage on his wife, forgetting nature To his own daughter; in whom, sir, I have Some nearer interest than I stand bound to In my humanity, which I gladly would Make known unto your highness.
Alph. Go along,
You shall have opportunity as we walk : See you what I committed to your charge, In readiness, and without noise.
Capt. I shall, sir. [Exeunt.
ACT V. SCENE I.
The Forest.
Enter CLAUDIO and all the Banditti, making a guard; SEVERING and IOLANTE with oaken- leaved garlands ; Singers.
A SONG.
Sev. Here, as a queen, share in my sovereignty : The iron toils pitch'd by the law to take The forfeiture of my life, I have broke through, And secure in the guards of these few subjects, Smile at Alphonso's fury ; though I grieve for The fatal cause, in your good brother's loss, That does compel me to this course.
lol. Revive not
A sorrow long since dead, and so diminish The full fruition of those joys, which now
£12 THE GUARDIAN.
I stand possessed of: womanish fear of danger That may pursue us, I shake off, and with A masculine spirit. Sev. Tis well said. lol. In you, sir,
I live ; and when, or by the course of nature, Or violence, you must fall, the end of my Devotions is," that one and the same hour May make us fit for heaven.
tiev. I join with you
In my votes that way :* but how, Ib'lante, You that have spent your past days, slumbering
in
The down of quiet, can endure the hardness And rough condition of our present being, Does much disturb me.
lol. These woods, Severino, Shall more than seem to me a populous city, You being present ; here are no allurements To tempt my frailty, nor the conversation Of such whose choice behaviour, or discourse, May nourish jealous thoughts.
Sev. True, lolante ;
Nor shall suspected chastity stand in need here, To be clear'd by miracle.
lol. Still on that string ! It yields harsh discord.
Sev. I had forgot myself, And wish I might no more remember it. The day wears, sirs, without one prize brought in As tribute to your queen: Claudio, divide Our squadron in small parties, let them watch All passages, that none escape without The payment of our customs.
1 In my votes that way:] i.e. in my prayers; I know not who led the way to this pedantic adoption of the Latin word, (wtum,) but I find it in Jonson, and others, before his time.
THE GUARDIAN. 213
Claud. Shall we bring in The persons, with the pillage ?
Sev. By all means ; Without reply, about it: we'll retire
[Exeunt Claudio and tht rest. Into my cave, and there at large discourse Our fortunes past, and study some apt means To find our daughter; since, she well disposed of, Our happiness were perfect.
lol. We must wait With patience heaven's pleasure.
Sev. Tis my purpose. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Another part of the Forest. Enter LENTULO and CAMILLO.
Lent. Let the horses graze, they are spent.
Camil. I am sure I'm sleepy, And nodded as I rode: here was a jaunt I' the dark through thick and thin, and all to no
purpose ! What a dulness grows upon me !
Lent. I can hardly
Hold ope mine eyes to say so. How did we lose Adorio ? [They sit down.
Camil. He, Donate, and the wench, That cleaves to him like birdlime, took the right
hand : But this place is our rendezvous.
Lent. No matter, We'll talk of that anon heigh ho! [Falls asleep.
Camil. He's fast already. Lentulo ! — I'll take a nap too. [Falls asleep.
214 THE GUARDIAN.
Enter ADORIO, MIRTILLA, an
Ador. Was ever man so crost ?
Mirt. So blest ; this is The finest wild-goose chase ! [Aside.
Ador. What's that you mutter ?
Mirt. A short prayer, that you may find your
wish'd-for love, Though I am lost for ever.
Don. Pretty fool ! Who have we here ?
Ador. This is Camillo.
Mirt. This signior Lentulo.
Ador. Wake them.
Don. They'll not stir, Their eyelids are glued, and mine too: by your
favour, I'll follow their example. [Lies down.
Ador. Are you not weary ?
Mirt. I know not what the word means, while
I travel To do you service.
Ador. You expect to reap The harvest of your flattery ; but your hopes Will be blasted, I assure you.
Mirt. So you give leave To sow it, as in me a sign of duty, Though you deny your beams of gracious favour To ripen it, with patience I shall suffer.
Ador. No more ; my resolution to find Calista, by what accident lost I know not, Binds me not to deny myself what nature Exacteth from me : to walk alone afoot (For my horse is tired) were madness, I must sleep. You could lie down too ?
Mirt. Willingly ; so you please To use me —
THE GUARDIAN. 215
A dor. Use tbee !
Mlrt. As your pillow, sir; I dare presume no further. Noble sir, Do not too much contemn me; generous feet Spurn not a fawning spaniel.
Ador. Well ; sit down.
Mlrt. I am ready, sir.
Ador. So nimble !
Mirt. Love is active,
Nor would I be a slow thing : rest secure, sir ; On my maidenhead, I'll not ravish you.
Ador. For once, So far I'll trust you. [Lays his head on her lap.
Mirt. All the joys of rest Dwell on your eyelids ; let no dream disturb Your soft and gentle slumbers ! I cannot sing, But I'll talk you asleep ; and I beseech you Be not offended, though I glory in My being thus employ'd ; a happiness That stands for more than ample satisfaction For all I have, or can endure. — He snores, And does not hear me ; would his sense of feeling Were bound up too ! I should— — I am all fire. Such heaps of treasure ofT'er'd as a prey, Would tempt a modest thief; I can no longer Forbear — I'll gently touch his lips, and leave No print of mine: — [Kisses him.] ah! — I have
heard of nectar,
But till now never tasted it ; these rubies Are not clouded by my breath : if once again I steal from such a full exchequer, trifles Will not be miss'd ; —[Kisses him again.] — I am
entranced : our fancy,
Some say, in sleep works stronger ; I will prove How far my [Falls asleep.
216 THE GUARDIAN.
Enter DURAZZO,
Dur. My bones ache, I am exceeding cold too ; I must seek out A more convenient truckle-bed. Ha! do I
dream ?
No, no, I wake. Camillo, Lentulo, Donate this, and, as I live, Adorio In a handsome wench's lap ! a whoreson ! you are The best accommodated. I will call My nephew and his mistress to this pageant ; The object may perhaps do more upon her, Than all Caldoro's rhetoric. With what Security they sleep ! sure Mercury Hath travell'd this way with his charming-rod. Nephew ! Calista ! Madam !
Enter CALDORO and CALISTA.
Cald. Here, sir. Is Your man return'd with horses ?
Dur. No, boy, no ; But here are some you thought not of.
Calls. Adorio !
Dur. The idol that you worshipped.
Calls. This Mirtilla ! I am made a stale.
Dur. I knew 'twould take. [Aside.
Calls. False man !
But much more treacherous woman ! Tis appa rent,
They jointly did conspire against my weakness, And credulous simplicity, and have Prevail'd against it.
Cald. I'll not kill them sleeping; But if you please, I'll wake them first, and after
THE GUARDIAN. 217
Offer them, as a fatal sacrifice, To your just anger.
Dur. You are a fool ; reserve Your blood for better uses.
Calls. My fond love Is changed to an extremity of hate ; His very sight is odious.
Dur. I have thought of
A pretty punishment for him and his comrades, Then leave him to his harlotry ; if she prove not Torture enough, hold me an ass. Their horses Are not far off, I'll cut the girts and bridles, Then turn them into the wood ; if they can run, Let them follow us as footmen. Wilt thou fight For what's thine own already !
Calls. In his hat
He wears a jewel,3 which this faithless strumpet, As a salary of her lust, deceived me of; He shall not keep't to my disgrace, nor will I Stir till I have it.
Dur. I am not good at nimming ;4 And yet that shall not hinder us : by your leave,
sir;
'Tis restitution : pray you all bear witness I do not steal it ; here 'tis.
[Takes off Adorio's hat, and removes the jewel j which he gives to Calista.
In his hat
He wears a jewel,] This is in conformity to the custom which then prevailed of wearing brooches (gems set in gold or silver) in the hat. Our ancestors gave the name ofjewe/, not so much to a single stone, as to a cluster of them set in order by the lapidary, and, in general, to any little trinket or ornament of gold and precious stones. See p. 148, and 160.
4 Duraz. / am not good at nimming ;] i. e. at stealing. The word is pure Saxon, and means to takt, to seize. It is found in all our old writers ; and, indeed, is still in use, as a cant term for stealing.
VOL. IV. * Q
218
THE GUARDIAN.
' Calis. Take it, — not
As a mistress' favour, but a strong assurance I am your wife. [Gives it to Caldoro.
Cald. O heaven !
Dur. Pray in the church. Let us away. Nephew, a word ; have you not Been hilling in the brakes, ha ! and so deserv'd This unexpected favour ?
Cald. Yon are pleasant.
[Ejceunt Durazzo, Caldoro, and Calis fa.
Ador. As thou art a gentleman, kill me not basely ; [Starts up ; the rest awake.
Give me leave to draw my sword.
Camil. Ha ! what's the matter ?
Lent. He talked oPs sword.
Don. I see no enemy near us, That threatens danger.
Mirt. Sure 'twas but a dream.
Ador. A fearful one. Methought Caldoro's
sword
Was at my throat, Calista frowning by, Commanding him, as he desired her favour, To strike my head off.
Camil . Mere imagination Of a disturbed fancy.
Mirt. Here's your hat, sir.
Ador. But where's my jewel ?
Camil. By all likelihood lost, This troublesome night.
Don. I saw it when we came Unto this place.
Mirt. I look'd upon't myself, When you reposed.
Ador. What is become of it ? Restore it, for thou hast it ; do not put me To the trouble to search you,
Mirt. Search me !
THE GUARDIAN. 219
Ador. You have been, Before your lady gave you entertainment, A nio-ht-walker in the streets.
Mirt. How, my good lord !
Ador. Traded in picking pockets, when tame
gulls,
Charm'd with your prostituted flatteries, Deign'd to embrace you.
Mirt. Love, give place to anger. Charge me with theft, and prostituted baseness! Were you a judge, nay more, the king, thus urged, To your teeth I would say, 'tis false.
Ador. This will not do.
Camil. Deliver it in private.
Mirt. You shall be
In public hang'd first, and the whole gang of you. I steal what I presented !
Lent. Do not strive.
Ador. Though thou hast swallow'd it, I'll rip
thy entrails, But I'll recover it. [Seizes her.
Mirt. Help, help !
CLAUDIO and two Banditti rush upon them with pistols.
Ador. A new plot !
Claud. Forbear, libidinous monsters ! if you
offer
The least resistance, you are dead. If one But lay his hand upon his sword, shoot all. Ador. Let us fight for what we have, and if
you can Win it, enjoy it.
Claud. We come not to try Your valour, but for your money ; throw down your sword,
220
THE GUARDIAN.
Or I'll begin with you : so ! if you will Walk quietly without bonds, you may, if not We'll force you. — [Fear not,] thou shalt have no
wrong,4 But justice against these. . [To Mir t ilia.
1 Ban. We'll teach you, sir,
To meddle with wenches in our walks.
2 Ban. It being Against our canons.
Camil. Whither will you lead us ? Claud. You shall know that hereafter. — Guard them sure. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. Another part of the Forest.
Enter ALPHONSO disguised as an old Man, LAVA L, and Captain.
Alph. Are all the passages stopp'd ?
Capt. And strongly mann'd ; They must use wings, and fly, if they escape us.
Lav. But why, great sir, you should expose
your person
To such apparent danger, when you may Have them brought bound before you, is beyond My apprehension.
Alph. I am better arm'd Than you suppose : besides, it is confirm'd By all that have been robb'd, since Severino Commanded these banditti, (though it be Unusual in Italy,) imitating
* We'll force you. — [Fear not,] thou shalt have no wrong,] I have added the words in brackets to supply a foot which -was probably lost at the press.
THE GUARDIAN. 221
The courteous English thieves, for so they call
them,
They have not done one murder: I must add too, That, from a strange relation I have heard Of Severino's justice, in disposing The preys brought in, I would be an eye-witness Of what I take up now but on report : And therefore 'tis my pleasure that we should, As soon as they encounter us, without A shew of opposition, yield.
Lay. Your will Is not to be disputed.
Alpli. You have placed Your ambush so, that, if there be occasion, They suddenly may break in ?
Capt. My life upon't.
Alph. We cannot travel far, but we shall meet With some of these good fellows ;5 and be sure You do as I command you.
Lav. Without fear, sir. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Another part of the Forest. Enter SEVERING and IOLANTE.
Sev. 'Tis true ; I did command Calista should
not,
Without my knowledge and consent, assisted By your advice, be married ; but your Restraint, as you deliver it, denying A grown-up maid the modest conversation Of men, and warrantable pleasures, relish'd
5 With some of these good fellows 5] See p. 229.
222 THE GUARDIAN.
Of too much rigour, which, no doubt, hath
driven her To take some desperate course.
lol. What then I did Was, in my care, thought best.
Sev, So I conceive it; But where was your discretion to forbid Access, and fit approaches, when you knew Her suitors noble, either of which I would Have wish'd my son-in-law ? Adorio, However wild, a young man of good parts, But better fortunes : his competitor, Caldoro, for his sweetness of behaviour, Staidness, and temperance, holding the first place Among the gallants most observed in Naples; His own revenues of a large extent, But in the expectation of his uncle And guardian's entradas,* by the course Of nature to descend on him, a match For the best subject's blood, I except none Of eminence in Italy.
lol. Your wishes,
Howe'er a while delay'd, are not, I hope, Impossibilities.
Sev. Though it prove so, Yet 'tis not good to give a check to fortune, When she comes smiling to us. — Hark ! this cornet [Cornet within.
Assures us of a prize; there sit in state, 'Tis thy first tribute.
lol. Would we might enjoy Our own as subjects !
0 And guardian's entradas,] So the old copy. Coxeter (not understanding the word, perhaps,) discarded it for estates, which utterly destroys the metre. Mr. M. Mason implicitly relies on his guidance, scquiturque patrcm, as usual. Entradas are rents, revenues.
THE GUARDIAN. <2<23
Sev. What's got by the sword, Is better than inheritance: all those kingdoms Of Alexander were, by force, extorted,7 Though gilded o'er with glorious styles of con quest :
His victories but royal robberies, And his true definition a thief, When circled with huge navies, to the terror Of such as plough'd the ocean, as the pirate, Who, from a narrow creek, puts off for prey In a small pinnace : — [Cornet withinJ} — From a
second place New spoil brought in ! — [Cornet within.'] — from
a third party ! brave ! This shall be registered a day of triumph, Design'd by fate to honour thee.
Enter CLAUDIO.
Welcome, Claudio ! Good booty, ha?
Enter at different sides, various parties of the Banditti ; onewithAvonio, LENTVLO, DONATO, CAMILLO, MIRTILLA; another with DURAZZO, CALDORO, CALISTA; and the rest with AL- PHONSO, LAVAL, and Captain.
Claud. Their outsides promise so ; But yet they have not made discovery Of what they stand possest of.
7 Of Alexander were, by forced, extorted,'} As this line stands ia the old copy, it is evidently corrupt :
Subdued by Altxander, were by force extorted. This does not read to me like Massinger's : the small change which I have hazarded restores it, at least, to metre. The remark which follows is taken from history; and is said to have been actually made to this prince, by a pirate whom he was about to execute.
224 THE GUARDIAN.
Sev. Welcome all ;
Good boys ! you have done bravely, if no blood Be shed in the service.
] Ban. On our lives, no drop, sir.
Sev. 'Tis to my wish.
707. My lord!
Sev. No more ; I know them.
707. My daughter, and her woman too !
Sev. Conceal Your joys.
Dur. Fallen in the devil's mouth !
Calls. My father, And mother! to what fate am I reserved?
Cald. Continue mask'd ; or grant that you be
known,
From whom can you expect a gentle sentence, If you despair a father's ?
Ador. I perceive now Which way I lost my jewel.
Mirt. I rejoice I'm clear'd from theft ; you have done me wrong,
but I, Unask'd, forgive you.
Dur. 'Tis some comfort yet, The rivals, men and women, friends and foes, are Together in one toil.
Sev. You all look pale,
And by your private whisperings and soft mur murs,
Express a general fear : pray you shake it off; For understand you are not fallen into The hands of a Busiris or a Cacus, Delighted more in blood than spoil, but given up To the power of an unfortunate gentleman, Not born to these low courses, howsoever My fate, and just displeasure of the king, Designed me to it : you need not to doubt
THE GUARDIAN. 225
A sad captivity here, and much less fear, For profit, to be sold for slaves, then shipp'd Info another country ; in a word, You know the proscribed Severino, he, Not unacquainted, but familiar with The most of you. — Want in myself I know not; But for the pay of these my squires, who eat Their bread with danger purchased, and must be With others' fleeces clothed, or live exposed To the summer's scorching heat and winter's cold; To these, before you be compell'd, (a word I speak with much unwillingness,) deliver Such coin as you are furnish'd with.
Dur. A fine method !
This is neither begging, borrowing, nor robbery ; Yet it hath a twang of ail of them : but one
word, sir.
Sev. Your pleasure.
Dur. When we have thrown down our muck, What follows ?
Sev. Liberty, with a safe convoy, To any place you choose.
Dur. By this hand, you are A fair fraternity ! for once I'll be The first example to relieve your convent. There's a thousand crowns, my vintage, harvest,
profits,
Arising from my herds, bound in one bag, Share it among you.
Sev. You are still the jovial, And good Durazzo.
Dur. To the offering ; nay, No hanging an a — , this is their wedding-day: What you must do spite of your hearts, do freely For your own sakes. Camil. There's mine. Lent. Mine.
22(5
THE GUARDIAN.
Don. All that I have.
Cald. This, to preserve my jewel.
Ador. Which I challenge : Let me have justice, for my coin I care not.
Lav. I will not weep for mine.
Capt. Would it were more.
[They all throw down their purses.
Sev. Nay, you are privileged; but why, old fa th e r, [To the King ,
Art thou so slow ? thou hast one foot in the grave, And, if desire of gold do not increase With thy expiring lease of life, thou shouldst Be forwardest.
Alph. In what concerns myself, I do acknowledge it; and I should lie, A vice I have detested from my youth, If I denied my present store, since what I have about me now weighs down in value, Almost a hundred fold, whatever these Have laid before you : see ! I do groan under
[Throws down three bags. The burthen of my treasure : nay, 'tis gold ; And if your hunger of it be not sated With what already I have shewn unto you, Here's that shall glut it. In this casket are Inestimable jewels, diamonds Of such a piercing lustre, as struck blind The amazed lapidary, while he laboured
[Opens the casket.
To honour his own art in setting them : Some orient pearls too, which the queen of Spain Might wear as ear-rings, in remembrance of The day that she was crown'd.
Sev. The spoils, I think, Of both the Indies !
Dur. The great sultan's poor, If parallel'd with this Croesus.
THE GUARDIAN. 227
Sev. Why dost thou weep ?
Alph. From a most fit consideration of My poverty; this, though restored, will not Serve my occasions.
Sev. Impossible !
Dur. May be he would buy his passport up to
heavren ;
And then this is too little; though, in thejourney, It were a good viaticum.
Alph. I would make it
A means to help me thither: not to wrong you With tedious expectation, I'll discover What my wants are, and yield my reasons for
them.
I have two sons, twins, the true images Of what I was at their years ; never father Had fairer or more promising hopes in his Posterity : but, alas ! these sons, ambitious Of glittering honour, and an after-name. Achieved by glorious, and yet pious actions, (For such were their intentions,) put to sea : They had a weli-rigg'd bottom, fully mann'd, An old experienced master, lusty sailors, Stout land men, and what's something more than
rare,
They did agree, had one design, and that was In charity to redeem the Christian slaves Chain'd in the Turkish servitude.
Sev. A brave aim !
Dur. A most heroic enterprise ; I languish To hear how they succeeded.
Alph. Prosperously,
At first, and to their wishes : divers gallies They boarded, and some strong forts near the
shore They suddenly surprised ; a thousand captives,
228 THE GUARDIAN.
Redeem'd from the oar, paid their glad vows and
prayers
For their deliverance : their ends acquired, And making homeward in triumphant manner, For sure the cause deserved it —
Dur. Pray you end here ;
The best, I fear, is told, and that which follows Must conclude ill.
Alph. Your fears are true, and yet I must with grief relate it. Prodigal fame, In every place, with her loud trump, proclaiming The greatness of the action, the pirates Of Tunis and Argiers laid wait for them At their return : to tell you what resistance They made, and how my poor sons fought,
would hut
Increase my sorrow, and, perhaps, grieve you To hear it passionately described unto you. In brief, they were taken, and for the great loss The enemy did sustain, their victory Being with much blood bought, they do endure The heaviest captivity wretched men Did ever suffer. O my sons ! my sons I To me for ever lost ! lost, lost for ever !
Sev. Will not these heaps of gold, added to
thine, Suffice for ransome ?
Alph. For my sons it would ; But they refuse their liberty, if all That were engaged with them, have not their
irons, With theirs, struck off, and set at liberty with
them ; Which these heaps cannot purchase.
Sev. Ha! the toughness Of my heart melts. Be comforted, old father ;
THE GUARDIAN. 229
J have some hidden treasure, and if all
I and my squires these three years have laid up,
Can make the sum up, freely take't.
Dur. I'll sell
Myself to my shirt, lands, moveables ; and thou Shalt part with thine too, nephew, rather than Such brave men shall live slaves.
2 Ban. We will not yield to't.
3 Ban. Nor lose our parts. Sev. How's this !
2 Ban. You are fitter far To be a churchman, than to have command Over good fello<ws.8
Sev. Thus I ever use [Strikes them down.
Such saucy rascals ; second me, Claudio. — Rebellious ! do you grumble ? I'll not leave One rogue of them alive.
Alph. Hold ; — give the sign. [Discovers himself.
All. The king !
Sev. Then I am lost.
Claud. The woods are full Of armed men,
Alph. No hope of your escape Can flatter you.
Sev. Mercy, dread sir! [Kneels.
Alph. Thy carriage
In this unlawful course appears so noble, Especially in this last trial, which
8 Over good fellows.] A cant name by which highwaymen and thieves have been long pleased to denominate themselves ; and which has been given them, in courtesy, by others. Thus Hey wood :
King. If thou be a good fellow, let me borrow a word.
liobbs. I am no good fellow, and I pray heaven thou be'st not one.
King. Why ? dost thou not love good fellows ?
Hobbs. No ; 'tis a bye-word : good fellows be thieves.
Edward IV. Part I.
230 THE GUARDIAN.
I put upon you, that I wish the mercy You kneel in vain for might fall gently on you : But when the holy oil was pour'd upon My head, and I anointed king, I swore Never to pardon murder. I could wink at Your robberies, though our laws call them death, But to dispense with Monteclaro's blood Would ill become a king ; in him I lost A worthy subject, and must take from you A strict account oft. Tis in vain to move ; My doom's irrevocable.
Lav. Not, dread sir, If Monteclaro live.
Alph. If ! good Laval.
Lav. He lives in him, sir, that you thought Laval. [Discovers himself.
Three years have not so alter'd me, but you may Remember Monteclaro.
Dur. How !
ToL My brother !
Calls. Uncle !
Mont. Give me leave : I was Left dead in the field, but by the duke Mont-
pensier,
Now general at Milan, taken up, And with much care recover'd.
Alph. Why lived you So long conceal'd ?
Mont. Confounded with the wrong I did my brother, in provoking him To fight, I spent the time in France that I Was absent from the court, making my exile The punishment imposed upon myself, For my offence.
ToL Now, sir, I dare confess all : This was the guest invited to the banquet, That drew on your suspicion.
THE GUARDIAN.
Sev. Your intent,
Though it was ill in you, I do forgive ; The rest I'll hear at leisure. Sir, your sentence.
Alph. It is a general pardon unto all, Upon my hopes, in your fair lives hereafter, You will deserve it.
Sev. Claud, and the rest. Long live great Alphonso !
Dur. Your mercy shewn in this; now, if you
please, Decide these lovers' difference.
Alph. That is easy ;
I'll put it to the women's choice, the men Consenting to it.
Calls. Here I fix then, never To be removed. [Embraces Caldoro.
Cald. 'Tis rny nil ultra, sir.
Mirt. O, that I had the happiness to say So much to you ! I dare maintain my love Is equal to my lady's.
Ador. But my mind
A pitch above yours : marry with a servant Of no descent or fortune !
•Sev. You are deceived : Howe'er she has been train'd up as a servant, She is .the daughter of a noble captain,
ho, in his voyage to the Persian gulf, 'erish'd by shipwreck; one I dearly loved.
e to my care intrusted her, having taken
y word, if he return'd not like himself,
never should discover what she was ; Jut it being for her good, I will dispense with't. Jo much, sir, for her blood ; now for her portion:
dear I hold the memory of my friend, It shall rank with my daughter's.
Ador. This made good, I will not be perverse.
232 THE GUARDIAN.
Dur. With a kiss confirm it.
Ador. I sign all concord here ; but must to
you, sir,
For reparation of my wounded honour, The justice of the king consenting to it, Denounce a lawful war.
Alph. This in our presence!
Ador. The cause, dread sir, commands it:
though your edicts
Call private combats, murders ; rather than Sit down with a disgrace, arising from A blow, the bonds of my obedience shook off, I'll right myself.
Cald. I do confess the wrong, Forgetting the occasion, and desire Remission from you, and upon such terms As by his sacred majesty shall be judged Equal on both parts.
Ador. I desire no more.
Alph. All then are pleased ; it is the glory of A king to make and keep his subjects happy: For us, we do approve the Roman maxim, To save one citizen is a greater prize Than to have kill'd in war ten enemies. [Exeunt,
SONG, between JUNO and HYMEN, JUNO to the Bride.
Enter a maid ; but made a bride,
Be bold, and freely taste The marriage banquet, ne'er denied
To such as sit down chaste.
THE GUARDIAN. 233
Though he unloose thy virgin zone,
Presumed against thy will, Those joys reserved to him alone,
Thou art a virgin still.
HYMEN to the Bridegroom.
Hail, bridegroom, hail ! thy choice thus made,
As thou wouldst have her true, Thou must give o'er thy wanton trade,
And hid loose fires adieu. That husband who would have his wife
To him continue chaste, In her embraces spends his life,
And makes abroad no waste.
HYMEN and JUNO.
Sport then like turtles, and bring forth
Such pledges as may be Assurance of the father s worth,
And mother's purity.9 Juno doth bless the nuptial bed ;
Thus Hymens torches burn. Live long, and may, when both are dead,
Your ashes Jill one urn /
9 Assurance of the father's -worthy
And mother's purity. ] Meaning, like their parenti; the thought is from Catullus :
Sit mo similis patri Manlio, et facile insciis Noscitetur ab omnibus, Et pudicitiam SUCK Matris indicet ore. '
There is little to be said for this song, (which is to be referrad to Act iv. sc. 2,) or for that in the following page; they are, however, among the best scattered through the plays of Mas- singer, who, as Mr. M. Mason justly observes, is a wretched ballad-maker.
VOL. IV. * R
234 THE GUARDIAN.
SONG, Entertainment of the Forest's Queen*
Welcome, thrice welcome to this shady green, Our long-wish 'd Cynthia, the forest's queen, The trees begin to bud, the glad birds sing In winter, changed by her into the spring.
We know no night,
Perpetual light
Dawns from your eye.
You being near,
We cannot j ear -,
Though Death stood by.
From you our swords take edge, our hearts grow bold; From you in fee their lives your liegemen hold. These groves your kingdom, and our law your will; Smile, and we spare; but if you frown, we kill
Bless then the hour
That gives the power In which you may,
At bed and board,
Embrace your lord
Both night and day.
Welcome, thrice welcome to this shady green, Our long-wished Cynthia, the forest's queen /
THE GUARDIAN. 235
EPILOGUE.
/ am left to enquire, then to relate To the still- doubtful author, at what rate His merchandise art valued. If they prove Staple commodities, in your grace and love To this last birth of his Minerva, he Vows (and we do believe him) seriously, Sloth cast off, and all pleasures else declined, Hell search with his best care, until hefnd New ways, and make good in some laboured song, Though he grow old, Apollo still is young. Cherish his good intentions, and declare By any signs of favour, that you are Well pleased, and with a general consent; And he desires no more encouragement*
1 It is not improbable that, after a temporary suspension of his unsuccessful labours for the stage, Massinger might hope to secure himself against future disappointment by writing for the taste of the public rather than his own. Whatever be the cause, this Comedy is distinguished by a few new features, which shew themselves sometimes in an excess of his usual manner, and sometimes in a departure from it. An instance or two of each will be sufficient. In general, when he determines to intro- uce any change not yet matured by circumstances, he endea- Yours to reconcile us to it through an opinion or wish dropped y one of the speakers in a preceding scene. This method is rofusely indulged in the present Play ; and these brief antici pations of unexpected incidents seem to be regarded by him as sufficient apologies for the extraordinary precipitation of the business of the stage.
Again, in his other Plays he is often irregular, and sometimes involved : the present piece is conceived with unusual wildness of plot, and intricacy of management. One event thrusts out another with little intermission or probability ; and the change of situations is so rapid and strange, that the reader is in dan ger of mistaking the object to which they tend. And here occurs a departure from his usual manner. By pushing these * R<2
I
236 THE GUARDIAN.
surprising incidents too far, he has straitened himself in the de- yelopement of his plot. The consequence is, that the conclusion of the piece is brief and forced ; and presents little else than a sudden and violent solution of difficulties too luxuriantly created. I wish it were not necessary to mention a novelty of another kind. Too much laxity is indulged in his other plays : the pe. culiarity here is, that though it abounds, and forms a consider, able part of the story itself, it is not punished at the conclusion with that justice for which Massinger is generally to be com mended, and with that remembrance of the claims of virtue for which he elsewhere assumes a proper credit.
These improprieties may, perhaps, be attributed to the cir cumstances, under which the Play was written. Yet it contains scattered beauties of no ordinary value. The style of it indeed is almost every where flowing and harmonious; and there are occasional scenes which will charm the imagination and touch the heart. Durazzo's description of his rural sports is highly beautiful and enlivening, and has been commended by others. I do not know that proper praise has been bestowed on another scene, at which the reader of sensibility will certainly stop with delight. There is a moral melancholy in Severino's appearance, A. ii. sc. 4, which is extremely touching. In the Picture, Mas. singer has made Mathias express some just sentiments against too great a fondness for a perishable life. Here we see a weari ness of existence and a contempt of danger heightened by the peculiar situation of Severino, yet mixed with tenderness and compunction. In other parts of the Play we find maxims justly conceived and beautifully expressed. They may be easily sepa rated from the incidents which give rise to them, a'nd be advan tageously remembered for our prudential or moral guidance.
VERY WOMAN;
OR, THE
PRINCE OF TARENT.
A VERY WOMAN.] This Tragi-Comedy, as it is called, was licensed for* the stage June 6th, T634. From the prologue it appears to be a revision of a former play, which had been well received, and which the author modestly insinuates that he was induced to review by the command of his patron. If this patron was, as it has been supposed, the earl of Pembroke, we are indebted to him for one of the most delightful compositions in the English language.
We learn from the Office-book of sir Henry Herbert, that a play of Massinger's, called the Spanish Viceroy , was acted in 1624: this was not improbably the piece alluded to in the prologue. But this is not all. In the MS. Register of lord Stanhope of Harrington, the play of Cardenes^ or Cardenio^ is said to have been performed at Court, in 1613. Mr. Malone, who furnishes me with this notice, conjectures that this might have been the first sketch of what Massinger improved and brought out in 1624, and finally completed as we now have it. Change of name is no argument against this conclusion; for, besides, that nothing was more common upon the revival of plays, it should be recollected, that those who spoke of them, seldom concerned themselves with the author's titles, but gave them such names as pleased themselves, and which were generally assumed from one or other of the more prominent characters,
However this may be, the present Play was most favourably received; and often acted, the old title-page says, " at the private house in Black Friars, by his late Majesty's servants, with great applause." Its popularity seems to have tempted the author's good friend, sir Aston Cockaine, to venture on an imitation of it, which he has executed, not very happily, in his comedy of the Obstinate Lady.
[ 239 ]
P R 0 L O G U E.
To such, and some there are, no question, here.
Who, happy in their memories, do bear
This subject, long since acted, and can say,
Truly, we have seen something like this play.
Our author, with becoming modesty,
(For in this kind he ne'er was bold,) by me,
In his defence thus answers, By command,
He undertook this task, nor could it stand
With his low fortune to refuse to do
What, by his patron, he was caWd unto :
For whose delight and yours, we hope, with care
He hath reviewed it ; and with him we dare
Maintain to any man, that did allow
9Twas good before, it is much bettered now :
Nor is it, sure, against the proclamation
To raise new piles upon an old foundation.*
So much to them delivered; to the rest,
To whom each scene is fresh, he doth protest,
Should his Muse fail now a fair flight to make,
He cannot fancy what will please or take.
* This seems to allude to king James's proclamation, to for- bid the increase of building in London. DAVIES.
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Viceroy of Sicily.
Don Pedro, his son.
Duke of Messina.
Don Martino Cardenes, Ms son.
Don John Antonio, prince oyfTarent.
Captain of the castle of Palermo*
Paulo, a physician.
Cuculo, the Viceroy's steward.
Two Surgeons.
Apothecary.
Citizens.
Slave-merchant.
Servant.
Page.
An English Slave.
Slaves.
Moors.
Pirates.
Sailors.
Almira, the Viceroy's daughter.
Leonora, duke of Messina's niece.
Borachia, wife to Cuculo, governess of Leonora
and Almira. Two Waiting Women.
A good and evil Genius, Servants, Guard, Attendants, fyc.
SCENE, Palermo.
VERY WOMAN,
ACT I. SCENE I.
A Room in the Viceroy's Palace. Enter PEDRO meeting LEONORA.
Pedro. My worthiest mistress ! this day can not end
But prosperous to Pedro, that begins With this so wish'd encounter.
Leon. Only servant,
To give you thanks in your own courtly language, Would argue me more ceremonious . Than heartily affected ; and you are Too well assured, or I am miserable, Our equal loves have kept one rank too long, To sta" 4 at distance now.
Pedrj. You make me happy In this so wise reproof, which I receive As a chaste favour from you, and will ever Hold such a strong command o'er my desires, That though my blood turn rebel to my reason, I never shall presume to seek aught from you, But what (your honour safe) you well may grant
me, And virtue sign the warrant.
Leon. Your love to me So limited, will still preserve your mistress
242 A VERY WOMAN.
Worthy her servant, and in your restraint Of loose affections, bind me faster to you : But there will he a time when we may welcome Those wish'd for pleasures, as heaven's greatest
blessings,
When that the viceroy, your most noble father, And the duke my uncle, and to that, my guardian, Shall by their free consent confirm them lawful.
Pedro. You ever shall direct, and I obey vou : Is my sister stirring yet ?
Leon. Long since.
Pedro. Some business With her, join'd to my service to yourself, Hath brought me hither ; pray you vouchsafe
the favour ' To acquaint her with so much.
Leon. I am prevented.
Enter: ALMIRA, and two Waiting Women dressing
her.
Aim. Do the rest here, my cabinet is too hot; This room is cooler. Brother !
Pedro. Morrow, sister ! Do I not come unseasonably ?
Aim. Why, good brother?
Pedro. Because you are not yet fully made up, Nor fit for visitation. There are ladies, And great ones, that will hardly grant access, On any terms, to their own fathers, as They are themselves, nor willingly be seen Before they have ask'd counsel of their doctor How the ceruse will appear, newly laid on, When they ask blessing.
Aim. Such, indeed, there are That would be still young, in despite of time ; That in the wrinkled winter of their age
A VERY WOMAN.
243
Would force a seeming April of fresh beauty,
As if it were within the power of art
To frame a second nature : but for me,
And for your mistress I dare say as much,
The faces, and the teeth you see, we slept with.
Pedro. Which is not frequent, sister, with some ladies.
Aim. You spy no sign of any night-mask here, (Tie on my carcanet,1) nor does your nostril Take in the scent of strong perfumes, to stifle The sourness of our breaths as we are fasting : You're in a lady's chamber, gentle brother, And not in your apothecary's shop. We use the women, you perceive, that serve us, Like servants, not like such as do create us :— Faith, search our pockets, and, if you find there Comfits of ambergris to help our kisses, Conclude us faulty.
Pedro. You are pleasant, sister, And I am glad to find you so disposed ; You will the better hear me.
Aim. What you please, sir.
Pedro. I am entreated by the prince of Tarent, Don John Antonio —
Aim. Would you would choose Some other subject.
Pedro. Pray you, give me leave, For his desires are fit for you to hear, As for me to prefer. This prince of Tarent
1 (Tie on my carcanet,)] Carcanet (dimin. of carcaw, a chain) a necklace, in which sense it occurs in most of our old
is
writers :
u I'll clasp that neck, where should be set
u A rich and orient carcanet :
" But swains are poor, admit of, then, " More natural chains , the arms of men."
Randolph's Poems.
244 A VERY WOMAN.
Let it not wrong him that I call him friend) Finding your choice of don Cardenes liked of By both your fathers, and his hopes cut off, Resolves to leave Palermo.
Aim. He does well ; That I hear gladly.
Pedro. How this prince came hither, How bravely furnish'd, how attended on, How he hath born himself here, with what charge He hath continued ; his magnificence In costly banquets, curious masques, rare presents, And of all sorts, you cannot but remember.
Aim. Give me my gloves.
Pedro. Now, for reward of all His cost, his travel, and his duteous service, He does entreat that you will please he may Take his leave of you, and receive the favour Of kissing of your hands.
Aim. You are his friend,
And shall discharge the part of one to tell him That he may spare the trouble ; I desire not To see or hear more of him.
Pedro. Yet grant this,
Which a mere stranger, in the way of courtship,2 Might challenge from you.
Aim. And obtain it sooner.
Pedro. One reason for this would do well.
Aim. My will
Shall now stand for a thousand. Shall I lose The privilege of my sex, which is my will, To yield a reason like a man ? or you, Deny your sister that which all true women Claim as their first prerogative, which nature Gave to them for a law, and should I break it, I were no more a woman ?
*— — — In the way of courtship,] i. e. as has been more than once observed, in the way of good breeding, of civility, &c.
A VERY WOMAN. 245
Pedro. Sure, a good one You cannot be, if you put off that virtue Which best adorns a good one, courtesy And affable behaviour. Do not flatter Yourself with the opinion that your birth, , Your beauty, or whatever false ground else You raise your pride upon, will stand against The censure of just men.
Aim. Why, let it fall then ; I still shall be unmoved.
Leon. And, pray you, be you so.
[Aside to Pedro.
Aim. What jewel's that?
1 Worn. That which the prince of Tarent
Aim. Left here, and you received without my
knowledge !
I have use oft now. Does the page wait without, My lord Cardenes sent to enquire my health ?
1 Worn. Yes, madam.
Aim. Give it him, and, with it, pray him To return my service to his lord, and mine.
Pedro. Will you so undervalue one that has So truly loved you, to bestow the pledge Of his affection, being a prince, upon The servant of his rival?
Leon. 'Tis not well.
Faith, wear it, lady : send gold to the boy, 'Twill please him better.
Aim. Do as I command you.
[Edit Waiting Woman.
I will keep nothing that may ^put me in mind Don John Antonio ever loved, or was ; Being wholly now Cardenes'.
Pedro. In another
This were mere barbarism, sister ; and in you, (For I'll not sooth you,) at the best, 'tis rudeness.
Aim. Rudeness !
246 A VERY WOMAN.
Pedro. Yes, rudeness ; and, what's worse, the
want
Of civil manners; nay, ingratitude Unto the many and so fair deservirigs Of don Antonio. Does this express Your breeding in the court, or that you call The viceroy father? a poor peasant's daughter, That ne'er had conversation but with beasts, Or men bred like them, would not so far shame Her education.
Aim. Pray you, leave my chamber ; I know you for a brother, not a tutor.
Leon, You are too violent, madam.
Aim. Were my father
Here to command me, (as you take upon you Almost to play his part,) I would refuse it. Where I love, I profess it ; where I hate, In every circumstance I dare proclaim it. Of all that wear the shapes of men, I loath That prince you plead for; no antipathy Between things most averse in nature, holds A stronger enmity than his with mine ; With which rest satisfied : — If not, your anger May wrong yourself, not me.
Leon. My lord Cardenes!
Pedro. Go : in soft terms, if you persist thus,
you Will be one
Enter GARDEN ES.
Aim. What one? pray you, out with it. Pedro. Why, one that I shall wish a stranger to me,
That I might curse you ; but
Car. -Whence grows this heat ?
Pedro. Be yet advised, and entertainhim fairly,
A VERY WOMAN. 247
For I will send him to you; or no more Know me a brother.
Aim. As you please.
Pedro. Good morrow. [Exit.
Car. Good morrow, and part thus ! you seem
moved too :
What desperate fool durst raise a tempest here, To sink himself?
Aim. Good sir, have patience ; The cause, though I confess I am not pleased, No way deserves your anger.
Car. Not mine, madam, As if the least offence could point at you, And I not feel it: as you have vouchsa'ed me The promise of your heart, conceal it not, Whomsoever it concerns.
Aim. It is not worth So serious an enquiry : my kind brother Had a desire to learn me some new courtship, Which I distasted ; that was all.
Car. Your brother !* In being yours, with more security He might provoke you ; yet, if he hath past A brother's bounds
Leon. What then, my lord ?
Car. Believe it,
ll call him to accompt for't.
Leon. Tell him so.
Aim. No more.
Leon. Yes, thus much ; though my modesty le call'd in question for it, in his absence
will defend him : he hath said nor done, kit what don Pedro well might say or do ;
ark me, don Pedro ! in which understand As worthy, and as well as can be hoped for Of those that love him best — from don Cardenes.
Car. This to me, cousin!
548 A VERY WOMAN.
Aim. You forget yourself.
Leon. No, nor the cause in which you did so, lady, Which is so just that it needs no concealing On Pedro's part.
Aim What mean you ?
Leon. I dare speak it, If you dare hear it, sir : he did persuade Almira, your Almira, to vouchsafe Some little conference with the prince of Tarent, Before he left the court ; and, that the world Might take some notice, though he prosper'd not In his so loved design, he was not scorn'd, He did desire the kissing of her hand, And then to leave her : — this was much !
Car. 'Twas more Than should have been urged by him ; well
denied,
On your part, madam, and I thank you for't. Antonio had his answer, I your grant ; And why your brother should prepare for him An after-interview, or private favour, I can find little reason.
Leon. None at all, Why you should be displeased with't.
Car. His respect To me, as things now are, should have weigh 'd
down
His former friendship: 'twas done indiscreetly, I would be loath to say, maliciously, To build uj) the demolished hopes of him That was my rival. What had he to do, If he view not my happiness in your favour With wounded eyes, to take upon himself An office so distasteful ?
Leon. You may ask
As well, what any gentleman has to do With civil courtesy.
A VERY WOMAN. 249
Aim. Or you, with that
Which at no part concerns you. Good my lord, Rest satisfied, that I saw him not, nor will ; And that nor father, brother, nor the world, Can work me unto any thing but what You give allowance to — in which assurance, With this, I leave you.
Leon. Nay, take me along ; You are not angry too ? Aim. Presume on that.
[Exit, followed by Leonora. Car. Am I assured of her, and shall again tortured with suspicion to lose her, Before I have enjoy'd her ! the next sun Shall see her mine ; why should I doubt, then ?
yet,
doubt is safer than to be secure. But one short day ! Great empires in less time 'lave suffered change: she's constant — but a
woman ;
And what a lover's vows, persuasions, tears, May, in a minute, work upon such frailty, There are too many and too sad examples. The prince of Tarent gone, all were in safety ; Or not admitted to solicit her, My fears would quit me : 'tis my fault, if I Give way to that; and let him ne'er desire To own what's hard [to win,]3 that dares not
guard i1;.
rho waits there ?
To own wlmPs hard [to win,] that dares not guard it.] A )ot is lost here, which I have endeavoured to supply? by the Idition of the words in brackets. The defect was noticed by [r. M. Mason, who proposed to complete the line by reading,
VOL. IV.
250
A VERY WOMAN.
Enter Servants and Page.
Serv. Would your lordship aught ? Gar. Tis well You are so near.
Enter ANTONIO and a Servant.
Ant. Take care all things be ready For my remove.
Serv. They are. [Exit.
Car. We meet like friends, No more like rivals now: my emulation Puts on the shape of love and service to you. Ant. It is return'd. Car. 'Twas rumour'd in the court You were to leave the city, and that won me To find you 'out. Your excellence may wonder That I, that never saw you, till this hour, But that I wish'd you dead, so willingly Should come to wait upon you to the ports ; And there, with hope you never will look back, Take my last farewell of you. Ant. Never look back ! Car. I said so ; neither is it fit you should ; And may I prevail with you as a friend, You never shall; nor, while you live, hereafter Think of the viceroy's court, or of Palermo, But as a grave, in which the prince of Tarent Buried his honour.
Ant. You speak in a language I do not understand.
Car. No ! I'll be plainer.
What madman, that came hither with that pom] Don John Antonio did, that exact courtier Don John Antonio, with whose brave fame onl1
A VERY WOMAN. 251
Great princesses have falPn in love, and died ; That came with such assurance, as young Paris Did to fetch Helen, being sent back, contemn'd,. Disgraced, and scorn'd, his large expense laugh'd
at,
His bravery scoff 'd, the lady that he courted Left quietly in possession of another, (Not to be named that day a courtier Where he was mention'd,) the scarce-known
Cardenes,
And he to bear her from him ! — that would ever Be seen again (having got fairly off) By such as will live ready witnesses Of his repulse, and scandal ?
Ant. The grief of it,
Believe me, will not kill me : all man's honour Depends not on the most uncertain favour Of a fair mistress.
Car. Troth, you bear it well. You should have seen some that were sensible Of a disgrace, that would have raged, and sought To cure their honour with some strange revenge : But you are better temper'd ; and they wrong The Neapolitans in their report, That say they are fiery spirits, uncapable Of the feast injury, dangerous to be talk'd with After a loss ; where nothing can move you,* But, like a stoic, with a constancy Words nor affronts can shake, you still go on, And smile when men abuse you.
+ After a loss ; where nothing can move you,~] Where, for whereas, occurs so frequently in these plays, that it seems scarcely possible to escape the notice of the most incurious reader; yet the last editor has overlooked it, and, in his at tempt to make the author speak English, produced a line of unparalleled neatness and harmony :
After a loss ; for whereas nothing can move you ! *
252 A VERY WOMAN.
Ant. If they wrong
Themselves, I can ; yet, I would have you know, I dare be angry.
Car. Tis not possible.
A taste oft would do well; and I'd make trial What may be done. Come hither, boy. — You
have seen This jewel, as I take it ?
Ant. Yes ; 'tis that I gave Almira.
Car. And in what esteem She held it, coming from your worthy self, You may perceive, that freely hath bestow'd it Upon my page.
Ant. When I presented it, * I did not indent with her, to what use She should employ it.
Car. See the kindness of A loving soul ! who, after this neglect, Nay, gross contempt, will look again upon her, And not be frighted from it.
Ant. No, indeed, sir;
Nor give way longer — give way, do you mark, To your loose wit, to run the wild-goose chase, Six syllables further. I will see the lady, That lady that dotes on you, from whose hate My love increases, though you stand elected Her porter, to deny me.
Car. Sure you will not.
Ant. Yes, instantly : your prosperous success Hath made you insolent; and for her sake I have thus long forborn you, and can yet Forget it and forgive it, ever provided, That you end here ; and, for what's past recalling, That she make intercession for your pardon, Which, at her suit, I'll grant.
Car. I am much unwilling
A VERY WOMAN. 2,53
To move her for a trifle — bear that too,
[Strikes him. And then she shall speak to you.
Ant. Men and angels, Take witness for me, that I have endured More than a man ! — [They fight; Car denes falls.
O do not fall so soon, Stand up — take my hand — so ! when I have
printed,
For every contumelious word, a wound here, Then sink for ever,
Car, Oh, I suffer justly !
1 Serv. Murder! murder! murder!
2 Serv. Apprehend him.
3 Serv. We'll all join with you. Ant. I do wish you more;
My fury will be lost else, if it meet not Matter to work on : one life is too little For so much injury.
Re-enter ALMIRA, LEONORA, and Servant.
Aim. O my Cardenes ! Though dead, still my Cardenes ! Villains,
cowards,
What do ye check at ? can one arm, and that A murderer's, so long guard the curs'd master, Against so many swords made sharp with justice?
1 Serv. Sure he will kill us all; he is a devil.
2 Serv. He is invulnerable. Aim. Your base fears
leget such fancies in you. Give me a sword,
[Snatches a sword from the Servant. This my weak arm, made strong in my revenge, Shall force a way to't. [Wounds Antonio.
Ant. Would it were deeper, madam ! 'he thrust, which I would not put by, being yours,
254 A VERY WOMAN.
Of greater force, to have pierced through that
heart
Which still retains your figure!— -weep still, lady; For eveiy tear that flows from those grieved eyes, Some part of that which maintains life, goes from
me ;
And so to die were in a gentle slumher To pass to paradise : hut you envy me So quiet a departure from my world, My world of miseries; therefore, take my sword,- And, having kill'd me with it, cure the wounds* It gave Cardenes. [Gives Almira his sword.
Re-enter PEDRO.
Pedro. Tis too true : was ever Valour so ill employed !
Ant. Why stay you, lady ? Let not soft pity work on your hard nature; You cannot do a better office to The dead Cardenes, and I willingly Shall fall a ready sacrifice to appease him, Your fair hand offering it.
Aim. Thou couldst ask nothing But this, which I would grant.
[Attempts to wound him.
Leon. Flint-hearted lady !
Pedro. Are you a woman, sister !
[Takes the sword from her.
Aim. Thou art not
A brother,-! renounce that title to thee ; Thy hand is in this bloody act ; 'twas this,
* And having kill'd me with it, cure the wounds, &c.] This alludes to the strange notions then in fashion, respecting the cure of wounds by sympathies and antipathies^ of which sir Kenelrn Digby and others have a vast deal of incomprehensible matter.
A VERY WOMAN. 255
For which that savage homicide was sent hither. Thou equal Judge of all things I6 if that blood, And innocent blood
Pedro, [Best sister.]
Aim. Oh, Cardenes !
How is my soul rent between rage and sorrow, That it can be that such an upright cedar Should violently be torn up by the roots, Without an earthquake in that very moment To swallow them that did it !
Ant The hurt's nothing ;7
But the deep wound is in my conscience, friend, Which sorrow in death only can recover.
Pedro. Have better hopes.
Enter Viceroy, Duke of Messina, Captain, Guard, and Servants.
Duke. My son, is this the marriage
6 Thou equal judge of all things ! if that blood And innocent blood
Pedro. [Best sister.]
Aim. (M, Cardenes!
How is my soul, &c.] So, with the exception of Best sister, reads the old copy. The modern editors strangely give this last speech to Pedro, without noticing how ill it agrees with his sentiments on the occasion, or with don John's answer. The fact seems to be, that Pedro, alarmed at the solemn adjuration of his sister, abruptly checked her (in the old copy her speech is marked as unfinished) by a short address, which changed her train of thinking, and produced the succeeding apostrophe to her lover. I am far from giving the passage in brackets as the genuine one, though something of the like nature apparently once stood there : at any rate, I am confident of having done well in following the old copy and restoring the speech to dmira.
7 Ant. The hurt's nothing; &c.] From this it appears that, during Almira's impassioned speech, don Pedro had been condoling with his friend on his wound ; another proof of the inattention of the modern editors.
256 A VERY WOMAN.
I came to celebrate ? false hopes of man ! I come to find a grave here.
Aim. I have wasted
My stock of tears, and now just anger help me To pay, in my revenge, the other part Of duty, which I owe thee. O, great sir, Not as a daughter now, but a poor widow, Made so before she was a bride, I fly To your impartial justice : the offence Is death, and death in his most horrid form ; Let not, then, title, or a prince's name, (Since a great crime is, in a great man, greater,)8 Secure the offender.
Duke. Give me life for life, As thou wilt answer it to the great king, Whose deputy thou art here.
Aim. And speedy justice.
Duke. Put the damn'd wretch to torture.
Aim. Force him to
Reveal his curs'd confederates, which spare not, Although you find a son among them.
Vice. How !
Duke. Why bring you not the rack forth?
Aim. Wherefore stands The murderer unbound?
Vice. Shall I have hearing?
Duke. Excellent lady, in this you express Your true love to the dead.
Aim. All love to mankind From me. ends with him.
Vice. Will you hear me yet? And first to you ; you do confess "the fact With which you stand charged?
8 (Since a great crime, in a great man, is greater,} Omne animi ritiinn tanto cvnspcctius in se Crimea habet, quanta major qui peccat, habetur.
Juv. Sat. Tiii. y. 140.
A VERY WOMAN. 257
Ant. I will not make worse What is already ill, with vain denial.
Vice. Then understand, though you are prince
of Tarent,
Yet, heing a subject to the king of Spain, No privilege of Sicily can free you (Being convict by a just form of law) From the municipal statutes of that kingdom, But as a common man, being found guilty, Must surfer for it.
Ant. I prize not my life So much, as to appeal from any thing You shall determine of me.
Vice. Yet despair not To have an equal hearing ; the exclaims Of this grieved father, nor my daughter's tears, Shall sway me from myself; and, where they urge To have you tortured, or led bound to prison, I must not grant it.
Duke. No !
Vice. I cannot, sir;
For men of his rank are to be distinguish'd From other men, before they are condemn'd, From which (his cause not heard) he yet stands
free :
So take him to your charge, and, as your life, See he be safe.
Capt. Let me die for him else. [Exeunt Pedro, and Capt. and Guard with Ant.
Duke. The guard of him should have been given to me.
Aim. Or unto me.
Duke. Bribes may corrupt the captain,
Aim. And our just wreak, by force, or cunning
practice, With scorn prevented.
Car. Oh!
258 A VERY WOMAN.
Aim. What groan is that ?
Vice. There are apparent signs of life yet inhim.
Aim. Oh that there were ! that I could pour
my blood Into his veins !
Car. Oh, oh !
Vice. Take him up gently.
Duke. Run for physicians.
Aim. Surgeons.
Duke. All helps else.
Vice. This care of his recovery, timely prac tised,
Would have express'd more of a father in you, Than your impetuous clamours for revenge. But I shall find fit time to urge that further, Hereafter, to you ; 'tis not fit for me To add weight to oppress'd calamity. [Exeunt.
ACT II. SCENE I.
A Room in the Castle. Enter PEDRO, ANTONIO, and Captain.
Ant. Why should your love to me, having
already
So oft endured the test, be put unto A needless trial? have you not, long since, In every circumstance and rite of friendship, Outgone all precedents the ancients boast of, And will you yet move further?
Pedro. Hitherto I have done nothing (howsoe'er you value
A VERY WOMAN. 259
My weak endeavours) that may justly claim A title to your friendship, and much less Laid down the debt, which, as a tribute due To your deservings, not I, but mankind Stands bound to tender.
Ant. Do not make an idol Of him that should, and without superstition, To you build up an altar. O my Pedro ! When I am to expire, to call you mine, Assures a future happiness : give me leave To argue with )7ou, and, the fondness of Affection struck blind, with justice hear me : Why should you, being innocent, fling your life Into the furnace of your father's anget, For my offence ? or, take it granted (yet 'Tis more than supposition) you prefer My safety 'fore your own, so prodigally You waste your favours, wherefore should this
captain,
His blood and sweat rewarded in the favour Of his great master, falsify the trust Which, from true judgment, he reposes in him, For me, a stranger ?
Pedro. Let him answer that, He needs no prompter : speak your thoughts, and freely.
Capt. I ever loved to do so, and it shames not The bluntness of my breeding : from my youth I was train'd up a soldier, one of those That in their natures love the dangers more, Than the rewards of danger. I could add, My life, when forfeited, the viceroy pardon'd But by his intercession ; and therefore, It being lent by him, I were ungrateful, Which I will never be, if I refused To pay that debt at any time demanded.
Pedro. I hope, friend, this will satisfy you.
£60
A VERY WOMAN.
Ant. No, it raises
More doubts within me. Shall I, from the school Of gratitude, in which this captain reads The text so plainly, learn to he unthankful? Or, viewing in your actions the idea Of perfect friendship, when it does point to me How brave a thing it is to be a friend, Turn from the object? Had I never loved The fair Almira for her outward features, Nay, were the beauties of her mind suspected, And her contempt and scorn painted before me, The being your sister would anew inflame me, With much more impotence9 to dote upon her : No, dear friend, let me in my death confirm, (Though you in ail things else have the prece dence,)
I'll die ten times, ere one of Pedro's hairs Shall suffer in my cause.
Pedro. If you so love me, In love to that part of my soul dwells in you, (For though two bodies, friends have but one
soul,) Lose not both life and me.
Enter a Servant.
$er*o. The prince is dead. [Edit.
Ant. If so, shall I leave Pedro here to answer For my escape? as thus I clasp thee, let The viceroy's sentence find me.
Pedro. Fly, for heaven's sake !
9 With much more impotence to dote upon her:'] So the old copy, Coxeter dislikes impotence^ for which he would read im patience ; and Mr. M. Mason, I know not for what reason, omits much, which destroys the metre. It requires no words to prove the text to be genuine. For impotence., see the Unnatu ral Combat, vol. i. p. 173.
A VERY WOMAN.
Consider the necessity ; though now We part, Antonio, we may meet again, But death's division is for ever, friend.
Enter another Servant.
Scrv. The rumour spread, sir, of Martino's
death,
Is checked; there's hope of his recovery. {Exit. Ant. Why should I fly, then, when I may en joy*
With mine own life, my friend ? Pedro. That's still uncertain, He may have a relapse; for once be ruled, friend : He's a good dehtor that pays when 'tis due ; A prodigal, that, before it is required, Makes tender of it.
Enter Sailors.
1 Sail. The bark, sir, is ready.
2 Sail. The wind sits fair.
3 Sail. Heaven favours your escape.
\JVhistle. within. Capt. Hark, how the boatswain whistles you
aboard ! Will nothing move you?
Ant. Can I leave my friend ?
Pedro. I must delay no longer: force him hence.
Capt. I'll run the hazard of my fortunes with
you. Ant. What violence is this ? — hear but my
reasons.
Pedro. Poor friendship that is cool'd with ar guments ! Away, away !
Capt. For Malta.
A VERY WOMAN.
Pedro. You shall hear All our events.
Ant. I may sail round the world, But never meet thy like. Pedro !
Pedro. Antonio !
Ant. I breathe my soul hack to thee.
Pedro. In exchange, Bear mine along with thee.
Capt. Cheerly, my hearts !
[Exeunt Captain and Sailors with Antonio.
Pedro. He's gone : may pitying heaven his
pilot be, And then I weigh not what becomes of me. [Exit.
SCENE II.
A Room in the Viceroy's Palace. Enfer Viceroy, Duke of Messina, and Attendants.
Vice. I tell you right, sir.
Duke. Yes, like a rough surgeon, Without a feeling in yourself you search My wounds unto the quick, then pre-declare The tediousness and danger of the cure, Never remembering what the patient suffers. But you preach this philosophy to a man That does partake of passion, and not To a dull stoic.
Vice. I confess you have
Just cause to mourn your son; and yet, if reason Cannot yield comfort, let example cure. I am a father too, my only daughter As dear in my esteem, perhaps as worthy, As your Martino, in her love to him As desperately ill, cither's loss equal ; And yet I bear it with a better temper :
A VERY WOMAN. 263
Enter PEDRO.
Which, if you please to imitate, 'twill not wrong Your piety, nor your judgment.
Duke. We were fash i on 'd In different moulds. I weep with mine own eyes,
sir,
Pursue my ends too ; pity to you's a cordial, Revenge to me; and that I must and will have, If my Martino die.
Pedro. Your must and will, Shall in your full-sail'd confidence deceive you.
[Aside. Here's doctor Paulo, sir.
Enter PAULO and two Surgeons.
Duke. My hand ! you rather
Deserve my knee, and it shall bend as to
A second father, if your saving aids
Restore my son.
Vice. Rise, thou bright star of knowledge,
Thou honour of thy art, thou help of nature,
Thou glory of our academies ! Paul. If I blush, sir,
To hear these attributes ill-placed on me,
It is excusable. I am no god, sir,
Nor holy saint that can do miracles, But a weak, sinful man : yet, that I may, In some proportion, deserve these favours Your excellencies please to grace me with, I promise all the skill I have acquired In simples, or the careful observation Of the superior bodies, with my judgment Derived from long experience, stand ready To do you service.
264 A VERY WOMAN.
Duke. Modestly replied.
Vice. How is it with your princely patient?
Duke. Speak, But speak some comfort, sir.
Paul. I must speak truth :
His wounds though many, heaven so guided yet Antonio's sword, it pierced no part was mortal. These gentlemen, who worthily deserve The names of surgeons; have done their duties: The means they practised, not ridiculous charms To stop the blood ; no oils, nor balsams bought Of cheating quack-salvers, or mountebanks, By them applied : the rules by Chiron taught, And jEsculapius, which drew upon him The Thunderer's envy, they with care pursued, Heaven prospering their endeavours.
Duke. There is hope, then, Of his recovery ?
Paul. But no assurance ; I must not flatter you. That little air Of comfort that breathes towards us (for I dare not Rob these t'enrich myself) you owe their care ; For, yet, I have done nothing.
Duke. Still more modest ; I will begin with them : to either give Three thousand crowns.
Vice, I'll double your reward ; See them paid presently.
1 Surg. This magnificence
With equity cannot be conferr'd on us ; 5Tis due unto the doctor.
2 Surg. True ; we were
But his subordinate ministers, and did only Follow his grave directions.
Paul. Tis your own : I challenge no part in it.
Vice. Brave on both sides !
A VERY WOMAN. 265
Paul Deserve this, with the honour that will
follow, \
In your attendance.
2 Surg. If both sleep at once, 'Tis justice both should die. [Exeunt Surgeons.
Duke. For you, grave doctor, We will not in such petty sums consider Your high deserts ; our treasury lies open, Command it as your own.
Vice. Choose any castle, Nay, city, in our government, and be lord oft.
Paul. Of neither, sir ; I am not so ambitious : Nor would I have your highnesses secure. We have but faintly yet begun our journey ; A thousand difficulties and dangers must be Encountered, ere we end it : though his hurts, I mean his outward ones, do promise fair, There is a. deeper one, and in his mind, Must be with care provided for : melancholy, And at the height, too, near akin to madness, Possesses him ; his senses are distracted, Not one, but all ; and, if I can collect them, With all the various ways invention Or industry e'er practised, I shall write it My masterpiece.
Duke. You more and more engage me,
Vice. May we not visit him ?
Paul. By no means, sir;
As he is now, such courtesies come untimely : I'll yield you reason for't. Should he look on you, It will renew the memory of that Which I would have forgotten ; your good
prayers,
And those I do presume shall not be wanting To my endeavours, are the utmost aids I yet desire your excellencies should grant me. So, with my humblest service-
VOL. iv. *T
266 A VERY WOMAN.
- Duke. Go, and prosper. [Exit Paulo.
Vice. Observe his piety 1 — I have heard, how true I know not, most physicians, as they grow Greater in skill, grow less in their religion ; Attributing so much to natural causes, That they have little faith in that they cannot Deliver reason for :* this doctor steers Another course — but let this pass. If you please, Your company to my daughter.
Duke. I wait on you. [Exeunt.
I have heard, how true
I know not, most physicians, as they grow Greater in skill, grow less in their religion ; Attributing so much to natural causes, That they have little faith in that they cannot Deliver reason for :] The history of mankind unfortunately furnishes too many instances of this melancholy fact, to permit a doubt on the subject. Let it be added, however, that they chiefly occur among the half-informed of the profession : several of whom, as they have grown yet greater in skill, have, to their praise, renounced their scepticism with their confidence, and increased no less in piety than in knowledge. Jonson observes, with his usual force and perspicuity :
" RUT is a young physician to the family, " That, letting God alone, ascribes to nature a More than her share ; licentious in discourse^ " And in his life a profest voluptuary ; " The slave of money, a buffoon in manners, u Obscene in language, which he-vents for wit, " And saucy in his logics and disputing."
Magnetic Lady.
I have no propensity to personal satire, nor do I think it just to convert an ancient author into a libellist, by an appropriation of his descriptions to modern characters; yet I must, for once, be indulged with saying, that almost every word here delivered applies so forcibly to a late physician, that it requires some evidence to believe the lines were written nearly two centuries ago. To lessen the wonder, however, it may be observed that,
from the days of Dr. Rut to those of Dr. D n, that de.
scription of men who, letting God alone> ascribe to nature mure than her share, have been commonly licentious, petulant, and ob scene buffoons.
A VERY WOMAN. 26?
SCENE III.
A not her Room in the same. Enter LEONORA and Waiting Women.
Leon. Took she no rest to night ?
1 Worn. Not any, madam ;
I am sure she slept not. If she slumber'd/straight, As if some dreadful vision had appeared, She started up, her hair unbound, and, with Distracted looks staring about the chamber, She asks aloud, Where is Martino ? where Have you concealed him ? sometimes names Antonio, Trembling in every joint, her brows contracted, Her fair face as 'twere changed into a curse, Her hands held up thus ; and, as if her words Were too big to find passage through her mouth, She groans, then throws herself upon her bed, Beating her breast.
Leon. Tis wonderous strange.
2 Worn. Nay, more ;
She that of late vouchsafed not to be seen, But so adorn'd as if she were to rival Nero's Poppaea, or the Egyptian queen, Now, careless of her beauties, when we offer Our service, she contemns it.
Leon. Does she not Sometimes forsake her chamber?
2 Worn. Much about
This hour ; then, with a strange unsettled gait, She measures twice or thrice the gallery, Silent, and frowning, (we dare not speak to her,) And then returns. — She's come, pray you, now observe her.
* T 2
2<S8 A VERY WOMAN.
Enter ALMIRA in black, carelessly habited
Aim. Why are my eyes fix'd on the ground,
and not
Bent upwards? ha! that which was mortal of My dear Martino, as a debt to nature, I know this mother earth hath sepulchred ; But his diviner part, his soul, o'er which The tyrant Death, nor yet the fatal sword Of curs'd Antonio, his instrument, Had the least power, born upon angels' wings Appointed to that office, mounted far Above the firmament.
Leon. Strange imagination ! Dear cousin, your Martino lives.
Aim. I know you,
And that in this you flatter me ; he's dead, As much as could die of him : — but look yonder! Amongst a million of glorious lights That deck the heavenly canopy, I have Discern'd his SOIK, transform'd into a star. Do you not see it?
Leon. Lady !
Aim. Look with my eyes.
What splendour circles it ! the heavenly archer, Not far off distant, appears dim with envy, Viewing himself outshined. Bright constellation! Dart down thy beams of pity on Almira, And, since thou find'st such grace where now
thou art,
As I did truly love thee on the earth, Like a kind harbinger, prepare my lodging, And place me near thee !
Leon. I much more than fear She'll grow into a frenzy.
Aim. How ! what's this ?
A VERY WOMAN. 269
A dismal sound ! come nearer, cousin ; lay Your ear close to the ground, — closer, I pray you. Do you, howl? are you there, Antonio?
Leon. Where, sweet lady ?
Aim. In the vault, in hell, on the infernal, rack, Where murderers are tormented :— yerk him
soundly, 'Twas Rhadamanth's sentence ; do your office,
Furies. — How he roars ! What ! plead to me to mediate for
you ! I'm deaf, I cannot hear you.
Leon. JTis but fancy, Collect yourself.
Aim. Leave babbling; 'tis rare music! Rhamnusia plays on a pair of tongs Red hot, and Proserpine dances to the consort ; Pluto sits laughing by too.* So! enough: I do begin to pity him.
Leon. I .wish, madam, .You would shew it to yourself.
2 Worn. Her fit begins To leave her.
Aim. Oh my brains ! are you there, cousin ?
Leon. Now she speaks temperately. I am ever
ready To do you service : how do you ?
Aim. Very much troubled. I have had the strangest waking dream of hell And heaven — I know not what.
Leon. My lord your father Is come to visit you; as you would not grieve him
a This is not madness, but light-headedness : but such in deed, is the malady of Almira. Later writers have mistaken its characteristics, and copied them (a wonderful easy matter) for madness.
270 A VERY WOMAN.
That is so tender of you, entertain him With a becoming duty.
Enter Viceroy, Duke of Messina, PEDRO, and Attendants.
Vice. Still forlorn ! No comfort, my Almira ?
Duke. In your sorrow,
For my Martino, madam, you have express'd All possible love and tenderness ; too much of it Will wrong yourself, and him. He may live, lady, (For we are not past hope,) with his future service, In some part to deserve it.
Aim. If heaven please To be so gracious to me, I will serve him With such obedience, love, and humbleness, That I will rise up an example for Good wives to follow : but until I have Assurance what fate will determine of me, Thus, like a desolate widow, give me leave To weep for him; for, should he die, I have vowVl Not to outlive him ; and my humble suit is, One monument may cover us, and Antonio (In justice you must grant me that) be offer'd A sacrifice to our ashes.3
Vice. Prithee put off These sad thoughts; both shall live, I doubt it
not, A happy pair.
Enter CUCULO, and BORACHIA.
•
Cue. O sir, the foulest treason That ever was discover'd !
* Queen. " The lady doth protest too much, methinks. Hamlet. O, but she'll keep her word !"
A VERY WOMAN.
Vice. Speak it, that We may prevent it.
Cue. Nay, 'tis past prevention : Though you allow me wise, (in modesty, I will not say oraculous,) I cannot help it. I am a statesman, and somwe say a wise one; But I could never conjure, nor divine Of things to come.
Vice. Leave fooling : to the point; What treason ?
Cue. The false prince, don John Antonio, Is fled.
Vice. It is not possible.
Pedro. Peace, screech-owl.
Cue. I must speak, and it shall out, sir ; the
captain You trusted with the fort is run away too.
Aim, O miserable woman ! I defy All comfort : cheated too of my revenge ! As you are my father, sir, and you my brother, I will not curse you ; but I dare, and will say, You are unjust and treacherous. — If there be A way to death, I'll find it. [Exit.-
Vice. Follow her,
She'll do some violent act upon herself; 'Till she be better temper'd, bind her hands, And fetch the doctor to her. —
[Exeunt Leonora, and Waiting Women.
Had not you A hand in this ?
Pedro. I, sir ! I never knew .Such disobedience.
Vice. My honour's touch'd in't : Let gallies be mann'd forth in his pursuit, Search every port and harbour; if I live, He shall not 'scape thus.
Duke. Fine hypocrisy !
272
A VERY WOMAN.
Away, dissemblers ! 'tis confederacy*
Betwixt thy son, and self, and the false captain,
He could not thus have vanished else. You have
murder'd
My son amongst you, and now murder justice : You know it most impossible he should live, Howe'er the doctor, for your ends, dissembled, And you have shifted hence Antonio.
Vice, Messina, thou'rt a crazed and grieved
old man,
And being in my court, protected by The law of hospitality, or I should Give you a sharper answer: may I perish, If I knew of his flight !
Duke. Fire, then, the castle. Hang up the captain's wife and children. Vice. Fie, sir ! Pedro. My lord, you are uncharitable ; capital
treasons Exact not so much.
Duke. Thanks, most noble signior ! We ever had your good word and your love. Cue. Sir, I dare pass my word, my lords are
clear
Of any imputation in this case You seem to load them with.
Duke. Impertinent fool!
No, no; the loving faces you put on, Have been but grinning visors : you have jug gled me
Out of my son, and out of justice too ; But Spain shall do me right, believe me, Viceroy: There I will force it from thee by the king. He shall not eat nor sleep in peace for me, Till I am righted for this treachery.
Vice. Thy worst, Messina! since no reason can Qualify thy intemperance; the corruption
A VERY WOMAN. 273
Of my subordinate ministers cannot wrong My true integrity. Let privy searchers Examine all the land.
Pedro. Fair fall Antonio ! [Aside.
[Exeunt Viceroy, Pedro, and Attendants.
Cue. This is my wife, my lord ; troth speak
your conscience, Is't not a goodly dame ?
Duke. She is no less, sir ; I will make use of these: may I entreat you3 To call my niece.
Bora. With speed, sir. [Exit Borachia.
Cue. You may, my lord, suspect me As an agent in these state-conveyances : Let signior Cuculo, then, be never more, 'or all his place, wit, and authority, Held a most worthy, honest gentleman.
Re-enter BORACHIA with LEONORA.
Duke. I do acquit you, signior. Niece, you
see To what extremes I am driven ; the cunning
viceroy,
And his son Pedro, having express'd too plainly Their cold affections to my son Martino: And therefore I conjure thee, Leonora, By all thy hopes from me, which is my dukedom If my son fail,— however, all thy fortunes; Though heretofore some love hath past betwixt Don Pedro, and thyself, abjure him now: And as thou keep'st Almira company,
,3 I will make vac of these : may 1 entreat you] So the old copy: Mr. M. Mason chooses to read,
1 -will make use of Cuculo and Borachia. May I intreat you. If such portentous lines as these may be introduced without reason, and without authority, there is an end of all editorship.
274 A VERY WOMAN.
In this her desolation, so in hate
To this young Pedro, for thy cousin's love,
Be her associate ; or assure thyself,
I cast thee like a stranger from my blood.
If I do ever hear thou see'st, or send'st
Token, or receiv'st message — by yon heaven,
I never more will own thee !
Leon. O, dear uncle !
You have put a tyrannous yoke upon my heart, And it will break it. [Exit.
Duke. Gravest lady, you May be a great assister in my ends. I buy your diligence thus : — divide this couple, Hinder their interviews; feign 'tis her will To give him no admittance, if he crave it; And thy rewards shall be thine own desires : Whereto, good sir, but add your friendly aids, And use me to my uttermost.
Cue. My lord,
If my wife please, I dare not contradict. Borachia, what do you say? •
Bora. I say, my lord, I know my place ; and be assured, I will Keep fire and tow asunder.
Duke. You in this Shall much deserve me. [Exit.
Cue. We have ta'en upon us A heavy charge : I hope you'll now forbear The excess of wine.
Bora. I will do what I please. This day the market's kept for slaves ; go you, And buy me a fine-timber'd one to assist me ; I must be better waited on.
Cue. Any thing, So you'll leave wine. Bora. Still prating ! Cue. I am gone, duck, [Exiti
SI
A VERY WOMAN. 275
Bora. Pedro ! so hot upon the scent ! I'll fit him, Re-enter PEDRO.
Pedro. Donna Borachia, you most happily Are met to pleasure me,
Bora. It may be so ;
I<use to pleasure many. Here lies my way, I do beseech you, sir, keep on your voyage,
Pedro. Be not so short, sweet lady, I must with you.
Bora. With me, sir! I beseech you, sir — why,
what, sir, See you in me?
Pedro. Do not mistake me, lady ; Nothing but honesty.
Bora. Hang honesty ! Trump me not up with honesty : do you mark,
sir,
I have a charge, sir, and a special charge, sir, And 'tis not honesty can win on me, sir,
Pedro. Prithee conceive me rightly.
Borat I conceive you !
Pedro. But understand.
Bora. I will not understand, sir, I cannot, nor I do not understand, sir.
Pedro. Prithee, Borachia, let me see my mistress,
ut look upon her ; stand you by.
Bora. How's this !
Shall I stand by ? what do you think of me ? Now, by the virtue of the place I hold, You are a paltry lord to tempt my trust thus : I am no Helen, nor no Hecuba, To be deflower'd of my loyalty With your fair language.
Pedro. Thou mistak'st me still.
276
A VERY WOMAN.
Bora. It may be so, my place will bear me out
in't, And will mistake you still, make you your best
on't.
Pedro. A pox upon thee! let me but behold her. Bora. A plague upon you! you shall never see
her. Pedro. This is a crone in grain ! thou art so
testy — Prithee, take breath, and know thy friends.
Bora. I will not,
I have no friends, nor I will have none this way:
And, now I think on't better, why will you see her?
Pedro. Because she loves me dearly, I her
equally.
Bora. She hates you damnably, most wickedly, Build that upon my word, most wickedly ; And swears her eyes are sick when they behold
you.
How fearfully have I heard her rail upon you, And cast and rail again ; and cast again ; Call for hot waters, and then rail again ! Pedro. How ! 'tis not possible. Bora. I have heard her swear (How justly, you best know, and where the cause
lies)
Thatyou are — I shame to tell it —but it mustout — Fie, fie ! why, how have you deserved it ? Pedro. I am what ? Bora. The beastliest man — why, what a grief
must this be ?
(Sir-reverence of the company) — a rank whore- master :
Ten livery whores, she assured me on her credit, With weeping eyes she spake it, and seven citizens, Besides all voluntaries that serve under you, And of all countries.
A VERY WOMAN. 277
Pedro. This must needs be a lie.
Bora. Besides, you are so careless of your body, Which is a foul fault in you.
Pedro. Leave your fooling, For this shall be a fable : happily, My sister's anger may grow strong against me, Which thou mistak'st.
Bora. She hates you very well too, But your mistress hates you heartily : — look upon
you !
Upon my conscience, she would see the devil first, With eyes as big as saucers; when I but named
you, She has leap'd back thirty feet : if once she smell
you,
For certainly you are rank, she says, extreme rank, And the wind stand with you too, she's gone for ever !
Pedro. For all this, I would see her.
Bora. That's all one. Have you new eyes when those are scratched
out, or a nose
To clap on warm ? have you proof against a piss- pot, Which, if they bid me, I must fling upon you?
Pedro. I shall not see her, then, you say ?
Bora. It seems so.
Pedro. Prithee, be thus far friend then, good
Borachia,
To give her but this letter, and this ring, And leave thy pleasant lying, which I pardon : But leave it in her pocket ; there's no harm in't. I'll take thee up a petticoat, will that please thee ?
Bora. Take up my petticoat ! I scorn the motion, 1 scorn it with my heels ; take up my petticoat \
Pedro. And why thus hot ?
278 A VERY WOMAN.
Bora. Sir, you shall find me hotter, If you take up my petticoat,
Pedro. I'll give thee a new petticoat.
Bora. I scorn the gift — take up rny petticoat ! Alas ! my lord, you are too young, my lord, Too young, my lord, to circumcise me that way. Take up my petticoat ! I am a woman, A woman of another way, my .lord, A gentlewoman : he that takes up my petticoat, Shall have enough to do, I warrant him. I would fain see the proudest of you all so lusty.
Pedro. Thou art disposed still to mistake me.
Bora. Petticoat !
You shew now what you are ; but do your worst, sir.
Pedro. A wild- fire take thee !
Bora. I ask no favour of you, And so I leave you ; and withal, I charge you In my own name, for, sir, I'd have you know it, In this place I present your father's person, Upon your life, not dare to follow me, For if you do — [Exit*
Pedro. Go! and the pox go with thee, If thou hast so much moisture to receive them ! For thou wilt have them, though a horse bestow
them,
I must devise a way— for I must see her, And very suddenly ; and, madam petticoat, If all the wit I have, and this can do,* I'll make you break your charge, and your hope too. [Exit,
s ' and this can do}] i. e. either th« ring or the
letter, with which Borachia had refused to charge herself.
A VERY WOMAN.
279
ACT III. SCENE I.
The Slave Market.
Enter Slave-merchant and Servant, with ANTON ro and Captain disguised, and dressed as Slaves, English Slave, and divers other Slaves.
Merch. Come, rank yourselves, and stand out
handsomely. — Now ring the bell, that they may know my
market. Stand you two here; [To Antonio and the Captain.]
you are personable men,
And apt to yield good sums, if women cheapen. Put me that pig-complexiou'd fellow behind, He will spoil my sale else ; the slave looks like
famine. Sure he was got in a cheese-press, the whey runs
out on's nose yet.
He will not yield above a peck of oysters- — If I can get a quart of wine in too, you are gone,
sir :
Why sure, thou hadst no father. ] Slave. Sure I know not. Merch. No, certainly ; a March frog [leap'd]6
thy mother; Thou'rt but a monster-paddock. — Look who
comes, sirrah. — [Exit Servant.
And next prepare the song, and do it lively. — Your tricks too, sirrah, they are ways to catch
the buyer, [To the- English Slave,
6 Old copy ; " kept thy mother."
280
A VERY WOMAN.
And if you do them well, they'll prove good
dowries. — How now ?
Re-enter Servant.
Serv. They come, sir, with their bags full
loaden. Merch. Reach me my stool. O ! here they
come.
Enter PAULO, Apothecary, CUCULO, and Citizens.
Cue. That's he.
He never fails monthly to sell his slaves here ; He buys them presently upon their taking, And so disperses them to every market.
Merch. Begin the song, and chant it merrily.
A SONG, by one of the Slaves.
Well done.
Paul. Good morrow !
Merch. Morrow to you, signiors !
Paul. We come to look upon your slaves, and
buy too, If we can like the persons, and the prices.
Cue. They shew fine active fellows.
Merch. They are no less, sir, And people of strong labours.
Paul. That's in the proof, sir.
Apoth. Pray what's the price of this redr
bearded fellow? If his gall be good, I have certain uses for him.
Merch. My sorrel slaves are of a lower price, Because the colour's faint : — fifty chequins, sir.
Apoth. What be his virtues ?
A VERY WOMAN. 281
Merch. He will poison rats ; Make him but angry, and his eyes kill spiders ; Let him but, fasting, spit upon a toad, And presently it bursts, and dies ; his dreams kill: He'll run you in a wheel, and draw up water, But if his nose drop in't, 'twill kill an army. When you have worn him to the bones with uses, Thrust him into an oven luted well, Dry him, and beat him, flesh and bone, to powder, And that kills scabs, and aches of all climates.
Apoth. Pray at what distance may I talk to him ?
Merch. Give him but sage and butter in a
morning, And there's no fear : but keep him from all
women, For there his poison swells most,
Apoth. I will have him. Cannot he breed a plague too ?
Merch. Yes, yes, yes, Feed him with fogs ; probatum. — Now to you,
sir. Do you like this slave? [Pointing to Antonio.
Cue. Yes, if I like his price well.
Merch. The price is full an hundred, nothing
bated. Sirrah, sell the Moors there : — feel, he's high and
lusty,
And of a gamesome nature ; bold, and secret, Apt to win favour of the man that owns him, By diligence and duty : look upon him.
Paul. Do you hear, sir ?
Merch. I'll be with you presently. — Mark but his limbs, that slave will cost you fourscore ; [Pointing to the Captain.
An easy price — turn him about, and view him. —
VOL. iv. * U
282
A VERY WOMAN.
For these two, sir? why, they are the finest chil dren
Twins, on my credit, sir. — Do you see this boy, sir?
He will run as far from you in an hour
1 Cit. Will he so, sir?
Merck. Conceive me rightly, — if upon an
errand, As any horse you have.
2 Cit. What will this girl do r Merck. Sure no harm at all, sir,
For she sleeps most an end.7
Cit. An excellent housewife. Of what religion are they ?
Merck. What you will, sir,
7 Merch. Sure no harm at all, sir,
For she sleeps most an end.] i. e. Almost perpetually, without intermission. In the Two Gentlemen of Verona, Proteus says of Launce :
" A slave that still an end turns me to shame ." That is, says Steevens, £' at the conclusion of every business he undertakes."! He was set right by Mr. M. Mason ; but he persisted in his erroneous explanation: — aliter non Jit, Avite, liber. — To prevent a repetition of the blunder, (of which, how ever, in the present state of " commentating,'' there is little hope,) I will subjoin a few examples, and place the meaning of the words beyond all question.
" Now help, good heaven ! 'tis such an uncouth thing " To be a widow out of term time ! I " Do feel such aguish qualms, and dumps, and fits, " And shakings still an end." The Ordinary.
<{ Greatheart. I perceive you know Mr. Fearing, for you have given a very right character of him.
Honesty. Know him ? I was a great companion of his. I was with him most an end." Pil. Prog.
" lie runs on in a strange jumbled character ; but has most an end, a strong disposition to make a farce of it." Divine Leg. P. xi.
The expression, which is not yet worn out, is of great anti quity ; for I meet with it in some of our earliest writers.
A VERY WOMAN.
283
So there be meat and drink in't : they'll do little That shall offend you, for their chief desire Is to do nothing at all, sir.
Cue, A hundred is too much.
Merch. Not a doit bated : He's a brave slave, his eye shews activeness ; Fire and the mettle of a man dwell in him. Here is one you shall have — —
Cue. For what?
Merch. For nothing, And thank you too.
Paul, What can he do ?
Merch Why, any thing that's ill, And never blush at it : he's so true a thief, That he'll steal from himself, and think he has
got by it.
He stole out of his mother's belly, being an infant ; And from a lousy nurse he stole his nature, From a dog his look, and from an ape his nimble- ness ;
He will look in your face and pick your pockets, Rob ye the most wise rat of a cheese-paring ; There, where a cat will go in, he will follow, His body has no back- bone. Into my company He stole, for I never bought him, and will steal
into yours,
An you stay a little longer. Now, if any of you Be given to the excellent art of lying, Behold, before you here, the masterpiece ! He'll outlie him that taught him, monsieur devil, Offer to swear he has eaten nothing in a twelve month, When his mouth's full of meat.
Cue. Pray keep him, he's a jewel; And here's your money for this fellow.
Merch. He's yours, sir.
Cue. Come, follow me. [Exit witli Antonio. *U2
284 A VEEY WOMAN.
Cit. Twenty chequins for these two, Merck. For five and twenty take them. Cit. There's your money ; I'll have them, if it be to sing in cages.
Merch. Give them hard eggs, you never had
such blackbirds. Cit. Is she a maid, dost think ? Merch. I dare not swear, sir : She is nine year old, at ten you shall find few
here.
Cit. A merry fellow ! thou say'st true. Come,
children. [Exit with the two Moors.
Paul. Here, tell your money ; if his life but
answer His outward promises, I have bought him cheap,
sir.
Merch. Too cheap, o'conscience : he's a preg nant knave ;
Full of fine thought, I warrant him. Paul. He's but weak-timber'd.8 Merch. 'Tis the better, sir ; He will turn gentleman a great deal sooner. Paul. Very weak legs. Merch. Strong, as the time allows sir. Paul. What's that fellow? Merch. Who, this ? the finest thing in all the world, sir,
8 Paul. He's but weak-timber'd. Merch. 'Tis the better, sir ;
He will turn gentleman a great deal sooner.'] Small legs seem,, at this time, to have been considered as one of the characteris tic marks of a fine gentleman. Thus Jonson :
Clilo. Are you a gentleman born ?
Cm. That I am, lady ; you shall see my arms, if it please you.
Chlo. No ; your legs do sufficiently shew you are a gentle man born, sir; for a man borne upon little legs, is always a gentleman born. Poetaster.
A VERY WOMAN. 285
The punctuallest, and the perfectest ; an English
metal,
But coin'd in France : Your servant's servant, sir ! Do you understand that? or your shadow's servant ! Will you buy him to carry in a box ? Kiss your
hand, sirrah ; — Let fall your cloak on one shoulder; — face to
your left hand ; — Feather your hat ; — slope your hat ; — now charge.
— Your honour, What think you of this fellow ?
Paul. Indeed, I know not ; I never saw such an ape before : but, hark you, Are these things serious in his nature ?
Merck. Yes, yes;
Part of his creed : come, do some more devices.* Quarrel a little, and take him for your enemy, Do it in dumb show. Now observe him nearly* [The English Slave practises his postures. Paul. This fellow's mad, stark mad. Merck. Believe they are ail so : I have sold a hundred of them.
Paul. A strange nation ! What may the women be? Merck. As mad as they, And, as I have heard for truth, a great deal
madder :
Yet, you may find some civil things amongst them, But they are not respected. Nay, never wonder;
9 come, do some more devices, &c.j This
must have been a most diverting scene : the ridicule on the French, or rather on the travelled English, who caricatured, while they aped, the foppish manners of the continent, was never more exquisitely pointed : indeed, I recollect nothing on the subject, in any ot our old dramatists, that can be said to come near it. What follows is in a higher tone. This slave merchant is one of the most sprightly active characters which the English stage can boast.
A VERY WOMAN.
They have a city, sir, — I have been in it, And therefore dare affirm it, where, if you saw With what a load of vanity 'tis fraughted, How like an everlasting morris-dance it looks, Nothing but hobby-horse, and maid Marian, You would start indeed.
Paul. They are handsome men?
Merch. Yes, if they would thank their maker, And seek no further; but they have new creators, God-tailor, and god-mercer : a kind of Jews, sir, But fall'n into idolatry ; for they worship Nothing with so much service, as the cow-calves.
Paul. What do you mean by cow-calves ?
Merch. Why, their women. Will you see him do any more tricks?
Paul. 'Tis enough, I thank you ; But yet I'll buy him, for the rareness of him : He may make my princely patient mirth, an
that done,
I'll chain him in my study, that at void hours I may run o'er the story of his country.
Merch. His price is forty.
Paul. Hold — I'll once be foolish, And buy a lump of levity ta laugh at.
Apoth. Will your worship walk?
Paul. How now, apothecary, Have you been buying too?
Apoth. A little, sir, A dose or two of mischief.
Paul. Fare ye well, sir;
As these prove, we shall look the next wind for you.
Merch. I shall be with you, sir.
Paul. Who bought this fellow?
2 Cit. Not I.
Apoth. Nor I.
Paul. Why does he follow us, then ?
A VERY WOMAN.
287
Merck. Did not I tell you he would steal to you?
2 Cit. Sirrah, You mouldy-chaps ! know your crib, I would
wish you, And get from whence you came.
1 Slave. I came from no place.
Paul. Wilt thou be my fool? for fools, they say, will tell truth.
1 Slave. Yes, if you will give me leave, sir, to
abuse you, For I can do that naturally.
Paul. And I can beat you.
1 Slave. I should be sorry else, sir.
Merch. He looks for that, as duly as his vic tuals,
And will be extreme sick when he is not beaten. He will be as wanton, when he has a bone broken, As a cat in a bowl on the water.
Paul. You will part with him ?
Merch. To such a friend as you, sir.
Paul. And without money ?
Merch. Not a penny, signior; And would he were better for you !
Paul. Follow me, then ; The knave may teach me something.
1 Slave. Something that
You dearly may repent; howe'er you scorn me, The slave may prove your master.
Paul. Farewell once more !
Merch. Farewell ! and when the wind serves next, expect me. [Exeunt.
288
A VERY WOMAN-
SCENE II.
A Room in the Viceroy's Palace. Enter CUCULO and ANTONIO.
Cue. Come, sir, you are mine, sir, now ; you
serve a man, sir, That, when you know more, you will find —
Ant. I hope so.
Cue. What dost thou hope ?
Ant. To-find you a kind master.
Cue. Find you yourself a diligent true servant, And take the precept of the wise before you, And then you may hope, sirrah. Understand, You serve me2 — what is ME ? a man of credit.
Ant. Yes, sir.
Cue. Of special credit, special office ; hear first And understand again, of special office: A man that nods upon the thing he meets, And that thing hows.
Ant. Tis fit it should he so, sir.
Cue. It shall he so : a man near all importance. Dost thou digest this truly?
Ant. I hope I shall, sir.
Cue. Besides, thou art to serve a noble mistress, Of equal place and trust. Serve usefully, Serve all with diligence, but her delights; There make your stop. She is a woman, sirrah, And though a cull'd out virtue, yet a woman. Thou art not troubled with the strength of blood, And stirring faculties, for she'll shew a fair one ?
* You serve me — ] So the old copy ; the modern editors omit the pronoun, which reduces the passage to nonsense.
A VERY WOMAN.
289
Ant. As I am a man, I may ; but as I am your
man, Your trusty, useful man, those thoughts shall
perish. «
Cue. 'Tis apt, and well distinguish'd. The next
precept,
And then, observe me, you have all your duty ; Keep, as thou'dst keep thine eye-sight, all wine
from her, All talk of wine.
Ant. Wine is a comfort, sir. Cue. A devil, sir ! let her not dream of wine ; Make her believe there neither is, nor was wine; Swear it.
Ant. Will you have me lie? Cue. To my end, sir:
For if one drop of wine but creep into her, She is the wisest woman in the world straight, And all the women in the world together Are but a whisper to her ; a thousand iron mills Can be heard no further than a pair of nut crackers.
Keep her from wine; wine makes her dangerous. Fall back — my lord don Pedro !
Enter PEDRO.
Pedro. Now, master Office, What is the reason that your vigilant Greatness, And your wife's wonderful Wiseness, have lock'd
up from me The way to see my mistress ? Whose dog's dead
now, That you obser%5 these vigils ?
Cue. Very weH, my lord. Belike, we observe no law then, nor no order,
290 A VERY WOMAN.
Nor feel no power, nor will, of him that made them,
When state-commands thus slightly are disputed. Pedro. What state-command? dost thou think any state
Would give thee any thing but eggs to keep,
Or trust thee with a secret ahove lousing ? Cue. No, no, my lord, I am not passionate ;
You cannot work me that way, to betray me.
A point there is in't, that you must not see, sir,
A secret and a serious point of state too ;
And do not urge it further, do not, lord,
It will not take ; you deal with them that wink not.
You tried my wife. Alas ! you thought she was foolish,
Won with an empty word; you have not found it. Pedro. I have found a pair of coxcombs, that
I am sure on. Cue. Your lordship may say three: — I am not
passionate. Pedro. How's that ?
Cue. Your lordship found a faithful gentle woman,
Strong, and inscrutable as the viceroy's heart;
A woman of another making, lord :
And, lest she might partake with woman's weak ness,
I've purchased her a rib to make her perfect,
A rib that will not shrink, nor break in the bending.
This trouble we are put to, to prevent things,
Which your good lordship holds but necessary. Pedro. A fellow of a handsome and free promise.
And much, methinks, I'm taken with his coun tenance. —
Do you serve this yeoman, porter ? [To Antonio.
A VERY WOMAN. 291
Cue. Not a word.
Basta! Your lordship may discourse your freedom ; He is a slave of state, sir, so of silence.
Pedro. You are very punctual, state-cut, fare
ye well ; I shall find time to fit you too, I fear not. [Exit.
Cue. And I shall fit you, lord : you would be
billing ; You are too hot, sweet lord, too hot. — Go you
home,
And there observe these lessons I first taught you, Look to your charge abundantly ; be wary, Trusty and wary ; much weight hangs upon me, Watchful and wary too ! this lord is dangerous, Take courage and resist : for other uses, Your mistress will inform you. Go, be faithful, And, do you hear? no wine.
Ant. I shall observe, sir. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Another Room in the same. Enter PAULO and Surgeons.
Paul. He must take air.
1 Surg. Sir, under your correction, The violence of motion may make His wounds bleed fresh.
2 Surg. And he hath lost already Too much blood, in my judgment.
Paul. I allow that ;
But to choke up his spirits in a dark room, Is far more dangerous, He comes; no questions,
922
A VERY WOMAN.
Enter CARDENES.
Car. Certain we have no reason, nor that soul Created of that pureness books persuade us : We understand not, sure, nor feel that sweetness That men call virtue's chain to link our actions. Our imperfections form, and flatter us; A will to rash and rude things is our reason, And that we glory in, that makes us guilty. Why did I wrong this man? unmanly wrong him? Unmannerly ? He gave me no occasion. In all my heat how noble was his temper ! And, when I had forgot both man and manhood, With what; a gentle bravery did he chide me ! And, say he-had kill'd me, whither had I travelled? Kill'd me in all my rage — oh, how it shakes me! Why didst thou do this, fool? a woman taught me, The devil and his angel, woman, bade me. — I arn a beast, the wildest of all beasts, And like a beast 1 make my blood my master. Farewell, farewell, forever, name of mistress ! Out of my heart I cross thee ; love and women Out of my thoughts.
Paul. Ay, now you shew your manhood.
Car. Doctor, believe me, I have bought my knowledge,
And dearly,, doctor: they are dangerous
creatures, They sting at both ends, doctor ; worthless
creatures, And all their loves and favours end in ruins.
Paul. To man, indeed.
Car. Why, now thou tak'st me rightly. What can they shew, or by what act deserve us, While we have Virtue, and pursue her beauties !
Paul. And yet I've heard of many virtuous women.
A VERY WOMAN. 293
Car. Not many, doctor; there your reading- fails you : "Would there were more, and in their loves less
dangers ! Paul. Love is a noble thing without all doubt,
sir.
Car. Yes, and an excellent — to cure the itch.
[Exit.
1 Surg. Strange melancholy ! Paul. By degrees 'twill lessen :
Provide your things.
2 Surg. Our care shall not be wanting.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
A Room in Cuculo's House. Enter LEONORA and ALMIRA.
Leon. Good madam, for your health's sake
clear those clouds up,
That feed upon your beauties like diseases. Time's hand will turn again, and what he ruins Gently restore, and wipe off all your sorrows. Relieve you are to blame, much to blame, lady; TOU tempt his loving care whose eye has num-
ber'd
Jl our afflictions, and the time to cure them : rou rather with this torrent choak his mercies, 'ban gently slide into his providence, irrows are well allow'd, and sweeten nature, rhere they express no more than drops on lilies; But, when they fall in storms, they bruise our
hopes; Make us unable, though our comforts meet us,
294 A VERY WOMAN.
To hold our heads up : Come, you shall take
comfort ;
This is a sullen grief becomes condemn'd men, That feel a weight of sorrow through their souls: Do but look up. Why, so ! — is not this better, Than hanging down your head still like a violet, And dropping out those sweet eyes for a wager?1 Pray you, speak a little.
Aim. Pray you, desire no more ; And, if you love me, say no more.
Leon. How fain,
If I would be as wilful, and partake in't, Would you destroy yourself! how often, lady, Even of the same disease have you cured me, And shook me out on't; chid me, tumbled me, And forced my hands, thus?
Aim. By these tears, no more.
Leon. You are too prodigal of them. Well, I
will not ;
For though my love bids me transgress your will, I have a service to your sorrows still. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.
A Hall in the same.
Enter PEDRO and ANTONIO.
Ant. Indeed, my lord, my place is not so near: I wait below stairs, and there sit, and wait Who comes to seek accesses ; nor is it fit, sir, My rudeness should intrude so near their lodgings.
1111 for a wager] i. e. as if you had
wagered to weep them out. This short scene is exquisitely beautiful both in sentiment and language.
A VERY WOMAN, 295
Pedro. Thou mayst invent a way, 'tis but a
trial,
But carrying up this letter, and this token,1 And giving them discreetly to my mistress, The lady Leonora: there's my purse, Or any thing thou'lt ask me; if thou knew'st me,
And what I may be to thee for this courtesy
Ant. Your lordship speaks so honestly, and
freely,
That by my troth I'll venture. Pedro. I dearly thank thee. Ant, And it shall cost me hard ; nay, keep
your purse, sir, For, though my body's bought, my mind was
never.
Though I am bound, my courtesies are no slaves. Pedro. Thou shouldst be truly gentle. Ant. If I were so,
The state I am in bids you not believe it. But to the purpose, sir ; give me your letter, And next your counsel, for I serve a crafty mis tress. Pedro. And she must be removed, thou wilt
else ne'er do it. Ant. Ay, ^here's the plague : think, and I'll
think awhile too.
Pedro. Her husband's suddenly fallen sick? Ant. She cares not ;
If he were dead, indeed, it would do better. Pedro. Would he were hang'd ! Ant. Then she would run for joy, sir.3
• and this token,] i. e. the ring men tioned p. 278.
3 Ant, Then she would run for joy , sir.] Coxeter and M. Mason read
Then she would run madforjoy, sir. This interpolation, which destroys the metre, seems to have
296 A VERY WOMAN.
Pedro. Some lady crying out ?
Ant. She has two already.
Pedro. Her house afire ?
Ant. Let the fool, my husband, quench it. This will be her answer. — This may take ; it will,
sure.
Your lordship must go presently, and send me Two or three bottles of your best Greek wine, The strongest and the sweetest.
Pedro. Instantly : But will that do?
Ant. Let me alone to work it. [Exit Pedro. Wine I was charged to keep by all means from
her;
All secret locks it opens, and all counsels, That I am sure, and gives men all accesses. Pray heaven she be not loving when she's drunk
now ! For drunk she shall be, though my pate pay
for it.
She'll turn my stomach then abominably. She has a most wicked face, and that lewd.face
IJeingadrunken face, what face will there be!
She cannot ravish me. Now, if my master Should take her so, and know I minister'd, What will his wisdom do ? I hope be drunk too, And then all's right. Well, lord, to do thee service
Above these puppet-plays, I keep a life yet
Here come the executioners.
originated in a misapprehension of the passage. The object is to get Borachia out of the way, and the expedients which suggest themselves are mentioned in order :
Pedro. Would he were hang'd !
Ant. Then she -would run for joy, sir.
i. e. this might do, for then she would leave her charge, and joyfully run to witness his execution. Such, appears to be the purport of Antonio's observation. The whole of this admirable
A VERY WOMAN. 297
Enter Servant with bottles.
You are welcome ;
Give me your load, and tell my lord I am at it. Serv. I will, sir; speed you, sir. [Exit.
Ant. Good speed on all sides ! 'Tis strong, strong wine : O, the yaws that she
will make ! 4
Look to your stern, dear mistress, and steer right, Here's that will work as high as the Bay of Por tugal. ,
Stay, let me see — I'll try her by the nose first; For, if she be a right sow, sure she'll find it. She is yonder by herself, the ladies from her. Now to begin my sacrifice :5 — [pours out some of the wineJ] — she stirs, and vents it.
*cene is most shamefully given in the modern editions, scarcely a single speech being without an error or an omission.
4 'Tis strong, strong wine: 0, the yaws that she will make!] The old copy reads,
0 the yauns that she will make,
and was followed by Coxeter. Mr. M. Mason, attentive to the spelling of his author, but careless of his sense, corrected it to yawns ; though to make yawns appears an expression sufficiently singular to excite a doubt of its authenticity : and thus it has hitherto stood ! The genuine word, as is clear from the context, is undoubtedly that which I have given. A yaw is that unstead motion which a ship makes in a great swell, when, in steering, she inclines to the right or left of her course. The sea rum proverbially high in the Bay of Portugal.
5 Now to begin my sacrifice: — ] This is imitated, but with ex quisite humour, from a very amusing scene in the Curculio of Plautus, where a lover draws the keeper of his mistress out of the house, by a similar stratagem. The reader may not dislike, perhaps, to compare the rapturous expressions of the two ladies on scenting the wine. The madam Biba ot the old comedy comes on the stage holding up her nostrils, and snuffing.
Huh ! huh ! the flower, the sweet flower of old wine, Salutes my nostrils ; and my passion for it
VOL. IV. * X
A VERY WOMAN.
O, how she holds her nose up like a jennet In the wind of a grass-mare ! she has it full And now she comes. — I'll stand aside awhil
Enter BORACHIA.
Bora, [snuffing.] 'Tis wine ! ay, sure 'tis wine !
excellent strong wine !
In the must, I take it : very wine ! this way too.
Ant. How true she hunts! I'll make the train
a little longer. [Pours out more wine.
Bora. Stronger and stronger still ! still! blessed
wine !
Ant. Now she hunts hot. Bora. All that I can for this wine ! This way it went, sure.
Ant. Now she's at a cold scent. Make out your doubles, mistress. O, well hunted! That's she ! that's she !
Bora. O, if I could but see it ! Oh what a precious scent it has ! — but handle it! Ant. Now I'll untappice.6
[Comes forward with the bottle. Bora. What's that ? still 'tis stronger. Why, how now, sirrah ! what's that ? answer
quickly, And to the point.
Hurries me, darkling, hither : where, O where, Is the dear object ? sure 'tis near. — Ye gods ! Ye gracious gods ! I have it. Life of my life ! Soul of my Bacchus ! how I doat upon Thy ripe old age ! the fragrance of all spices Is puddle, filth, to thine. Thou, thou, to me, Art roses, saffron, spikenard, cinnamon, Frankincense, oil of myrrh ! where thou art found, There would I li?e and die, and there be buried!
A. I. S. 2.
6 Now I'll untappice.] i.e. discover myself, A hunting phrase, for turning the game out of a bag, or driving it out of a cover.
A VERY WOMAN. 299
Ant. 'Tis wine, forsooth, good wine, Excellent Candy wine.
Bora. 'Tis well, forsooth ! Is this a drink for slaves? why, saucy sirrah, (Excellent Candy wine !) draw nearer to me, Reach me the bottle : why, thou most debauch'd
slave —
Ant. Pray be not angry, for with all my ser vice And pains, I purchased this for you, (I dare not
drink it,)
For you a present ; only for your pleasure ; To shew in little what a thanks I owe The hourly courtesies your goodness gives me. Bora. And I will give thee more; there, kiss
my hand on't. Ant. I thank you dearly — for your dirty
favour : How rank it smells ? [Avide.
Bora By thy leave, sweet bottle, And sugar-candy wine, I now come to thee ; Hold your hand under.
Ant. How does your worship like it ?
Bora. Under again — again — and now come
kiss me ;
I'll be a mother to thee : come, drink to me. Ant. I do beseech your pardon. Bora. Here's to thee, then ; I am easily entreated for thy good. 'Tis naught for theCj indeed ; 'twill make thee
break out ;
Thou ha>t a pure complexion : now, for me 'Tis excellent, 'tis excellent for me. Son slave, I've a cold stomach, and the wind — Ant. Blows out a cry at both ends. Bora. Kiss again.
*X<2
300 A VERY WOMAN.
Cherish thy lips, for thou shalt kiss fair ladies : Son slave, I have them for thee; I'll shew thee all.
Ant. Heaven bless mine eyes !
Bora. Even all the secrets, son slave, In my dominion.
Ant. Oh ! here come the ladies ; Now to my business.
Enter LEONORA and ALMIRA behind.
Leon This air will much refresh you. Aim. I must sit clown. Leon. Do, and take freer thoughts, The place invites you ; I'll walk by like your
sentinel. Bora. And thou shalt be my heir, I'll leave
thee all,
Heaven knows to what 'twill mount to ;r but abundance :
7 Heaven knows to -what 'twill mount to ;] Of this mode of speech, innumerable instances have already occurred ; yet it corrupted by Mr. M. Mason, with his usual oscitancy, into
Heaven knows what 'twill amount to ! But this gentleman does not appear to have profited greatly bj his u reading of our old poets:" twenty years after he had edii Massinger, he stumbled upon Beaumont and Fletcher, where found this line :
" And through what seas of hazard I sail'd through."
Humourous Lieutenant ^
Through, the editors, perfectly ignorant of the phraseology of the author's times, absurdly changed to too, because, forsooth, " such disagreeable tautology was more likely to proceed from the press than the author.'' Upon which Mr. M. Mason says, " I agree with them in thinking the eld reading erroneous, but not in their amendment. The line should run thus :
" And through what seas of hazard I sail'd thorough.''' Which avoids the repetition of the word through." Comment*
A VERY WOMAN. 301
I'll leave thee two young ladies — what think you
of that, boy ! — [Antonio goes to Leonora. Where is the bottle? — two delicate young
ladies : But first you shall commit with me ; do you
mark, son ? And shew yourself a gentleman, that's the truth,
son.
Ant. Excellent lady, kissing your fair hand, And humbly craving pardon for intruding,
This letter, and this ring
Leon. From whom, I pray you, sir?
Ant. From the most noble, loving lord, don
Pedro, The servant of your virtues.
Bora. And prithee, good son slave, be wise
and circumspect, And take heed of being o'ertaken with too much
drink ;
For it is a lamentable sin, and spoils all: Why, 'tis the damnablest thing to be drunk, son ! Heaven can't endure it. And hark you, one
thing I'd have done : Knock my husband on the head, as soon as may
be,
For he is an arrant puppy, and cannot perform — — Why, where the devil. is this foolish bottle ?
Leon. I much thank you ;
And this, sir, for your pains. [Offers him her purse. Ant. No, gentle lady ;
on Beaumont and Fletcher, p. 104. When it is considered tha* the repetition so sedulously removed, was as anxiously sought after by our old writers, and was, indeed, characteristic of their style and manner, we may, perhaps, be indulged in forming a wish that those who undertake to revive and explain them, were somewhat more competent to the office. A good edition of these excellent dramatists is much wanted.
302 A VERY WOMAN.
That I can do him service is my merit, My faith, my full reward.
Leon Once more, I thank you. Since I have met so tiue a friend to goodness, I dare deliver to your charge my answer: Pray you, tell him, sir, this night I do invite him To meet me in the garden; means he may find, For love, they say, wants no abilities.
Ant. Nor shall he, madam, if my help may
prosper;
So everlasting love and sweetness bless you I — She's at it still, I dare not now appear to her,
Aim. What fellow's that?
Leon. Indeed I know not, madam ; It seems of some strange country by his habit; Nor can I shew you by what mystery He wrought himself into this place, prohibited.
Aim. A handsome man.
Leon. But of a mind more handsome.
Aim. Was his business to you r
Leon. Yes, from a friend you wot of.
Aim. A very handsome fellow, And well demean'd.
Leon. Exceeding well ; and speaks well.
Aim. And speaks well, too ?
Leon. Ay, passing well, and freely, And, as he promises, of a most clear nature; Brought up, sure, far above his shew.
Aim. It seems so : I would I'd heard him, friend. Comes he again?
Leon. Indeed I know not if he do.
Aim. 'Tis no matter. Come let's walk in.
Leon. I am glad you have found your tongue yet. [Exeunt Leonora and Almira.
Bo R A CHI A sings.
A VERY WOMAN. 303
Cue. \within.'} My wife is very merry ; sure
'twas her voice : Pray heaven there be no drink in't, then I allow
it. Ant. Tis sure my master.
Enter CUCULO.
Now the game begins ;
Here will be spitting of fire o' both sides presently; Send me but safe deliver'd ! Cue. O, my heart aches !
My head aches too: mercy o'me, she's perish'd ! She has gotten wine ! she is gone ibr ever ! Bora. Come hither, ladies, carry your bodies
swimming;
Do your three duties, then — then fall behind me. Cue. O, thou pernicious rascal! what hast thou
done ?
Ant. I done ! alas, sir, I have done nothing. Cue. Sirrah, How came she by this wine ? Ant, Alas, I know not.
Bora. Who's that, that talks of wine there? Ant. Forsooth, my master. _Bora. Bring him before me, son slave.
Cue. I will know it, This bottle, how this bottle?
Bora. Do not stir it ; ror, if you do, by this good wine, I'll knock you, i'll beat you damnably, yea and nay, I'll beat you ; \nd, when I have broke it 'bout your head, do
you mark me ? Then will I tie it to your worship's tail, And all the dogs in the town shall follow you. No question, I \\ on Id advise you, how I came by it; I will have none of these points handled now.
304 A VERY WOMAN.
Cue, She'll ne'er be well again while the world
stands.
Ant. I hope so. [Aside.
Cue. How dost thou, lamb? Bora, Well, God -a- mercy.
Belwether, how dost thou ? Stand out, son slave, Sit you here, and before this worshipful audience Propound a doubtful question; see who's drunk
now. Cue. Now, now it works; the devil now dwells
in her. Bora. Whether the heaven or the earth be
nearer the moon ?
Or what's the natural reason, why a woman longs To make her husband cuckold? Bring me your
cousin
The curate now, that great philosopher, He that found out a pudding had two ends, That learned clerk, that notable gymnosophist ; And let him with his Jacob's-staft discover What is the third part of three farthings, Three halfpence being the half, and 1 am satisfied. Cue. You see she hath learning enough, if she
could dispose it. Bora. Too much for thee, thou loggerhead,
thou bul I- head ! Cue. Nay, good Borachia. Bora, Thou a sufficient statesman ! A gentleman of learning! hang thee, dogwhelp; Thou shadow of a man of action, Thou scab o'the court ! go sleep, you drunken
rascal, You debauch'd puppy; get you home, and sleep,
sirrah ;
And so will I : son slave, thou shalt sleep with me. Cue. Pntluee, look to her tenderly. Bora. No words, sirrah,
A VERY WOMAN. 305
Of any wine, or any thing like wine,
Or any thing concerning wine, or by wine,
Or from, or with wine.' Come, lead me like a
countess. Cue. Thus must we bear, poor men ! there is
a trick in't;
But, when she is well again, I'll trick her for it.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
A Room in the Viceroy's Palace. Enter PEDRO.
Pedro. Now, if this honest fellowdo but prosper, I hope I shall make fair return. I wonder I hear not from the prince of Tarent yet, I hope he's landed well, and to his safety; The winds have stood most gently to his purpose.
Enter ANTONIO.
My honest friend !
Ant. Your lordship's poorest servant. Pedro. How hast thou sped? Ant. My lord, as well as wishes.1
or by wine,
Or from, or with wine, &c.] More traits of Borachia'i " learning" ! she is running through the signs of the ablative case.
1 Ant. My lord, as well as wishes:] i. e. as well as you could wish : or, as well as if your wishes had been effectual : it
306 A VERY WOMAN.
My way hath reached your mistress, and delivered Your loveletter, and token; who. with all joy, And virtuous constancy, desires to see you : Commands you this night, by her loving power, To meet her in the garden.
Pedro. Thou hast made me ; Redeem'd me, man, again from all my sorrows; Done above wonder tor me. Is it so ?
Ant. I should be no\v too old to learn to lie, sir, And, as I live, I never was good flatterer.8
Pedro* I do see something in this fellow's face
still,
That ties my heart fast to him. Let me love thee, Nay, let me honour thee for this fair service : And if I e'er forget it
Ant. Good my lord,
The only knowledge of me is too much bounty: My service, and my life, sir.
Pedro. I shall think on' t ; But how for me to get access ?
Ant. 'Tis easy ; I'll be your guide, sir, all my care shall lead you My credit's better than you think.
Pedro. I thank you, And soon I'll wait your promise.
Ant. With all my duty. [Exeuni
is a colloquial phrase, and is found in many of our old drama, tists. Thus Beaumont and Fletcher :
" Timan. There's a messenger, madam, come from the prince, " with a letter to Ismenes.
" Eacha. This comes as pat as wishes." Cupid's Revenge.
* And, as I live, I never was good flatterer.] This is the language of the time : the modern editors carefully interpolate the article before good, though it spoils the metre: and in the next line omit stilly though it be necessary to the sense.
A VERY WOMAN. S07
SCENE II.
A Bed-room in the same. Enter Viceroy, Duke, PAULO, and CUCULO.
Paulo. All's as I tell you, princes ; you shall
here
Be witness to his fancies, melancholy, And strong imagination of his wrongs. His inhumanity to don Antonio Hath rent his mind into so many pieces Of various imaginations, that, Like the celestial bow, this colour now's The object, then another, till all vanish. He says a man might watch to death, or fast, Or think his spirit out; to all which humours I do apply myself, checking the had, And cherishing the good. For these, I have ~~>repared my instruments, fitting his chamber With trapdoors, and descents; sometimes pre senting
Good spirits of the air, had of the earth, To pull down or advance his fair intentions. He's of a noble nature, yet sometimes Thinks that which, by confederacy, I do, Is by some skill in magic.
Enter GARDEN ES, a book in his hand.1
Here he comes Unsent. I do beseech you, what do you read,
sir ?
3 Enter CARDENES, a bock in his hand.] The book appears to be Plato. The marginal direction in the old copy, which is
308
A VERY WOMAN.
Car. A strange position, which doth much per plex me :
That every soul's alike a musical instrument, The faculties in all men equal strings, Well or ill handled ; and those sweet or harsh.
[Exit Paulo.
How like a fiddler I have play'd on mine then ! Declined the high pitch of my birth and breeding, Like the most barbarous peasant; read my pride Up on Antonio's meek humility, Wherein he was far valianter than I. Meekness, thou wait'st upon courageous spirits, Enabling sufferance past inflictions. In patience Tarent overcame me more Than in my wounds : live then, no more to men, Shut daylight from thine eyes, here cast thee down, [Falls on the bed.
And with a sullen sigh breathe forth thy soul —
Re-enter PAULO disguised as a Friar.
What art? an. apparition, or a man?
Paul. A man, and sent to counsel thee.
Car. Despair Has stopt mine ears ; thou seem'st a holy friar.
Paul. I am ; by doctor Paulo sent, to tell thee Thou art too cruel to thyself, in seeking To lend compassion and aid to others. My order bids me comfort thee. I have heard all
followed by Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason, is somewhat curious: A bed drawn forth^ Martino upon it^ a book in his hand; this must have contrasted in a singular manner with the doctor's exclamation : Here he comes unseat / The poorest strolling company in the poorest barn would not now be reduced to such shifts, as " those of his Majesty's servants" who performed this most excellent Comedy at the private-house in Black- friars.
A VERY WOMAN. 309
Thy various, troubled passions : hear but my
story.
In way of youth I did enjoy one friend,4 As good and perfect as heaven e'er made man; This friend was plighted to a beauteous woman, (Nature proud of her workmanship,) mutual love Possess'd them both, herheart in his breast lodged, And his in hers.
Cur. No more of love, good father, It was my surfeit, and I loath it now, As men in fevers meat they fell sick on.
PauL Howe'er, 'tis worth your hearing. This
betroth'd lady,
(The ties and duties of a friend forgotten,) Spurr'd on by lust, I treacherously pursued ; Contemn'd by her, and by my friend reproved,
* In way of youth I did enjoy one friend,] There is no passage in Shakspeare on which more has been written than the follow ing one in Macbeth :
" I have lived long enough, my way of life " Is fallen into the sere, the yellow leaf," &c. For u<ay of lije Johnson would read May of life; in which he is followed by Colman, Langton, Steevens, and others : and Mr. Henley, a very confident gentleman, declares that he <c has now no doubt that Shakspeare wrote May of life," which is also th« "settled opinion" of Mr. Davies ! At a subsequent period Steevens appears to have changed his opinion, and acquiesced in the old reading, way of life, which he interprets, with Mr. M. Mason, course or progress, precisely as Warburton, whom every mousing owl hawks at, had done long before them. Mr. Malone follows the same track, and if the words had signified what he supposed them to do, nothing more would be necessary on the subject. The fact, however, is, that these ingenious writer! have mistaken the phrase, which is neither more nor less than a simple periphrasis for life; as way of youth, in the text, is for youth. A tew examples will make this clear :
" If that, when I was mistress of myself, " And in my way of youth, pure and untainted, >' The emperor had vouchsafed," &c. Roman Actor. i. e. in my youth.
310 A VERY WOMAN.
Despised by honest men, my conscience sear'd
up,
Love I converted into frantic rage; And by that false guide led, I summoned him "In this bad cause, his sword 'gainst mine, to prove If he or I might claim most right in love. But fortune, that does seld or never give Success to right and virtue, made him fall Under my sword. Blood, blood, a friend's dear
blood, A virtuous friend's, shed by a villain, me,
" So much nobler
" Shall be your way of justice" Thierry and Theodorct. i. e. your justice.
" Thus ready for the way of death or life, " I wait the sharpest blow." Pericles.
i. e. for death or life.
" If all the art I have or power can do it, u He shall be found, and such a way of justice " Inflicted on him!" Queen of Corinth.
i. e. such justice. " Probably," say the editors, " we should read weight of justice ; way is very flat." ! 'fc If we can wipe out " The way of your offences, we are yours, sir."
Valentinian.
i. c. your offences. u To wipe out the way^' the same editors again remark, " seems a strange phrase ; tfazit, we apprehend, •will be allowed a better word : yet we should not have substi tuted it," (they actually foist it into the text,) " had we not been persuaded that the old reading was corrupt."! And thus our best poets are edited !
It is unnecessary to proceed any further : — indeed I should have been satisfied with fewer examples, had not my respect for Shakspeare made me desirous of disencumbering his page, by ascertaining beyond the possibility of cavil, the meaning of an expression so long and so laboriously agitated. To return to Macbeth : the sere and yellow leaf is the commencement of the winter of life, or of old age ; to this he has attained, and he laments, in a strain of inimitable pathos and beauty, that it is unaccompanied by those blessings which render it supportable. A» his manhood was without virtue, so he has now before him the certain prospect of an old age without honour.
A VERY WOMAN. 311
In such a monstrous and unequal cause, Lies on my conscience.
Car. And durst thou live, After this, to be so old? 'tis an illusion Raised up by charms : a man would not have
lived. Art quiet in thy bosom?
Paul. As the sleep Of infants.
Car. My fault did not equal this ; Yet I have emptied my heart of joy, Only to store sighs up. What were the arts That made thee live so long in rest?
Paul. Repentance Hearty, that cleansed me ; reason then confirmed
me,
I was forgiven, and took me to my beads. [Exit* Car. I am in the wrong path ; tender con science
Makes me forget mine honour: I have done No evil like this, yet I pine; whilst he, A few tears of his true contrition tender'd, Securely sleeps. Ha ! where keeps peace of
conscience,
That I may buy her? — no where; not in life. 'Tis feign'd that Jupiter two vessels placed, 'he one with honey filPd, the other gall,
the entry of Olympus ; Destiny, 'here brewing these together, suffers not >ne man to pass, before he drinks this mixture, [ence is it we have not an hour of life .n which our pleasures relish not some pain, >ur sours some sweetness. Love doth taste of
both ;
icvenge, that thirsty dropsy of our souls, Which makes us covet that which hurts us most, Is not alone sweet, but partakes of tartness.
312
A VERY WOMAN.
Duke. Is't not a strange effect ?
Vice. Past precedent.
Cue. His brain-pan's perish'd with his wounds:
go to, I knew 'twould come to this.
Vice. Peace, man of wisdom.
Car. Pleasure's the hook of evil ; ease of care, And so the general object of the court; Yet some delights are lawful. Honour is Virtue's allow'd ascent; honour, that clasps Ail-perfect justice in her arms, that craves No more respect than what she gives, that does Nothing but what she'll suffer. — Thisdistractsme; But I have found the right : had don Antonio Done that to me, I did to him, I should have
kilTd him ;
The injury so foul, and done in public, My footman would not bear it; then in honour Wronging him so, I'll right him on myself: There's honour, justice, and full satisfaction Equally tender'd ; 'tis resolved, I'll do it.
[They rush forward and disarm him. They take all weapons from me.
Duke. Bless my son !
Re-enter1 PAULO, dressed like a Solditr, and the English Slave like a Courtier.
Vice. The careful doctor's come again.
Duke. Rare man ! How shall I pay this debt?
Cue. He that is with him, Is one o' the slaves he lately bought, he said, To accommodate his cure : he's English born, But French in his behaviour ; a delicate slave.
Vice. The slave is very fine.
Cue. Your English slaves
A VERY WOMAN. 313
Are ever so ; I have seen an English slave Far finer than his master : there's a state-point, Worthy your observation.
Paul. On thy life,
Be perfect in thy lesson : fewer legs, slave. Car. My thoughts are searched and answer'd ;
for I did
Desire a soldier and a courtier, To yield me satisfaction in some doubts Not yet concluded of.
Paul. Your doctor did I Admit us, sir.
Slave. And we are at your service ; Whate'er it be, command it.
Car. You appear
I A courtier in the race of LOVE ; how far ! In honour are you bound to run?
Slave. I'll tell you, I You must not spare expense, but wear gay
clothes,
j And you may be, too, prodigal of oaths, | To win a mistress' favour ; not afraid To pass unto her through her chambermaid. You may present her gifts, and of all sorts, Feast, dance, and revel; they are lawful sports : IThe choice of suitors you must not deny her, Nor quarrel, though you find a rival by her: Build on your own deserts, and ever be A stranger to love's enemy, jealousy,
For that draws on
Car. No more ; this points at me ;
[Exit English Slave. I ne'er observed these rules. Now speak, old
soldier, The height of HONOUR ?
Paul. No man to offend, Ne'er to reveal the secrets of a friend ; VOL. iv. * Y
314 A VERY WOMAN.
Rather to suffer than to do a wrong- To make the heart no stranger to the tongue ; Provoked, not to betray an enemy, Nor eat his meat I choak with flattery ; Blushless to tell wherefore I wear my scars, Or for my conscience, or my country's wars; To aim at just things ; if we have wildly run Into offences, wish them all undone : 'Tis poor, in grief for a wrong done, to die, Honour, to dare to live, and satisfy.
Vice. Mark, how he winds him.
Duke> £xcellent man !
Paul. Who fights
With passions, and o'ercomes them, is endued With the best virtue, passrve fortitude. [Exit.
Car. Thou hast touch'd me, soldier; oh ! this
honour bears The right stamp; would all soldiers did profess Thy good religion 1 The discords of my soul Are tuned, and make a heavenly harmony : What sweet peace feel T now ! I am ravish' with it.
Vice* How still he sits ! [Music.
Cue. Hark ! music.
Duke. How divinely This artist gathers scatter'd sense; with cunninj Composing the fair jewel5 of his mind, Broken in pieces, and nigh lost before.
Re-enter PAULO, dressed like a Philosopher) accoi panied by a good and evil Genius, uho sing a so in alternate stanzas : during the performance which PAULO goes off, and returns in his 01 shape.
Vice. See Protean Paulo in another shape.
5 Composing the fair jewel of his mind, &c.] By jewel our olfl
A VERY WOMAN. 315
Paul Away, I'll bring him shortly perfect, doubt not,
Duke. Master of thy great art !
Vice* As such we'll hold thee.
Duke. And study honours for him.
Cue. I'll be sick On purpose to take physic of this doctor.
[Exeunt all but Car denes and Paulo.
Car. Doctor, thou hast perfected a body's
cure
To amaze the world, and almost cured ft mind Near frenzy. With delight I now perceive, You, for my recreation, have invented The several objects, which my melancholy Sometimes did think you conjured, otberwhiles Imagined them chimaeras. You have been My friar, soldier, philosopher, My poet, architect, physician ; Labour'd for me, more than your slaves for you, In their assistance : in your moral song* Of my good Genius, and my bad, you have won
me
A cheerful heart, and banish'd discontent; There being nothing wanting to my wishes, |But once more, were it possible, to behold Don John Antonio.
Paul. There shall be letters sent Into all parts of Christendom, to inform him Of your recovery, which now, sir, I doubt not.
riters meant, as is already observed, not so much a single pre cious stone, as a trinket formed of several, or what we call a )iece of jewel-work.
6 — in your moral song
Of my good Genius, and my bad, &c.J This song is not given ; I do not know that it is much to be regretted, and yet it pro mises better than many of those with which we have been fa voured.
* Y2
316 A VERY WOMAN.
Car. What honours, what rewards can I heap
on you !
Paul. That my endeavours have so well suc ceeded,
Is a sufficient recompense. Pray you retire, sir; Not too much air so soon,
Car. I am obedient. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A Room in Cuculo's House.
Enter ALMIHA and LEONORA.
Leon. How strangely This fellow runs in her mind ! [Aside.
Aim. Do you hear, cousin?
Leon. Her sadness clean forsaken !
Aim. A poor slave Bought for my governess, say you?
Leon. I hear so.
Aim. And, do you think, a Turk ?
Leon. His hahit shews it; At least hough t for a Turk.
Aim. Ay, that may be 'so.
Leon. What if he were one naturally ?
Aim. Nay, 'tis nothing, Nothing to the purpose; and yet, methinks, ytii
strange
Such handsomeness of mind, and civil outside, Should spring from those rude countries.
Leon. If it be no more, I'll call our governess, and she can shew you.
Aim. Why, do you think it is ?
Leon. I do not think so.
A VERY WOMAN. 317
Aim. Fie ! no, no, by no means ; and to tell
thee truth, wench,
I am truly glad he is here, be what he will : Let him be still the same he makes a shew of; For now we shall see something to delight us.
Leon. And heaven knows, we have need on?t.
Aim. Heigh ho ! my heart aches. Prithee, call in our governess. — [Exit Leonora.]
Plague o'this fellow !
Why do I think so much of him ? how the devil Creep'd he into my head ? and yet, beshrew me, Methinks I have not seen — I lie, I have seen
A thousand handsomer, a thousand sweeter.
But say this fellow were adom'cl as they are, Set off to shew and glory ! — What's that to me? Fie, what a fool am I ! what idle fancies Buz in my brains !
Re-enter LEONORA with BORACHIA.
Bora. And how doth my sweet lady ?
Leon. She wants your company to make her
merry. Bora. And how does master Pug, I pray you,
madam ?
Leon. Do you mean her little dog? Bora. I mean his worship. Leon. Troubled with fleas a little. Bora. Alas, poor chicken ! Leon. She's here, and drunk, very fine drunk,
I take it;
I found her with a bottle for her bolster, Lying along, and making love. Aim. Borachia, 'hy, where hast thou been, wench ? she looks
not well, friend. Art not with child ?
318 A VERY WOMAN.
Bora. I promise ye, I know not ; I am sure my belly's full, and that's a shrewd sign: Besides I am shrewdly troubled with a tiego Here in my head, madam ; often with this tiego, It takes me very often. Leon. I believe thee. Aim. You must drink wine. Bora. A little would do no harm, sure. Leon. Tis a raw humour blows into your head ; Which good strong wine will temper.
Bora. I thank your highness. I will be ruled, though much against my nature; For wine I ever hated from my cradle :
Yet, for my good
Leon. Ay, for your good, by all means.
Aim. Borachia, what new fellow's that thou
hast gotten ?
(Now she willsure be free) that handsome stranger? Bora. How much wine must I drink, an't please
your ladyship ? Aim. She's finely greased ! — Why two or three
round draughts, wench. Bora. Fasting? Aim. At any time. Bora. I shall hardly do it : But yet I'll try, good madam. Leon. Do ; 'twill work well. Aim. But, prithee answer me, what is this
fellow ?
Bora. I'll tell you two : but let it go no further. Leon. No, no, by no means. Bora. May I not drink before bed too ? Leon. At any hour.
Bora. And say in the night it take me ? Aim. Drink then : but what's trris man ? Bora. I'll tell ye, madam,
A VERY WOMAN. 319
But pray you be secret ; he's the great Turk's
son, for certain, And a fine Christian ; my husband bought him
for me : He's circumsinged.
Leon. He's circumcised, thou wouldst say. Aim. How dost thou know ? Bora. I had an eye upon him : But even as sweet a Turk, an't like your lady ship,
And speaks ye as pure pagan : — I'll assure ye, My husband had a notable pennyworth of him ; And found me but the Turk's own son, his own
son
By father and mother, madam ! Leon. She's mad-drunk. Aim. Prithee,- Borachia, call him ; I would see
him,
And tell thee how I like him. Bora. As fine a Turk, madam,
For that which appertains to a true Turk
Aim. Prithee, call him.
Bora. He waits here at the stairs : — Son slave ! come hither.
Enter ANTONIO.
Pray you give me leave a little to instruct him, He's raw yet in the way of entertainment. Son slave, where's the other bottle ?
Ant. In the bedstraw ; I hid it there.
Bora. Go up, and make your honours. Madam, the tiego takes me now, now, madam ; I must needs be unmannerly.
Aim. Pray you be so.
Leon. You know your cure.
320 A VERY WOMAN.
Bora. In the bedstraw ?
Ant. There you'll find it. [Exit Eorachia.
Aim. Come hither, sir: how long have you
served here ? Ant. A poor time, madam, yet, to shew my
service.
Aim. I see thou art diligent. Ant. I would be, madam ; Tis all the portion left me, that and truth. Aim. Thou art but young. Ant. Had fortune meant me so,7 Excellent lady, time had not much wrong'd me. Aim. Wilt thou serve me ? Ant. In all my prayers, madam, Else such a misery as mine but blasts you.
Aim. Beshrew my heart, he speaks well ; won drous honestly. [Aside. Ant. Madam, your loving lord stays for you. Leon. I thank you.
Your pardon for an hour, dear friend. Aim. Your pleasure.
Leon. I dearly thank you, sir. [Exit.
Ant. My humblest service. She views me narrowly, yet sure she knows me
not : I dare not trust the time yet, nor I must not.
[Aside.
Aim. You are not as your habit shews ? Ant. No, madam, His hand, that, for my sins, lies heavy on me,
7 Ant. Had fortune meant me so,
Excellent lady^ time had not much wrong d me.~\ For so, Mr. M. Mason would read good, because, as he says, " a man's youth does not depend on fortune :" but this is not Massin- ger's meaning, which is, that if fortune had done him no wrong (referring to the concluding part of the sentence,) he would ha?e had but little to complain of time. In other words, that he was " but young," as Almira had observed.
A VERY WOMAN. 321
I hope will keep me from being a slave to the devil.8
Aim. A brave clear mind he has, and nobly
season'd. What country are you of ?
Ant. A Biscan,9 lady.
Aim. No doubt, a gentleman.
Ant. My father thought so.
Aim. Ay, and I warrant thee, a right fair woman Thy mother was : — he blushes, that confirms it. Upon my soul, I have not seen such sweetness ! I prithee, blush again.
Ant. 'Tis a weakness, madam, I am easily this way woo'd to.
Aim. I thank you. Of all that e'er I saw, thou art the perfectest.
[Aside Now you musttell me, sir, for now I long for't.
Ant. What would she have ?
Aim. The story of your fortune, The hard and cruel fortune brought you hither.
Ant. That makes me stagger ; yet I hope I'm hid still. — [Aside.
That I came hither, madam, was the fairest.
Aim. But how this misery you bear, fell on you?
Ant. Infandum, regina,jubes renovare dolor em.
Aim. Come, I will have it; I command you
tell it, For such a speaker I would hear for ever.
Ant. Sure, madam, 'twill but make you sad and heavy,.
from being a slave to the devil.] That is,
from being a Mahommedan : his dress, it appears, was that of a Turk.
9 Ant. A Biscan, ladyj] Here Mr. M. Mason, for no better reason, that I can find, than spoiling the metre, reads, A Bis. cayan, lady.
A VERY WOMAN.
Because I know your goodness full of pity ; And 'tis so poor a subject too, and to your ears, That are acquainted with things sweet and easy, So harsh a harmony.
Aim. I prithee speak it.
Ant. I ever knew obedience the best sacri6ce. Honour of ladies, then, first passing over Some few years of my youth, that are impertinent, Let me begin the sadness of my story, "Where I began to Jose myself, to love first.
Aim. "lis well, go forward ; some rare piece I look for.
Ant. Not far from where my father lives, a
lady,
A neighbour by, bless'd with as great a beauty As nature durst bestow without undoing.1 Dwelt, and most happily, as I thought then, And bless'd the house a thousand times she dwelt
in.
This beauty, in the blossom of my youth, When my first fire knew no adulterate incense, Nor I no way to flatter, but my fondness ; In ail the bravery my friends could shew me, In all the faith my innocence could give me, In the best language my true tongue could tell
me,
And all the broken sighs my sick heart lend me, I sued, and serv'd : long did I love this lady, Long was my travail, long my trade to win her ; With all the duty of my soul, I served her. —
1 As nature durst bestow without undoing^] — her self \ as I sup pose ; for that is a frequent sentiment in these plays. The re mainder of this speech, and, indeed, of the whole scene, is beau tiful beyond expression. The English language does not furnish a more complete specimen of sweetness, elegance, and simpli city, of all that is harmonious in poesie, tender in sentiment, and ardent in affection, than the passage beginning, This beauty y in the blossom of my youth^ &c.
A VERY WOMAN. 323
Aim. How feelingly he speaks ! [Aside.] — And
she loved you too ? It must be so.
Ant. I would it had, clear lady; This story had been needless, and this place, I think, unknown to me.
Aim. Were your bloods equal ?
Ant. Yes, and I thought our hearts too.
Aim. Then she must love.
Ant. She did — but never me ; she could not
love me, She would not love, she hated : more, she scorn'd
me,
And in so poor and base a way abused me, For all my services, for all my bounties, So bold neglects flung on me.
Aim. An ill woman !
Belike you found some rival in your love, then? Ant. How perfectly she points me to my story !
[Aside.
Madam, I did ; and one whose pride and anger, 111 manners, and worse mien, she doted on, Doled to my undoing, and my ruin. And, but for honour to your sacred beauty, And reverence to the noble sex, though she fall, As she must fall that durst be so unnoble, I should say something unbeseeming me. What out of love, and worthy love, I gave her, Shame to her most unworthy mind! to fools, To girls, and fiddlers, to her boys she flung, And in disdain of me.
Aim. Pray you take me with you.8 Of what complexion was she?
a Aim. Pray you take me with you.] i. e. let me understand you. The last circumstance mentioned in don John's speech seems to have recalled to her mind thejlinging of the jewel with which he had presented her, to Cardenes' page.
324 A VERY WOMAN.
Ant. But that I dare not Commit so great a sacrilege gainst virtue,
She look'd not much unlike though far, far
short.
Something, I see, appears — your pardon, madam — Her eyes would smile so, but her eyes would
cozen;
And so she would look sad : but yours is pity, A noble chorus to my wretched story ; Hers was disdain and cruelty.
Aim. Pray heaven,
Mine be no worse! he has told me a strange story, [Aside.
And said 'twould make me sad ! he is no liar. — But where begins this poor state? I will have all, For it concerns me truly.
Ant. Last, to blot me
From all remembrance what I had been to her, And how, how honestly, how nobly served her, Twas thought she set her gallant to dispatch me. 'Tis true, he quarrell'd without place or reason : We fought, I kill'd him ; heaven's strong hand
was with me. —
For which I lost my country, friends, acquaint ance,
And put myself to sea, where a pirate took me, Forcing this habit of a Turk upon me,1 And sold me here.
Aim. Stop there awhile ; but stay still.
[Walks aside.
In this man's story, how I look, how monstrous ! How poor and naked now I shew ! what don John, In all the virtue of his life, but aim'd at,
* Forcing this habit of a Turk upon we,] This line, which is of the more importance, as it furnishes the only reason why don John appeared in such a dress, is wholJy omitted by both the modern editors !
A VERY WOMAN. 325
This thing hath conquer'd with a tale, and carried.
Forgive me, thou that guid'st me! never con science
Touch'd me till now, nor true love : let me keep it.
Re-enter LEONORA with PEDRO.
Leon. She is there. Speak to her, you will
find her alter'd. Pedro. Sister, I am glad to see you, but far
gladder, To see you entertain your health so well.
Aim. I am glad to see you too, sir, and shall be
gladder Shortly to see you all.
Pedro. Now she speaks heartily. What do you want ?
Aim. Only an hour of privateness ; I have a few thoughts —
Pedro. Take your full contentment, We'll walk aside again ; but first to you, friend, Or I shall much forget myself: my best friend, Command me ever, ever — you have won it.4 Ant. Your lordship overflows me. Leon. Tis but due, sir.
[Exeunt Leonora and Pedro. Aim. He's there still. Come, sir, to your last
part now,
Which only is your name, and I dismiss you. Why, whither go you ?
4 : you have won it] So the old copy ;
which I prefer as the simpler reading : the modern editors have you have won me. Some act of kindness must be supposed to pass on the side of don Pedro.
A VERY WOMAN.
Ant. Give me" leave, good madam, Or I must be so seeming rude to take it.
Aim. You shall not go, I swear you shall not
go:
I ask you nothing but your name ; you have one, And why should that thus fright you?
Ant. Gentle madam,
I cannot speak; p»ay pardon me, a sickness, That takes me often, ties my tongue : go from
me, My fit's infectious, lady.
Aim. Were it death
In all his horrors, I must ask and know it; Your sickness is unwillingness. Hard heart, To let a lady of my youth, and place, Beg thus long for a trifle !
Ant. Wortiiiest lady,
Be wise, and let me go ; you'll bless me for it ; Beg not that poison from me that will kill you.
Aim. I only beg your name, sir.
Ant. That will choak you ; I do beseech you, pardon me.
Aim. I will not.5
Ant. You'll curse me when you hear it.
Aim. Rather kiss thee ; Why shouldst thou think so ?
Ant. Why ! I bear that name, And most unluckily as now it happens, (Though I. be innocent of all occasion,) That, since my coming hither, people tell me You hate beyond forgiveness : now, heaven knows
5 Ant. That -will choak you ;
I do beseech you pardon me.
Aim. J will not.'] These two speeches are also omitted, not only by Coxeter, but by the " correctest" of editors, Mr. M. Mason.
A VERY WOMAN.
327
So much respect, although I am a stranger, Duty, and humble zeal, I bear your sweetness, That for the world I would not grieve your good ness : I'll change my name, dear madam.
Aim. People lie, And wrong thy name; thy name may v save ail
others,
And make that holy to me, that I hated : Prithee, what is't ?
Ant. Don John Antonio.— What will this woman do, what thousand changes Run through her heart and hands?6 no fix'd
thought in her !
She loves for certain now, but now I dare not. Heaven guide me right ! [Aside.
Aim. I am not angry, sir,
With you, nor with your name ; I love it rather, And shall respect you — you deserve — for this
time
I license you to go : be not far from me, I shall call for you often.
Ant. I shall wait, madam. [Exit.
Enter CUCULO.
Aim. Now, what's the news with you?
Cue. My lord your father Sent me to tell your honour, prince Martino Is well recover'd, and in strength.
6 Run through her heart and hands ?] For hands, Mr. M. Mason reads head. Hands is not likely to have been corrupted, and is besides as proper as the word which he arbitrarily intro duces. It is very strange that this gentleman should give his reader no notice of his variations from Coxeter, although he professes to do it in his preface, and, stranger still, that he should presume them to be genuine, and agreeable to the old copy, which he never deigns to consult.
328
A VERY WOMAN.
Aim. Why, let him. —
The stones and the names so well agreeing, And both so noble gentlemen. [Aside.
Cue. And more, an't please you — Aim. It doth not please me, neither more nor
less on't.
Cue. They'll come to visit you. Aim. They shall break through the doors then.
[Exit. Cue. Here's a new trick of state ; this shews
foul weather;
But let her make it when she please, I'll gain by it. [Exit.
ACT V. SCENE I.
A Street. Enter Pirates, and the Slave that followed PAULO.
1 Pir. Sold for a slave, say'st thou ?
Slave. 'Twas not so well : Though I am bad enough, I personated Such base behaviour, barbarism of manners, With other pranks, that might deter the buyer, That the market yielded not one man that would Vouchsafe to own me.
1 Pir. What was thy end in it ?
Slave. To be given away for nothing, as I was To the viceroy's doctor; with him I have continued In such contempt, a slave unto his slaves ; His horse and dog of more esteem : and from That villainous carriage of myself, as if I'd been a lump of flesh without a soul,
A VERY WOMAN. 329
I drew such scorn upon me, that I pass'd, And pried in every place, without observance. For which, if you desire to be made men, And by one undertaking, and that easy, You are bound to sacrifice unto my sufferings, The seed I sow'd, and from which you shall reap A plentiful harvest.
1 Pir. To the point ; I like not These castles built in the air.
Slave. I'll make them real, And you the Neptunes of the sea; you shall No more be sea-rats.7
1 Pir. Art not mad ?
Slave. You have seen The star of Sicily, the fair Almira, The viceroy's daughter, and the beauteous ward Of the duke of Messina ?
1 Pir. Madam Leonora.
Slave. What will you say, if both these prin-
. cesses,
This very night, for I will not delay you, Be put in your possession ?
I Pir. Now I dare swear Thou hast maggots in thy brains, thou wouldst
not else, Talk of impossibilities.
Slave. Be still Incredulous.
1 Pir. Why, canst thou think we are able To force the court ?
Slave. Are we able to force two women, And a poor Turkish slave? Where lies your pin nace ?
1 Pzr. In a creek not half a league hence.
you shall
No more be sea-rats.] " There be land-rats and water-rats, (says Sbylock,) I mean pirates." Hence, I suppose, the allusion. VOL. IV. * Z
330 A VERY WOMAN.
Slave. Can you fetch ladders, To mount a garden wall ?
2 Pir. They shall be ready.
Slave. No more words then, but follow me ;
and if I do not make this good, let my throat pay for't.
1 Pir. What heaps of gold these beauties would
bring to us
From the great Turk, if it were possible That this could he effected !
Slave. If it be not, I know the price on't.
J Pir. And be sure to pay it. \Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Room in Cuculo's House. Enter ANTONIO with a letter in his hand.
Ant. Her fair hand threw this from the win dow to me,
And as I took it up, she said, Peruse it, And entertain a fortune offer d to thee. — What may the inside speak ? —
[Breaks it open, and reads.
For satisfaction
Of the contempt I shewed don John Antonio, whose name thou bear'st, and in that dearer to met I do profess I love thee — How ! — 'tis so — / love thee ; this night wait me in the garden, There thou shalt know more — subscribed,
Thy Almira.
Can it be possible such levity Should wait on her perfections ! when I was
A VERY WOMAN. 331
Myself, set off with all the grace of greatness, Pomp, hravery, circumstance, she hated me, And did profess it openly ; yet now, Being a slave, a thing she should in reason Disdain to look upon ; in this base shape, And, since I wore it, never did her service, To dote thus fondly ! — and yet I should glory In her revolt from constancy, not accuse it, Since it makes for me. But, ere I go further, Or make discovery of myself, I'll put her To the utmost trial. In the garden / well, There I shall learn more. Women, giddy
women !
In her the hlemish of your sex you prove, There is no reason for your hate or love. [Exit.
SCENE III.
A Garden belonging to the same.
Enter ALMIRA, LEONORA, and two Waiting Women.
Leon. At this Unseasonable time to he thus brave,* No visitants expected ! you amaze me.
Aim. Are these jewels set forth to the best
advantage, To take the eye ?
8 to be thus brave,] i. e. thus su perbly drest. I shall be blamed for recurring so frequently to the ancient meaning of this expression ; but as it is used in a different sense at present, there may be some small plea offered, perhaps, for recalling the reader's attention, at intervals, to its >riginal signification.
* Z 2
332 A VERY WOMAN.
1 Worn. With our best care.
2 Worn. We never Better discharged our duties.
Aim. In my sorrows,
A princess' name (I could perceive it) struck A kind of reverence in him, and my beauty, As then neglected, forced him to look on me With some sparks of affection ; but now, When I would fan them to a glorious flame, I cannot be too curious. I. wonder He stays so long. [Aside.
Leon. These are strange fancies.
Aim. Go,
Entreat — I do forget myself — command My governess' gentleman — her slave, I should
say, To wait me instantly ; — [Exit 1 Woman.] — and yet
already
He's here ; his figure graven on my heart, Never to be razed out.
Enter Pirates, and the Slave.
Slave. There is the prize. Is it so rich that you dare not seize upon it? Here I begin. [Seizes Almira.
Aim. Help ! villain !
1 Pir. You are mine. [Seizes Leonora.
2 Pir. Though somewhat coarse, you'll serve,
after a storm, To bid fair weather welcome. [Seizes % Woman.
Leon. Ravisher ! Defend me, heaven !
Aim. No aid near !
2 Worn. Help !
Slave. Dispatch. No glove nor handkerchief to stop their mouths
A VERY WOMAN. 333
Their cries will reach the guard, and then we are lost.
Re-enter 1 Woman, with ANTONIO.
Ant. What shrieks are these ? from whence ?
O blessed saints,
What sacrilege to beauty ! do I talk, When 'tis almost too late to do ! — [Forces a sword
from the Stave.} — Take that. Slave. All set upon him. 1 Pir. Kill him. Ant. You shall buy My life at a dear rate, you rogues.
Enter PEDRO, CUCULO, BORACHIA, and Guard.
Cue. Down with them !
Pedro. Unheard-of treason !
Bora. Make in, loggerhead ; My son slave fights like a dragon : take my bottle, Drink courage out on't.
Ant. Madam, you are free.
Pedro. Take comfort, dearest mistress.
Cue. O you micher, Have you a hand in this ?
Slave. My aims were high; Fortune's my enemy : to die's the worst, And that I look for.
1 Pir. Vengeance on your plots !
Pedro. The rack at better leisure shall force
from them A full discovery : away with them.
Cue. Load them with irons.
Bora. Let them have no wine
[Exit Guard with Pirates and Slave. To comfort their cold hearts.
334 A VERY WOMAN.
Pedro. Thou man of men !
Leon. A second Hercules.
Aim. An angel thus disguised.
Pedro. What thanks?
Leon. What service ? -x
Bora. He shall serve me, by your leave, no ser vice else.
Ant. I have done nothing but my duty, madam; And if the little you have seen exceed it, The thanks due for it pay my watchful master, And this my sober mistress.
Bora. He speaks truth, madam, I am very sober.
Pedro. Far beyond thy hopes Expect reward.
Aim. We'll straight to court, and there It is resolved what I will say and do. I am faint, support me.
Pedro. This strange accident Will be heard with astonishment. Come, friend, You have made yourself a fortune, and deserve it. \E*xeunt+
SCENE IV.
A Room in the Viceroy's Palace. Enter Viceroy, Duke of Messina, and PAULO.
Duke. Perfectly cured !
Paul. As such I will present him : The thanks be given to heaven.
Duke. Thrice-reverend man, What thanks but will come short of thy desert? Or bounty, though all we possess were given thee, Can pay thy merit? I will have thy statue Set up in brass.
A VERY WOMAN. 335
Vice. Thy name made the sweet subject Of our best poems; thy unequall'd cures Recorded to posterity.
Paul. Such false glories
(Though the desire of fame be the last weakness Wise men put oft'9) are not the marks I shoot at: But, if I have done any thing that may challenge Your favours, mighty princes, my request is, That for the good of such as shall succeed me, A college for physicians "may be With care and cost erected, in which no man May be admitted to a fellowship, But such as by their vigilant studies shall Deserve a place there; this magnificence, Posterity snail thank you for.
Vice. Rest assured,
In this, or any boon you please to ask, You shall have no repulse.
Paul. My humblest service Shall ne'er be wanting. Now, if you so please, I'll fetch my princely patient, and present him.
Duke. Do ; and imagine in what I may serve
you,
And, by my honour, with a willing hand I will subscribe to't. {Exit Paulo.
9 (Though the desire of fame be the last weakness
Wise men put off)'] So Milton beautifully calls fame, " That last infirmity of noble mind :" a thought for which he, as well as Massin^er was probably indebted to Tacitus: Quando etiam sapentibus cupido g/orice novissima exuitur. Hi^t. 11. 6. Or rather to Simplicius: A»o xat E<r%aTo? ^ytron TUV ira.§uv %iluv ^ ta, eto-n ruv aXhuv Ttohhatms Si'ctvlr,* a<n;o£vo(AHU» a *j. Comm, ad Epict. xlviii.
336
A VERY WOMAN.
Enter PEDRO, ALMIRA, LEONORA, ANTONIO, CUCULO, Bo RAG HI A, and Guard.
Cue. Make way there.
Vice. My daughter !
How's this! a slave crown'd with a civic garland ! The mystery of this ?
Pedro. It will deserve
Your hearing and attention : such a truth Needs not rhetorical flourishes, and therefore With all the brevity and plainness that I can, I will deliver it. If the old Romans, When of most power and wisdom, did decree A wreath like this to any common soldier That saved a citizen's life, the bravery And valour ofthis man may justly challenge Triumphant laurel. This last night a crew Of pirates brake in signior Cuculo's house, With violent rudeness seizing on my sister, And my fair mistress ; both were in their power, And ready to be forced hence, when this man, Unarm'd, came to their rescue, but his courage Soon furnish'd him with weapons ; in a word, The lives and liberties of these sweet ladies, You owe him for: the rovers are in hold, And ready, when you please, for punishment.
Vice. As an induction of more to come, Receive this favour.
Duke. With myself, my son Shall pay his real thanks. He comes ; observe now Their amorous meeting.
Re-enter PAULO with CARDENES.
Car. I am glad you are well, lady. Aim. I grieve not your recovery.
A VERY WOMAN. 337
Vice. So coldly ! Duke. Why fall you off? Car. To shun captivity, sir. I was too long a slave, I'll now be free.
Aim. 'Tis my desire you should. Sir, my af fection
To him was hut a trifle, which I play'd with In the childhood of my love; which now, grown
older, I cannot like of.
Vice. Strange inconstancy ! Car. 'Tis judgment, sir, in me, or a true debt Tender'd to justice, rather. My first life, Load en with all the follies of a man, Or what could take addition from a woman, Was by my headstrong passions, which o'er-ruled My understanding, forfeited to death : But this new being, this my second life, Begun in serious contemplation of What best becomes a perfect man, shall never Sink under such weak frailties. Duke. Most unlook'd for ! Paul. It does transcend all wonders. Car. 'Tis a blessing
I owe your wisdom, which I'll not abuse : But if you envy your own gift, and will Make me that wretched creature which I was, You then again shall see me passionate, A lover of poor trifles, confident In man's deceiving strength, or falser fortune; Jealous, revengeful, in unjust things daring, Injurious, quarrelsome, stored with all diseases The beastly part of man infects his soul with, And to remember what's the worst, once more To love a wontan; but till that time never. [Exit. Vice. Stand you affected so to men, Almira? Aim. No, sir; if so, I could not well discharge
338 A VERY WOMAN.
What I stand bound to pay you, and to nature. Though prince Martino does profess a hate To womankind, 'twere a poor world for women, Were there no other choice, or all should follow The example of this new Hippolytus : There are men, sir, that can 'love, and have loved
truly ;
Nor am I desperate hut I may deserve One that both can and will so.
Vice. My allowance
Shall rank with your good liking, still provided Your choice be worthy.
Aim. In it I have used ,
The judgment of my' mind, and that made clearer With calling oft to heaven it might be so. I have not sought a living comfort from The reverend ashes of old ancestors ; Nor given myself to the mere name and titles Of such a man, that, being himself nothing, Derives his substance from his grandsire's tomb : For wealth, it is beneath my birth to think on't, Since that must wait upon me, being your
daughter;
No, sir, the man I love, though he wants all The setting forth of fortune, gloss and greatness, Has in himself such true and real goodness, His parts so far above his low condition, That he will prove an ornament, not a blemish, Both to your name and family.
Pedro. What strange creature Hath she found out ?
Leon. I dare not guess.
Aim. To hold you
No longer in suspense, this matchless man, That saved my life and honour, is' my husband, Whom I will serve with duty.
Bora. My son slave !
A VERY WOMAN. 339
Vice. Have you your wits ?
Bora I'll not part with him so.
Cue. This I foresaw too.
Vice Do not jest thyself Into the danger of a father's anger.
Aim. Jest, sir! by all my hope of comfort in
him,
I am most serious. Good sir, look upon him ; But let it be with my eyes, and the care You should owe to your daughter'slife and safety, Of which, without him, she's uncapable, And you 11 approve him worthy.
Vice. O thou shame
Of women ! thy sad father's curse and scandal ! With what an impious violence thou tak'st from
him, His few short hours of breathing!
Paul. Do not add, sir, Weight to your sorrow in the ill-bearing of it.
Vice. From whom, degenerate monster, flow
these low
And base affections in thee? what strange philtres Hast thou received? what witch with damned
spells
Deprived thee of thy reason ? Look on me, Since thou art lost unto thyself, and learn, From what I suffer for thee, what strange tortures Thou dost prepare thyself.
Duke. Good sir, take comfort; The counsel you bestow'd on me, make use of.
Paul. This villain, (for such practices in that
nation
Are very frequent,) it may be, hath forced, By cunning potions, aud by sorcerous charms, This frenzy in her.
Vice. Sever them.
Aim. I grow to him.
340 A VERY WOMAN.
Vice. Carry the slave to torture, and wrest
from him,
By the most cruel means, a free confession Of his impostures.
Aim. I will follow him, And with him take the rack. Bora. No ; hear me speak, I can speak wisely : hurt not my son slave, But rack or hang my husband, and I care not; For I'll be bound body to body with him, He's very honest, that's his fault.
Vice. Take hence This drunken beast.
Bora. Drunk ! am I drunk ? bear witness. Cue. She is indeed distemper'd. Vice. Hang them both, If e'er more they come near the court.
Cue. Good sir,
You can recover dead men ; can you cure A living drunkenness?
Paul. Tis the harder task : Go home with her, I'll send you something that Shall once again bring her to better temper, Or make her sleep for ever. Cue. Which you please, sir.
\Exeunt Cuculo and Borachia. Vice. Why linger you ? rack him first, and
after break him Upon the wheel.
Pedro. Sir, this is more than justice. Ant. Is't death in Sicily to be beloved Of a fair lady ?
Leon. Though he be a slave, Remember yet he is a man.
Vice. I am deaf To all persuasions : — drag him hence.
[The Guard carry off Antonio.
A VERY WOMAN.
341
Aim. Do, tyrant,
No more a father, feast thy cruelty Upon thy daughter; but hell's plagues fall on me, If I inflict not on myself whatever He can endure for me !
Vice. Will none restrain her?
Aim. Death hath a thousand doors to let out
life,
I shall find one. If Portia's burning coals, The knife of Lucrece, Cleopatra's aspics, Famine, deep waters, have the power to free me From a loath'd life, Til not an hour outlive him.
Pedro. Sister !
Leon Dear cousin !
[Exit Almira, followed by Pedro, and Leon.
Vice. Let her perish.
Paul. Hear me :
The effects of violent love are desperate. And therefore in the execution of The slave be not too sudden. I was present When he was bought, and at that time myself Made purchase of another; he that sold them Said that they were companions of one country; Something may rise from this to ease your
sorrows.
By circumstance I'll learn what's his condition; In the mean time use all fair and gentle means, To pacify the lady.
Vice. I'll endeavour,
As far as grief and anger will give leave, To do as you direct me.
Duke. I'll assist you. . [Exeunt.
342 A VERY WOMAN.
SCENE V.
A Room in the Prison. Enter PEDRO and Keeper.
Pedro. Hath he been visited already? .
Keep. Yes, sir,
Like one of better fortune; and to increase My wonder of it, such as repair to him, In their behaviour rather appear Servants, than friends to comfort him.
Pedro. Go fetch him. [Exit Keeper.
I am bound in gratitude to do more than wish The life and safety of a man that hath So well deserved me.
Re-enter Keeper with ANTONIO in his former dress, and Servant.
Keep. Here he is, my lord.
Pedro. Who's here? thou art no conjurer to
raise
A spirit in the best shape man e'er appear'd in, My friend, the prince of Tarent ! doubts, forsake
me ! I must and will embrace him.
Ant. Pedro holds
One that loves life for nothing, but to live To do him service.
Pedro. You are he, most certain. Heaven ever make me thankful for this bounty. Run to the Viceroy, let him know this rarity.
[Exit Keeper.
A VERY WOMAN.
343
But how you came here thus — yet, since I have
you,
Is't not enough I hless the prosperous means That brought you hither?
Ant. Dear friend, you shall know all ; And though, in thankfulness, I should 'begin
Where you cleliver'd me
Pedro. Pray you pass that over, That's not worth the relation.
Ant'. You confirm True friends love to do courtesies, not to hear
them.
But I'll obey you. In our tedious passage Towards Malta — I may call it so, for hardly We had lost the ken of Sicily, but we were Becalm'd, and hull'd so up and down twelve
hours ;
When, to our more misfortunes, we descried Eight well-mann'd gallies making amain for us, Of which the arch Turkish pirate, cruel Dragut, Was admiral : I'll not speak what I did In our defence, but never man did more Than the brave captain that you sent forth with
me :
Jl would not do; courage oppressed with number, We were boarded, pillaged to the skin, arid after Twice sold for slaves ; by the pirate first, and
after
By a Maltese to signior Cuculo, Which I repent not, since there 'twas my for tune
To be to you, my best friend, some ways useful — I thought to cheer you up with this short story, But you grow sad on't.
Pedro. Have I not just cause, When I consider I could be so stupid, As not to see a friend through all disguises ;
344 A VERY WOMAN.
Or he so far to question my true love, To keep himself conceal'd ?
Ant. Twas fit to do so,
And not to grieve you with the knowledge of What then I was ; where now I appear to you,1 Your sister loving me, and Martino safe, Like to myself and birth.
Pedro. May you live long so! How dost thou, honest friend ? (your trustiest
servant)
Give me thy hand : — I now can guess by whom You are thus furnish'd.
Ant. Troth he met with me As I was sent to prison, and there brought me Such things as I had use of.
Pedro. Let's to court, My father never saw a man so welcome, As you'll be to him.
Ant. May it prove so, friend ! [Exeunt.
1 What then I was ; where now I appear to you^~\ Ten times, in the course of this very play, to say nothing of all the rest, where occurs in the sense of whereas: yet Mr. M. Mason profits nothing by it. He alters, and interpolates at will, and fabri cates a line, which can only be matched by that which I have already noticed, p. 251:
What then 1 was ; for whereas now I appear to you I
To use his just and modest reproof to the editors of Beaumont and Fletcher : " The mode of expression is so common, that / am surprised that the gentleman should have arrived at the last volume without being better acquainted with it !" p. 187.
A VERY WOMAN. 345
SCENE VI.
A Room in the Viceroy's Palace.
Enter Viceroyj Duke of Messina, CARDENES, JPAULO, Captain, ALMIRA, LEONORA, Waiting Women y and Attendants.
Vice. The slave changed to the prince of Ta- rent, says he ?
Capt. Yes, sir, and I the captain of the fort, Worthy of your displeasure, and the effect oft, For my deceiving of that trust your excellency Reposed in me.
Paul. Yet since all hath fallen out Beyond your hopes, let me become a suitor, And a prevailing one, to get his pardon.
Aim. O, dearest Leonora, with what forehead Dare I look on him now? too powerful Love, The best strength of thy uncourlned empire Lies in weak women's hearts : thou art feign'd
blind,
And yet we borrow our best sight from thee* Could it be else, the person still the same, Affection over me such power should have, make me scorn a prince, and love a slave ?
Car. But art thou sure 'tis he?
Capt. Most certain, sir.
Car. Is he in health, strong, vigorous, and as
able is when he left me dead ?
Capt. Your own eyes, sir, Jhall make good my report*
Car. I am glad of it,
VOL. iv, * A a
346 A VERY WOMAN.
And take you comfort in it, sir, there's hope, Fair hope left for me, to repair mine honour.
Duke. What's that ?
Car. I will do something, that shall speak me Messina's son.
Duke. I like not this : — one word, sir.
[Whispers the Viceroy.
Vice. We'll prevent it. — Nay, look up my Almira; now I approve Thy happy choice ; I have forgot my anger ; I freely do forgive thee.
Aim. May I find
Such easiness in the wrong'd prince of Tarent! I then were happy.
Leon. Rest assured you shall.
Enter ANTONIO, PEDRO, and Servant.
Vice. We all with open arms haste to embrace you.
Duke. Welcome, most welcome!
Car. Stay.
Duke. Twas this I fearU
Car. Sir, 'tis best known to you, on what strict
terms
The reputation of men's fame andjionours Depends in this so punctual age, in which A word that may receive a harsh construction, Is answer'd and defended by the sword : And you, that know so much, will, I presume, Be sensibly tender of another's credit, As you would guard your own.
Ant. I were unjust else.
Car. I have received from your hands wounds,
and deep ones,
My honour in the general report Tainted and soil'd, for which I will demand
A VERY WOMAN. 3i7
This satisfaction — that you would forgive My contumelious words and blow, my rash And unadvised wildness first threw on you. Thus I would teach the world a better way, For the recovery of a wounded honour, Than with a savage fury, not true courage, Still to run headlong on.
Ant. Can this be serious ?
Car. I'll add this, he that does wrong, not atone Draws, but makes sharp, his enemy's sword against His own life and his honour. I have paid for't; And wish that they who dare most, would learn
from me, Not to maintain a wrong, but to repent it.
Paul. Why, this is like yourself.
Car. For further proof, Here, sir, with all my interest, I give up This lady to you.
Vice. Which I make more strong With my free grant.
Aim. I bring mine own consent, Which will not weaken it.
All. All joy confirm it!
Ant. Your unexpected courtesies amaze me, Which I will study with all love and service To appear worthy of.
Paul. Pray you, understand, sir, There are a pair of suitors more, that gladly Would hear from you as much as the pleased
viceroy Hath said unto the prince of Tarent.
Duke. Take her ; Her dowry shall be answerable to Her birth, and your desert.
Pedro. You make both happy.
Ant. One only suit remains; that you would please
* AaS
i
348 A VERY WOMAN.
To take again into your highness' favour, This honest captain : let him have your grace; What's due to his much merit, shall from me Meet liberal rewards. Vice. Have your desire. Ant. Now may all here that love, as they are
friends
To our good fortunes, find like prosperous ends.
[Exeunt.
A VERY WOMAN. 349
EPILOGUE.
Custom, and that a law we must obey,
In the way of epilogue bids me something say>
However to little purpose, since we know,
If you are pleased, unbegg'dyou will bestow
A gentle censure : on the other side,
If that this play deserve to be decried
In your opinions, all that I can say
Will never turn the stream the other way.
Your gracious smiles will render us secure;
Your frowns without despair we, must endure.
This is one of the most agreeable productions of Massinger. However extravagant the principal event may appear, the man ner in which it is conducted is sufficiently regular. With such occasional interruptions as must be expected and pardoned in all these dramas, (for the interludes will have their admittance,) it maintains its predominance, and proceeds to the conclusion, which is provided for it at the commencement. The interme diate parts are a mixture of affecting seriousness, strong though frequently coarse humour, and elegant tenderness. The reader must have particularly remarked these qualities in the opening olf the second act, in the sale of the slaves, and the charming, but too short, scene in which Leonora endeavours to sooth the agitations of Almira. Act III. sc. iv. The last of these is a happy specimen of genuine feeling supporting itself on the justest principle ; and it will be difficult to produce from any of our poets a passage written with more beauty of expression, or more delicacy and elevation of thought. The scene first mentioned has a secret connexion with this : and it is honour able to the discernment of Massinger that he has represented the feelings of friendship with equal truth and variety in the tender solicitude of Leonora, and the magnanimous proposal of Pedro.
Every reader must feel the peculiar charms of the scene in which don John relates to Almira his real history under the appearance of another person. Her strong curiosity prompted by her love, the growing conviction of her own misconduct, and the effect of his discovery, are represented in the liveliest
550 A VERY WOMAN,
manner ; and this is the more remarkable, as Massinger is not generally happy in the management of artificial meanings and double situations.
The characters are studiously contrasted, and throw vivid lights on each other by their opposing qualities. The dignity and moderation of the viceroy, (till he loses his own constancy in his supposed misfortunes,) shew with encreased effect the unadvised impatience of the duke : the courageous calmness of don John heightens the offence of the insulting temper of Car. denes, — and the vehemence of Almira becomes more alarming through the very checks offered to it by the prudence of Leo nora. There is a further contrivance in the violence of spirit \vhich marks Cardenes and Almira : that of the former, while it indisposes us towards him, makes him more liable to the strong impression which ends in the abandonment of his passion ; — and thus a double facility is created for the success of don John. Almira too prepares for her own change of mind through the very intemperance with which she declares her fixed resolution. This is one of the familiar expedients of Massinger. Constancy does not long dwell with the outrageous assertion of it ; and the practised reader knows, from the very first act, that Cardenes, thus violently favoured and indiscretely proclaimed, is certainly to be abandoned.
I will not dwell on the maxim upon which this Play is founded, that women have no reason for their a love or hate." If its severity is complained of, let it be remembered that Massinger exposes, with much more frequency, the wrong conduct of the men ; and that he seems to take a pleasure in punishing them for their unreasonable suspicions and jealousies. This has been already observed in the Bondman. Notwithstanding this differ ence in their object, the two Plays have several points of re semblance. The reader will remember Cleora's resolution to marry a supposed slave, the consternation of her friends, the reservation of the true character of Pisander, and the effect of its final disclosure. The peculiarity of the present play is the double appearance of don John, and Almira's whimsical rejec tion and unconscious acceptance of the same person : and this is contrived with equal skill and novelty of effect.
THE
BASHFUL LOVER.
THE BASHFUL LOVER.] This Tragi- comedy was licensed by the Master of the Revels, May 9th, 1636. It is the latest of Massinger's pieces which are come down to us, though he con tinued to write for the stage to the period of his death, which happened about four years alter the date of the present play.
The plot is wild but pleasing. It probably originated from some forgotten collection of Italian tales ; where the events bore nearly the same proportion to the true history of that country, as the circumstances recorded by the supposititious Dares Phrygius and Dictys Cretensis bear to what actually took place in the wars of Troy.
The Bashful Lover was extremely well received at its first appearance : it continued to be a .favourite, and was " often acted," the old copy says, " by his late Majesty's servants, with great applause." It was performed at Blackfriars.
This Play, together with the Guardian and A Very Woman* was printed in octavo, by II. Mosely, 1655. I know of nq prior edition.
f 353 ]
PROLOGUE.
This from our author, far from all offence
To abler writers, or the audience
Met here to judge his poem* He, by me,
Presents his service, with such modesty
As well becomes his weakness. 'Tis no crime,
He hopes, as we do, in this curious time,
To be a little diffident, when we are
To please so many with one bill of fare.
Let others, building on their merit, my
You're in the wrong, if you move not that way
Which they prescribe you ; as you were bound to learn
Their maxims, but uncapable to discern
*TzvLvt truth and falsehood. Our's had rather be
Censured by some for too much obsequy,
Than taud of self opinion. If he hear
That his endeavours thrived, and did appear
Worthy your view, (though made so by your grace,
With some desert,) he, in another place,
Will thankfully report* one leaf of bays
Truly conferred upon this work, will raise]
More pleasure in him, you the givers free,
Than garlands ravish d from the virgin tree.
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Gonzaga, duke of Mantua.
Lorenzo, duke of Tuscany.
Uberti, prince of' Parma.
Farneze, cousin to Gonzaga.
Alonzo, the ambassador, nephew to Lorenzo.
Manfroy, a lord of Mantua.
Qct&vio, formerly general to Gonzaga, but now in
exile.
Gothrio, his servant. Galeazzo, a Milanese prince, disguised under the
name 0/ Hortensio. Julio, his attendant. Pisano, i -r, ... /y. Martino, ) ™>r™t'ne officers.
Captains.
Milanese Ambassador.
Doctor.
Matilda, daughter to Gonzaga.
Beatrice, her waiting woman.
Maria, daughter to Octavio, disguised as a page,
and called Ascanio. Waiting Women.
Captains, Soldiers, Guard, Attendants, Page, §c.
SCENE, partly in the City of Mantua, and partly in the dutchy.
THE
BASHFUL LOVER
ACT I. SCENE I.
Mantua. A Space before the Palace. Enter HORTENSIO and JULIO.
Jul. I dare not cross you, sir, but I would
gladly
(Provided you allow it) render you My personal attendance.
Hort. You shall better Discharge the duty of an honest servant, In following my instructions, which you have Received already, than in questioning What my intents are, or upon what motives My stay's resolved in Mantua : believe me, That servant overdoes, that's too officious ; And, in presuming to direct your master, You argue him of weakness, and yourself Of arrogance and impertinence.
Jul. I have done, sir ; But what my ends are
Hort. Honest ones, I know it. I have my bills of exchange, and all provisions, Entrusted to you ; you have shewn yourself Just and discreet, what would you more ? and yet, To satisfy in some part your curious care,
350 THE BASHFUL LOVER,
Hear this, and leave me. I desire to be Obscured ; and, as I have demean'd myself These six months past in Mantua, I'll continue Unnoted and unknown, and, at the best, Appear no more than a gentleman, and a stranger, That travels for his pleasure.
JuL With your pardon, This hardly will hold weight, though I should
swear it, With your noble friends and brother.
Hort. You may tell them, Since you will be my tutor, there's a rumour, Almost cried up into a certainty, Of wars with Florence, and that I am determined To see the service : whatever I went forth, Heaven prospering my intents, I would come home A soldier, and a good one.
Jul. Should you get
A captain's place, nay, colonel's, 'twould add little To what you are ; few of your rank will follow That dangerous profession.
Hort. Tis the noblest, And monarchs honour'd in it : but no more, On my displeasure.
JuL Saints and a»gels guard you ! [J&nV.
Hort. A war, indeed, is threaten'd, nay, ex pected,
From Florence ; but it is 'gainst me already proclaim'd in Mantua ; I find it here, No foreign, but intestine war : I have Defied myself,1 in giving up my reason A slave to passion, and am led captive
I have
Defied myself, &c.] So the old copy: for defied, the last editor reads destroyed myself. It is evident that he did not enter into the sense" of his author, who is describing a man in a state of warfare with himself. 'Leading a man into captivity
THfc BASHFUL LOVER. 357
Before the battle's fought: I fainted, when I only saw mine enemy, and yielded, Before that I was charged ; and, though defeated, I dare not sue for mercy. Like Ixion, I look on Juno, feel my heart turn cinders With an invisible fire; and yet, should she Deign to appear clothed in a various cloud, The majesty of the substance is so sacred, I durst not clasp the shadow. I behold her With adoration, feast my eye, while all My other senses starve ; and, oft frequenting The place which she makes happy with her pre sence,
I never yet had power with tongue or pen To move her to compassion, or make known What 'tis I languish for ; yet I must gaze still, Though it increase my flame : — however, I Much more than fear I am observ'd, and censured For bold intrusion. ]lValks by.
Enter BEATRICE and ASCANIO.
Beat. Know you, boy, that gentleman?
Asc. Who? monsieur Melancholy? hath not
your honour u
Mark'd him before?
Beat. I have seen him often wait About the princess' lodgings, but ne'er guess'd What his designs were.
Asc. No ! what a sigh he breath'd now ! Many such will blow up the roof: on my small
credit There's gunpowder in them.
Beat How, crack ! gunpowder ?
after he is destroyed, is not precisely the way in which Massinger usually proceeds, whatever may be thought of it by Mr. M. Mason.
358 THE BASHFUL LOVER/
He's flesh and blood, and devils only carry Such roaring stuff about them : you cannot prove He is or spirit or conjurer.
Asc. That I grant,
But he's a lover, and that's as bad; their sighs Are like petards, and blow all up.
Beat. A lover !
I have been in love myself, but never found yet That it could work such strange effects.
Asc. True, madam, In women it cannot; for when they miss the
enjoying
Of their full wishes, all their sighs and heigh-hoes, At the worst, breed tympanies, and these are
cured too
With a kiss or two of their saint, when he appears Between a pair of sheets : but, with us men, The case is otherwise.
Beat. You will be breech'd. boy, For your physical maxims. — But how are you
assured, He is a lover?
Asc. Who, I ? I know with whom too : But that is to be whisper'd. [Whispers*
Beat. How ! the princess ! The unparallel'd Matilda ! some proof of it; I'll pay for my intelligence. [Gives Asc. money,
Asc. Let me kiss
Your honour's hand ; 'twas ever fair, but now Beyond comparison.
Beat. I guess the reason ; A giving hand is still fair to the receiver.
Asc. Your ladyship's in the right; but to the
purpose.
He is my client, and pays his fees as duly As ever usurer did, in a bad cause, To his man of law; and yet I get, and take them
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 359
Both easily and honestly: all the service
I do him, is, to give him notice when
And where the princess will appear; and that
I hope's no treason. If you miss him, when
She goes to the vesper or the matins, hang me ;
Or when she takes the air, be sure to find him
Near her coach, at her going forth, or coming
back :
But if she walk, he's ravish'd. I have seen him Smell out her footing like a lime-hound, and
nose it* From all the rest of her train.
Beat. Yet I ne'er saw him Present her a petition.
Asc. Nor e'er shall : He only sees her, sighs, and sacrifices A tear or two — then vanishes.
Beat. Tis most strange : What a sad aspect he wears ! but I'll make use
oft.
The princess is much troubled with the threats That come from Florence ; I will bring her to him, The novelty may afford her sport, and help To purge deep melancholy. Boy, can you stay Your client here for the third part of an hour? I have some ends in't.
Asc. Stay him, madam ! fear not : The present receipt of a round sum of crowns, And that will draw most gallants from their
prayers, Cannot drag him from me.
* Smell out her footing like a lime-hound, and nose if] The old copy reads knows it. I have little doubt but that the former was Massinger's word ; the mistake probably originated at the press, from a similarity of sound. The lime-hound is the common hound. " The string wherewith we lead a grey-hound is called a leace, and that for a hound, a lytne :" hence the name. Gent. Recreat. p. 16.
360 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Beat. See you do. [Exit*
Asc. Ne'er doubt me.
I'll put him out of his dream. — Good morrow, signior.
Hort. My little friend, good morrow. Hath
the princess Slept well to night?
Asc. I hear not from her womeri One murmur to the contrary.
Hort. Heaven be praised for't ! Does she go to church this morning ?
Asc. Troth, I know not ; I keep no key of her devotion, signior.
Hort. Goes she abroad ? pray tell me.
Asc. 'Tis thought rather, She is resolv'd to keep her chamber*
Hort. Ah me !
Asc. Why do you sigh ? if that you have &
business
To be dispatch'd in court, shew ready money, You shall find those that will prefer it for you.
Hort. Business! can any man have business, but To see her ; then admire her, and pray for her, She being composed of goodness? for myself, I find it a degree of happiness But to be near her, and I think I pay A strict religious vow, when I behold her \ And that's all my ambition.
Asc. I believe you :
Yet, she being absent, you may spend some bouts With profit and delight too. After dinner, The duke gives audience to a rough ambassador, Whom yet I never saw, nor heard his title, Employ 'd from Florence; I'll help you to a Where you shall see and hear all.
Hort. 'Tis not worth My observation.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 361
Asc. What think you of An excellent comedy, to be presented For his entertainment ? he that penn'd it is The poet of the time, and all the ladies, (I mean the amorous and learned ones,) Except the princess, will be there to grace it.
Hort. What's that to me ? without her all is
nothing;
The light that shines in court Cimmerian dark ness ;
I will to bed again, and there contemplate On her perfections.
Re-enter BEATRICE with MATILDA, and two Waiting Women.
Asc. Stay, sir, see ! the princess, Beyond our hopes.
Hort. Take that. [Gives him money .]— As Moors
salute The rising sun with joyful superstition,
I could fall down and worship. O my heart!
Like Phoebe breaking through an envious cloud, Or something which no simile can express, She shews to me : a reverent fear, but blended With wonder and amazement, does possess me. Now glut thyself, my famish'd eye !
Beat. That's he, An't please your excellence.
1 Worn. Observe his posture, But with a quarter-look.
2 Worn. Your eye fix'd on him, Will breed astonishment.
Matil. A comely gentleman ! I would not question your relation, lady, Yet faintly can believe it. How he eyes me ! Will he not speak ?
VOL. iv. * B b
THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Beat. .Your excellence hath deprived him Of speech and motion.
Matil Tis most strange.
Aac. These fits Are usual with him.
Matil. Is it not, Ascanio, A personated folly ! or he a statue ?3 If it be, it is a masterpiece ; for man I cannot think him.
Beat. For yout sport, vouchsafe him A little conference.
Matil. In compassion rather : For should he love me, as you say, (though hope less,)
It should not be return'd with scorn ; that were An inhumanity, which my birth nor honour Could privilege, were they greater. Nowlperceive
3 Matil. J* it not, Ascanio,
A personated folly? or he a statue?] So the old copy: the modern editors read — Or is he a statue ? An interpolation neither warranted by the sense, nor the style of Massinger and his contemporaries. But this ignorance of ancient phraseology still afflicts Mr. M. Mason. In the Custom of the Country, Arnoldo says —
" And I forgot to like her, " And glad I was deceived." Upon which he observes that u the word glad is here used as a verb, and means rejoice ."' Comments^ p. 52.
Not so ; the expression is elliptical; And I am glad, &c. a mode of writing which occurs in almost every page of our ancient dramatists. Thus :
« I lived
" Too happy in my holiday trim of glory, " And courted with felicity."
This is wrong, say the commentators ; it should be — And sported with felicity. — Alas ! no : it is perfectly right ; and at full, and, in the language of the present day, would be — And was courted by felicity. I note this, to repress, if it be possible, the temerity of inexperience.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 363
He has life and motion in him. To whom, lady, Pays he that duty ?
[Hortensio, bowing, offers to go off.
Beat. Sans doubt, to yourself.
MatlL And whither goes he now ?
Asc. To his private lodging, But to what end I know not ; this is all I ever noted in him.
MatlL Call him back : In pity I stand bound to counsel him, Howe'er I am denied, though I were willing, To ease his sufferings.
Asc. Signior ! the princess Commands you to attend her.
Hort. [Returns.] How ! the princess ! Am I be tray 'd?
Asc. What a lump of flesh is this ! You are betray'd, sir, to a better fortune Than you durst ever hope for. What a Tantalus Do you make yourself! the flying fruit stays for
And the water that you long'd for, rising up Above your lip, do you refuse to taste it? Move faster, sluggish camel, or I'll thrust This goad in your breech : had I such a pro
mising beard,
I should need the reins, not spurs. MatlL You may come nearer. rhy do you shake, sir ^ If I flatter not [yself, there's no deformity about me, for any part so monstrous, to beget ji ague in you.
Hort. It proceeds not, madam, um guilt, but reverence. MatiL I believe you, sir ; fave you a suit to me ?
* Bb 2
364 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Hort. Your excellence Is wondrous fair.
MatiL I thank your goocj opinion.
Hort. And I beseech you that I may have
license To kneel to you.
MatiL A suit I cannot cross.
Hort. I humbly thank your excellence.
{Kneels.
MatiL But what,
As ypu are prostrate on your knee before me, Is your petition ?
Hort. I have none, great princess.
MatiL Do you kneel for nothing ? .
Hort. Yes, I have a suit, But such a one, as, if denied, will kill me.
MatiL Take comfort : it must be of some
strange nature,
Unfitting you to ask, or me to grant, If I refuse it.
Hort. It is, madam
MatiL Out with't.
Hort. That I may not offend you, this is all, When I presume to look on you.
Asc. A flat eunuch !
To look on her ? I should desire myself To move a little further.
MatiL Only that ?
Hort. And I beseech you, madam, to believe I never did yet with a wanton eye ; Or cherish one lascivious wish beyond it.
Beat. You'll never make good courtier, or be In grace with ladies.
1 Worn. Or us waiting women, If that be your nil ultra.
2 Worn. He's 110 gentleman,
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 365
On my virginity, it is apparent : My tailor has more boldness ; nay, my shoe maker
Will fumble a little further, he could^not have The length of my foot else.
Matil. Only to look on me ! Ends your ambition there?
Hort. It does, great lady, — And that confined too, and at fitting distance: The fly that plays too near the flame burns in it.4 As I behold the sun, the stars, the temples, I look on you, and wish it were no sin Should I adore you.
Matil. Come, there's something more in't; And since that you will make a goddess of me, As such a one I'll tell you, I desire not The meanest altar raised up to mine honour To be puli'd down : I can accept from you, Be your condition ne'er so far beneath me, One grain of incense with devotion offer'd, Beyond all perfumes, or Sabsean spices, By one that proudly thinks he merits in it: I know you love me.
Hort. Next to heaven, madam, And with as pure a zeal. That, we behold With the eyes of contemplation, but can Arrive no nearer to it in this life ; But when that is divorced, my soul shall serve
yours, And witness my affection.
* Thejly that plays too near thejlame burns in it.] Gresset has made a beautiful use of this idea :
Tel, par sa pente naturelle, Par une erreur toujours noui}dlet Quoiqu'il semble changer son cours, Autour de lajlamme mortelle Le papillon re'cient toujours.
366 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Matil. Pray you, rise ; But wait my further pleasure.
[Hort. rises and walks aside.
Enter FARNEZE and UBEKTI.
Farn. I'll present you,
And give you proof I am your friend, a true one ; And in my pleading for you, teach the age, That calls, erroneously, friendship hut a name, It is a substance. — Madam, I am hold To trench so far upon your privacy, As to desire my friend (let not that wrong him, For he's a worthy one) may have the honour To kiss your hand.
Matil. His own worth challenges A greater favour.
Farn. Your acknowledgment Confirms it, madam. If you look on him As he's built up a man, without addition Of fortune's liberal favours, wealth or titles, He doth deserve no usual entertainment : But, as he is a prince, and for your service Hath left fair Parma, that acknowledges No other lord, and, uncompeli'd, exposes His person to the dangers of the5 war, Ready to break in storms upon our heads ; In noble thankfulness you may vouchsafe him Nearer respect, and such grace as may nourish, Not kill, his amorous hopes.
Matil. Cousin, you know I am not the disposer of myself, The duke my father challenges that power:
5 His person to the dangers of the var,~] I have inserted the article, which restores the metre. Farneze evidently alludes to the war with which they were now threatened by the 'Floren tines.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 367
Yet thus much I dare promise ; prince Uberti Shall find the seed of service that he sows, Falls not on barren ground.
Uber. For this high favour I am your creature, and profess I owe you Whatever I call mine. [They walk aside.
Hort. This great lord is A suitor to the princess. Asc. True, he is so. Hort. Fame gives him out too for a brave
commander.
Asc. And in it does him but deserved right ; The duke hath made him general of his horse, On that assurance.
Hort. And the lord Farneze, Pleads for him, as it seems.
Asc. 'Tis too apparent : And, this consider'd, give me leave to ask What hope have you, sir ?
Hort. 1 may still look on her, Howe'er he wear the garland.
Asc. A thin diet, And will not feed you fat, sir.
Uber. I rejoice,
Rare princess, that you are not to be won By carpet-courtship, but the sword ; with this Steel pen I'll write en Florence* helm how much I can, and dare do for you.
Matil. Tis not question 'd. Some private business of mine own disposed of, I'll meet you in the presence. Uber. Ever your servant.
[Exeunt Uberti and Farneze. Matil. Now, sir, to you. You have observed,
I doubt not,
For lovers are sharp-sighted, to what purpose This prince solicits me; and yet I am not
368 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
So taken with his worth, but that 1 can
Vouchsafe you further parle.6 The first command
That I'll impose upon you, is to hear
And follow my good counsel : I am not
Offended that you love me, persist in it,
But love me virtuously ; such love may spur you
To noble undertakings, which achieved,
Will raise you into name, preferment, honour :
For all which, though you ne'er enjoy my person,
(For that's impossible,) you are indebted
To your high aims: visit me when you please,
I do allow it, nor will blush to own you,
So you confine yourself to what you promise,
As my virtuous servant.
Beat. Farewell, sir ! you have An unexpected cordial.
Asc. May it work well ! [Exeunt all but Hort.
Hort. Your love — yes, so she said, may spur you to Brave undertakings : adding this, You may Visit me when you please. Is this allow'd me, And any act, within the power of man, Impossible to be effected ? no : I will break through all oppositions that May stop me in my full career to honour : And, borrowing strength to do, from her high
favour, Add something to Alcides' greatest labour. [Exit.
6 Vouchsafe you further parle.] So the old copy, and rightly. The modern editors have parley, which spoils the verse.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 369
SCENE II.
The same. A State-room in the Palace.
Enter GONZAGA, UBERTI, FARNEZE, MANFROY, and Attendants.
Gon. This is your place ; and, were it in our power, [Leads Uberti to the state.
You should have greater honour, prince of Parma; The rest know theirs. — Let some attend with care On the ambassador, and let my daughter Be present at his audience. [Exeunt Attendants.]
— Reach a chair,
We'll do all fit respects ; and, pray you, put on Your 'milder looks, you are in a place where
frowns Are no prevailing agents. [To Uberti.
Enter at one door ALONZO and Attendants : MA TILDA, BEATRICE, ASCANIO, HORTENSIO, and Waiting Women, at the other.
Asc. I have seen More than a \rolf, a Gorgon ! f [Swoons.
Gon. What's the matter ?
Matild. A page of mine is fallen into a swoon ; Look to him carefully. [Ascanio is carried out.
Gon. Now, when you please, The cause that brought you hither?
Alon. The protraction
? Asc. / have seen
More than a wolf, a Gorgon /] Ascanio means Aloneo : it may be just necessary to observe, that the sight of a wolf was, anciently, supposed to deprive a person of speech, that of a Gorgon, of motion and life.
370 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Of my dispatch forgotten, from Lorenzo, The Tuscan duke, thus much to };ou, Gonzaga, The duke of Mantua. By me, his nephew, He does salute you fairly, and entreats (A word not suitable to his power and greatness) You would consent to tender that which he, Unwillingly, must force, if contradicted. Ambition, in a private man a vice, Is, in a prince, the virtue.*
Gon. To the purpose ; These amhages are impertinent.
Alon. He demands The fair Matilda, for I dare not take From her perfections, in a noble way ; And in creating her the comfort* of His royal bed, to raise her to a height Her flattering hopes could not aspire, where she With wonder shall be gazed upon, and live The envy of her sex.
Gon. Suppose this granted.
Uber. Or, if denied, what follows?
Alon. Present war, ,
With all extremities the conqueror can Inflict upon the vanquished.
Uber. Grant me license To answer this defiance. What intelligence
1 Is in a prince a virtue."] So the modern editions. In the old copy it is the virtue — meaning, perhaps, as Massinger expresses it on another occasion, the virtue xaTf|o%rj».
9 And in creating her the comfort of
His royal bed^] For comfort Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason read consort, as usual. One would think, from the eternal war fare maintained against this good old word, that the marriage bed is less comfortable at present than it anciently was: however this may be, I have every where restored it.
In the next line, they have inserted to after aspire ; though the word is constantly used by our old poets without the pre position, and though it injures, or rather destroys, the metre.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 371
Holds your proud master with the will of heaven,1 That, ere the uncertain die of war be thrown, He dares assure himself the victory ? Are his unjust invading arms of fire? Or those we put on in defence of right, Like chaff, to be consumed in the encounter? I look on your dimensions, and find not Mine own of lesser size; the blood that fills My veins, as hot as yours ; my sword as sharp, My nerves of equal strength, my heart as good; And, confident we have the better cause, Why should we fear the trial ? Far. You presume
What intelligence
Holds your proud master with the will of heaven, &c.] This admirable speech, which is equally judicious and spirited, in. voluntarily recalls to mind the Battle of Sabla, so beautifully translated by the late Professor of Arabic, whose" death the public, no less than his particular friends, will long have cause to regret :
**********
" Make now your choice — the termg we give,
" Desponding victims, hear ; " These fetters on your hands receive,
" Or in your hearts the spear."
<{ And is the conflict o'er," we cried,
u And lie we at your feet ? " And dare you vauntingly decide
" The fortune we must meet ?
" The foe advanced : — in firm array
" We rush'd o'er Sabla's sands, " And the red sabre mark'd our way
" Amidst their yielding bands.
" Then, as they writh'd in death's cold grasp,
" We cried, ' Our choice is made, " These hands the sabre's hilt shall clasp,
" Your hearts shall have the blade.'"
Carlyle's Specimens of Arabian Poetry, p. 25.
372 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
You are superior in numbers ; we Lay hold upon the surest anchor, virtue ; Which, when the tempest of the warroars loudest, Must prove a strong protection,
Gon. Two main reasons (Seconding those you have already heard) Give us encouragement; the duty that I owe my mother-country, and the love Descending to my daughter. For the first, Should I betray her liberty, I deserv'd To have my name with infamy razed from The catalogue of good princes; and I should Unnaturally forget I am a father, If, like a Tartar, or for fear or profit, I should consign her, as a bondwoman, To be disposed of at another's pleasure; Her own consent or favour never sued for, And mine by force exacted. No, Alonzo, She is my only child, my heir; and, if A father's eyes deceive me not, the hand Of prodigal nature hath given so much to her, As, in the former ages, kings would rise up In her defence, and make her cause their quarrel : Nor can she, if that any spark remain To kindle a desire to be possess'd Of such a beauty, in our time, want swords To guard it safe from violence.
Hort. I must speak, «.--
Or I shall burst; now to be silent were A kind of blasphemy : if such purity, Such innocence, an abstract of perfection, The soul of beauty, virtue, in a word, A temple of things sacred, should groan under The burthen of oppression, we might Accuse the saints, and tax the Powers above us
Of negligence or injustice. Pardon, sir,
A stranger's boldness, and in your mercy call it
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 373
True zeal, not rudeness. In a cause like this, The husbandman would change his ploughing-
irons
To weapons of defence, and leave the earth Untill'd, although a general dearth should follow: The student would forswear his book, the lawyer Put off his thriving gown, and, without pay, Conclude this cause is to be fought, not pleaded. The women will turn Amazons, as their sex In her were wrong'd ; and boys write down their
names In the muster-book for soldiers.
Gon. Take my hand : Whatever you are, I thank you. How are you
call'd ?
Hort. Hortensio, a Milanese. Gon. I wish
Mantua had many such. — My lord ambassador, Some privacy, if you please ; Manfroy, you may Partake it, and advise us. \They walk aside.
Uber. Do you know, friend, What this man is, or of what country ? Warn. Neither. Uber. I'll question him myself. What are you,
sir?
Hort. A gentleman. Uber. But if there be gradation In gentry, as the heralds say, you have Been over-bold in the presence of your betters. Hort. My betters, sir ! Uber. Your betters. As I take it, You are no prince.
Hort. 'Tis fortune's gift you were born one ; I have not heard that glorious title crowns you, As a reward of virtue : it may be, The first of your house deserv'd it ; yet his merits You can but faintly call your own.
374 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
MatiL Well answer'd. Uber. You come up to rne. Hort. I would not turn my back, If you were the duke of Florence, though you
charged rne I* the head of your troops. .
Uber. Tell me in gentler language, Your passionate speech induces me to think so, Do you love the princess ?
Hort. Were you mine enemy, Your foot upon my breast, sword at my throat, Even then I would profess it. The ascent To the height of honour is by arts or arms; And if such an unequall'd prize might fall On him that did deserve best in defence Of this rare princess, in the day of battle, I should lead you a way would make your greatness Sweat drops of blood to follow.
Uber. Can your excellence Hear this without rebuke from one unknowa? Is he a rival for a prince?
MatiL My lord,
You take that liberty I never gave you. In justice you should give encouragement To him, or any man, that freely offers His life to do me service, not deter him ; I give no suffrage to it. Grant he loves me, As he professes, how are you wrong'd in it? Would you have all men hate me but yourself? No more of this, I pray you : if this gentleman Fight for my freedom, in a fit proportion To his desert and quality, I can And will reward him ; yet give you no cause Of jealousy or envy. Hurt. Heavenly lady !
Gon. No peace but on such poor and base conciiduns !
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 375
We will not buy it at that rate : return
This answer to your master : Though we wish'd
To hold fair quarter with him, on such terms
As honour would give way to, we are not
So thunderstruck with the loud voice of war,
As to acknowledge him our lord before
His sword hath made us vassals : we long since
Have had intelligence of the unjust gripe
He purposed to lay on us ; neither are we
So unprovided as you think, my lord ;
He shall not need so seek us; we will meet him,
And prove the fortune of a day, perhaps
Sooner than he expects.
Alon. And find repentance, When 'tis too late. Farewell \Exlt with Farneze.
Gon. No, my Matilda,
We must not part so. Beasts and birds of pre}7, To their last gasp, defend their brood ; and
Florence,
Over thy father's breast shall march up to thee, Before he force affection. The arms That thou must put on for us and thyself, Are prayers and pure devotion, which will Be heard, Matilda. Manfroy, to your trust We do give up the city, and my daughter ; On both keep a strong guard — No tears, they are
ominous. O my Octavio, my tried Octavio, In all my dangers ! now I want thy service, In passion recompensed with banishment. Error of princes, who hate virtue when She's present9 with us, and in vain admire her
1 Error of princes, who hate virtue when Skespresent &c.~]
Virtutem incolumen odimus, Sublatam ex oculis qucerimus invidi.
But this play abounds with classical allusions aptly and el cgantljr introduced.
THE BASHFUL LOVER.
When she is absent!— 'tis too late to think on't. The wish'd-for time is come, princely Uberti, To shew your valour; friends, being to do, not
talk,
All rhetoric is fruitless, only this, Fate cannot rob you of deserv'd applause, Whether you win or lose in such a cause. [Exeunt.
ACT II. SCENE I.
Mantua. A Room in the Palace. Enter MATILDA, BEATRICE, and Waiting-Women.
Matil. No matter for the ring I ask'd you for. The boy not to be found ? Beat. Nor heard of, madam.
1 Worn. He hath been sought and search'd for,
house by house, Nay, every nook of the city, but to no purpose.
2 Worn. And how he should escape hence, the
lord Manfroy
Being so vigilant o'er the guards, appears A thing impossible.
Matil. I never saw him,
Since he swoon'd in the presence, when my father Gave audience to the ambassador : but I feel A sad miss of him ; on any slight occasion, He would find out such pretty arguments To make me sport, and with such witty sweetness Deliver his opinion, that I must Ingenuously confess his harmless mirth,
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 377
When I was most oppress'd with care, wrought more
In the removing oft, than music on me.
Beat. An't please your excellence, I have ob served him
Waggishly witty; yet, sometimes, on the sudden,
He would be very pensive; and then talk
So feelingly of love, as if he had
Tasted the bitter sweets oft.
1 Worn. He would tell, too,
A pretty tale of a sister, that had been Deceived by her sweetheart ; and then, weep ing, swear He wonder'd how men could be false.*
2 Worn. And that
When he was a knight, he'd be the ladies cham pion,
And travel o'er the world to kill such lovers, As durst play false with their mistresses.
Matil. I am sure I want his company.
Enter MANFROY.
Man. There are letters, madam, In post come from the duke; but I am charged, By the careful bringer, not to open them But in your presence.
Matil. Heaven preserve my father! Good news, an't be thy will !
Man. Patience must arm you Against what's ill.
Matil. I'll hear them in my cabinet. [Exeunt.
* This pretty passage contains one of thosp judicious antici pations, in which Massinger is peculiarl)' excellent.
VOL. IV. * C C
378 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
SCENE II.
The Dutchy of Mantua. Gonzaga's Camp* Enter HORTENSIO and ASCANIO.
Hort. Why have you left the safety of the city, And service of the princess, to partake The dangers of the camp ? and at a time too When the armies are in view, and every minute The dreadful charge expected?
Asc. You appear
So far beyond yourself, as you are now, Arm'd like a soldier, (though I grant your pre sence
Was ever gracious,) that I grow enamour'd Of the profession : in the horror of it, There is a kind of majesty.
Hort. But too heavy
To sit on thy soft shoulders, youth ; retire To the duke's tent, that's guarded.
Asc. Sir, I come
To serve you ; knight-adventurers are allow'd Their pages, and I bring a will that shall Supply my want of power.
Hort. To serve me, boy ! I wish, believe it, that 'twere in my nerves To do thee any service ; and thou shalt, If I survive the fortune of this day, Be satisfied I am serious.
Asc. I am not
To be put off so, sir. Since you do neglect My ofFer'd duty, I must use the power I bring along with me, that may command you; You have seen this ring —
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 379
Hort. Made rich by being worn Upon the princess' finger.
Asc. 'Tis a favour
To you, by me sent from her: view it better j But why coy to receive it?
Hort. I am unworthy
Of such a blessing, I have done nothing yet That may deserve it; no commander's blood Of the adverse party hath yet died my sword Drawn out in her defence. I must not take it. This were a triumph for me when I had Made Florence' duke my prisoner, and compell'd
him To kneel for mercy at her feet.
Asc. Twas sent, sir, To put you in mind whose cause it is you fight
for;
And, as I am her creature, to revenge A wrong to me done.
Hort. By what man ?
Asc. Alonzo.
Hort. The ambassador?
Asc. The same.
Hort. Let it suffice. I know him by his armour and his horse \
And if we meet [Trumpets sound.}— -I am cut
off, the alarum Commands me hence: sweet youth, fall off*
Asc. I must not ;
You are too noble to receive a wound Upon your back, and, following close behind you, I am secure ; though I could wish my bosom Were your defence.
Hort. Thy kindness will undo thee. [Exeunt.
*Cc2
580 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
SCENE III.
The same. Lorenzo's Camp. Enter LOREXZO, ALONZO, PISANO,
Lor. We'll charge the main battalia, fall you Upon the van ; preserve your troops entire, To force the rear: he dies that breaks his ranks, Till all be ours, and sure.
Pis. Tis so proclaim'd. [Exeunt.
Fighting and Alarum. Enter HORTENSIO, As- CANIO, and ALONZO.
Hort. 'Tis he, Ascanio:— Stand !
Alon. I never shunn'd A single opposition ; but tell me Why, in the battle, of all men, thou hast Made choice of me?
Hort. Look on this youth ; his cause Sits on my sword.
Alon. I know him not.
Hort. I'll help Your memory. \Theyjight.
Asc. What have I done? I am doubtful To whom to wish the victory ; for, still My resolution wavering, I so love The enemy that wrong'd me, that I cannot, Without repentance, wish success to him That seeks to do me right. — \Alonzo falls.'}— *
Alas, he's fall'n !
As you are gentle, hold, sir ! or, if I want Power to persuade so far, I c6njure you By her loved name I am sent from,
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 581
Hort. Tis a charm
Too strong to be resisted : he is yours. Yet, why you should make suit to save that life Which you so late desired should be cut off, For injuries received, begets my wonder.
Asc. Alas i we foolish, spleenful boys would
have We know not what; I have some private
reasons, But now not to be told.
Hort. Shall I take him prisoner? Asc. By no means, sir; I will not save his life, To rob him of his honour : when you give, Give not by halves. One short word, and I follow.
[Exit Hortensio.
My lord Alonzo, if you have received A benefit, and would know to whom you o,we it, llemember what your entertainment was At old Octavio's house, one you calFd friend, And how you did return it. * [Exit.
Alon. I remember did not well ; but it is now no time "o think upon't : my wounded honour calls
reparation, I must quench my fury ?or this disgrace, in blood, and some shall smart for't. [Exit.
SCENE IV.
The same. A Forest.
Alarum continued. Enter UBEUTI, and FARNEZE wounded.
Farn. O prince Uberti, valour cannot save us ; The body of our army's pierced and broken,
382 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
The wings are routed, and our scattered troops Not to be rallied up.
Uber. }Tis yet some comfort, The enemy must say we were not wanting In courage or direction ; and we may Accuse the Powers ahove as partial, when A good cause, well defended too, must suffer For want of fortune.
Farn. All is lost ; the duke Too far engaged, I fear, to be brought off : Three times I did attempt his rescue, but With odds was beaten back ; only the stranger, I speak it to my shame, still follow'd him, Cutting his way ; but 'tis beyond my hopes, That either should return.
Uber. That noble stranger, Whom I, in my proud vanity of greatness, As one unknown contemri'd, when I was thrown Out of my saddle by the great duke's lance, Horsed me again, in spite of all that made Resistance ; and then whisper'd in mine ear, Fight bravely, prince Ubertiy there's no way else, To the fair Matilda's favour,
Farn. !Twas done nobly.
Uber. In you, my bosom-friend, I had call'd
it noble :
But such a courtesy from a rival merits The highest attribute.
Enter HORTENSIO and GONZAGA,
Farn. Stand on your guard ; We are pursued.
Uber. Preserv'd \ wonder on wonder,
Farn. The duke in safety \
Gon. Pay your thanks, Farneze, To this brave man, if I may call him so,
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 383
Whose acts were more than human. If thou art My better angel, from my infancy Design'd to guard me, like thyself appear, For sure thou'rt more than mortal.
Hort. No, great sir, A weak and sinful man ; though I have done
you Some prosperous service that hath found your
favour,
I am lost to myself: but lose not you The offer'd opportunity to delude The hot-pursuing enemy ; these woods, Nor the dark veil of night, cannot conceal you, If you dwell long here. You may rise again ; But I am fallen for ever.
Farn. Rather born up To the supreme sphere of honour,
Uber. I confess My life your gift.
Gon. My liberty.
Uber. You have snatch'd
The wreath of conquest from the victor's head, And do alone, in scorn of Lorenzo's fortune, Though we are slaved, by true heroic valour Deserve a triumph.
Gon. From whence then proceeds This poor dejection ?
Hort. In one suit I'll tell you, Which I beseech you grant: — I loved your
daughter,
But how ? "as beggars, in their wounded fancy, Hope to be monarchs : I long languish'd for her, But did receive no cordial, but what Despair, my rough physician, prescribed me. At length her goodness and compassion found it; And, whereas I expected, and with reason, The distance and disparity consider'd
384 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Between her birth and mine, she would contemn
me, The princess gave me comfort.
Gon. In what measure?
Hort. She did admit me for her knight and
servant,
And spurr'd me to do something in this hattle, Fought for her liberty, that might not blemish So fair a favour.
Gon. This you have perform'd, To the height of admiration.
Uber. 1 subscribe to't, That am your rivaL
Hort. You are charitable : But how short of my hopes, nay, the assurance Of those achievements which my love and youth Already held accomplish'd, this day's fortune Must sadly answer. What I did, she gave me The strength to do ; her piety preserved Her father, and her gratitude for the dangers You threw yourself into for her defence, Protected you by me her instrument : But when I came to strike in mine own cause, And to do something so remarkable, That should at my return command her thanks And gracious entertainment, then, alas ! 1 fainted like a coward. I made a vow, too, (And it is register'd,) ne'er to presume To come into her presence, if I brought not Her fears and dangers bound in fetters to her,
Which now's impossible. Hark ! the enemy
Makes his approaches : save yourselves : this
only
Deliver to her sweetness : I have done My poor endeavours, and pray her not repent Her goodness to me. May you live to serve her, This loss recover'd, with a happier fate !
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 385
And make use of this sword : arms I abjure, And conversation of men; Til seek out Some unfrequented cave, and die love's martyr.
[Exit hastily.
Gon. Follow him.
Ubtr. 'Tis in vain; his nimble feet Have born him from my sight.
Gon. I suffer for him.
Farn. We share in it; but must not, sir, forget Your means of safety.
Uber. In the war I have served you, And to the death will follow you.
Gon. 'Tis not fit,
We must divide ourselves. My daughter— If I retain yet3
A sovereign's power o'er thee, or friend's with you, Do, and dispute not; by my example change Your habits : as I thus put off my purple,
3 We must divide ourselves. My daughter
If I retain yet
A sovereigns power o'er thee, &c.] The old copy, which is faithfully followed by Coxeter, with the exception of misprinting not for yet, reads,
We must divide ourselves. My daughter, if I retain yet A sovereign's power o'er thee, &c.
Mr. M. Mason omits My daughter, which he presumptuously says the last editor inserted by mistake ; the mistake, however, if it be one, is, as the reader now sees, of an older date. In the sixth line, he ventures on another improvement, and for, Ambi* tion dies, prints Ambition's dye ! " which," he continues, u is the name Gonzaga poetically gives his purple." He AS wrong in both instances. The exclamation My daughter — shews that she was uppermost in Gonzaga's thoughts : he interrup s himself to provide for the safety of his friends, and then resumes what he was first about to say : it should not therefore be omitted. Nor should Ambition dies be changed to Ambition's dy> ; because such a rhetorical flourish is unnecessary, and because it deprives a passage of sense and grammar, which the author invested with both. It requires no explanation.
386 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Ambition dies ; this garment of a shepherd, Left here by chance, will serve; in lieu of it, I leave this to the owner. Raise new forces, And meet me at St. Leo's fort ; my daughter, As I commanded Manfroy, there will meet us. The city cannot hold out, we must part : Farewell, thy hand.
Farn. You still shall have my heart. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.
The same. Another part of the Forest.
Enter LORENZO, ALONZO, PJSANO, MARTINO, Captains, and Soldiers.
Lor. The day is ours, though it cost dear ; yet
'tis not
Enough to get a victory, if we lose The true use of it. We have hitherto Held back your forward swords, and in our fear Of ambushes, deferr'd the wish'd reward Due to your bloody toil : but now give freedom, Nay, license to your fury and revenge ; Now glut yourselves with prey ; let not the night, Nor these thick woods, give sanctuary to The fear-struck hares, our enemies : fire these
trees,
And force the wretches to forsake their holes, And offer their scorch'd bodies to your swords, Or burn them as a sacrifice to your angers. Who brings Gonzaga's head, or takes him pri soner,
(Which I incline to rather, that he may Be sensible of those tortures, which I vow To inflict upon him for denial of
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 387
His daughter to our bed,) shall have a blank, With our hand and signet made authentical, In which he may write down himself, what wealth Or honours he desires.
Alon. The great duke's will Shall be obey'd.
Pisan. Put it in execution.
Mart. Begirt the wood, and fire it.
Sold. Follow, follow ! [Eveunt.
SCENE. VI.
The same. Another part of the same. Enter FARNEZE, disguised as a Florentine Soldier.
Farn. Uberti, prince Uberti ! O my friend, Dearer than life ! I have lost thee. Cruel fortune, Unsatisfied with our sufferings ! we no sooner Were parted from the duke, and e'en then ready To take a mutual farewell, when a troop Of the enemy's horse fell on ps ; we were forced To take the woods again, but, in our flight, Their hot pursuit divided us: we had been happy If we had died together. To survive him, To me is worse than death ; and therefore should
not
Embrace the means of my escape, though offer'd. When nature gave us life she gave a burthen, But at our pleasure not to be cast off, Though weary of it ; and my reason prompts me, This habit of a Florentine, which I took From a dying soldier, may keep me unknown, Till opportunity mark me out a way For flight, and with security,
38S THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Enter UBERTI.
Uber. Was there ever Such a night of horror ?
Farn. My friend's voice ! I now In part forgive thee, fortune.
Uber. The wood flames, The bloody sword devours all that it meets, And death in several shapes rides here in triumph. I am like a stag closed in a toil, my life, As soon as found, the cruel huntsman's prey : Why fliest thou, then, what is inevitable ? Better to fall with manly wounds before Thy cruel enemy, than survive thine honour: And yet to charge him, and die unrevenged, Mere desperation.
Farn. Heroic spirit !
Uber. Mine own life I contemn, and would not
save it
But for the future service of the duke, And safety of his daughter ; having means, If I escape, to raise a second army ; And, what is nearest to me, to enjoy My friend Farneze.
Farn. I am still his care.
Uber. What shall I do ? if I call loud, the foe That hath begirt the wood, will hear the sound. Shall I return by the same path ? I cannot, The darkness of the night conceals it from me ; Something I must resolve.
Farn. Let friendship rouse Thy sleeping soul, Farneze : wilt thou suffer Thy friend, a prince, nay, one that may set free Thy captived country, perish, when 'tis in Thy power, with this disguise, to save his life ? Thou hast lived too long, therefore resolve to die $
THE BASHFUL LOVER. S89
Thou hast seen thy country ruin'd, and thy master Compell'd to shameful flight; the fields and woods Strew'd o'er with carcases of thy fellow-soldiers : The miseries thou art fallen in, and before Thy eyes the horror of this place, and thousand Calamities to come ; and after all these, Can any hope remain ? shake off delays : Dost thou douht yet? To save a citizen, The conquering Roman in a general Esteem'd the highest honour: can it be then. Inglorious to preserve a prince? thy friend'— Uberti, prince Uberti ! \Aloud^\ use this means Of thy escape ; —
[Pulls off his Florentine uniform, and casts it before Uberti.
conceal'd in this, thou mayst Pass through the enemy's guards: the time denies Longer discourse; thou hast a noble end,4 Live, therefore, mindful of thy dying friend.
[Exit.
Uber. Farneze, stay thy hasty steps ! Farneze ! Thy friend Uberti calls thee : 'tis in vain ; He's gone to death an innocent, and makes life, The benefit he confers on me, my guilt. Thou art too covetous of another's safety,
o prodigal and careless of thine own. Tis a deceit in friendship to enjoin me To put this garment on, and live, that he May have alone the honour to die nobly. O cruel piety,5 in our equal danger To rob thyself of that thou giv'st thy friend ! It must not be; I will restore his gift,
* Thou hast a noble end,] Alluding to what Uberti had just said, of raising a second army, &c.
5 0 cruel piety,] So the old copy : the modern editions har« O cruel pity, a tame and unpoetical sophistication.
390 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
And die before him. How ? where shall I find
him ?
Thou art o'ercome in friendship ; yield, Uberti> *To the extremity of the time, and live : A heavy ransome ! but it must be paid. I will put on this habit: pitying heaven, As it loves goodness, may protect my friend, And give me means to satisfy the debt I stand engaged for; if not, pale despair, I dare thy worst; thou canst but bid me die, And so much I'll force from an enemy.*
SCENE Vlt.
The same. Lorenzo's Camp.
Enter ALONZO 0wd PISAN o,EwY/j FA RNEZE bound; Soldiers with torches, FARNEZE'S sword in one of the Soldier's hands.
Alon. I know him, he's a man of ransome,
Pisan. True; But if he live, 'tis to be paid to me.
Alon. I forced him to the woods.
Pisan. But my art found him ; Nor will I brook a partner in the prey My fortune gave me.
6 This short scene is very well written ; but, at the same timcj it must strike the reader as extremely inartificial. The two friends speaking on opposite sides of a tree, is somewhat too similar to what occurs so often on the Roman stage, where people in mu tual quest, always jostle before they catch each other's eye or ear. As Farneze had taken the generous resolution to save his friend at the expense of his own life, it was improper to discover himself; but all that is done might have been effected with fewer words, and a greater portion of dexterity.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 391
Alon. Render him, or expect The point of this.
Pisan. Were it lightning, I would meet it, Rather than be outbraved,
Alon. I thus decide The difference.
Pisan. My sword shall plead my title.
\Theyfght.
Enter LORENZO, MARTINO, Captains, and At tendants.
Lor. Ha ! where learn'd you this discipline ?
my commanders
Opposed gainst one another ! what blind fury Brings forth this brawl? Alonzo and Pisano At bloody difference ! hold, or I tilt At both as enemies. — Now speak ; how gresr This strange division ?
Pisan. Against all right, By force Alonzo strives to reap the harvest Sown by my labour.
Alon. Sir, this is my prisoner, The purchase of my sword, which proud Pisano, That hath no interest in him, would take from me.
Pisan. Did not the presence of the duke for bid me, I would say
Alon. What?
Pisan. Tis false.
Lor. Before my face !
Keep them asunder. And was this the cause Of such a mortal quarrel, this the base To raise your fury on ? the ties of blood, Of fellowship in arms, respect, obedience To me, your prince and general, no more Prevailing on you ? this a price for which
392 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
You would betray our victory, or wound Your reputation with mutinies, Forgetful of yourselves, allegiance, honour?-— This is a course to throw us headlong down From that proud height of empire, upon which We were securely seated. Shall division O'erturn what concord built? if you desire To bathe your swords in blood, the enemy Still flies before you: would you have spoil? the
country
Lies open to you. O unheard-of madness ! What greater mischief could Gonzaga wish us, Than you pluck on our heads ? no, my brave
leaders,
Let unity dwell in our tents, and discord Be banish'd to our enemies.
Alon. Take the prisoner, I do give up my title.
Pisan. 1 desire Your friendship, and will buy it; he is yours.
[They embrace.
Alon. No man's a faithful judge in his own
cause; Let the duke determine of him : we are friends,sir.
Lor. Shew it in emulation to overtake The flying foe ; this cursed wretch disposed of, With our whole strength we'll follow.
[Exeunt Alonzo and Pisano, embracing
Farn. Death at length Will set a period to calamity : I see it in this tyrant's frowns haste to me.
Enter UBERTI, habited like a Florentine Soldier? and mixes with the rest.
Lor. Thou machine of this mischief, look to feel
7 . habited like a Florentine Soldier,] i. e. in
the dress which Farneze had thrown to him. Sec p. 389.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 393
Whate'er the wrath of an incensed prince Can pour upon thee: with thy blood I'll quench (But drawn forth slowly) the invisible flames Of discord — by thy charms first fetch'd from hell, Then forced into the breasts of my commanders. Bring forth the tortures.
Uber. Hear, victorious duke, The story of my miserable fortune, Of which this villain (by your sacred tongue Condemned to die) was the immediate cause : And, if my humble suit have justice in it, Vouchsafe to grant it.
Lor. Soldier, be brief, our anger Can brook no long delay.8
Uber. I am the last
Of three sons, by one father got, and train'd up With his best care, for service in your wars : My father died under his fatal hand, And two of my poor brothers. Now I hear, Or fancy, wounded by my grief, deludes me, Their pale and mangled ghosts crying for ven geance
On perjury and murder. Thus the case stood : My father, (on whose face he durst not look In equal mart,9) by his fraud circumvented, Became his captive ; we, his sons, lamenting Our old sire's hard condition, freely offer'd Our utmost for his ransome : that refused, The subtile tyrant, for his cruel ends, Conceiving that our piety might ensnare us,
8 Lor. Soldier, be brief, our anger
Can brook no long delay.] So the old copy- Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason read, with equal fidelity and harmony, Soldier ) be brief ;
Our anger cannot brook a long delay.
• 9 In equal mart,)] A vile translation of xquo marte, in equal - _ .
VOL. iv. * D d
394 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Proposed my father's head to be redeern'd, If two of us would yield ourselves his slaves. We, upon any terms, resolved to save him, Though with the loss of life which he gave to us, With an undaunted constancy drew lots (For each of us contended to be one) Who should preserve our father; I was exempted,1 But to my more affliction. My brothers Delivered up, the perjured homicide, Laughing in scorn, and by his hoary locks Pulling my wretched father on his knees, Said, Thus receive the father you have ransomed ! And instantly struck off his head. Lor. Most barbarous ! Farn. I never sav/ this man. Lor. One murmur more, I'll have thy tongue pull'd out. — Proceed.
Uber. Conceive, sir,
Plow thunderstruck we stood, being made spec tators
Of such an unexpected tragedy : Yet this was a beginning, not an end To his intended cruelty ; for, pursuing Such a revenge as no Hyrcanian tigress, Robb'd of her whelps, durst aim at, in a moment, Treading upon my father's trunk, he cut off My pious brothers' heads, and threw them at me. Oh, what a spectacle was this! uhat mountain Of sorrowoverwhelm'dme! my poor heart-strings, As tenter'd by his tyranny, crack'd ; my knees Beating 'gainst one another, groans and tears Blended together follow'd ; not one passion Calamity ever yet express'd, forgotten.
I -was exempted*
But to my^more affliction, &c.] The strange pointing of thil speech by Coxetcr and Mr. M. Mason shews that the meaning of it was totally misunderstood by them.
'THE BASHFUL LOVER.
395
Now, mighty sir, (bathing your feet with tears,) Your suppliant's suit is, that he may have leave. With any cruelty revenge can fancy, To sacrifice this monster, to appease My father's ghost, and brothers'.
Lor. Thou hast obtain'd it : Choose any torture, let the memory Of what thy father and thy brothers suffered, Make thee ingenious in it; such a one, As Phalaris would wish to be call'd his. Martino, guarded with your soldiers, see The execution done ; but bring his head, On forfeiture of your own, to us : our presence Long since was elsewhere look'd for.
[Exit, with Captains and Attendants.
Mart. Soldier, to work ; Take any way thou wilt for thy revenge, Provided that he die : his body's thine, But I must have his head.
Uber. I have already
Concluded of the manner. O just heaven, he instrument I wish'd for offer'd me !
Mart. Why art thou rapt thus?
Uber. In this soldier's hand I see the murderer's own sword, I know it ; Yes, this is it by which my father and My brothers were beheaded : noble captain,
ommand it to my hand. — [Takes Farnezes sword from the Soldier.] — Stand forth and tremble! This weapon, of late drunk with innocent blood, Shall now carouse thine own : pray, if thou canst, For, though the world shall not redeem thy body, I would not kill thy soul.
Farft. Canst thou believe There is a heaven, or hell, or soul ? thou hast
none,
In death to rob me of my fame, my honour, * D d 2
396 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
With such a forged lie. Tell me, thou hangman, Where did I ever see thy face ? or when Murder'd thy sire or brothers ? look on me, And make it good : thou dar'st not.
Uber. Yes, I will [He unbinds his arms.
In one short whisper ; and that told, thou art
dead.
I am Uberti : take thy sword, fight bravely ; We'll live or die together.
Mart. We are bet ray 'd.
[Martino is struck down, the Soldiers run off.
Farn. And have I leave once more, brave
prince, to ease My head on thy true bosom ?
Uber. I glory more
To be thy friend, than in the name of prince, Or any higher title.
Farn. My preserver !
Uber. The life you gave to me I but return ; And pardon, dearest friend, the bitter language Necessity made me use.
Farn. O, sir, I am
Outdone in all ; but comforted, that none But you can wear the laurel.
Uber. Here's no place Or time to argue this; let us fly hence.
Farn. I follow. [Exeunt.
Mart. \rises.~\ A thousand Furies keep you
company !
I was at the gate of [hell,] but now I feel My wound's not mortal ; I was but astonish'd ; And, coming to myself, I find I am Reserv'd for the gallows : there's no looking on The enraged duke, excuses will not serve ; I must do something that may get my pardon ; If not, I know the worst, a halter ends all ! [Exit*
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 397
ACT III. SCENE I.
The Dutchy of Mantua. A part of the Country near Octavio's Cottage.
Enter OCTAVIO, a book in his hand.
Oct. Tis true, by proof I find it,2 human reason Views with such dim eyes what is good or ill, That if the great Disposer of our being Should offer to our choice all worldly blessings, We know not what to take. When I was young, Ambition of court-preferment fired me : And, as there were no happiness beyond it, I laboured for't, and got it; no man stood In greater favour with his prince ; I had Honours and offices, wealth flow'd in to me, And, for my service both in peace and war, The general voice gave out I did deserve them. But, O vain confidence in subordinate greatness ! When I was most secure it was not in The power of fortune to remove me from The flat I firmly stood on, in a moment My virtues were made crimes, and popular favour (To new-raised men still fatal) bred suspicion That I was dangerous: which no sooner enter'd
* Oct. 'Tis true, by proof IJind it, &c,] It appears from this that the book which Octavio had been reading was Juvenal ; an author with whom Massinger was peculiarly well acquainted, as there is scarcely one of his dramatic pieces in which several happy allusions to him do not occur: these, as well as those to Cicero, Horace, Ovid, Seneca, Claudian, and others, as Mas- singer does not ambitiously obtrude them on the eye, I ha?e commonly left to the exe rcise of the reader's own sagacity.
S9S THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Gonzaga's breast, but straight my ruin follow'cl My offices were ta'en from me, my state seized on ; And, had I not prevented it by flight, The jealousy of the duke had been removed With the forfeiture of my head.
Hort. [within.] Or shew compassion, Or I will force it.
Oct. Ha ! is not poverty safe? I thought proud war, that aim'd at kingdoms*
ruins,
The sack of palaces and cities, scorn'd To look on a poor cottage.
Enter HORTENSIO with ASCANIO in his arms, G o T H R i o following.
Goth. What would you have ? * The devil sleeps in my pocket ; I have no cross To drive him from it. Be you or thief or soldier, Or such a beggar as will not be denied, My scrip, my tar-box, hook, and coat, will prove But a thin purchase ; if you turn my inside out>
wards, You'll find it true.
Hort. Not any food ? [Searches his scrip.
Goth. Alas ! sir,
I am no glutton, but an under-shepherd ; The very picture of famine; judge by my cheeks
else : I have my pittance by ounces, and starve myself,
3 Goth. What would you have ? &c.] The modern editors have set their wit against poor Gothrio, and deprived him of all pretensions to verse. Certainly Massinger meant him to speak in measure, and though it be not such as the superior charac ters use, yet it suits the person, and runs glibly off the tongue. What is more, the old copy prints his speeches as they stand here, so that there is no accounting for this vagary of Coxeter and M. Mason,
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 359
When I pay a pensioner, an ancient mouse, I have, a crumb a meal.
Hort. No drop left? [Takes his bottle.
Drunkard ! hast thou swill'd up all ?
Goth. How! drunkard, sir ? I am a poor man, you mistake me, sir, Drunkard's a title for the rich, my betters ; A calling in repute : some sell their lands for't, And roar, IVintfs better than money. Our poor
beverages
Of buttermilk or whey allay'd with water, Ne'er raise our thoughts so high. Drunk ! I had
never The credit to be so yet.
Hort. Ascanio,
Look up, dear youth ; Ascanio, did thy sweetness Command the greedy enemy to forbear To prey upon it, and I thank my fortune For suffering me to live, that in some part I might return thy courtesies, and now, To heighten my afflictions, must I be Enforced, no pitying angel near to help us, Heaven deaf to my complaints too, to behold thec Die in my arms for hunger ? no means left To lengthen life a little ! I will open A vein, and pour my blood, not yet corrupted With any sinful act, but pure as he is, Into his famish'd mouth.
Oct. [comes forward.] Young man, forbear Thy savage pity ; I have better means To call back flying life.
[Pours a cordial into the mouth of Ascanio. Goth. You may believe him ; 4
* Goth. You may believe Mtn ;] This speech, which, like most of the rest, is strangely put into prose, is so carelessly printed, and so ridiculously pointed in theform«r editions, that it is im possible to understand it.
400 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
It is his sucking-bottle, and confirms, An old mans twice a child ; his nurse's milk Was ne'er so chargeable, should you put in too For soap and'candles: though he sell his flock for' t, The baby must have this dug : he swears 'tis ill For my complexion ; but wonderous comfortable For an old man, that would never die.
Oct. Hope well, sir;
A temperate heat begins to thaw his numbness ; The blood too by degrees takes fresh possession On his pale cheeks; his pulse beats high: standoff, Give him more air, he stirs.
[Gothrio steals the bottle. Goth. And have I got thee, Thou bottle of immortality ! [Aside.
Asc. Where am I ?
What cruel hand hath forced back wretched life? Is rest in death denied me ?
Goth. O sweet liquor ! [Drinks.
Were here enough to make me drunk, I might Write myself gentleman, and never buy A coat of the heralds. [Aside.
Oct. How now, slave ! Goth. I was fainting,,
A clownlike qualm seized on me ; but I am Recover'd, thanks to your bottle, and begin To feel new stirrings, gallant thoughts : one
draught more Will make me a perfect, signior.
Oct. A tough cudgel
Will take this gentle itch off; home to my cottage, See all things handsome.
Goth. Good sir, let me have The bottle along to smell to : O rare perfume !
[Exit,
Hort. Speak once more, dear Ascanio. — How he eyes you,
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 401
Then turns away his face ! look up, sweet youth; The object cannot hurt you ; this good man, Next heaven, is your preserver.
Asc. Would I had perish'd Without relief, rather than live to break His good old heart with sorrow. O my shame ! My shame, my never-dying shame !
Oct. I have been Acquainted with this voice, and know the face
too :
'Tis she, 'tis too apparent; O my daughter! I mourn "d long for thy loss, but thus to find thee, Is more to be lamented.
Hort. How! your daughter? Oct. My only child; Imurmur'd against heaven Because I had no more, but now I find This one too many. — Is Alonzo glutted
[Maria weeps. With thy embraces ?
Hort. At his name, a shower Of tears falls from her eyes; she faints again. Grave sir, o'er-rule your passion, and defer The story of her fortune.5 On my life She is a worthy one ; her innocence Might be abused, but mischief's self wants power To make her guilty. Shew yourself a father In her recovery; then as a judge, When she hath strength to speak in her own
cause,
You may determine of her. Oct. I much thank you
5 The story of her fortune.'] All the editions read your instead of her. I have no doubt but that the latter was the author's word, while the former was, probably, inserted by a very com mon mistake, from the expression immediately over it. There are several incidental resemblances to Shakspeare, in this sccuc? of which the reader must be well aware.
402 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
For your wise counsel: you direct me, sir,* As one indebted more to years, and I, As a pupil, will obey you : not far hence I have a homely dwelling; if you please there To make some short repose, your entertainment, Though coarse, shall relish of a gratitude, And that's all I can pay you. Look up, girl, Thou art in thy father's arms.
Hort. She's weak and faint still —
0 spare your age ! I am young and strong, and
this way To serve her is a pleasure, not a burthen :
[Takes her in his arms. Pray you, lead the way.
Oct. The saints reward your goodness !
[Exeunt,
SCENE II.
The same. Another part of the Country. Enter MANFROY, and MATILDA disguised.
Matil. No hope of safety left ? Man. We are descried.
Matil. I thought that, cover'd in this poor disguise,
1 might have pass'd unknown, Man. A diamond,
Though set in horn, is still a diamond, And sparkles as in purest gold. We are follow'd: Out of the troops that scour'd the plains, I saw Two gallant horsemen break forth, (who, by their Brave furniture and habiliments for the war,
• You direct me, *t>,] Me, which
completes both the metre and the senie, is inserted from the old copy.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 403
Seem'd to command the rest,) spurring hard
towards us.
See with what winged speed they climb the hill, Like falcons on the stretch to seize the prey ! Now they dismount, and on their hands and knees O'ercome the deep ascent7 that guards us from
them.
Your beauty hath betray'd you ; for it can No more be night when bright Apollo shines In our meridian, than that be conceal'd.
MatiL It is my curse, not blessing ; fatal to My country, father, and myself. Why did you Forsake the city ?
Man. 'Twas the duke's command; No time to argue that; we must descend. If undiscovered your soft feet, unused To such rough travel, can but carry you Half a league hence, I know a cave which will Yield us protection.
MatiL I wish I could lend you Part of my speed ; for me, I can outstrip Daphne or Atalanta.
Man. Some good angel Defend us, and strike blind our hot pursuers !
[Exeunt.
Enter ALONZO and PISANO.
Alon. She cannot be far off: how gloriously She shew'd to us in the valley !
Pisan. In my thought, Like to a blazing comet.
Alon, Brighter far : Her beams of beauty made the hill all fire;
7 Overcome the deep ascent] So the old copy ; the modern editions read steep ascent, which is not so good, and which, indeed, if it were better, has no business in the text.
404 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
From whence removed, 'tis cover'd with thick
clouds. But we lose time ; I'll take that way.
Pisan. I, this. [Exeunt severally.
SCENE III.
The same. A Wood. Enter HORTENSIO.
Hort. Tis a degree of comfort in my sorrow, I have done one good work in reconciling Maria, long hid in Ascanio's habit, To griev'd Octavio. What a sympathy I found in their affections ! she with tears Making a free confession of her weakness, In yielding up her honour to Alonzo, Upon his vows to marry her; Octavio, Prepared to credit her excuses, nay, To extenuate her guilt; she the delinquent, And judge, as 'twere, agreeing. — But to me, The most forlorn of men, no beam of comfort Deigns to appear; nor can I, in my fancy, Fashion a means to get it : to my country I am lost for ever, and 'twere impudence To think of a return ; yet this I could Endure with patience, but to be divorced From all my joy on earth, the happiness To look upon the excellence of nature, That is perfection in herself, and needs not Addition or epithet, rare Matilda,'
8 Addition or epithet, rare Matilda,] To say that Matilda required no epithet, and immediately to give her one, seems an oversight ^which 1 am unwilling to attribute to the author. Perhaps the comma should be placed alter rare, or the \\orU
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 405
Would make a saint blaspheme. Here, Galeazzo, In this obscure abode, 'tis fit thou shouldst Consume thy youth, and grow old in lamenting Thy star-cross'd fortune, in this shepherd's habit; This hook thy best defence, since thou couldst
use,
When thou didst fight in such a princess' cause, Thy sword no better. [Lies down.
Enter ALONZO and PISANO with MATILDA.
Matll. Are you men, or monsters? Whither will you drag me ? can the open ear Of heaven be deaf, when an unspotted maid Cries out for succour!
Pisan. 'Tis in vain ; cast lots Who shall enjoy her first.
Alon. Flames rage within me, And, such a spring of nectar near to quench them ! My appetite shall be cloy'd first: here I stand, Thy friend, or enemy ; let me have precedence, I write a friend's name in my heart; deny it, As an enemy I defy thee.
Pisan. Friend or foe In this alike I value, I disdain To yield priority ; draw thy sword.
Alon. To sheath it In thy ambitious heart.
Matil. O curb this fury, And hear a wretched maid first speak.
Hort. I am marble.
itself, (though this I do not build on,) may be an addition of the players, not always the most competent judges of propriety, or even of poetry. The line might be improved to a modern ear ' by reading — Addition, or rare epithet, but not to that of Massinger and his school, who were accustomed to pronounce addition as a quadrisyllable.
406 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
MatiL Where shall I seek out words, or how
restrain
My enemies rage, or lovers'? oh, the latter Is far more odious : did not your lust Provoke you, for that is its proper name, My chastity were safe; and yet I tremble more To think what dire effects lust may bring forth, Than what, as enemies, you can inflict, And less I fear it. Be friends to yourselves, And enemies to me; better I fall A sacrifice to your atonement, than Or one or both should perish. I am the cause Of your division; remove, it lords, And concord will spring up : poison this face That hath bewitch'd you, this grove cannot
want
Aspics or toads; creatures, though justly call'd, For their deformity, the scorn of nature, More happy than myself with this false beauty (The seed and fruit of mischief) you admire so. I thus embrace your knees, and yours, a suppliant, If tigers did not nurse you, or you suck The milk of a fierce lioness, shew compassion Unto yourselves in being reconciled, And pity to poor me, my honour safe, In taking loath 'd life from me.
Pisan. What shall we do ? Or end our difference in killing her, Or fight it out ?
Alon. To the last gasp. I feel The moist tears on my cheeks, and blush to find A virgin's plaints can move so.
Pisan. To prevent
Her flight while we contend, let's bind her fast To this cypress-tree.
Alon. Agreed.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 407
[They bind Matilda.
Matll. It does presage My funeral rites.*
Hnrt. I shall turn atheist If heaven see and suffer this : why did I Abandon my good sword ? with unarm'd hands I cannot rescue her. Some angel pluck me From the apostacy I am falling to, And by a miracle lend me a weapon, "o underprop falling honour.
Pisan. She is fast : Resume your arms.
Alon. Honour, revenge, the maid too, Lie at the stake.
Pisan. Which thus I draw.
\Theyfght, Pisano falls.
Alon. All's mine,
But bought with some blood of mine own. Pisano, Thou wert a noble enemy, wear that laurel Tn death to comfort thee : for the reward,
'is mine now without rival.
[Hortensio snatches up Pisano's sword.
Hort. Thou art deceived ; Men will grow up like to the dragon's teeth From Cadmus' helm, sown in the field of Mars, To guard pure chastity from lust and rape. Libidinous monster, satyr, faun, or what
>oes better speak thee, slave to appetite,
9 Matil. It does presage
My funeral rites,] To understand this it may be necessary to observe, that the Romans and some other nationg always carried cypress boughs in their funeral processions. To thig Horace alludes in a strain of beautiful pathos : — neque liarum quas colis arborum TV, prctter invisas cupressus, Vila bretem dominum sequetur. It was an ill-timed recollection of this circumstance which drew upon Dryden the clumsy sneer of the stupid Milbourue, See his Observations on the Translation of the Georgics.
408 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
And sensual baseness; if thy profane hand But touch this virgin temple, thou art dead.
Matll. I see the aid of heaven, though slow, is sure.
Alon. A rustic swain dare to retard my plea sure !
Hort. No swain, Alonzo, but her knight and
servant
To whom the world should owe and pay obe dience;
One that thou hast encounter'd,and shrunk under His arm ; that spared thy life in the late battle, At the intercession of the princess' page. Look on me better.
Matil. 'Tis my virtuous lover ! Under his guard 'twere sin to doubt my safety.
Alon. I know thee, and with courage will
redeem What fortune then took from me.
Hort. Rather keep \Theyjight, Alonzo falls. Thy compeer company in death. — Lie by him, A prey for crows and vultures : these fair arms,
\_He unbinds Matilda*
Unfit for bonds, should have been chains to make A bridegroom happy, though a prince, and proud Of such captivity : whatsoe'er you are, I glory in the service I have done you ; But I entreat you* pay your vows and prayers, For preservation of your life and honour, To the most virtuous princess, chaste Matilda. I am her creature, and what good I do You truly may call her's ; what's ill, mine own.
1 But I entreat you, &c.] This is in the true spirit of knight-errantry ; and, indeed, nothing but constantly bearing in mind the language and manners of this gallant but romantic description of men, can reconcile us to the profound reverence with which Galeazzo regards his mistress.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 409
MatiL You never did do ill, my virtuous
servant-;
Nor is it in the power of poor Matilda, To cancel such an obligation as, With humble willingness, she must subscribe to.
Hort. The princess ? ha !
MatiL Give me a fitter name, Your manumised bondwoman, but even now In the possession of lust, from which Your more than brave, — heroic valour bought me: And can I then, for freedom unexpected, But kneel to you, my patron ?
Hort. Kneel to me ! For heaven's sake rise ; 1 kiss the ground you
tread on,
My eyes fix'd on the earth ; for I confess I am a thing not worthy to look on you, Till you have sign'd my pardon.
MatiL Do you interpret The much good you have done me, an offence ?
Hort. The not performing your injunctions to
me,
Is more than capital : your allowance of My love and service to you, with admission To each place you made paradise with your pre sence,
Should have enabled me to bring home conquest ; Then, as a sacrifice, to offer it At the altar of your favour : had my love Answer'd your bounty, or my hopes, an army Had been as dust before me ; whereas I, Like a coward, turn'd my back, and durst not
stand The fury of the enemy.
MatiL Had you done
Nothing in the battle, this last act deserves more Than I, the duke my father joining with me,
VOL, iv. * E e
410 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Can ever recompense. But take your pleasure ; Suppose you have offended in not grasping Your boundless hopes, I thus seal on your lips A full remission.
Hort. Let mine touch your foot, Your hand's too high a favour.
MatiL Will you force me To ravish a kiss from you ? [Kisses him.
Hort. I am entranced.
MatiL So much desert and bashfulness should
not march In the same file. Take comfort ; when you have
brought me
To some place of security, you shall find You have a seat here, in a heart that hath Already studied and vow'd to be thankful.
Hort. Heaven make me so ! oh, I am over-
whelm'd
With an excess of joy ! Be not too prodigal, Divinest lady, of your grace and bounties, At once; if you are pleased, I shall enjoy them, Not taste them, and expire.
MatiL I'll be more sparing. [Exeunt.
Enter OCTAVIO, GOTHRIO, and MARIA.
Oct. What noise of clashing swords, like
armour fashion'd
Upon an anvil, pierced mine ears ; the echo Redoubling the loud sound through all the vallies? This way the wind assures me that it came.
Goth. Then with your pardon, I'll take this.
Oct. Why, sirrah ?
Goth, Because, sir, I will trust my heels before All winds that blow in the sky : we are wiser far Than our grandsires were, and in this I'll prove it; They said, Haste to the beginning oj ajtaat,
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 411
There I am with them ; but to the end of a fray*— That is apocryphal ; 'tis more canonical, Not to come there at all ; after a storm There are still some drops behind.
Mar. Pure fear hath made The fool a philosopher.
Oct. See, Maria, see !
I did not err ; here lie two brave men weltering In their own gore.
Mar. A pitiful object.
Goth. I am in a swoon to look on't.
Oct. They are stiff already.
Goth. But are you sure they are dead?
Oct. Too sure, I fear.
Goth. But are they stark dead ?
Oct. Leave prating.
Goth. Then I am valiant, and dare come nearer
to them.
This fellow without a sword shall be my patient.
[Goes to Pisano.
Oct. Whatever they are, humanity commands
us
To do our best endeavour. Run, Maria, To the neighbour spring for water ; you will find
there A wooden dish, the beggar's plate, to bring it.
[Exit Maria.
Why dost not, dull drone, bend his body, and feel If any life remain ? *
Goth. By your leave, he shall die first, And then I'll be his surgeon.
Oct. Tear ope his doublet, And prove if his wounds be mortal.
Goth. Fear not me, sir :
* Why dost not, dull drone, bend his body, and feel If any life remain ?] See vol. i. p. 277.
412 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Here's a large wound. — [Feels his pocket.'] — How
it is swoln and imposthumed ! This must be cunningly drawn out; should it break, [Pulls out his purse.
Twould strangle him. What a deal of foul mat ter's here ! This hath been long a gathering. Here's a gash
too On the rim of his belly, — [Feels his side pocket.] —
it may have matter in it.
He was a choleric man, sure ; what comes from
him [Takes out his money.
Is yellow as gold : — how ! troubled with the stone
too ? [Seeing a diamond ring on hisjinger.
I'll cut you for this.
Pisan. Oh, oh ! [Starts up.
Goth. He roars before I touch him. Pisan. Robb'd of my life ? Goth. No, sir, nor of your money, Nor jewel ; I keep them for you : — if I had been A perfect mountebank, he had not lived To call for his fees again.
Oct. Give me leave — there's hope Of his recovery. [Quits Pisano and goes to Alonzo.
Goth. I had rather bury him quick, Than part with my purchase ; let his ghost walk, I care not.
Re-enter MARIA with a dish of water.
Oct. Well done, Maria; lend thy helping hand. He hath a deep wound in his head, wash off The clotted blood : he comes to himself.
Alon. My lust !
The fruit that grows upon the tree of lust ! With horror now I taste it.
Oct. Do you not know him ?
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 413
Mar. Too soon. Alonzo ! oh me ! though
disloyal, Still dear to thy Maria.
Goth. So they know not My patient, all's cocksure; I do not like The Romanish restitution. [Aside.
Oct. Rise, and leave him. Applaud heaven's justice.
Mar. 'Twill become me better, To implore its saving mercy.
Oct. Hast thou no gall ? No feeling of thy wrongs ?
Mar. Turtles have none ; Nor can there be such poison in her breast That truly loves, and lawfully.
Oct. True, if that love
Be placed on a worthy subject. What he is, In thy disgrace is published; heaven hath mark'd
him
For punishment, and 'twere rebellious madness In thee to attempt to alter it : revenge, A sovereign balm for injuries, is more proper To thy robb'd honour. Join with me, and thou Shalt be thyself the goddess of revenge, This wretch, the vassal of thy wrath : I'll make
him,
While yet he lives, partake those torments which, For perjured lovers, are prepared in hell, Before his curs'd ghost enter it. This oil, Extracted and sublimed from all the simples The earth, when swoln with venom, e'er brought
forth,
Pour'd in his wounds, shall force such anguish as The Furies whips but imitate ; and when Extremity of pain shall hasten death, Here is another that shall keep in life,
414 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
And tnake him feel a perpetuity Of lingering tortures.
Goth. Knock them both o' th' head, I say, An it be but for their skins ; they are embroider'd, And will sell well in the market.
Mar. Ill-look'd devil,
Tie up thy bloody tongue. — () sir! I was slow In beating down those propositions which You urge for my revenge ; my reasons being So many, and so forcible, that make Against yours, that until I had collected My scattered powers, I waver'd in my choice Which I should first deliver. Fate hath brought My enemy (I ran faintly call him so) Prostrate before my feet ; shall I abuse The bounty of my fate, by trampling on him ? He alone ruin'd me, nor can any hand But his rebuild my late demolished honour. If you deny me means of reparation, To satisfy your spleen, you are more cruel Than ever yet Alonzo was ; you stamp The name of strumpet on my forehead, which Heaven's mercy would take off; you fan the
fire,
E'en ready to go out; forgetting that 'Tis truly noble, having power to punish, Nay, kinglike, to forbear it. I would purchase My husband by such benefits as should make him Confess himself my equal, and disclaim Superiority.
Oct. My blessing on thee ! What I urged was a trial; and my grant To thy desires shall now appear, if art Or long experience can do him service. Nor shall my charity to this be wanting, Howe'er unknown : help me, Maria: you, sir, Do your best to raise him. — So !
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 415
Goth. He's wondrous heavy ; But the porter's paid, there's the comfort.
Oct. Tis but a trance, And 'twill forsake both.
Mar. If he live, I fear not He will redeem all, and in thankfulness Confirm he owes you for a second life, And pay the debt, in making me his wife.
[Exeunt Octavio and Maria with Alonzo, and Gothrio with Pisano.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
Lorenzo's Camp under the Walls of Mantua,. Enter LORENZO and Captains.
Lor. Mantua is ours ; place a strong garrison
in it,
To keep it so ; and as a due reward To your brave service, be our governour in it.
1 Capt. I humbly thank your excellence. {Exit.
Lor. Gonzaga
Is yet out of our gripe ; but his strong fort, St. Leo, which he holds impregnable By the aids of art, as nature, shall not long Retard our absolute conquest. The escape Of fair Matilda, my supposed mistress, (For whose desired possession 'twas given out I made this war,) I value not ; alas ! Cupid's too feeble-eyed to hit my heart, Or could he see, his arrows are too blunt To pierce it ; his imagined torch is quench'd
416 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
With a more glorious fire of my ambition
To enlarge my empire : soft and silken amours,
With carpet courtship, which weak princes style
The happy issue of a flourishing peace,
My toughness scorns. Were there an abstract
made
Of all the eminent and canonized beauties By truth recorded, or by poets feign'd, I could unmoved behold it ; as a picture, Commend the workmanship, and think no more
on't ;
I have more noble ends. Have you not heard yet Of Alonzo, or Pisano ?
2 Capt. My lord, of neither.
Lor. Two turbulent spirits unfit for discipline, Much less command in war ; if they were lost, I should not pine with mourning.
Enter MARTINO and Soldiers with MATILDA and HORTENSIO.
Mart. Bring them forward : This will make my peace, though I had kill'd his
father ; Besides the reward that follows.
Lor. Ha, Martino ! Where is Farneze's head r dost thou stare ! and
where The soldier that desired the torture of him ?
Mart. An't please your excellence
Lor. It doth not please us ; Are our commands obey'd ?
Mart. Farneze's head, sir, Is a thing not worth your thought, the soldier's
less, sir :
I have brought your highness such a head ! a head So well set on too ! a fine head
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 417
Lor. Take that, [Strikes him.
For thy impertinence : what head, you rascal ?
Mart, My lord, if they that bring such pre sents to you
Are thus rewarded, there are few will strive To be near your grace's pleasures : but I know You will repent your choler. Here's the head: And now I draw the curtain, it hath a face too, And such a face
Lor. Ha !
Mart. View her all o'er, my lord, My company on't, she's sound of wind and limb, And will do her labour tightly, a bona roba; And for her face, as I said, there are five hundred City-dubb'd madams in the dukedom, that would
part with
Their jointures to have such another: — hold up your head, maid.
Lor. Of what age is the day ?
Mart. Sir, since sunrising About two hours.
Lor. Thou liest ; the sun of beauty, In modest blushes on her cheeks, but now Appear'd to me, and in her tears breaks forth, As through a shower in April ; every drop An orient pearl, which, as it falls, congeaFd, Were ear-rings for the Catholic king, [to be3] Worn on his birthday.
Mart. Here's a sudden change !
3 Were ear-rings for the Catholic king, [to be]
Worn on his birthday.] I have ventured to insert the words in brackets, something like them, as I conjecture from the de ficiency of sense and metre, having accidently dropt out at the press. The riches of the Spanish monarch were now proverbial, and, 'indeed, with justice, for the mines of Chili and Peru were, at this time, incessantly pouring into his treasury masses of wealth, which formed at once the envy and the astonishment of Europe. See the Guardian.
418 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Lor. Incensed Cupid, whom even now I scorn'd, Hath ta'en his stand, and by reflection shines (As if he had two bodies, or indeed A brother- twin whom sight cannot distinguish) In her fair eyes: — see, how they head their arrows With her bright beams • now frown, as if my
heart, "
Rebellious to their edicts, were unworthy, Should I rip .up my bosom, to receive A wound from such divine artillery!
Mart. I am made for ever. [Aside.
Matil We are lost, dear servant.
Hort. Virtue's but a word ; Fortune rules all.
Matil. We are her tennis-balls.
Lor. Allow her fair, her symmetry and features So well proportion'd, as the heavenly object With admiration would strike Ovid dumb, Nay, force him to forget his faculty In verse, and celebrate her praise in prose.4 What's this to me ? I that have pass'd my youth Unscorch'd with wanton fires, my sole delight In glittering arms, my conquering sword my
mistress,
Neighing of barbed horse, the cries and groans Of vanquish'd foes suing for life, my music : And shall I, in the autumn of my age, Now, when I wear the livery of time Upon my head and beard, suffer myself To be transform'd, and like a puling lover,
4 With admiration would strike Ovid dumb, Nay, force him to forget his faculty
In verse, and celebrate her praise in prose.] I doubt whether the duke was sufficiently conversant with Ovid to decide on this matter. Whatever his admiration might be, he would have ex pressed it with more facility in verse than in prose, for, as he tells us himself, "he lisped in numbers:"
Et quod tentabam dicere, versus crat.
THE BASHFUL LOVER." 419
With arms thus folded up, echo Ah me's! And \vrite myself a bondman to n*y vassal? It must not, nay, it shall not be : remove The object, and the effect dies. Nearer, Martino.
Mart. I shall have a regiment : colonel Mar tino, I cannot go less.*
Lor. What thing is this thou hast brought me?
Mart. What thing? heaven bless me ! are you
a Florentine, Nay, the great duke of Florentines, and having
had her
So long in your power, do you now ask what she is? Take her aside and learn : I have brought you that I look to be dearly paid for.
Lor. I am a soldier, And use of women will, Martino, rob My nerves of strength.
Mart. All armour and no smock ? Abominable ! a little of the one with the other Is excellent : I ne'er knew general yet, Nor prince that did deserve to be a worthy, But he desired to have his sweat wash'd off By a juicy bedfellow.
Lor. But say she be unwilling To do that office?
Mart. Wrestle with her, I will wager Ten to one on your grace's side.
Lor. Slave, hast thou brought me Temptation in a beauty not to be With prayers resisted ; and, in place of counsel To master my affections, and to guard My honour, now besieged by lust, with the arms Of sober temperance, mark me out a way To be a ravisher? Would thou hadst shewn me Some monster, though in a more ugly form
5 I cannot go less.] I cannot accept of less. See p. 66.
420 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
N
Than Nile or Afric ever bred ! The basilisk, Whose envious eye yet never brook'd a neigh bour,
Kills but the body ; her more potent eye Buries alive mine honour: Shall I yield thus? -And all brave thoughts of victory and triumphs, The spoils of nations, the loud applauses Of happy subjects, made so by my conquests; And, what's the crown of all, a glorious name Insculp'd on pyramids to posterity, Be drench'd in Lethe, and no object take me But a weak woman, rich in colours only, Too delicate a6 touch, and some rare features Which age or sudden sickness will take from herf And where's then the reward of all my service, Love-soothing passions, nay, idolatry I must pay to her? Hence, and with thee take This second but more dangerous Pandora, Whose fatal box, if open'd, will pour on me All mischiefs that mankind is subject to. To the ^esarts with this Circe, this Calypso, This fair enchantress ! let her spells and chrams Work upon beasts and thee, than whom wi&e
nature Ne'er made a viler creature.
Matil. Happy exile !
Hort. Some spark of hope remains yet.
Mart. Come, you are mine now. I will remove her where your highness shall not Or see or hear more cf her : what a sum Will she yield for the Turk's seraglio !
Lor. Stay, I feel A sudden alteration.
Mart. Here are fine whimsies.
6 Too delicate a touch,] I know not how the modern editors understood this passage, but they read. Too delicate to which quite perverts the sense of their author.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 421
Lor. Why should I part with her? can any
foulness
Inhabit such a clean and gorgeous palace ? The fish, the fowl, the beasts, may safer leave The elements they were nourished in, and live, Than I endure her absence ; yet her presence Is a torment to me : why do I call it so ? My sire enjoy'd a woman, I had not been else ; He was a complete prince, and shall I blush To follow his example ? Oh ! but my choice, Though she gave suffrage to it, is beneath me : But even now, in my proud thoughts, I scorn'd. A princess, fair Matilda ; and is't decreed For punishment, I straight must dote on one, What, or from whence, I know not? Grant she be Obscure, without a coat or family, Those I can give : and yet, if she were noble, My fondness were more pardonable. — Martino, Dost thou know thy prisoner?
Mart. Do I know myself? I kept that for the 1'envoy ;7 'tis the daughter Of your enemy, duke Gonzaga.
Lor. Fair Matilda ! I now call to my memory her picture, And find this is the substance ; but her painter Did her much wrong, I see it.
Mart. I am sure
I tugg'd hard for her, here are wounds can witness, Before I could call her mine.
Lor. No matter how : Make thine own ransome, I will pay it for her.
Mart. I knew 'twould come at last.
Matil. We are lost again.
Hort. Variety of afflictions !
Lor. That his knee,
7 I kept that for the 1'envoy ;] i. e. for the conclusion, for the last. See p, 442.
422 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
That never yet bow'd to mortality, [Kneels. Kisses the earth happy to hear your weight, I know, begets your wonder; hear the reason, And cast it off: — your beauty does command it. Till now, I never saw you; fame hath been Too sparing in report of your perfections, Which now with admiration I gaze on. Be not afraid, fair virgin ; had you been Employ 'd to mediate your father's cause, My drum had been unbraced, my trumpet hung up ;
Nor had the terror of the war e'er frighted His peaceful confines ; your demands had been, As soon as spoke, agreed to : but you'll answer, And may with reason, words make no satisfaction For what's in fact committed. Yet, take comfort, Something my pious love commands me do, Which may call down your pardon.
Matil. This expression Of reverence to your person better suits
[Raises Lorenzo, and kneels.
With my low fortune. That you deign to love me, My weakness would persuade me to believe, Though conscious of mine own unworthiness : You being as the liberal eye of heaven, Which may shine where it pleases, let your beams Of favour warm and comfort, not consume me! For, should your love grow to excess, I dare not Deliver what I fear.
Lor. Dry your fair eyes ;
I apprehend your doubts, and could be angry, If humble love could warrant it, you should Nourish such base thoughts of me. Heaven bear
witness,
And, if I break my vow, dart thunder at me, You are, and shall be, in my tent as free From fear of violence, as a cloister'd nun
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 423
Kneeling before the altar. What. I purpose Is yet an embryon ; but, grown into form, I'll give you power to be the sweet disposer Of blessings unexpected ; that your father, Your country, people, children yet unborn too, In holy hymns, on festivals, shall sing The triumph of your beauty. On your hand Once more I swear it: — O imperious Love, Look down, and, as I truly do repent, Prosper the good ends of thy penitent !
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The Dutchy. A Room in Octavio's Cottage. Enter OCTAVIO, disguised as a Priest, and MAUIA.
Oct. You must not be too sudden, my Maria, In being known : I am, in this friar's habit, As yet conceal'd. Though his recovery Be almost certain, I must work him to Repentance by degrees ; when I would have you Appear in your true shape of sorrow, to
Move his compassion, I will stamp thus, then,
You know to act your part.
Mar. I shall be careful. [Exit.
Oct. If I can cure the ulcers of his mind, As I despair not of his body's wounds, Felicity crowns my labour. — Gothrio !
Enter GOTHRIO.
Goth. Here, sir.
Oct. Desire my patients to leave their chamber, And take fresh air here : how have they slept?
424 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Goth. Very well, sir. I would we were so8 rid of them.
Oct. Why ?
Goth. I fear one hath The art of memory, and will remember His gold and jewels : could you not minister A potion of forgetfulness ? What would gallants That are in debt give me for such a receipt, To pour in their creditors' drink?
Oct. You shall restore all, Believe Jt, you shall : — will you please to walk ?
Goth. Will you please to put off Your holy habit, and spiced conscience ? one, I think, infects the other. [Exit.
Oct. I have observed Compunction in Alonzo ; he speaks little, But full of retired thoughts : the other is Jocund and merry ; no doubt, because he hath The less accompt to make here.9
Enter ALONZO.
A Ion. Reverend sir,
I come to wait your pleasure ; but, my friend, Your creature I should say, being so myself, Willing to take further repose, entreats Your patience a few minutes.
Oct. At his pleasure ; Pray you sit down ; you are faint still.
Alon. Growing to strength, I thank your goodness: but my mind is troubled,
8 I would we were so rid of them.'] So the old copy : the modern editors read, / would we were soon rid of them ; which, in the language of the author, is faintly English : but they did not understand the passage.
9 The less accompt to wza/ce here.] AfixTtxw, laying his hand on his breast.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 423
Very much troubled, sir, and I desire, Your pious habit giving me assurance Of your skill and power that way, that you would
please To be my mind's physician.
Oct. Sir, to that
My order binds me; if you please to unload The burthen of your conscience, I will minister Such heavenly cordials as I can, and set you In a path that leads to comfort.
Alon. I will open
My bosom's secrets to you.* That I am A man of blood, being brought up in the wars, And cruel executions, my profession Admits not to be questioned ; but in that, Being a subject, and bound to obey Whate'er my prince commanded, I have left Some shadow of excuse : with other crimes, As pride, lust, gluttony, it must be told, I am besmear'd all over*
Oct. On repentance, Mercy will wash it off,
Alon. O sir, I grant
These sins are deadly ones ; yet their frequency With wicked men makes them less dreadful to
us.
But I am conscious of one crime, with which All ills I have committed from my youth Put in the scale, weigh nothing ; such a crime, So odious to heaven and man, and to My sear'd-up conscience so full of horror, As penance cannot expiate.
Oct. Despair not.
1 Alon. / will open
My bosom's secrets to you.] This is the old reading, and far •more elegant than that which the modern editors have introduced in its stead. My bosom-secrets to you. I VOL. IV. * F f
426 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
'Tis impious in man to prescribe limits To the divine compassion : out with it.
Alon. Hear then, good man, and when that I
have given you
The character of it, and confess'd myself The wretch that acted it, you must repent The charity you have extended towards me. Not long before these wars began, I had Acquaintance ('tis not fit I style it friendship, That being a virtue, and not to be blended With vicious breach of faith) with the lord
Octavio,
The minion of his prince and court, set off With all the pomp and circumstance of greatness: To this then happy man I offer'd service, And with insinuation wrought myself Into his knowledge, grew familiar with him, Ever a welcome guest. This noble gentleman Was bless'd with one fair daughter, so he thought, And boldly might believe so, for she was In all things excellent without a rival, Till I, her father's mass of wealth before My greedy eyes, but hoodwink'dtomine honour, With far more subtile arts than perjured Paris E'er practised on poor credulous Oenone, Besieged her virgin fort, in a word, took it, No vows or imprecation forgotten With speed to marry her.
Oct. Perhaps, she gave you Just cause to break those vows.
Alon. She cause ! alas, Her innocence knew no guilt, but too much
favour
To me, unworthy of it : 'twas my baseness, My foul ingratitude — what shall I say more? The good Octavio no sooner fell In the displeasure of his prince, his state
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 427
Confiscated, and he forced to leave the court, And she exposed to want* but all my oaths And protestation of service to her, Like seeming flames raised by enchantment,
vanish VI ; This, this sits heavy here.
Oct. He speaks as if He were acquainted with my plot. — You have
reason
To feel compunction, for 'twas most inhuman So to betray a maid.
Alon. Most barbarous.
Oct. But does your sorrow for the fact beget An aptness in you to make satisfaction, For the wrong you did her?
Alon. Gracious heaven ! an aptness ? It is my only study : since I tasted Of your compassion, these eyes ne'er were closed, But fearful dreams cut off my little sleep; And, being awake, in my imagination Her apparition haunted me.
Oct. Twas mere fancy. [He stamps.
Alon. 'Twas more, grave sir — nay, 'tis now
it appears !
Enter MARIA, in white.
Oct. Where?
Alon. Do you not see there the gliding shadow Of a fair virgin ? that is she, and wears The very garments that adorn'd her, when She yielded to my crocodile tears : a cloud Of fears and diffidence then so chased away Her purer white and red, as it foretold That I should be disloyal. Blessed shadow ! For 'twere a sin, far, far exceeding all I have committed, to hope only that * Ff 2
428 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Thou art a substance ; look on my true sorrow/ Nay, soul's contrition : hear again those vows My perjury cancell'd, stamp'd in brass, and never To be worn out.
Mar. I can endure no more ; Action, not oaths, must make me reparation : I am Maria.
Alon. Can this be ?
Oct. It is, And I Octavio.
Alon. Wonder on wonder !
How shall I look on you, or with what forehead Desire your pardon ?
Mar. You truly shall deserve it In being constant.
Re- enter GOTH RIO, with the purses 0/*ALONzo and
PlSAtfO.
Oct. If you fall not off, But look on her in poverty with those eyes As, when she was my heir in expectation, You thought her beautiful..
Alon. She is in herself Both Indies to me.
Goth. Stay, she shall not come A beggar to you, my sweet young mistress ! no, She shall not want a dower : here's white and red Will ask a jointure; but how you should make
her one,
Being a captain, would beget some doubt, If you should deal with a lawyer.
Alon. I have seen this purse.
Goth. How the world's given — I dare not
to lying,
Because you are a soldier ; you may say as well, This gold is mark'd too : you, being to receive it,
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 429
Should ne'er ask how I got it. I'll run for a
prjest To dispatch the matter ; you shall not want a
ring,
I have one for the purpose. — [Gives Pisano's ring to ^/owm]— Now, sir, I think I'm honest.
[Exit.
Alon. This ring was Pisano's. Oct. I'll dissolve this riddle At better leisure: the wound given to my
daughter,
Which, in your honour, you are bound to cure, Exacts our present care.
Alon. I am all yours, sir. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
The same. The Castle of St. Leo. Enter GONZAGA, UBERTI, and MAN FRO Y.
Gon. Thou hast told too much to give as surance that Her honour was too far engaged, to be By human help redeem'd : if thou hadst given Thy sad narration this full period, She's dead, I had been happy.
Uber. Sir, these tears Do well become a father, and my eyes Would keep you company as a forlorn lover, But that the burning fire of my revenge Pries up those drops of sorrow. We once more, Our broken forces rallied up, and with Full numbers strengthen'd, stand prepared t'en-
dure A second trial ; nor let it dismay us
430 THE BASHFUL LOVER'.
That we are once again to affront the fury
Of a victorious army ; their abuse
Of conquest hath disarm 'd them, and call'd clown
The Powers ahove to aid us. I have read3
Some piece of story, yet ne'er found hut that
The general, that gave way to cruelty,
The profanation of things sacred, rapes
Of virgins, hutchery of infants, and
The massacre in cold blood of reverend age,
Against the discipline and law of arms,
Did feel the hand of heaven lie heavy on him,
When most secure. We have had a late example,
And let us not despair but that, in Lorenzo,
It will be seconded.
3 I have ready &c.] The dreadful description in the text, corresponds with the account given of the storming of Magde burg by Tilly (the Imperial general) in 1632, in which, say our old historians, " he cut the throat of 22000 persons, a miserie which is impossible to be described or thought upon without horror and detestation." Tilly, however, was mortally wounded by a cannon-shot at the passage of the Lech, a few months afterwards ; and what follows in the text, clearly shews that Massinger alludes to theDukeofFriedland, who succeeded to the command of the Imperial forces, and was noted for every species of cruelty ; in short, for all the dreadful enormities which the poet enumerates. • This chief, who was too powerful for control, was treacherously assassinated, when must secure, by order of the Emperor Ferdinand. This event took place at Egra, on the 25th of February, 1634, and was detailed in several petty pamphlets by Nathaniel Butler, the general pub lisher of news at that period. The example, therefore, as Mas- singer says, was a late one. Alexander Gill has some tolerable verses on the subject, prefixed to Glapthorne's Tragedy of Albertus Wallen&tdn.
Ubi ilia tandem gaza, qud Bohemiam Silesiamque^ agrosque Brandenburgicos Fretus perambulasti ? ubi est exercitus^ Diro tuorum quo ministrofacinorum Homicidia, stupra. furta, Pomcrania Stspe execrata eat^ €t Mwklenburgi sinos ? &c.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 431
Gon. You argue well, And 'twere a sin m me to contradict you : Yet we must not neglect the means that's lent us, To be the ministers of justice.
Uber. No, sir :
One day given to refresh our wearied troops, Tired with a tedious inarch, we'll be no longer Coop'd up, but charge the enemy in his trenches, And force him to a battle." [Shouts within.
Gon. Ha ! how's this ? In such a general time of mourning, shouts, And acclamations of joy ?
[Cry within, Long live the princess ! long live Matilda !
Uber. Matilda ! The princess' name, Matilda, oft re-echoed !4
Enter FARNEZE.
Gon. What speaks thy haste ?
Farn. More joy and happiness Than weak words can deliver, or strong faith Almost give credit to : the princess lives ; I saw her, kiss'd her hand.
Gon. By whom deliver'd ?
Farn. This is not to be staled by my report, "his only must be told : — As I rode forth With some choice troops, to make discovery Where the enemy lay, and how intrench'd, a
leader Of the adverse party, but unarm 'd, and in
* [Cry within :"\ Long live the princess ! long live Matilda !
Uber. Matilda!
The princess' name, Matilda, oft re-echoed!} So the quarto. The editors have contrived to blunder in every possible way ; they first advance a marginal note into the text, and then degrade the text into a marginal note 1
432 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
His hand an olive branch, encountered me : He shew'd the great duke's seal, that gave him
power
To parley with me ; his desires were, that Assurance for his safety might he granted To his royal master, who came as a friend, And not as an enemy, to offer to you Conditions of peace. I yielded to it. This being* returned, the duke's praetorium,
operf d,
When suddenly, in a triumphant chariot Drawn by such soldiers of his own as were, For insolence after victory, condemn'd Unto this slavish office, the fair princess Appeared, a wreath of laurel on her head, Her robes majestical, their richness far Above all value, as the present age* Contended that a woman's pomp should dim The glittering triumphs of the Roman Cassars,
\Muslc without.
— I am cutoff; no cannon's throat now thunders, Nor fife nor drum beat up a charge ; choice music Ushers the parent of security, Long-absent peace.
Man. I know not what to think on't.
Uber. May it poise the expectation !
Loud music. Enter Soldiers unarmed, bearing olive branches, Captains, LORENZO, MATILDA crowned with a wreath of laurel, and seated in a chariot drawn by Soldiers ; followed fo/HoRTENSio anal MART i NO.
Gon. Thus to meet you,
s Above all value, as the present age, &c.] Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason, not yet acquainted with the language of their author^ insert ^/"before the, " as if," &c. Even to this petty attempt at jmproYement they were compelled to sacrifice his metre.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 435
Great duke of Tuscany, throws amazement on me ; But'to behold my daughter, long since mourn'd
for,
And lost even to my hopes, thus honour'd by you, With an excess of comfort overwhelms me : And yet I cannot truly call myself Happy in this solemnity, till your highness Vouchsafe to make me understand the motive That, in this peaceful way, hath brought you to us, Lor. I must crave license first ; for know,
Gonzaga,
I am subject to another's will, and can Nor speak nor do without permission from her. My curled forehead, of late terrible To those that did acknowledge me their lord, Is now as smooth as rivers when no wind stirs ; My frowns or smiles, that kilFd or saved, have
lost
Their potent awe, and sweetness : I am trans form 'd
(But do not scorn the metamorphosis) From that fierce thing men held me ; I am cap-
tived,
And, by the unresistible force of beauty, Led hither as a prisoner. Is't your pleasure that I shall deliver those injunctions which Your absolute command imposed upon me, Or deign yourself to speak them?
Matil. Sir, I am
Your property, you may use me as you please ; But what is in your power and breast to do, No orator can dilate so well.
Lor. I obey you. That I came hither as an enemy, With hostile arms, to the utter ruin of Your country, what I have done makes apparent; That fortune seconded my will, the late
434 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Defeature will make good : that I resolved
To force the sceptre from your hand, and make
Your dukedom tributary, my surprisal
Of Mantua, your metropolis, can well witness;
And that I cannot fear the change of fate,
My army flesh'd in blood, spoil, glory, con-
. quest,
Stand ready to maintain : yet, I must tell you By whom I am subdued, and svhat's the ransome I am commanded to lay down.
Gon. My lord,
You humble yourself too much; it is fitter You should propose, and we consent.
Lor. Forbear,
The articles are here subscribed and sign'd By my obedient hand : all prisoners, Without a ransome, set at liberty ; Mantua to be deliver'd up, the rampires Ruin'd in the assault, to be repair'd; The loss the husbandman received, his crop Burnt up by wanton license of the soldier, To be made good ; — with whatsoever else You could impose on me, if you had been The conqueror, I your captive.
Gon. Such a change
Wants an example : I must owe this favour To the clemency of the old heroic valour, That spared when it had power to kill; a virtue Buried long since, but raised out of the grave By you, to grace this latter age.
Lor. Mistake not
The cause that did produce this good effect, If as such you receive it : 'twas her beauty, Wrought first on my rough nature; but the virtues Of her fair soul, dilated in her converse, That did confirm it.
'Matil. Mighty sir, no more:
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 435
You honour her too much, that is not worthy To be your servant.
Lor. I have done, and now Would gladly understand that you allow of The articles propounded.
Gon. Do not wrong
Your benefits with such a doubt ; they are So great and high, and with such reverence To be received, that, if I should profess I hold my dukedom from you, as your vassal, Or ofTer'd up my daughter as you please To be disposed of, in the point of honour, And a becoming gratitude, 'twould not cancel The bond I stand engaged for: — but accept Of that which I can pay, my all is yours, sir; Nor is there any here, (though I must grant Some have deserved much from me,) for so far I dare presume, but will surrender up Their interest to that your highness shall Deign to pretend a title. Uber. I subscribe not To this condition.
•Farn. The services This prince hath done your grace in your most
danger,
. Are not to be so slighted. Hort. *Tis far from me . To urge my merits, yet, I must maintain, Howe'er my power is less, my love is more ; Nor will the gracious princess scorn to acknow ledge I have been her humble servant.
Lor. Smooth your brows,
I'll not encroach upon your right, for that were Once more to force affection, (a crime With which should I the second time be tainted, I did deserve no favour,) neither will I
436 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Make use of what is offer'd by the duke, Howe'er I thank his goodness. I'll lay by My power, and though I should not brook a rival, (VVhat we are, well consider'd,) I'll descend To be a third competitor; he that can With love and service best deserve the garland, With your consent let him wear it; I despair not The trial of my fortune.
Gon. Bravely oifer'd, And like yourself, great prince.
Uber. I must profess I am so taken with it, that I know not Which way to express my service.
Hort. Did I not build
Upon the princess' grace, I could sit down, And hold it no dishonour.
Matil. How I feel
My soul divided ! all have deserved so well, I know not where to fix my choice.
Gon. You have
Time to consider: will you please to take Possession of the fort ? then, having tasted The fruits of peace, you may at leisure prove, Whose plea will prosper in the court of Love.
\Exeunt.
ACT V. SCENE I.
Mantua. A Room in the Palace.
Enter ALONZO, OCTAVIO, PISANC, MARIA, and GOTHRIO.
Alon. You need not doubt, sir, were not peace proclaim'd
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 437
And celebrated with a general joy, The high displeasure of the Matuan duke, Raised on just grounds, not jealous suppositions, The saving of our lives (which, next to heaven, To you alone is proper) would force mercy For an offence, though capital,
Pisan. When the conqueror Uses entreaties, they are arm'd commands The vanquished must not check at.
Mar. My piety pay the forfeit, If danger come but near you ! I have heard My gracious mistress often mention you, When I served her as a page, and feelingly Relate how much the duke her sire repented His hasty doom of banishment, in his rage Pronounced against you.
Oct. In a private difference, I grant that innocence is a wall of brass, And scorns the hottest battery ; but, when The cause depends between the prince and
subject,
'Tis an unequal competition ; Justice Must lay her balance by, and use her sword For his ends that protects it. I was banish'd, And, till revoked from exile, to tread on My sovereign's territories with forbidden feet, The severe letter of the law calls death ; Which I am subject to, in coming so near His court and person. But my only child Being provided for, her honour salved too, I thank your noble change, I shall endure Whate'er can fall, with patience.
Alon. You have used
That medicine too long ; prepare yourself For honour in your age, and rest secure oft.
Mar. Of what is your wisdom musing?
438 THE BASHFUL LOVE II.
Goth. I am gazing on
This gorgeous house; our cote's a dishclout to it ; It has no sign, — what do you call't?
Mar. The court ; I have lived in't a page.
Goth. Page ! very pretty : May I not be a page? I am old enough, Well-timber'd too, and I've a heard to carry it : Pray you, let me be your page ; I can swear
already, Upon your pantofle.
Mar. What?
Goth. That I'll be true Unto your smock.
Mar. How, rascal !
Oct. Hence, and pimp
To your rams and ewes ; such foul pollution is To be whipt from court; I have now no more use
of you ; Return to your trough.
Goth. Must I feed on husks, Before I have play'd the prodigal ?
Oct. No, I'll reward
Your service ; live in your own element, Like an honest man; all that is mine in the cottage, I freely give you.
Goth. Your bottles too, that I carry For your own tooth !
Oct. Full as they are.
Mar. And gold, [Gives him her purse.
That will replenish them.
Goth. I am made for ever. This was done i'the nick.
Oct. Why in the nick ?
Goth. O sir ! 'Twas well forme that you did reward my service
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 439
Before you enter'd the court ; for 'tis reported There is a drink of forgetfulness, which once
tasted, Few masters think of their servants, who, grown
old, Are turn'd off, like lame hounds and hunting
horses,
To starve on the commons. Alon. Bitter, knave !
Enter MARTINO.
There's craft In the clouted shoe. — Captain !
Mart. I am glad to kiss Your valiant hand, and yours; but pray you,
take notice, My title's changed, I am a colonel.
Pisan. A colonel ! where's your regiment ?
Mart. Not raised yet ;
All the old one's are cashier'd, and we are now To have a new militia : all is peace here, Yet I hold my title still, as many do That never saw an enemy.
Alon. You are pleasant, And it becomes you. Is the duke stirring ?
Mart. Long since, Four hours at least, but yet not ready
Pisan. How !
Mart. Even so ; you make a wonder oft, but
leave it:
Alas, he is not now, sir, in the camp, To be up and arm'd upon the least alarum ; There's something else to be thought on : here
he comes, With his officers, new-rigg'd.
440 fHE BASHFUL LOVER.
Enter LORENZO, as from his chamber, with d looking-glass; Doctor, Gentleman, and Pagt employed about his person.
Alon. A looking-glass ! Upon my head, he saw not his own face These seven years past, but by reflection From a bright armour.
Mart. Be silent, and observe.
Lor. So, have you (Jpne yet ? Is your building perfect?
Doct. If your highness please, Here is a water.
Lor. To what use ? my barber Hath wash'd my face already.
Doct. But this water
Hath a strange virtue in't, beyond his art; It is a sacred relic, part of that Most powerful juice, with which Medea made Old JEson young.
Lor. A fable ! but suppose I should give credit to it, will it work The same effect on me ?
Doct. I'll undertake
This will restore the honour'd hair that grows Upon your highness' head and chin, a little Inclining unto gray.
Lor. Inclining ! doctor.
Doct. Pardon me, mighty sir, I went too far, Not gray at all ; — I dare not flatter you — 'Tis something changed ; but this applied will.
help it
To the first amber-colour, every hair As fresh as when, your manhood in the prime, Your grace arrived at thirty. Lor. Verv well.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 441
Doct. Then here's a precious oil, to which the
maker
Hath not yet given a name, will soon fill up These dimples in your face and front. I grant They are terrible to your enemies, and set off Your frowns with majesty ; but you may please To know, as sure you do, a smooth aspect, Softness and sweetness, in the court of Love, Though dumb, are the prevailing orators.
Lor. Will he new-create me ?
Doct. If you deign to taste too, Of this confection.
Lor. I am in health, and need No physic.
Doct. Physic, sir ! An empress, If that an empress' lungs, sir, may be tainted With putrefaction, would taste of it, That night on which she were to print a kiss Upon the lips of her long-absent lord, Returning home with conquest.
Lor. 'Tis predominant Over a stinking breath, is it not, doctor?
Doct. Clothe the infirmity with sweeter lan guage : Tis a preservative that way.
Lor. You are, then,
Admitted to the cabinets of great ladies, And have the government of the borrow'd beauties Of such as write near forty.
Doct. True, my good lord, And my attempts have prosper'd.
Lor. Did you never Minister to the princess ?
Doct. Sir, not yet ;
She's in the April of her youth, and needs not The aids of art, my gracious lord ; but in The autumn of her age I may be useful,
VOL. iv. * G g
442 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
And sworn her highness' doctor, and your grace Partake of the delight. —
Lor. Slave ! witch ! impostor !
[Strikes him down.
Mountebank ! cheater ! traitor to great nature, In thy presumption to repair what she, In her immutable decrees, design'd For some few years to grow up, and then wither ! Or is't not crime enough thus to betray The secrets of the weaker sex, thy patients, But thou must make the honour of this age, And envy of the time to come, Matilda, Whose sacred name I bow to, guilty of A future sin in thy ill-boding thoughts, Which for a perpetuity of youth And pleasure she disdains to act, such is Her purity and innocence !
[Sets his foot on the Doctors breast.
A Ion. Long since I look'd for this 1'envoy.'
Mart. Would I were well off] He's dangerous in these humours.
Oct. Stand concealed.
Doct. O sir, have mercy! in my thought. I
never Offended you.
Lor. Me ! most of all, thou monster ! What a mock-man property in thy intent
6 Alon. Long since
I look'd for this 1'envoy.] i. e. for this termination. The envoy is explained with great accuracy by Cotgrave : he says, ' c it is the conclusion of a ballad or sonnet in a short stanza by itself, and serving, oftentimes, as a dedication of the whole.'' Jn French poetry, Pcwooy sometimes serves to convey the moral of the piece : but our old dramatists, in adopting the word, disre garded the sense, and seldom mean more by it than conclusion, end, or main import. It occurs in Shakspeare, Jonson, Fletcher, and, indeed, in most of our ancient writers.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 443
Wouldst them have made me? a mere pathic to
Thy devilish art, had I given suffrage to it.
Are my gray hairs, the ornament of age,
And held a blessing by the wisest men,
And for such warranted by holy writ,
To be conceal'd, as if they were my shame ?
Or plaister up these furrows in my face,
As if I were a painted bawd or whore ?
By such base means if that I could ascend
To the height of all my hopes, their full fruition
Would not wipe off the scandal : no, thou wretch !
Thy cozening water and adulterate oil
I thus pour in thine eyes, and tread to dust
Thy loath'd confection with thy trumperies : —
Vanish for ever !
Mart. You have your fee, as I take it, Deardomine doctor ! I'll be no sharer with you.
[Exit Doctor.
Lor.' I'll court her like myself; these rich
adornments
And jewels, worn by me, an absolute prince, My order too, of which I am the sovereign, Can meet no ill construction ; yet 'tis far From my imagination to believe She can be taken with sublimed clay, The silk-worm's spoils, or rich embroideries : Nor must I borrow helps from power or greatness, But as a loyal lover plead my cause ; If I can feelingly express my ardour, And make her sensible of the much I suffer In hopes and fears, and she vouchsafe to take Compassion on me, — ha ! compassion ? The word sticks in my throat : what's here, that
tells me
I do descend too low ? rebellious spirit, I conjure thee to leave me ! there is now
444 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
No contradiction or declining left, I must and will go on.
Mart. The tempest's laid ; You may present yourselves.
[Alonzo and Pisano come forward,
Alon. My gracious lord.
Pisan. Your humble vassal.
Lor. Ha ! both living ?
Alon. Sir,
We owe our lives to this good lord, and make it Our humble suit-
Lor. Plead for yourselves : we stand Yet unresolved whether your knees or prayers Can save the forfeiture of your own heads : Though we have put our armour off, your pardon For leaving of the camp without our license, Is not yet sign'd. At some more fit time wait us. [Exeunt Lorenzo, Gentleman, and Page.
Alon. How's this?
Mart. 'Tis well it is no worse ; I met with A rougher entertainment, yet I had Good cards to shew. He's parcel mad ; you'll find
him
Every hour in a several mood ; this foolish love Is such a shuttlecock ! but all will be well, When a better fit comes on him, never doubt it.
[Exeunt. SCENE II.
Another Room in the same.
Enter GONZAGA, UBERTI, FARNEZE, and MANFROY.
Gon. How do you find her? Uber. Thankful for my service,
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 445
And yet she gives me little hope; my rival Is too great for me.
Gon. The great duke, you mean ?
Uber. Who else? the Milanese, although he he A complete gentleman, I am sure despairs More than myself.
Farn. A high estate, with women, Takes place of all desert.
Uber. I must stand my fortune.
Enter LORENZO and Attendants.
Man. The duke of Florence, sir. Gon. Your highness' presence Answers my wish. Your private ear: — I have
used
My best persuasion, with a father's power, To work nay daughter to your ends; yet she, Like a small bark on a tempestuous sea, Toss'd here and there by opposite winds, resolves
not
At which port to put in. This prince's merits, Your grace and favour; nor is she unmindful Of the brave acts (under your pardon, sir, I needs must call them so) Hortensio Hath done to gain her good opinion of him; All these together tumbling in her fancy, Do much distract her. I have spies upon her, And am assured this instant hour she gives Hortensio private audience ; I will bring you Where we will see and hear all.
Lor. You oblige me.
Uber. I do not like this whispering.
Gon. Fear no foul play. [Exeunt.
446 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
SCENE III.
Another Room in the same.
Enter HORTENSIO, BEATRICE, and two Waiting Women.
1 Worn. The princess, sir, long since expected
you;
And, would I beg a thanks, I could tell you that I have often moved her for you.
Hort. I am your servant.
Enter MATILDA.
Beat. She's come ; there are others I must
place to hear The conference. [Aside, and exit,,
I Worn. Is't your excellency's pleasure That we attend you ?
Matil. No ; wait me in the gallery.
1 Worn. Would each of us, wench, had a sweet
heart too, To pass away the time !
2 Worn. There I join with you.
\Exeunt Waiting Women. Matil. I fear this is the last time we shall meet Hort. Heaven forbid !
He-enter above BEATRICE with LORENZO, GON^ ZAGA, UBERTI, and FARNEZE.
Matil. O my Hortensio ! In me behold the misery of greatness, And that which you call beauty. Had I been
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 44?
Of a more low condition, I might
Have call'd my will and faculties mine own,
Not seeing that which was to be beloved
With others' eyes: but now, ah me, most wretched
And miserable princess, in my fortune,
To be too much engaged for service done me !
It being impossible to make satisfaction
To my so many creditors ; all deserving,
I can keep touch with none.
Lor. A sad exordium.
Matil You loved me long, and without hope
(alas,
I die to think on't !) Parma's prince, invited With a too partial report of what I was, and might be to him, left his country, To fight in my defence. Your brave achieve ments
I' the war, and what you did for me, unspoken, Because I would not force the sweetness of Your modesty to a blush, are written here : And, that there might be nothing wanting to Sum up my numerous engagements, (never In my hopes to be cancelled,) the great duke, Our mortal enemy, when my father's country Lay open to his fury, and the spoil Of the victorious army, and I brought Into his power, hath shewn himself so noble, So full of honour, temperance, and all virtues' That can set off a prince, that, though I cannot
6 So full of honour, temperance, and all virtues] I shall give this and the six following lines, as they stand in Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason. A better specimen cannot be desired of the fidelity, good taste, and critical knowledge with which these gentlemen performed their editorial duties. Their interpolations are in Roman characters :
So full of strictest honour, temperance, And all virtues that can set off a prince,
448 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
Render him that respect I would, I am bound In thankfulness to admire him.
Hort. Tis acknowledged, And on your part to be returned.
MatlL How can I,
Without the brand of foul ingratitude To you, and prince Uberti ?
Hort. Hear me, madam,
And what your servant shall with zeal deliver, As a Dasdalean clew may guide you out of This labyrinth of distraction/ He that loves His mistress truly, should prefer her honour And peace of mind, above the glutting of His ravenous appetite : he should affect her, But with a fit restraint, and not take from her To give himself: he should make it the height Of his ambition, if it lie in His stretch'd-out nerves to effect it, though she
fly in
An eminent place,* to add strength to her wings, And mount her higher, though he fall himself Into the bottomless abyss; or else
That) though I cannot render him that respect I would, I'm bound in thankfulness t' admire him.
Gal. 'Tis acknowledg'dy and on your part To be return d.
Matil. But oh ! how can J, &c.
7 This labyrinth of distraction.] So the old copy: the modern editors capriciously read — This labyrinth of destruction ! Every page, and almost every speech, teems with similar absurdities. Three lines below, they omit her, which destroys the meaning of the whole sentence.
8 An eminent place,] i. e. height. See p. 141. To the examples there gi?en, the following may be added, as it has been mis understood :
a thy muse flies in her place,
u And eagle-like looks Phrebus in the face." in her place, i. e. her highest point of elevation. Introductory Verses to Macmion's Cupid and Psyche*
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 449
The services he offers are not real, But counterfeit.
Matil. What can Hortensio Infer from this ?
Hort. That I stand bound in duty, (Though in the act I take my last farewell Of comfort in this life,) to sit down willingly, And move nay suit no further. I confess, While you were- in danger, and heaven's mercy
made me Its instrument to preserve you, (which your
goodness
Prized far above the merit,) I was bold To feed my starv'd affection with false hopes I might be worthy of you : for know, madam, How mean soever I appear'd in Mantua, I had in expectation a fortune, Though not possess'd oft, that encouraged me With confidence to prefer my suit, and not To fear the prince Uberti as my rival.
Gon. I ever thought him more than what he seem'd.
Lor. Pray you, forbear.
Hort, But when the duke of Florence Put in his plea, in my consideration Weighing well what he is, as you must grant him A Mars of men in arms, and, those put off, The great example for a kingly courtier To imitate ; annex to these his wealth, Of such a large extent, as other monarchs Call him the king of coin ; and, what's above all, His lawful love, with all the happiness This life can fancy, from him flowing to you ; The true affection which I have ever born you, Does not alone command me to desist, But, as a faithful counsellor, to advise you
450 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
To meet and welcome that felicity, Which hastes to crown your virtues.
Lor. We must break off this parley : Something I have to say. [Exeunt above.
Ma til. In tears I thank
Your care of rny advancement; but I dare not Follow your counsel. Shall such piety Pass unrewarded ? such a pure affection, For any ends of mine, be undervalued ? Avert it, heaven ! I will be thy Matilda, Or cease to be ; no other heat but what Glows from thy purest flames, shall warm this
bosom,
Nor Florence, nor all monarchs of the earth, Shall keep thee from me.
Re-enter below LORENZO, GONZAGA, UBERTI, FARNEZE,
Hort. I fear, gracious lady, Our conference hath been overheard.
Matil The better :
Your part is acted ; give me leave at distance To zany it. — Sir, on my knees thus prostrate Before your feet -
Lor. This must not be, I shall Both wrong myself and you in suffering it.
Matil. I will grow here, and weeping thus
turn marble,
Unless you hear and grant the first petition A virgin, and a princess, ever tendered : Nor doth the suit concern poor me alone, It hath a stronger reference to you, And to your honour; and, if you deny it, Both ways you suffer. Remember, sir, you were not
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 451
Born only for yourself, heaven's liberal hand
Design'd you to command a potent nation,
Gave you heroic valour; which you have
Abused, in making unjust war upon
A neighbour-prince, a Christian; while the Turk,
Whose scourge and terror you should be, securely
Wastes the Italian confines : 'tis in you
To force him to pull in his horned crescents,
And 'tis expected from you.
Lor. I have been In a dream, and now begin to wake.
Matil. And will you
Forbear to reap the harvest of such glories, Now ripe, and at full growth, for the embraces Of a slight woman ? or exchange your triumphs For chamber-pleasures, melt your able nerves (That should with your victorious sword make
way
Through the armies of your enemies) in loose And wanton dalliance? be yourself, great sir, The thunderbolt of war, and scorn to sever Two hearts long since united ; your example May teach the prince Uberti to subscribe To that which you allow of.
Lor. The same tongue That charm'd my sword out of my hand, and
threw
A frozen numbness on my active spirit, Hath disenchanted me. Rise, fairest princess ! And, that it may appear I do receive Your counsel as inspired from heaven, I will Obey and follow it : I am your debtor, And must confess you have lent my weaken'd
reason
New strengths once more to hold a full command Over my passions. Here, to the world, I freely do profess that I disclaim
452 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
All interest in you, and give up my title, Such as it is, to you, sir; and, as far As I have power, thus join your hands.
Gon. To yours I add my full consent.
Uber. I am lost, Farneze.
Farn. Much nearer to the port than you
suppose: — In me our laws speak, and forbid this contract.
MatiL Ah me, new stops !
Hort. Shall we be ever cross'd thus?
Farn. There is an act upon record, confirm'd By your wise predecessors, that no heir Of Mantua (as questionless the princess Is the undoubted one) must be join'd in marriage, But where the match may strengthen the estate And safety of the dukedom. Now, this gentleman, However I must style him honourable, And of a high desert, having.no power To make this good in his alliance, stands Excluded by our laws; whereas this prince, Of equal merit, brings to Mantua The power and principality of Parma : And therefore, since the great duke hath let
fall
His plea, there lives no prince that justlier can Challenge the princess' favour.
Lor. Is this true, sir?
Gon. I cannot contradict it.
Enter MANFROY.
Man. There's an ambassador From Milan, that desires a present audience ; His business is of highest consequence, As he affirms : I know him for a man Of the best rank and quality.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 453
Hort. From Milan ! Gon. Admit him,
Enter Ambassador, and JULIO with a letter, which he presents on his knee to HORTENSIO.
How ! so low ?
Amb. I am sorry, sir, To be the bringer of this heavy news ; But since it must be known — - —
Hort. Peace rest with him ! I shall find fitter time to mourn his loss, My faithful servant too !
JuL I am o'erjoy'd, To see your highness safe.
Hort. Pray you, peruse this, And there you'll find that the objection, The lord Farneze made, is fully answer'd.
Gon. The great John Galeas dead !
Lor. And this his brother, The absolute lord of Milan!
Matil. I am revived.
Uber. There's no contending against destiny : I wish both happiness.
Enter ALONZO, MARIA, OCTAVIO, PISANO, and MART i NO.
Lor. Married, Alonzo ! I will salute your lady, she's a fair one, And seal your pardon on her lips. [Kisses Maria.
Gon. Octavio !
Welcome e'en to my heart.' Rise, I should kneel To thee for mercy.
9 Gonz. Octavio!
Welcome een to my heart, &c.] Massinger had inyolred his plot in a considerable difficulty, and it must be candidly
454 THE BASHFUL LOVER,
Oct. The poor remainder of My age shall truly serve you.
Matil. You resemble A page I had, Ascanio.
Mar. I am Your highness' servant still.
Lor. All stand amazed At this unlook'd-for meeting; but defer Your several stories. Fortune here hath shewn Her various power; but virtue, in the end, Is crown'd with laurel: Love hath done his parts
too;
And mutual friendship, after bloody jars, Will cure the wounds received in our wars.
\Exeunt.
acknowledged that he has shewn but little contrivance in ex- tricating it. Nothing can be more inartificial than the sudden death of " the great John Galeas :" anil certainly an opportunity for a moving scene was here presented in the reconcilement of Gonzaga and Octavio ; — but the play had reached its full length, and was, therefore, of necessity to be abruptly con cluded. Very little ingenuity might have made the catastrophe more worthy of the commencement.
The story is interesting, and though sufficiently diversified, neither improbable nor unnatural: the language of the superior characters is highly poetic, and very beautiful.
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 455
EPILOGUE.
Pray you, gentlemen, keep your seats ; something
I would
Deliver to gain favour, if I could, To us, and the still doubtful author. He, When I desired an epilogue, answer* d me,
' Twas to no purpose : he must stand his fate, " Since all entreaties now would come too late ;
! You being long since resolved what you would say " Of him, or us, as you rise, or of the play " A strange old fellow ! yet this sullen mood Would quickly leave him, might it be understood You part not hence displeased. I am designed To give him certain notice : if you find Things worth your liking, shew it. Hope and fear \ Though different passions, have the self-same ear*
1 This Play bears many marks of the heroic or chivalrous manners, or of both together. Some of these we see in the im partial admission of the services of all the suitors of Matilda,— in her free acceptance of the personal devotion of Galeazzo, though he makes his approach only as a gentle stranger, — and particularly in the extraordinary clemency of Lorenzo, and his magnanimous surrender of the beauteous object won by his valour. In some of the preceding Plays the reader will have ob served certain traces of these manners. Among the grievances to be redressed in the Parliament of Lone are those of " disdained lovers." When Almira (a Very Woman) abruptly dismisses don John, she is reproved for it, as offering an outrage to her high " breeding," and as guilty of almost a barbarism." And Camiola (Maid of Honour} tolerates the pretensions of signior Sylli himself, and preserves the necessary decorum by styling him her servant. Without some such supposition as this, it would be difficult to account for the incongruities which ap pear in this Play: Matilda would act without discretion, and would lose her delicacy and her dignity ; and Lorenzo, who indeed, on any supposition, cannot wholly escape censure,would
456 THE BASHFUL LOVER.
hardly be allowed to retain his senses. It seems therefore to be the object of the siory to blazon the effects of Matilda's beauty, and to exhibit the double heroism of action in Galeazzo, and of forbearance in Lorenzo. Several passages of the Play tend to suggest this view of it ; and particularly one, in which the clemency of Lorenzo is expressly complimented by Gonzaga? as the true attendant of the " old heroic valour," —
- * .' - " " a virtue
" Buried long since, but raised out of the grave
" By you, to grace this latter age."
The age itself in which the events arefjsupposed to take place* is fixed in the last scene by the death of the great John Galeas. But why a great duke of Florence, or a duke of Mantua, should be attributed to an age which knew of none, or why a war should be invented between Mantua and Florence, instead of the union of both against the ambition of Galeas himself, it would be useless to enquire. Massinger, or the writer from whom he draws his story, cares nothing for this, and accom plishes his purpose of amusement by personages called from any age or country :
Dissociata l-ocis concordi pace Jigaiit.
One circumstance is remarkable. Just before the death of Galeas is announced, Matilda incidentally entreats Lorenzo to point his arms against the Turks, then securely wasting the u Italian confines." In another part of the Play, he is extolled for his splendor, and proverbially named the " king of coin." And we know that somewhat within a century from the death of Galeas, Lorenzo (the magnificent) was the chief instrument of the expulsion of the Turks from Otranto, and became, what Matilda wishes him to be, their scourge and terror." It would be very desirable to know from what book of strange adventures this and the plots of some of the ;other Plays are derived ; but this is a piece of information -which I am wholly unable to give. Meanwhile, it must be said on behalf of Massinger himself, that this Play is agreeably written. The language is chaste, .and of a temperate dignity, and is well adapted to the higher conver sation of the stage. Some of th$ scenes too have considerable effect : the reception of the ambassador in the firsc Act is stately and impressive, and the patriotism which it calls forth is only inferior in animation to that in the Bondman. The confession scene too in the fourth Act is interesting, and reminds us, though at some distance, of the Emperor of the East ; and the discovery of Maria, by her father is pretty and affecting. Somoofthe charac ters too are well drawn. Matilda has a pleasing mixture of dig. nity and condescension, isgenerouSj delicate, and noble-minded,
THE BASHFUL LOVER. 457
and (a circumstance which Massinger delights to represent,) is won by the modesty of her lover. Galeazzo himself is strongly described, both in his diffidence and his heroism ; and his trans ition from the one to the other at her command, is highly ani mating. The principal faults arise from the management : the contrivances are sometimes redundant and sometimes defective ; either they are accumulated without an answerable effect, or they are withheld when a small employment of them would ma terially relieve the story. There is also a verboseness in some of the speeches, and more tameness than usual in the soliloquies. He, whose thoughts burst into solitary speech, should pass, with brevity and passion, from one circumstance to another, and, for the purposes of the stage, should substantially convey his intel ligence to the audience, while he appears only to labour under the disorder of his own feelings. But this double management is generally too delicate for Massinger: and the soliloquies of this Play are direct and circumstantial narrations, which might be addressed to another person.
A pleasing moral arises from the character of Galeazzo : it teaches us that modesty is essentially connected with true merit. The vulgar, who, like the attendants of Matilda, are loud of boldness, may look on it with contempt ; but let it not despair ; the eye of taste and sense will mark it for distinction and re ward ; and even those will join in allowing its deserts, who feel themselves eclipsed by its superiority.
VOL. IV,
Hh
THE
OLD LAW.
*Hh 2
THE OLD LAW.] Of this Comedy, which is said to have been written by Massinger, Middleton, and Rowley, in conjunction, there is but one edition, the quarto of 1656, which appears to be a hasty transcript from the Prompter's book, made, as I ha?e observed, when the necessities of the actors, now grievously op pressed by the republicans, compelled them, for a temporary resource, to take advantage of a popular name, and bring for ward such pieces as they yet possessed in manuscript.
Of Middleton and Rowley some notice has been already taken : I have therefore only to repeat what is hazarded in the Intro duction, my persuasion that the share of Massinger in this strange composition, is not the most considerable of the three.
This Play was printed for Edward Archer : it does him no credit; for a work so full of errors, and those too of the most gross and ridiculous kind, has seldom issued from the press. Hundreds of the more obvious are corrected in silence; others, with the attempts to remove them, are submitted to the reader, who, (if he thinks the enquiry worth his labour^) will here find the Old Law far less irregular, unmetrical, and unintellgible, than in any of the preceding editions.
This drama was, very popular. The title of the quarto is, " The excellent Comedy called the Old Law, or A New Way to please You. — Acted before the King and Queen at Salisbury House, and at several other places with great applause.'4
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Evander, duke o/"Epire. Cratilus, the executioner. Cr eon, father to Simonides.
. Ly sander, husband to Eugenia, and uncle to
Cleantbes.
Leonides, father to Cleanthes. Gnotho, the clown. Lawyers* Courtiers. Dancing-master. Butler, 1 Bailiff,
Coachman, \Seroants to Creon.
Footman,
Cook,
Clerk.
Drawer.
Antigona, wife to Creon.
Hippolita, wife to Cleantbes.
Eugenia, wife to Lysander, and mother to Par-
thenia. Parthenia.
Agatha, wife to Gnotbo. Old women, wives to Creon's servants. Courtezan.
Fiddlers, Servants, Guard, 8$c. SCENE, Epire.
THE
OLD LAW,
ACT I. SCENE I.
A Room in Creon's House. Enter SIMON IDES and two Lawyers.
Sim. Is the law firm, sir ?
1 Law. The law ! what more firm, sir, More powerful, forcible, or more permanent?
Sim. By my troth, sir, I partly do believe it ; conceive, sir, You have indirectly answered my question. I did not doubt the fundamental grounds Of law in general, for the most solid ; But this particular law that me concerns, Now, at the present, if that be firm and strong, And powerful, and forcible, and permanent ? I am a young man that has an old father.
2 Law. Nothing more strong, sir. It is — Secundumstatutumprincipis, confirmatum cum >voce senatus, et voce rdpublicce ; nay, consummatum et exemplificatum. Is it not in force,
When divers have already tasted it, And paid their lives for penalty ?
Sim. Tis true,
My father must be next ; this day completes Full fourscore years upon him.
464 THE OLD LAW.
2 Law. He is here, then, Sub pcena statuti : hence I can tell him, Truer than all the physicians in the world, He cannot live out tomorrow; this Is the most certain climacterical year — 'Tis past all danger, for there's no escaping it. What age is your mother, sir!
Sim Faith, near her days too; Wants some two of threescore.1 1 Law. So ! she'll drop away One of these days too : here's a good age now, For those that have old parents, and rich inhe ritance !
Sim. And, sir, 'tis profitable for others too : Are there not fellows that lie bedrid in their
offices,
That younger men would walk lustily in? Churchmen, that even the second infancy Hath silenced, yet have spun out their lives so
long,
That many pregnant and ingenious spirits Have languished in their hoped reversions, And died upon the thought? and, by your leave,
sir,
Have you not places fill'd up in the law, By some grave senators, that you imagine Have held them long enough, and such spirits as
you,
Were they removed, would leap into their dig nities ?
1 Law. Die quibus in terrist et eris mihi ma gnus Apollo.*
1 Wants some two of threescore.] Sim.'s impatience of his mo* ther's death, leads him into an error here: it appears, p. 474, that she wanted Jive of that number.
* Law. Die quibus &c.j This lawyer is a very clever fellow; but I do not see the drift of his quotation.
THE OLD LAW. 46*5
Sim. But tell me, faith, your fair opinion : Is't not a sound and necessary law, This, by the duke enacted?
1 Law. Never did Greece,
Our ancient seat of brave philosophers, 'Mongst all her nomothetce and lawgivers, Not when she flourish'd in her sevenfold sages, Whose living memory can never die, Produce a law more grave and necessary. Sim. I am of that mind too.
2 Law. I will maintain, sir, Draco's oligarchy, that the government Of community reduced into few, Framed a fair state ; Solon's chreokopia*
That cut off poor men's debts to their rich cre ditors,
Was good, and charitable, but not full, allow'd ; His seisactheia did reform that error,4 His honourable senate of Areopagitas. Lycurgus was more loose, and gave too free And licentious reins unto his discipline ; As that a young woman, in her husband's weak ness,
Might choose her able friend to propagate ; That so the commonwealth might be supplied With hope of lusty spirits. Plato did err, And so did Aristotle, in allowing Lewd and luxurious limits to their laws : But now our Epire, our Epire's Evander, Our noble and wise prince, has hit the law
Solon's chreokopia]
signifies the cutting off that part of the debt which arose from the interest of the sum lent. M. MASON.
4 his seisactheia did reform that error,] SEto-a^GsJa, i. e. a shaking off a burthen, metaphorically, an abolition of debt. This lawyer's notions of honesty would hare fitted him for one of Solon's counsellors.
466 THE OLD LAW.
That all our predecessive students Havemiss'd, unto their shame.
Enter CLEANTHES.
Sim* Forbear the praise, sir, 'Tis in itself most pleasing : — Cleanthes ! O, lad, here's a spring for young plants to flourish ! The old trees must down kept the sun from us ; We shall rise now, boy.
Clean. Whither, sir, I pray ? To the bleak air of storms, among those trees5 Which we had shelter from ?
Sim. Yes, from our growth Our sap and livelihood, and from our fruit. What ! 'tis not jubilee with thee yet, I think, Thou look'st so sad on't. How old is thy father ?
Clean. Jubilee ! no, indeed ; 'tis a bad year with me.
Sim. Prithee, how old's thy father ? then I can tell thee.
Clean. I know not how to answer you, Si-
monides ;
He is too old, being now exposed Unto the rigour of a cruel edict ; And yet not old enough by many years, 'Cause I'd not see him go an hour before me.
Sim. These very passions I speak to my father.6
5 Clean. Whither, sir, I pray ?
To the bleak air of storms ; among those trees, Which we had shelter Jrom ¥] This short speech is a pretty- introduction to the filial piety and tenderness which form the character of Cleanthes.
6 Sim. These very passions I speak to my father.1] i. e. these pathetic speeches : this word occurs frequently in our old writers, for a short monody or song of the plaintive kind. Thus Tomkis : Not a one shakes his tail, but I sigh oat a passion. Albumazar.
THE OLD LAW. 467
Come, come, here's none but friends here, we
may speak
Our insides freely ; these are lawyers, man, And shall be counsellors shortly.
Clean. They shall be now, sir, And shall have large fees if they'll undertake To help a good cause, for it wants assistance ; Bad ones, I know, they can insist upon.
1 Law. Oh, sir, we must undertake of both
parts ; But the good we have most good in.
Clean. Pray you, say, How do you allow of this strange edict ?
1 Law. Secundum justitiam ; by my faith, sir, The happiest edict that ever was in Epire.
Clean. What, to kill innocents, sir? it cannot
be, It is no rule in justice there to punish.
1 Law. Oh, sir, You understand a conscience, but not law/
Clean. Why, sir, is there so main a difference?
1 Law. You'll never be good lawyer if you understand not that
Clean. I think, then, 'tis the best to be a bad one.
1 Law. Why, sir, the very letter and the sense both do overthrow you in this statute, which speaks, that every man living to fourscore years, and women to threescore, shall then be cut off as fruitless to the republic, and law shall finish what nature lingered at.
Clean. And this suit shall soon be dispatch'd in law ?
7 1 Law. 07/5 sir,
You understand a conscience) but not law.'] These learned gen tlemen make very free with their profession j but the distinction is a good one.
463 THE OLD LAW.
I Law. It is so plain it can have no demur, The church-book overthrows it.
Clean. And so it does ;*
The church book overthrows it, if you read it well.
1 Law. Still you run from the law into error: You say it takes the lives of innocents, I say no, and so says common reason ; What man lives to fourscore, and woman to three, That can die innocent ?
Clean. A fine law evasion ! Good sir, rehearse the whole statute to me.
Sim. Fie ! that's too tedious ; you have already The full sum in the brief relation.
Clean. Sir,
'Mongst many words may be found contradictions; And these men dare sue and wrangle with astatute, If they can pick a quarrel with some error.
Q Law. Listen, sir, I'll gather it as brief as I
can for you :
Anno primo Evandri, Be it for the care and good of the commonwealth, (for divers necessary reasons that we shall urge,) thus peremptorily enacted, —
Clean. A fair pretence, if the reasons foul it not!
2 Law. That all men living in our dominions of Epire, in their decayed nature, to the age of four score, or women to the age of threescore, shall on the same day be instantly put to death, by those means
9 Clean. And so it does ;
The church-book overthrows it, if you read it well.'] Cleanthes and the lawyer are at cross purposes. The latter observes that the church-book (by which he means the register of births kept there) overthrows all demur; to which the former replies, that it really does so ; taking the holy Scriptures for the church- book.
To observe upon the utter confusion of all time and place, of all customs and manners, in this drama, would be superfluous ; they must be obvious to the most careless observer.
THE OLD LAW. 469
and instruments that a former proclamation, had to this purpose* through our said territories dispersed.
Clean. There was no woman in this senate, certain.
1 Law. That these men, being past their bearing arms, to aid and defend their country ; past their manhood and likelihood* to propagate any further issue to their posterity ; and as well past their coun* oils (whose overgrown gravity is now run into dotage) to assist their country ; to whom, in common reason, nothing should be so wearisome as their own lives, as they may be supposed tedious to their successive heirs, whose times are spent in the good of their country : yet wanting the means to maintain it ; and are like to grow old before their inheritance (born to them) come to their necessary use, be condemned to die : for the women, for that they never were a defence to their country ; never by counsel admitted to assist in the government of their country; only necessary to the propagation of posterity, and now, at the age of three score, past that good, and all their goodness : it is thought Jit (a quarter abated from the more worthy member) that they be put to death, as is before re cited : provided that for the just and impartial exe cution of this our statute, the example shall first begin in and about our court, which ourself will see carefully performed ; and not, for a full month *fol- lowing, extend any further into our dominions. Dated the sixth of the second month, at our Palace Royal in Epire.*
9 and not for a full month, &c.] The reader
will see the necessity and the motive of this provision in the act, towards the conclusion of the Play.
1 Had Acts of Parliament, in Massinger's days, been some what like what they are in ours, we might not unreasonably have supposed that this was \vickedly meant as a ridicule on them; fora more prolix, tautological, confused piece of forma-
470 THE OLD LAW.
Clean. A fine edict, and very fairly gilded ! And is there no scruple in all these words, To demur the law upon occasion?
Sim. Pox ! 'tis an unnecessary inquisition ; Prithee set him not about it.
g Law. Troth, none, sir : It is so evident and plain a case, There is no succour for the defendant.
Clean. Possible! can nothing help in a good case ?
1 Law. Faith, sir, I do think there may be a
hole, Which would protract; delay, if not remedy.
Clean. Why, there's some comfort in that; good sir, speak it.
1 Law. Nay, you must pardon me for that, sir.
Sim. Prithee, do not ;
It may ope a wound to many sons and heirs, That may die after it
Clean. Come, sir, I know How to make you speak : — will this do it ?
[Gives him his purse.
1 Law. I will afford you my opinion, sir. Clean. Pray you, repeat the literal words ex pressly,
The time of death.
Sim. Tis an unnecessary question ; prithee let it alone.
2 Law. Hear his opinion, 'twill be fruitless sir, That man, at the age of fourscore, and woman at threescore, shall the same day be put to death.
lity, human wit, or rather human dulness, could not easily have produced. As it stands in the old copy and in Coxeter, it is absolutely incomprehensible. Mr. M. Mason restored it to as much meaning as it was probably intended to ha?e, by a few interpolations ; and I have endeavoured to attain the same end, without deviating altogether so much from the original.
THE OLD LAW. 471
I Law. Thus I help the man to twenty-one years more.
Clean. That were a fair addition.
1 Law. Mark it, sir ; we say, man is not at age Till he be one and twenty ; before, 'tis infancy, And adolescency ; now, by that addition, Fourscore he cannot be, till a hundred and one.
Sim. Oh, poor evasion ! He is fourscore years old, sir.
1 Law. That helps more, sir; He begins to be old at fifty, so, at fourscore, He's but thirty years old ; so, believe it, sir, He may be twenty years in declination ; And so long may a man linger and live by it.
Sim. The worst hope of safety that e'er I heard ! Give him his fee again, 'tis not worth two deniers.
1 Law. There is no law for restitution of fees, sin
Clean. No, no, sir ; I meant it lost when it was given.
Enter CREON and AKTIGOXA.
Sim. No more, good sir, Here are ears unnecessary for your doctrine.
1 Law. I have spoke out my fee, and I have done, sir.
Sim. O my dear father !
Creon. Tush ! meet me not in exclaims ; I understand the worst, and hope no better. A fine law ! if this hold, white heads will be cheap, And many watchmen's places will be vacant;* Forty of them I know my seniors,
* if this hold, 'white heads will be cheap.
And many watchmen's places will be vacant ;] The authors could not forbear, even at this serious moment, to indulge a smile at the venerable guardians of the night, who in their time, as well as in ours? seem to have been very " ancient and quiet"
472 THE OLD LAW.
That did clue deeds of darkness too -.—their
country
Has watch 'd them a good turn for't, And ta'en them napping now: The fewer hospitals will serve too, many May be used for stews and brothels ; and those
people Will never trouble them to fourscore.
Ant* Can you play and sport with sorrow, sir?
Creon. Sorrow! tor what, Antigona? for my
life?
My sorrow is I have kept it so long well, With bringing it up unto so ill an end. I might have gently lost it in my cradle, Before my nerves and ligaments grew strong, To bind it faster to me.
Sim. For mine own sake, I should have been sorry for that.
Creon. In my youth I was a soldier, no coward in my age; I never turn'd my back upon my foe ; I have felt nature's winters, sicknesses, Yet ever kept a lively sap in me To greet the cheerful spring of health again. Dangers, on horse, on foot, [by land,] by water, I have scaped to this day ; and yet this day, Without all help of casual accidents, Is only deadly to me, 'cause it numbers Fourscore years to me. Where is the fault now ? I cannot blame time, nature, nor my stars, Nor aught but tyranny. Even kings themselves
personages. The remainder of this speech stands thus in the
quarto :
That did due deeds of darkness to their country, Has watch1 d 'cm a good turn for't ^ and tone 'em Napping now, the fewer hospitals will serve to} Many may be used for stevs, &c.
THE OLD LAW. 473
Have sometimes tasted an even fate with me.
He that has been a soldier all his days,
And stood in personal opposition
'Gainst darts and arrows, the extremes of heat
And pinching cold, has3 treacherously at home,
In's secure quiet, by a villain's hand
Been basely lost, in his stars' ignorance :
And so must I die by a tyrant's sword.
1 Law. Oh, say not so, sir, it is by the law.
Creon. And what's that, but the sword of ty ranny,
When it is brandish'd against innocent lives ? I am now upon my deathbed, and 'tis fit I should unbosom my free conscience, And shew the faith I die in : — I do believe 'Tis tyranny that takes my life.
Sim. Would it were gone By one means or other ! what a long day Will this be ere night? [Aside.
Creon. Simonides.
Sim. Here, sir, — weeping.4
3 And pinching cold, has treacherously at home, In's secure quiet, by a villain's hand
Been basely lost, in his stars' ignorance :
And so must I die by a tyrant's sword*] The old copy gives the conclusion of this speech thus :
And pinching cold has treacherously at home In his saured quiet by a villain's handy Am bastly lost in my star's ignorance And so must I die by a tyrant's sword.
For has Coxeler reads dies, and for Am in the third line, I'm; but this cannot be right ; for Creon had just before acquitted his stars of any concern in his destiny. Mr. M. Mason blindly fol lows Coxeter. I am not very confident of the genuineness of my readings ; but they produce something like a meaning : and in a Play so incorrectly, so ignorantly printed as this, even that is sometimes to be regarded as an acquisition.
* Sim. Here, fir, — weeping.] This is given by the modern edi tors as a margijial note; but the old copy makes it, and rightly, a part of the text.
VOL. IV. * I 1
474 THE OLD LAW.
Creon. Wherefore dost thou weep ?
Clean. 'Cause you make no more haste to your end. [Aside.
Sim. How can you question nature so unjustly? I had a grandfather, and then had not you True filial tears for him ?
Clean. Hypocrite !
A disease of drought dry up all pity from him, That can dissemble pity with wet eyes !
Creon. Be good unto your mother, Simonides, She must be now your care.
Ant. To what end, sir ? The bell of this sharp edict tolls for me, As it rings out for you. — I'll be as ready, With one hour's stay, to go along with you.
Creon. Thou must not, woman, there are years
behind,
Before thou canst set forward in this voyage ; And nature, sure, will now be kind to all : She has a quarrel in't, a cruel law Seeks to prevent* her, she will therefore fight in't, And draw out life even to her longest thread : Thou art scarce fifty-five.
Ant. So many morrows ! Those five remaining years I'll turn to days, To hours, or minutes, for your company. 'Tis fit that you and I, being man and wife, Should walk together arm in arm.
Sim. I hope
They'll go together ; I would they would, i'faith, Then would her thirds be saved too. \_Aside.] — The day goes away, sir.
5 She has a quarrel in't, a cruel Jaw
Seeks to prevent her,~\ i. e. to anticipate the period she had allotted to life. In this classic sense the word is constantly used by our old writers, and, indeed, several instances of it have been noticed in the preceding pages.
THE OLD LAW. 475
Creon. Why wouldst thou have me gone, Simonides ?
Sim. O my heart ! Would you have me gone
before you, sir, You give me such a deadly wound ?
Clean. Fine rascal !
Sim. Blemish my duty so with such a question ? Sir, I would haste me to the duke for mercy ; He that's ahove the law may mitigate The rigour of the law. How a good meaning May be corrupted by a misconstruction !
Creon. Thou corrupt'st mine ; I did not think thou mean'st so.
Clean. You were in the more error. [Aside.
Sim. The words wounded me.
Clean. 'Twas pity thou died'st not on't.
Sim. I have been ransacking the helps of law, Conferring with these learned advocates : If any scruple, cause, or wrested sense Could have been found out to preserve your life, It had been bought, though with your full estate, Your life's so precious to me ! — but there's none..
1 Law. Sir, we have -canvass'd her from top to
toe, Turn'd her upside down, thrown her upon her
side,
Nay, open'd and dissected all her entrails, Yet can find none : there's nothing to be hoped, But the duke's mercy.
Sim. I know the hope of that ; He did not make the law for that purpose.
Creon. Then to this hopeless mercy last I go ; I have so many precedents before me, I must call it hopeless : Antigona, See me deliver'd up unto my deathsman, nd then we'll part;— five years hence I'll look for thee.
476 THE OLD LAW.
Sim. I hope she will not stay so long behind
you. [Aside.
Creon Do not bate him an hour by grief and
sorrow,
Since there's a day prefix'd, hasten it not. Suppose me sick, Antigona, dying now, Any disease thou wilt may be my end, Or when death's slow to come, say tyrants send. [Exeunt Creon and Antigona. Sim. Cleanthes, if you want money, tomorrow
use me ; I'll trust you while * your father's dead.
[Exit, with the Lawyers. Clean. Why, here's a villain, Able to corrupt a thousand by example ! Does the kind root* bleed out his livelihood In parent distribution to his branches, Adorning them with all his glorious fruits, Proud that his pride is seen when he's unseen ; And must not gratitude descend again, To comfort his old limbs in fruitless winter ? Improvident, or at least partial nature ! (Weak woman in this kind,) who, in thy last
teeming,
Forgettest still the former, ever making The burthen of thy last throes the dearest
darling !
O yet in noble man reform [reform] it, And make us better than those vegetives, Whose souls die with them. Nature, as thou art
old,
* /'// trust you while your father's dead.'] i. e. until your father be dead : see Vol. II. p. 414.
6 Does the hind root, &c.] This beautiful speech is most un- metrically printed in all the editions ; it is, I hope, somewhat improved by a different arrangement, and a repetition of the word in brackets.
THE OLD LAW. 477
If love and justice be not dead in thee, Make some the pattern of thy piety ; Lest all do turn unnaturally against thee, And thou be blamed for our oblivious
Enter LEONIDES and HLPPOLITA,
And brutish reluctations ! Ay, here's the ground Whereon my filial faculties must build An edifice of honour, or of shame, To all mankind.
Hip. You must avoid it, sir, If there be any love within yourself: This is far more than fate of a lost game That another venture may restore again; It is your life, which you should not subject To any cruelty, if y6u can preserve it.
Clean. O dearest woman, thou hast doubled
now
A thousand times thy nuptial dowry to me ! — Why, she whose love is but derived from me, Is got before me in my debted duty.
Hip. Are you thinking such a resolution, sir ? Clean. Sweetest Hippolita, what love taught
thee To be so forward in so good a cause ?
Hip. Mine own pity, sir, did first instruct me, And then your love and power did both com mand me. Clean. They were all blessed angels to direct
thee ;
jid take their counsel. How do you fare, sir ? Leon. Cleanthes, never better; I have con ceived
hich a new joy within this old bosom, is I did never think would there have enter'd.
478 THE OLD LAW.
Clean. Joy call you it ? alas ! 'tis sorrow, sir, The worst of sorrows, sorrow unto death.
Leon. Death ! what is that, Cleanthes r I
thought not on'r,
I was in contemplation of this woman : Tis all thy comfort, son ;' thou hast in her A treasure invaluable, keep her safe. When I die, sure 'twill be a gentle death, For I will die with wonder of her virtues ; Nothing else shall dissolve me,
Clean. 'Twere much better, sir, Could you prevent their malice.
Leon. I'll prevent them, And die the way I told thee, in the wonder Of this good woman. I tell thee there's few men Have such a child : I must thank thee for her. That the strong tie of wedlock should do more, Than nature in her nearest ligaments Of blood and propagation ! I should never Have begot such a daughter of my own : A daughter-in law ! law were above nature, Were there more such children.
Clean. This admiration Helps nothing to your safety ; think of that, sir.
Leon. Had you heard her, Cleanthes, but
labour
In the search of means to save my forfeit life, And knew the wise and the sound preservations That she found out, you would redouble all My wonder, in your love to her.
Clean. The thought,
The very thought, sir, claims all that from me, And she is now possest oft : but, good sir,
1 Tw all thy comfort , son ;] For thy Mr. M. Mason reads my: the alteration is specious, but I see no necessity for it.
THE OLD LAW.
479
If you have aught received from her advice, Let's follow it ; or else let's better think, And take the surest course. Leon. I'll tell thee one ; She counsels me to fly my severe country ; To turn all into treasure, and there huild up My decaying fortunes in a safer soil, Where Epire's law cannot claim me.
Clean. And, sir,
I apprehend it as a safest course, And may be easily accomplished ; Let us be all most expeditious, Every country where we breathe will be our own, Or better soil ; heaven is the roof of all, And now, as Epire's situate by this law, There is 'twixt us and heaven a dark eclipse.
Hip. Oh, then avoid it, sir; these sad events Follow those black predictions.
Leon. I prithee peace ; I do allow thy love, Hippolita, But must not follow it as counsel, child ; I must not shame my country for the law. This country here hath bred me, brought me up,' And shall I now refuse a grave in her ? I am in my second infancy, and children Ne'er sleep so sweetly in their nurse's cradle, As in their natural mother's.
Hip. Ay, but, sir,
She is unnatural ; then the stepmother's To be preferred before her.
Leon. Tush ! she shall Allow it me in despite of her entrails. Why, do you think how far from judgment 'tis, That I should travel forth to seek a grave
* This country here hath bred me, brought me up, &c.j There is something exquisitely tender in this short speech.
480 THE OLD LAW.
That is already digg'd for me at home, Nay, perhaps find it in my way to seek it?- — • How have I then sought a repentant sorrow ? For your dear loves, how have I banish'd you From your country ever? With my base attempt, How have I beggar'd you in wasting that W7hich only for your sakes I bred together; Buried my name in Epire* which I built Upon this frame, to live for ever in ? What a base coward shall I be, to fly from That enemy which every minute meets me, And thousand odds he had not long vanquish'd
me ,
Before this hour of battle ! Fly my death ! I will not be so false unto your states, Nor fainting to the man that's yet in me : I'll meet him bravely ; I cannot (this knowing)
fear
That, when I am gone hence, I shall be there. Come. I have days of preparation left.
Clean. Good sir, hear me : I have a genius that has prompted me, And I have almost form'd it into words — • — 'Tis done, pray you observe them; I can conceal
you; And yet not leave your country.
Leon. Tush ! it cannot be, Without a certain peril on us all.
Clean. Danger must be hazarded, rather than
accept A sure destruction. You have a lodge, sir,
1 Buried my name in Epire t &c.] This is obscure. Perhaps, Leonides means that he had so conducted himself in his native country, (i. c. so raised his reputation there,) that his memory would always live in the recollection of the people, unless he now quitted them for a residence elsewhere. The conclusion of this speech 1 do not understand.
THE OLD LAW. 481
So far remote from way of passengers,
That seldom any mortal eye does greet with't;
And yet so sweetly situate with thickets,
Built with such cunning labyrinths within,
As if the provident heavens, foreseeing cruelty,
Had bid you frame it to this purpose only.
Leon. Fie, fie ! 'tis dangerous, — and treason too, To abuse the law.
Hip. 'Tis holy care, sir,
Of your dear life,2 which is your own to keep, But not your own to lose, either in will Or negligence.
Clean. Call you it treason, sir ? I had been then a traitor unto you, Had I forgot this; beseech you, accept of it; It is secure, and a duty to yourself.
Leon. What a coward will you make me !
Clean, You mistake ;
'Tis noble courage, now you fight with death ; And yield not to him till you stoop under him.
Leon. This must needs open to discovery, And then what torture follows?
Clean. By what means, sir? Why, there is but one body in all this counsel, Which cannot betray itself: we two are one, One soul, one body, one heart, that think one
thought; And yet we two are not completely one,
But as I have derived myself from you.
Who shall betray us where there is no second?
Hip. You must not mistrust my faith, though
my sex plead Weakness and frailty for me.
Leon. Oh, I dare not.
a Hip. 'Tis holy care, sir,
Of your dear life, &c.] This thought, at once pious and philosophical, is frequently dwelt upon by Massinger.
482 THE OLD LAW.
But where's the means that must make answer
for me ?
I cannot be lost without a full account, And what must pay that reckoning ?
Clean. Oh, sir, we will Keep solemn obits for your funeral; We'll seem to weep, and seem to joy withal, That death so gently has prevented you The law's sharp rigour; and this no mortal ear
shall Participate the knowledge of.
Leon* Ha, ha, ha ! This will be a sportive fine demur, If the error be not found.
Clean. Pray doubt of none. Your company and best provision, Must be no further furnish'd than by us ; And, in the interim, your solitude may Converse with heaven, and fairly prepare [For that] which was too violent and raging Thrown headlong on you.*
Leon. Still, there are some doubts Of the discovery ; yet I do allow it.
Hip. Will you not mention now the cost and
charge, Which will be in your keeping !
Leon. That will be somewhat, Which you might save too.
Clean. With his will against him, What foe is more to man than man himself? Are you resolved sir ?
3 Converse with heaven, and fairly prepare
[For that] which was too violent and raging
Thrown headlong on you.'] Here again some words are lost by the negligence of the printer, which, in this play, exceeds all credibility. It is impossible to recover them ; but to make something like sense of the passage^ I hare yentured to add •what is enclosed between brackets.
THE OLD LAW.
483
Leon. I am, Clean thes : If by this means I do get a reprieve, And cozen death awhile, when he shall come Armed in his own power to give the blow, I'll smile upon him then, and laughing go.
[Exeunt.
ACT II. SCENE I.
Before the Palace. Enter EVANDER, Courtiers, and CRATILUS.
Evan. Executioner !
Crat. My lord.
Evan. How did old Diocles take his death ?
Crat. As weeping brides receive their joys at
night ; With trembling, yet with patience.
Evan. Why, 'twas well.
l^Court. Nay, I knew my father would do
well, my lord,
Whene'er he came to die ; I'd that opinion of him, Which made me the more willing to part from
him ;
He was not fit to live in the world, indeed Any time these ten years, my lord, But I would not say so much.
Evan. No ! you did not well in*t, For he that's all spent, is ripe for death at all
hours, And does but trifle time out.
1 Court. Troth, my lord, I would I'd known your mind nine years ago.
484 THE OLD LAW.
Evan. Our law is fourscore years, because we
judge
Dotage complete then, as unfruitfuluess In women, at threescore; marry, if the son Can, within compass, bring good solid proofs Of his own father's weakness, and unfitness To live, or sway the living, though he want five Or ten years of his number, that's not it; His defect makes him fourscore, and 'tis fit He dies when he deserves ; for every act Is in effect then, when the cause is ripe.
2 Court. An admirable prince ! how rarely he
talks !4 Oh that we'd known this, lads! What a time did
we endure In two-penny commons, and in boots twice
vamp'd !
1 Court. Now we have two pair a week, and yet not thankful ;
'Twill be a fine world for them, sirs, that come after us.
2 Court. Ay, an they knew it.
1 Court. Peace, let them never know it.
3 Court. A pox, there be young heirs will soon
smell't out. Q Court. Twill come to them by instinct, man:
may your grace
Never be old, you stand so well for youth ! Evan. Why now, methinks, our court looks
like a spring,
Sweet, fresh, and fashionable, now the old weeds are gone.
* 2 Cour. An admirable prince ! &c.] This and several of the subsequent speeches havo been hitherto printed as prose: they are not, indeed, very mellifluous, yet they run readily enough into such kind of metre as this play is, for the most part, written in.
THE OLD LAW. 485
] Court. It is as a court should be : Gloss and good clothes, my lord, no matter for
merit; *
And herein your law proves a provident act, When men pass not the palsy of their tongues, Nor colour in their cheeks.
Evan. But women, By that law, should live long, for they're ne'er
past it. 1 Court. It will have heats though, when they
see the painting
Go an inch deep i'the wrinkle, and take up A box more than their gossips : but for men, my
lord,
That should be the sole bravery of a palace, To walk with hollow eyes and long white beards, As if a prince dwelt in a land of goats ; With clothes as if they sat on their backs on
purpose
To arraign a fashion, and condemn't to exile ; Their pockets in their sleeves, as if they laid Their ear to avarice, and heard the devil whjsper! Now ours lie downward, here, close to the flank; Right spending pockets, as a son's should be, That lives i'the fashion ; where our diseased
fathers,
Worried with the sciatica and aches, Brought up your paned hose first,5 which ladies " laugh'd at,
s — where our diseased fathers,
Worried with the sciatica and aches,
Brought up your paned hose first, &c.] For where Mr. M. Mason reads whereas, as usual! In the next line the old copy has — Would with the sciatica, &c. for which, he says, " we should read wood, i. e. mad, raging ; but as that leaves the metre imperfect, I have adopted another word, which bids no less fairly to be the genuine one.
For paned hose, see Vol. II. p. 486. The fashion is here ridi-
486 THE OLD LAW.
Giving no reverence to the place lies ruin'd : They love a doublet that's three hours a but toning, *
And sits so close makes a man groan again, And his soul mutter half aday ; yet these are those, That carry sway and worth : prick'd up in clothes, Why should we fear our rising ?
Evan. You but wrong
Our kindness, and your own deserts, to doubt on't. Has not our law made you rich before your time? Our countenance then can make you honourable.
1 Court. We'll spare for no cost, sir, to appear worthy.
Evan. Why you're i'the noble way then, for the
most
Are but appearers; worth itself is lost, And bravery stands for't,6
Enter CREON, ANTIGONA, and SIMON IDES. 1 Court. Look, look, who coines here !
culed, as, about the end of Elizabeth's reign, when this Play •was apparently written, it was on the decline. In the Great Duke of Florence^ produced many years subsequently to the Old Law, parted hose are mentioned as a fashionable article of dress, and this is agreeable to history, for they were again introduced at the accession of James I. and continued, through the whole of his reign, the characteristic marks of a fine gentleman and a courtier.
6 And bravery stands for't.'] i. e. ostentatious finery of ap parel : in which sense it is frequently used in the Scriptures. " In that day the Lord will take away the bravery of their tinkling ornaments." Isaiah^ c. iii. v. 18, &c. This short speech of the duke affords one of those scarcely perceptible openings through which Massinger artfully contrives to give the reader a glimpse of such characters as are hereafter to be developed. In every instance he follows nature, which abhors all sudden conversion ; the common resource of modern dramatists.
THE OLD LAW. 437
I smell death, and another courtier, Simonides.
2 Court. Sim !
Sim. Pish ! I'm not for you yet, Your company's too costly; after the old man's Dispatch'd, I shall have time to talk with you; I shall come into the fashion you shall see too, After a day or two ; in the mean time, I am not for your company.
Evan. Old Creon, you have been expected
long; Sure you're above fourscore.
Sim. Upon my life,
Not four and twenty hours, my lord; I search'd The church-book yesterday. Does your grace
think
I'd let my father wrong the law, my lord ? Twere pity o' my life then ! no, your act Shall not receive a minute's wrong by him, While I live, sir; and he's so just himself too, I know he would not oifer't : — here he stands.
Creon. Tis just I die, indeed ; for I confess I am troublesome to life now, and the state Can hope for nothing worthy from me now, Either in force or counsel; I've o'iate Employ'd myself quite from the world, and he That once begins to serve his Maker faithfully, Can never serve a worldly prince well after ; 'Tis clean another way.
Ant. Oh, give not confidence To all he speaks, my lord, in his own injury. His preparation only for the next world, Makes him talk wildly, to his wrong, of this; He is not lost in judgment.
Sim. She spoils all again. [Aside.
Ant. Deserving any way for state employment.
Sim. Mother
THE OLD LAW.
Ant. His very household laws prescribed at
home by him,
Are able to conform seven Christian kingdoms, They are so wise and virtuous.
Sim. Mother, I say
Ant. I know your laws extend not to desert,
sir,
But to unnecessary years ; and, my lord, His are not such ; though they shew white,
they are worthy, Judicious, able, and religious.
Sim. Mother,
I'll help you to a courtier of nineteen. Ant. Away, unnatural ! Sim. Then I am no fool, sure, For to be natural at such a time Were a fool's part, indeed. Ant. Your grace's pity, And 'tis but fit and just.
Creon. The law, my lord, And that's the justest way.
Sim. Well said, father, i'faith ! Thou wert ever juster than my mother still. Evan. Come hither, sir. Sim. My lord.
Evan. What are those orders? Ant. Worth observation, sir, So please you hear them read.
Sim. The woman speaks she knows not what,
my lord : He make a law, poor man ! he bought a TABLE,
indeed, Only to learn to die by't, there's the business,
now ;
Wherein there are some precepts for a son too, How he should learn to live, but I ne'er look'd on't:
THE OLD LAW. ^ 489
For, when he's dead, I shall live well enough, And keep a hetter TABLE' than that, I trow.
Evan. And is that all, sir ?
Sim. All, I vow, my lord ; Save a few running admonitions
Upon cheese-trenchers,* as
Take heed of whoring, shun it; 'Tis like a cheese too strong of the. runmt. And such calves' maws of wit and admonition, Good to catch mice with, but not sons and heirs; They are not so easily caught.
Evan. Agent for death !
Crat. Your will, my lord ?
Evan. Take hence that pile of years, Forfeit9 before with unprofitable age,
7 And keep a better TABLE than that, I trow.] This wretched fellow is punning upon the word table, which, as applied to his father, meant a large sheet of paper, where precepts for the due regulation of life were set down in distinct lines; and, as applied to himself — that he would keep a better house, i.e. live more sumptuously than his father. Then? which the modern editors hare after table, and which destroys the metre, is not in the old copy.
8 Upon cheese trenchers^'] Before the general introduction of books, our ancestors were careful to dole out instruction in many ways : hangings, pictures, trenchers^ knives, wearing-ap parel, every thing, in a word, that was capable of containing a short sentence, was turned to account.
" These apophoreta, (says Puttenham, in his Art of English PoesiC)} we call posies, and do paint them now a dayes upon the back side of onrfruite-trenchers," &c. p. 47. And Salton. $tall observes of one of his characters, that " for talke hee commonly uses some proverbial verses, gathered perhaps from Cheese-trenchers.^ Pictures, by W. S. And thus George, in the Honest Whore: a Aye, but mistress, as one of our cheese* trenchers says very learnedly,
" As out of wormwood bees suck honey/' &c.
O. P. 3. 344.
Hence they are termed by Cartw right trencher analects.
9 Forfeit before with unprofitable age.~] Such I take to be the YOL. IV. * K k
490 THE OLD LAW.
And, with the rest, from the high promontory, Cast him into the sea.
Creon. 'Tis noble justice ! [Exit Cr at. with Cr eon.
Ant. 'Tis cursed tyranny !
Sim. Peace ! take heed, mother ; You've but short time to be cast down yourself; And let a young courtier do't, an you be wise, In the mean time.
Ant. Hence, slave !
Sim. Well, seven-and-fifty,1 You have but three years to scold, then comes your payment. [Exit Antigona.
1 Court. Simonides.
Sim. Pish, I'm not brave enough to hold you
talk yet, Give a man time, I have a suit a making.
2 Court. We love thy form first; brave clothes
will come, man. Sim. I'll make them come else, with a mischief
to them, As other gallants do, that have less left them.
[Recorders within. Evan. Hark ! whence those sounds ? what's
that?
] Court. Some funeral, It seems, my lord ; and young Cleanthes follows.
Enter a Funeral Procession; the hearse followed by CLEANTHES and HIPPO LITA, gaily dressed.
Evan. Cleanthes !
genuine reading : the old copy has surfeit, which was adopted by Coxeter ; and improved by Mr. M. Mason, by the insertioH of if/
Before it surfeit with unprofitable age ! 1 Well, seven-and fifty.] See p. 464.
THE OLD LAW. 491
2 Court. 'Tis, my lord, and in the place Of a chief mourner too, but strangely habited.
Evan. Yet suitable to his behaviour; mark it; He comes all the way smiling, do you observe it? I never saw a corse so joyfully followed : Light colours and light cheeks ! — who should
this be ? Tis a thing worth resolving.
Sim. One, belike, That doth participate this our present joy.
Evan. Cleanthes.
Clean. Oh, my lord !
Evan. He laugh'd outright now ; Was ever such a contrariety seen In natural courses yet, nay profess'd openly?
1 Court. I have known a widow laugh closely,
my lord,
Under her handkerchief, when t'other part Of her old face has wept like rain in sunshine ; But all the face to laugh apparently, Was never seen yet.
Sim. Yes, mine did once.
Clean. 'Tis, of a heavy time, the joyfulls't day That ever son was born to.
Evan. How can that be ?
Clean. I joy to make it plain, — my father's dead. •
Evan. Dead !
2 Court. Old Leonid es ! Clean. In his last month dead :
He beguiled cruel law the sweetliest,
That ever age was blest to.
It grieves me that a tear should fall upon't, Being a thing so joyful, but his memory Will work it out, I see; when his poor heart broke, I did not do so much: but leap'd for joy So mountingly, I touch'd the stars, methought; ** *Kk3
4,92 THE OLD LAW.
I would not hear of blacks, I was so light, But chose a colour, orient like my mind : For blacks are often sucb dissembling mourners, There is no credit given to't; it has lost All reputation by false sons and widows. Now I would have men know what I resemble, A truth, indeed ; 'tis joy clad like a joy, Which is more bonest than a cunning grief, That's only faced with sables for a show, But gawdy-hearted : When I saw death come So ready to deceive you, sir, — forgive me, I could not choose but be entirely merry, And yet to* see now ! — of a sudden, Naming but death, I shew myself a mortal, That's never constant to one passion long. I wonder whence that tear came, when 1 smiled In the production on't ; sorrow's a thief, That can, when joy looks on, steal forth a grief. But, gracious leave, my lord ; when I've per form 'd
My last poor duty to my father's bones, I shall return your servant.
•Evan. Well, perform it, The law is satisfied ; they can but die : And by his death, Cleanthes, you gain well, A rich and fair revenue.
[Flourish, Exeunt Duke, Courtiers, 8$c.
Sim. I would I had e'en Another father, condition he did the like.1
Clean. I have past it bravely now; how blest
was I, To have the duke in sight!4 now 'tis confirm 'd,
* And yet to see now /] So the old copy : Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason read, I know not why, — And yet too, see now.
3 _ condition he did the like.'] i. e. on conditioa :
a mode of speech adopted by all our old poets.
4 ,-——-, how bltat was I
THE OLD LAW.
493
Past fear or doubts confirm'd : on, on I say, Him that brought me to man, I bring to clay. .[Exit Funeral Procession, followed by C leant lies
and Hippolita.
Sim. I am rapt now in a contemplation, Even at the very sight of yonder hearse ; I do but think what a fine'thing 'tis now To live, and follow some seven uncles thus, As many-cousin-germans, and such people, That will leave legacies; pox! I'd see them
hang'd else, Ere I'd follow one of them, an they could find
the way.
Now I've enough to* begin to be horrible co vetous.
Enter Butler, Tailor, Bailiff, Cook, Coachman, and Footman.
But. We come to know your worship's plea sure, sir, Having long serv'd your father, how your good
will Stands towards our entertainment.
Sim. Not a jot, i'faith :
My father wore cheap garments, he might do't ; I shall have all my clothes come home to morrow,
To have the duke in sight 1] Coxeter printed, (after the old copy,) To have the dim sight : the variation in the text is from a conjecture of Mr. M. Mason. I suppose the manuscript had only the initial letter of duke, and the printer not knowing what t« make of d. in sight, corrected it into dim sight. These abbrevi ations are the source of innumerable errors.
5 Now I've enough to begin to be horrible covetous,] Th« modern editions have, Now I've enough I begin to be horribly covetous. I think there is more humour in the old reading.
494 THE OLD LAW.
They will eat up all you, an there were more of
you, sirs. To keep you si* at livery, and still munching !
Tail. Why, I'm a tailor ; you have most need of me, sir.
Sim. Thou mad'st my father's clothes, that I
confess ;
But what son and heir will have his father's tailor, Unless he have a mind to be well laugh'd at ? Thou'st been so used to wide long-side things,
that when I come to truss, I shall have the waist of my
doublet Lie on my buttocks, a sweet sight !
But. I a butler.
Sim. There's least need of thee, fellow; I shall ne'er drink at home, I shall be so drunk abroad.
But. But a cup of small beer will do well next morning, sir.
Sim. I grant you ; but what need I keep so big a knave for a cup of small beer?
Cook. Butler, you have your answer : marry,
sir, a cook I know your mastership cannot be without.
Sim. The more ass art thdu to think so ; for what should I do with a mountebank, no drink in my house? — the banishing the butler might have been a warning for thee, unless thou mean'st to choak me.
Cook. In the mean time you have choak'd me, methinks.
Bail. These are superfluous vanities, indeed, And so accounted of in these days, sir; But then, your bailiff to receive your rents
Sim. I prithee hold thy tongue, fellow, I shall take a course to spend them faster than thou
THE OLD LAW. 495
canst reckon them ; 'tis not the rents must serve my turn, unless I mean to be laugh'd at; if a man should be seen out of slash-me, let him ne'er look to be a right gallant. But, sirrah, with whom is your business ?
Coach. Your good mastership.
Sim. You have stood silent all this while, like
men That know your strengths : in these days, none
of you
Can want employment ; you can win me wagers,* Footman, in running races. Foot. I dare boast it, sir. Sim. And when my bets are all come in, and
store,
Then, coachman, you can hurry me to my whore. Coach. I'll firk them into foam else. Sim. Speaks brave matter : And I'll firk some too, or't shall cost hot water. [Exeunt Simonides, Coachman, and Footman. Cook. Why, here's an age to make a cook a
ruffian, And scald the devil indeed ! do strange mad
things,
Make mutton-pasties of dog's flesh. Bake snakes for lamprey pies, and cats for conies. - But. Come, will you be ruled by a butler's advice once ? for we must make up our fortunes somewhere now, as the case stands : let's e'en, therefore, go seek out widows of nine and fifty, an we can, that's within a year of their deaths, and so we shall be sure to be quickly rid of them ;
* . you can win me wagers,] So the old
copy: the modern editors read, you can win me wages! Sim. is too deep for me, in some parts of this miserable-merry dialogue; if, indeed, the merit of its obscurity be not rather owing to the ingenuity of the compositor.
496 THE OLD LAW,
for a year's enough of conscience to be troubled with a wife, for any man living.
Cook. Oracle butler! oracle butler! be puts down all the doctors o'the name/ [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Room in Creon's House. Enter EUGENIA and PARTIIENIA.
Eug. Parthenia.
Parth. Mother.
Eug. I shall be troubled *
This six months with an old clog ; would the law Had been cut one year shorter !
Parth. Did you call, forsooth ?
Eug. Yes, you must make some spoonmeat for your father, [Exit Parthenia*
And warm three nightcaps for him. Out upon't! The mere conceit turns a young woman's stomach. His slippers must be warm'd, in August too, And his gown girt to him in the very dog-days,
-7 He alludes to Dr. W. Butler, a very celebrated physician of Elizabeth's days. The oddity of his manners, the singularity of his practice, and the extraordinary cures which he performed, raised many strange opinions of him. " He never" (says Dr. Wittie,) " kept any apprentices for his business, nor any maid but a foole, and yet his reputation, thirty-five years after his death was still so great, that many empiricks got credit among the vulgar by claiming relation to him, as having served him, and learned much from him." He died at an advanced age in 1618.
* Eug. / shall be troubled^ &c.] Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason have absurdly printed this and the following speeches of Eugenia as prose. I cannot account for the motives which induced them to do so, as they are not only v«ry good metre, but are arranged as such in the old copy.
THE OLD LAW. 497
"When every mastiff lolls out's tongue for heat. Would not this vex a beauty of nineteen now? Alas ! I should be tumbling in cold baths now, Under each armpit a fine bean-flower bag,
To screw out whiteness when I list
And some sev'n of the properest men in the
dukedom
Making a banquet ready i'the next room for me; Where he that gets the first kiss is envied, And stands upon his guard a fortnight after. This is a life for nineteen ! 'tis but justice : For old men, whose great acts stand in their minds, And nothing in their bodies, do ne'er think A woman young enough for their desire; And we young wenches, that have mother-wits, And love to marry muck first, and man after, Do never think old men are old enough, That we may soon be rid o' them ; there's our
quittance.
I've waited for the happy hour this two years, And, if death be so unkind to let him live still, All that time I have lost.
Enter Courtiers.
1 Court. Young lady ! <2 Court. .O sweet precious bud of beauty ! Troth, she smells over all the house, methinks. 1 Court. The sweetbriar's but a counterfeit to
her
It does exceed you only in the prickle, But that it shall not long, if you'll be ruled, lady. Eug. What means this sudden visitation, gen tlemen ?
So passing well perfumed too ! who's your mil liner? 1 Court. Love, and thy beauty, widow.
498 THE OLD LAW.
Eug. Widow, sir?
1 Court. Tis sure, and that's as good: in troth
we're suitors ;
We come a wooing, wench ; plain dealing's best. Eug. A wooing ! what, before my husband's dead?
2 Court. Let's lose no time ; six months will
have an end ;
I know't by all the bonds that e'er I made yet. Eug. That's a sure knowledge; but it holds not
here, sir. v 1 Court. Do not we9 know the craft of you
young tumblers ?
That when you wed an old man, you think upon Another husband as you are marrying of him ; — We, knowing your thoughts, made bold to see
you.
Enter SIMONIDES richly drest, and Coachman.
Eug. How wondrous right he speaks ! 'twas my
thought, indeed. Sim. By your leave, sweet widow, do you lack
any gallants? Eug. Widow, again ! 'tis a comfort to be call'd
so.
1 Court. Who's this ? Simonides?
2 Court. Brave Sim, i'faith !
f 1 Court. Do not we know the craft of you young tumblers f That whenj/ow wed an old man, &c.J This speech has hitherto •tood thus: Don't you know the craft of your youn^ tumblers? That you wed an old man, &c. I have endeavoured to restore it to some degree of sense, by altering one word, and inserting another. To those who are acquainted with the deplorable state of the old copy, I shall easily stand excused for these and simi lar liberties, which, however, 1 have sparingly taken, and never but in the most desperate cases.
THE OLD LAW. 499
Sim. Coachman !
Coach. Sir.
Sim. Have an especial care of my new mares ; They say, sweet widow, he that loves ahorse well, Must needs love a widow well. — When dies thy
husband ? Is't not July next?
Eug. Oh, you are too hot, sir ! Pray cool yourself, and take September with you.
Sim. September ! oh, I was but two bows wide.
1 Court. Sim on ides.
Sim. I can entreat you, gallants, I'm in fashion too.
Enter LY SANDER.
Lys. Ha! whence this herd1 of folly ? what are your
Sim. Well-willers to your wife : pray 'tend
your book, sir ;
We've nothing to say to you, you may go die, For here be those in plgsee that can supply.
Lys. What's thy wild business here ?
Sim. Old man, I'll tell thee ; I come to beg the reversion of thy wife : I think these gallants be of my mind too, — But thou art but a dead man, therefore what should a man do talking with thee? Come, widow, stand to your tackling.
Lys. Impious blood-hounds !
Sim. Let the ghost talk, ne'er mind him.
Lys. Shames of nature !
1 Lys. Ha ! whence this herd of folly ? what are you ?] This is the reading of the old copy ; for which Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason strangely give us,
Ha ! whence this nnheard-of/o//j/ ? -what are you f
500 THE OLD LAW.
Sim. Alas, poor ghost ! consider what the
man is. Lys. Monsters unnatural ! you that have been
covetous Of your own father's death, gape you for mine
now?
Cannot a poor old man, that now can reckon Even all the hours he has to live, live quiet, For such wild beasts as these, that neither hold A certainty of good within themselves, But scatter others' comforts that are ripen'd For holy uses ? is hot youth so hasty, It will not give an old man leave to die, And leave a widow first, but will make one, The husband looking on ? May your destructions Come all in hasty figures to your souls ! Your wealth depart in haste, to overtake Your honesties, that died when you were infants ! May your male seed be hasty spendthrifts too, Your daughters hasty sinners, and diseased Ere they be thought at years to welcome misery! And may you never know what leisure is, But at repentance ! — I am too uncharitable, Too foul ; I must go cleanse myself with prayers. These are the plagues of fondness to old men, We're punish'd home with what we dote upon.
Sim. So, so ! the ghost is vanish 'd : now, your
answer, lady. Eug. Excuse me, gentlemen ; 'twere as much
impudence
In me, to give you a kind answer yet, As madness to produce a churlish one. I could say now, come a month hence, sweet
gentlemen,
Or two, or three, or when you will, indeed ; But I say no such thing : I set no time,
THE OLD LAW. ,501
Kor is it mannerly to deny any. I'll carry an even hand to all the world : Let other women make what haste they will, What's that to me ? but I profess unfeignedly, I'll have my husband dead before I marry ; Ne'er look for other answer at my hands.
Sim. Would he were hang'd, for my part, looks for other !
Eug. I'm at a word.
Sim. And I am at a blow, then ; I'll lay you o'the lips, and leave you.
[Kisses her.
1 Court. Well struck, Sim.
Sim. He that dares say he'll mend it, I'll strike him.
1 Court. He would betray himself to be a
botcher, That goes about to mend it.
Eug. Gentlemen,
You know my mind ; I bar you not my house : But if you choose out hours more seasonably, You may have entertainment.
Re-enter PARTHENIA.
Sim. What will she do hereafter, when she is a
widow, Keeps open house already ?
\Exeuni Simonides and Courtiers* Eug. How now, girl ! Parth. Those feather'd fools that hither took
their flight, Have grieved my father much.
Eug. Speak well of youth, wench, WThile thou'st a day to live; 'tis youth must
make thee, And when youth fails, wise women will make it ;
,502 THE OLD LAW.
But always take age first, to make thee rich : That was my counsel ever, and then youth Will make thee sport enough all thy life after. 'Tis the time's policy, wench ; what is't to bide A little hardness for a pair of years, or so ? A man whose only strength lies in his breath, Weakness in all parts else, thy bedfellow, A cough o'the lungs, or say a wheezing matter; Then shake off chains, and dance all thy life
after ?
Parth. Every one to their liking ; but I say An honest man's worth all, be he young or gray. Yonder's my cousin. [Exit.
Enter HIPPOLITA.
Eug. Art, I must use thee now ; Dissembling is the best help for a virtue, That ever women had ; it saves their credit oft.
Hip. How now, cousin ! What, weeping?
Eug. Can you blame me, when the time Of my dear love and husband now draws on ? I study funeral tears against the day I must be a sad widow.
Hip. In troth, Eugenia, I have cause to weep
too;
But, when I visit, I come comfortably, And look to be so quited :* — yet more sobbing ?
Eug. Oh !
The greatest part of your affliction's past, The worst of mine's to come ; I have one to die;
* And look to be so quited :] Mr. M. Mason reads — And look to be so far requited ! What he imagined he had gained by this harsh and unmetrical addition, is difficult to conjecture : the text is very good sense.
THE OLD LAW. 503
Your husband's father is dead, and fixed in his Eternal peace, past the sharp tyrannous blow. Hip. You must use patience, coz. Eug. Tell me of patience ! Hip. You have example for't, in me and many. Eug. Yours was a father-in-law, but mine a
husband :
O, for a woman that could love, and live With an old man, mine is a jewel, cousin; So quietly he lies by one, so still !
Hip. Alas ! I have a secret lodged within me, Which now will out in pity : — I cannot hold.
{Aside.
Eug. One that will not disturb me in my sleep For a whole month together, less it be With those diseases age is subject to, As aches, coughs, and pains, and these, heaven
knows,3
Against his will too : — he's the quietest man, Especially in bed. Hip. Be comforted. Eug. How can I, lady ? None know the terror of an husband's loss, But they that fear to lose him. Hip. Fain would I keep it in, but 'twill not
be;
She is my kinswoman, and I am pitiful. I must impart a good, if I know it once, To them that stand in need on't ; I'm like one Loves not to banquet with a joy alone, My friends must partake too, [Aside.} — Prithee, cease, cousin;
* As aches, coughs, and pains, and these, heaven Knows,] Hera again Mr. M. Mason wantonly sophisticates the text ; he reads, achs ; but the true word is that which stands above (aches), which was always used in Massinger's time as a dissyllable, and pronounced atch~es.
504 THE OLD LAW.
If your love be so boundless, which is rare, In a young woman, in these days, I tell you, To one so much past service as your husband, There is a way to beguile law, and help you ; My husband found it out first.
Eug. Oh, sweet cousin !
Hip. You may conceal him, and give out his
death
Within the time ; order his funeral too ; We had it so for ours, I praise heav'n for't, And he's alive and safe.
Eug. O blessed coz, How thou revivest me 1
Hip. We daily see
The good old man, and feed him twice a day. Methinks, it is the sweetest joy to cherish him, That ever life yet shew'd me.
Eug. So should I think, A dainty thing to nurse an old man well !
Hip. And then we have his prayers and daily
blessing ;
And we two live so lovingly upon it, His son and I, and so contentedly, You cannot think unless you tasted on't.
Eug. No, I warrant you. Oh, loving cousin, What a great sorrow hast thou eased me of? A thousand thanks go with thee !
Hip. I have a suit to you, I must not have you weep when I am gone.
[Exit.
Eug. No, if I do ne'er trust me. Easy fool, Thou hast put thyself into my power for ever; Take heed of angering of me : I conceal ! I feign a funeral ! I keep my husband ! 'Las! I've been thinking any time these two years, I have kept him too long already. — I'll go count o'er my suitors, that's my business,
THE OLD LAW. 505
And prick the man down; I've six month's to
clo't, But could dispatch it in one, were I put to't.
[Exit.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Before the Church. Enter GNOTHO and Clerk.
Gnoth, You have searched over the parish- chronicle, sir?
Clerk. Yes, sir; I have found out the true age and date of the party you wot on.
Gnoth. Pray you, be cover'd, sir.
Clerk. When you have shewed me the way, sir.
Gnoth. Oh, sir, remember yourself, you are a :lerk.
Clerk. A small clerk, sir.
Gnoth. Likely to be the wiser man, sir; for your greatest clerks are not always so, as 'tis re ported.
Clerk. You are a great man in the parish, sir.
Gnoth. I understand myself so much the better, sir; for all the best in the parish pay duties to the clerk, and I would owe you none, sir.
Clerk. Since you'll have it so, I'll be the first to hide my head.
Gnoth. vMine is a capcase : now to our busi ness in hand. Good luck, I hope; I long to be resolved.
VOL. iv. * L 1
506 THE OLD LAW.
Clerk. Look you, sir, this is that cannot de ceive you :
This is the dial that goes ever true ; You may say ipse dixlt upon this witness, And it is good in law too.
Gnoth. Pray you, let's hear what it speaks.
Clerk. Mark, sir. — Agatha, the daughter of Pollux, (this is your wife's name, and the name of her father,) born
Gnoth. Whose daughter, say you?
Clerk. The daughter of Pollux.
Gnoth. I take it his name was Bollux.
Clerk. Pollux the orthography I assure you, sir; the word is corrupted else.
Gnoth. Well, on sir, — of Pollux ; now come on, Castor.
Clerk. Born in an. 1540, and now 'tis 99. By this infallible record, sir, (let me see,) she's now just fifty-nine, and wants but one.
Gnoth. I am sorry she wants so much.
Clerk. Why, sir? alas, 'tis nothing; 'tis but so many months) so many weeks, so many
Gnoth. Do not deduct it to days,5 'twill be the more tedious ; and to measure it by hourglasses were intolerable.
Clerk. Do not think on it, sir; half the time goes away in sleep, 'tis half the year in nights.
Gnoth. O, you mistake me neighbour, I am
4 Clerk. Look you, «>, this is that cannot deceive you :] Which, inserted by the modern editors after that^ is perfectly iinne-* cessary ; as they might have discovered, long before they reached this part of their work.
5 Gnoth. Do not deduct it to days,] A Latinism, deducere, bring it down, or, reduce it to days. This absurdity of consult, ing the church book for the age, &c. may be kept in countenance by Beaumont and Fletcher, vol. 6th, p. 248. Indeed there are several passages in this play that resemble some in the Queen of Corinth.
THE OLD LAW. 507
loth to leave the good old woman ; if she were gone now it would not grieve me, for what is a year, alas, but a lingering torment ? and were it not better she were out of her pain? It must needs be a grief to us both.
Clerk. I would I knew how to ease you, neigh bour !
Gnoth. You speak kindly, truly, and if you say but Amen to it, (which is a word that I know you are perfect in,) it might be done. Clerks are the most indifferent honest men, — for to the marriage of your enemy, or the burial of your friend, the curses or the blessings to you are all one ; you say Amen to all.
Clerk. With a better will to the one than the other, neighbour: but I shall be glad to say Amen to any thing might do you a pleasure.
Gnoth. There is, first, something above your duty: [Gives him money.] now I would have you set forward the clock a little, to help the old woman out of her pain.
Clerk. I will speak to the sexton; but the day will go ne'er the faster for that.
Gnoth. Oh, neighbour, you do not conceit me, not the jack of the clock-house; the hand of the dial, I mean.— Come, I know you, being a great clerk, cannot choose, but have the art to cast a figure.
Clerk. Never, indeed, neighbour; I never had the judgment to cast a figure.
Gnoth. I'll shew you on the back side of your book, look you, — what figure's this ?
Clerk. Four with a cypher, that's forty.
Gnoth. So ! forty ; what's this, now ?
Clerk. The cipher is turned into 9 by adding the tail, which makes forty-nine.
Gnoth. Very well understood ; what is't now?
408 THE OLD LAW.
Clerk. The four is turn'd into three ; 'tis now thirty-nine.
Gnoth. Very well understood ; and can you do this again ?
Clerk. Oh ! easily, sir.
Gnoth. A wager of that ! let me see the place of my wife's age again.
Clerk. Look you, sir, 'tis here, 1540.
Gnoth. Forty drachmas, you do not turn that forty into thirty-nine.
Clerk. A match with you.
Gnoth. Done ! and you shall keep stakes your self: there they are.
Clerk. A firm match — but stay, sir, now I con sider it, I shall add a year to your wife's age ; let me see — Sdrophorion the 17, — and now 'tis Hecatombaion the 11.* If I alter this, your wife will have but a month to live by law.
Gnoth. That's all one, sir ; either do it, or pay me my wager.
Clerk. Will you lose your wife before you lose your wager?
Gnoth. A man may get two wives before half so much money by them ; will you do it?
Clerk. I hope you will conceal me, for 'tis flat corruption.
Gnoth. Nay, sir, I would have you keep counsel ; for I lose my money by't, and should be laugh'd at for my labour, if it should be known.
Clerk. Well, sir, there ! — 'tis done ; as perfect a 39 as can be found in black and white : but mum, sir, — there's danger in this figure-casting.
6 Scirophorion, Hccatombaion, and, soon after, December ; what a medley ! This miserable ostentation of Greek literature is, I believe, from the pen of Middleton, who was *J a piece" of a scholar.
THE OLD LAW. , 509
Gnoth. Ay, sir, I know that: better men than you have been thrown over the bar for as little ; the best is, you can be but thrown out of the belfry.
Enter the Cook, Tailor, Bailiff, and Butler.
Clerk. Lock close, here comes company ;7 asses have ears as well as pitchers.
Cook. Oh, Gnotho, how is't? here's a trick of discarded cards of us ! we were rank'd with coats, as long as old master lived.*
Gnoth. And is this then the end, of serving- men?
Cook. Yes, 'faith, this is the end of serving-men : a wise man were better serve one God than all the men in the world.
Gnoth. 'Twas well spoke of a cook. And are all fallen into fasting-days and Ember-weeks, that cooks are out of use ?
TaiL And all tailors will be cut into lists and shreds; if this world hold, we shall grow both out of request.
But. And why not butlers as well as tailors ? if they can go naked, let them neither eat nor drink.
Clerk. That's strange, methinks, a lord should turn away his tailor, of all men : — and how dost thou, tailor?
TaiL I do so, so; but, indeed, all our wants are long of this publican, my lord's bailiff; for
5 Lock close, here comes company ;] So the old copy : the modern editors read- — Look close, which has no meaning.
» This alludes to those games, in which the low cards were thrown out ; coats were what" we call court cards. The end of serving-men, which occurs in the next speech, is the title of an old ballad.
510 THE OLD LAW.
had he been rent-gatherer still, our places had held together still, that are now seam-rent, nay crack'd in the whole piece.9
Bail Sir, if my lord had not sold his lands that claim his rents, I should still have been the rent- gatherer.
Cook. The truth is, except the coachman and the footman, all serving-men are out of request.
Gnoth. Nay, say not so, for you were never in more request than now, for requesting is but a kind of a begging ; for when you say, I beseech your worship's charity, 'tis all one as if you say I request it ; and in that kind of requesting, I am sure serving-men were never in more request.
Cook. Troth, he says true : well, let that pass, we are upon a better adventure. I see, Gnotho, you have been before us ; we came to deal with this merchant for some commodities.
Clerk. With me, sir? any thing that I can.
But. Nay, we have looked out our wives al ready : marry, to you we come to know the prices, that is, to know their ages ; for so much reverence we bear to age, that the more aged, they shall be the more dear to us,
Tail. The truth is, every man has laid by his widow ; so they be lame enough, blind enough, and old enough, 'tis good enough.
Clerk. I keep the town-stock ; if you can but name them, I can tell their ages to a day.
9 If the reader wanted any additional proof that no part of this scene was written by Massinger, he might find it in this punning on the terms used by tailors : in these, and similar conceits he takes no pleasure. It is wretched stuff; and would almost lead one to think that it was the production of the stage, in its nonage, and not fairly attributable to any of the trium- virate.
THE OLD LAW. 511
All. We can tell their fortunes to an hour, then.
Clerk. Only you must pay for turning of the leaves.
Cook. Oh, bountifully. — Come, mine first.
But. The butler before the cook, while you live ; there's few that eat before they drink in a morning.
Tail. Nay, then the tailor puts in his needle of priority, for men do clothe themselves before they either drink or eat.
Bail. I will strive for no place ; the longer ere I marry my wife, the older she will be, and nearer her end and my ends.
Clerk. I will serve you all, gentlemen, if you will have patience.
Gnoth. I commend your modesty, sir; you are a bailiff, whose place is to come behind other men, as it were in the bum of all the rest.
Bail. So, sir ! and you were about this business too, seeking out for a widow ?
Gnoth. Alack ! no sir ; I am a married man, and have those cares upon me that you would fain run into.-
• Bail. What, an old rich wife ! any man in this age desires such a care..
Gnoth. Troth, sir, I'll put a venture with you, if you will; I have a lusty old quean to my wife, sound of wind and limb, yet I'll give out to take three for one at the marriage of my second wife.
Bail. Ay, sir, but how near is she to the law ?
Gnoth. Take that at hazard, sir; there must be time, you know, to get a new. Unsight, unseen, I take three to one.
Bail, Two to one I'll give, if she have but two teeth in her head.
512 THE OLD LAW.
Gnoth. A match ; there's five drachmas for ten at my next wife.
Bail. A match.
Cook. I shall be fitted bravely: fifty-eight, and upwards ; 'tis but a year and a half, and I may chance make friends, and beg a year of the duke.
But. Hey, boys ! I am made sir butler ; my wife that shall be wants but two months of her time ; it shall be one ere I marry her, and then the next will be a honey moon.
Tail. I outstrip you all ; I shall have but six weeks of Lent, if I get my widow, and then comes eating-tide, plump and gorgeous.
Gnoth. This tailor will be a man, if ever there were any.
Bail. Now comes my turn, I hope, goodman Finis, you that are still at the end of all, with a so be it. Well now, sirs, do you venture there as I have done ; and I'll venture here after you: Good luck, I beseech thee !
Clerk. Amen, sir.
Bail. That deserves a fee already — there 'tis ; please me, and have a better.
Clerk. Amen, sir.
Cook. How, two for one at your next wife I is the old one living ?
Gnoth. You have a fair match, I offer you no foul one ; if death make not haste to call her, she'll make none to go to him.
But. I know her, she's a lusty woman ; I'll take the venture.
Gnoth. There's five drachmas for ten at my next wife.
But. A bargain.
Cook. Nay, then we'll be all merchants : give me.
THE OLD LAW. 513
Tail. And me.
But. What, has the bailiff sped?
Bail. I am content; but none of you shall know my happiness.
Clerk. As well as any of you all, believe it, fcir.
Bail. Oh, clerk, you are to speak last always.
Clerk. I'll remember't hereafter, sir. You have done with me, gentlemen ?
Enter AGATHA.
AIL For this time, honest register.
Clerk. Fare you well then ; if you do, I'll cry Amen to it1 [Exit.
Cook. Look you, sir, is not this your wife ?
Gnoth. My first wife, sir.
But. Nay, then we have made a good match on't ; if she have no froward disease, the woman may live this dozen years by her age.
Tail. I'm afraid she's broken- winded, she holds silence so long.
Cook. We'll now leave our venture to the event ; I must a wooing.
But. I'll but buy me a new dagger, and over take you.
Bail. So we must all; for he that goes a wooing
to a widow without a weapon, will never get her.
[Exeunt all but Gnotho and Agatha.
Gnoth. Oh, wife, wife !
Aga. What ail you, man, you speak so passi onately ? 9
Gnoth. Tis for thy sake, sweet wife : who
1 Clerk, fare you well then ; if you do, I'll cry Amen to if."] i. e. if you fare well: — but this is a sad abuse of criticism.
* Aga. What aUyou, man, you speak &o passionately ?] i. e. so plaintively, so sorrowfully. See p. 466.
,514 THE OLD LAW.
would think so lusty an old woman, with reason able good teeth, and her tongue in as perfect use as ever it was, should be so near her time ? — but the Fates will have it so.
Aga. What's the matter, man ? you do amaze me.
Gnoth. Thou art not sick neither, I warrant thee.
Aga. Not that I know of, sure.
Gnoth. What pity 'tis a woman should be so near her end, and yet not sick !
Aga. Near her end, man ! tush, I can guess at
that;
I have years good yet of life in the remainder : I want two yet at least of the full number ; Then the law, I know, craves impotent and use less, And not the able women.
Gnoth. Ay, alas^ I see thou hast been repair ing time as well as thou couldst; the old wrinkles are well filled up, but the vermilion is seen too thick, too thick — and I read what's written in thy forehead; it agrees with the church-book.
Aga. Have you sought my age, man ? and, I prithee, how is it?
Gnoth. I shall but discomfort thee.
Aga. Not at all, man, when there's no remedy, I will go, though unwillingly.
Gnoth. 1539- Just ; it agrees with the book : you have about a year to prepare yourself.
Aga. Out, alas ! I hope there's more than so. But do you not think a reprieve might be gotten for half a score — an 'twere but five years, I would not care ? an able woman, methinks, were to be pitied.
Gnoth. Ay, to be pitied, but not help'd; no
THE OLD LAW, 515
hope of that : for, indeed, women have so blemish d their own reputations now-a-days, that it is thought the law will meet them at fifty very shortly.
Aga. Marry, the heavens forbid ! Gnoth. There's so many of you, that, when you are old, become witches ; some profess phy sic, and Yill good subjects faster than a burning fever ; and then school-mistresses of the sweet sin, which commonly we call bawds, innumerable of that sort : for these and such causes 'tis thought they shall not live above fifty.
Aga. Ay, man, but this hurts not the good old women.
Gnoth. Faith, you are so like one another, that a man cannot distinguish them : now, were I an old woman, I would desire to go before my time, and offer myself willingly, two or three years before. Oh, those are brave women, and worthy to be commended of all men in the world, that, when their husbands die, they run to be burnt to death" with them : there's honour and credit ! give me half a dozen such wives.
Aga. Ay, if her husband were dead before, 'twere a reasonable request; if you were dead, I could be content to be so.
Gnoth. Fie ! that's not likely, for thou hadst two husbands before me.
Aga. Thou wouldst not have me die, wouldst thou, husband?
Gnoth. No, I do not speak to that purpose ; but I say what credit it were for me and thee, if thou wouldst; then thou shouldst never be suspected for a witch, a physician, a bawd, or any of those things : and then how daintily should I mourn, for thee, how bravely should I see thee buried ! when, alas, if he goes before, it cannot choose but
516 THE OLD LAW.
be a great grief to him to think he has not seen his wife well buried. There be such virtuous women in the world, but too few, too few, who desire to die seven years before their time, with all their hearts.
Aga. I have not the heart to be of that mind ; but, indeed, husband, I think you would have me gone.
Gnoth, No, alas ! I speak but for your good and your credit; for when a woman may die quickly, \rhy should she go to law for her death ? Alack, I need not wish thee gone, for thou hast but a short time to stay with me : you do not know how near 'tis, — it must out; you have but a month to live by the law.
Aga. Out, alas !
Gnoth. Nay, scarce so much.
Aga. Oh, oh, oh, my heart ! [Swoons.
Gnoth. Ay, so ! if thou wouldst go away quietly, 'twere sweetly done, and like a kind wife; lie but a little longer, and the bell shall toll for thee.
Aga. Oh my heart, but a month to live !
Gnoth. Alas, why wouldst thou come back again for a month? I'll throw her down again— oh ! woman, 'tis not three weeks; I think a fort night is the most.
Aga. Nay, then I am gone already. [Swoons.
Gnoth. I would make haste to the sexton now, but I am afraid the tolling of the bell will wake her again. If she be so wise as to go now — she stirs again ; there's two lives of the nine gone.
Aga. Oh ! wouldst thou not help to recover me, husband ?
Gnoth. Alas, I could not find in my heart to hold thee by thy nose, or box thy cheeks; it goes against my conscience.
THE OLD LAW. 517
Aga. I will not be thus frighted to my death, I'll search the church records : a fortnight ! 'Tis too little of conscience, I cannot be so near; O time, if thou be'st kind, lend me but a year.
[Exit.
Gnoth. What a spite's this, that a man cannot persuade his wife to die in any time with her good will ? I have another bespoke already ; though a piece of old beef will serve to break fast, yet a man would be glad of a chicken to supper. The clerk, I hope, understands no He brew, and cannot write ^backward what he hath writ forward already, and then I am well enough. Tis but a month at most, if that were gone, My venture comes in with her two for one : 'Tis use enough o' conscience for a broker — if he had a conscience. [Exit.
SCENE II.3
A Room in Creon's House.
Enter EUGENIA at one door, SIMON IDES and Courtiers at the other.
Eug. Gentlemen courtiers.
1 Court. All your vow'd servants, lady.
Eug. Oh, I shall kill myself with infinite
laughter! Will nobody take my part?
Sim. An't be a laughing business,
3 This scene is also printed as prose by the modern editors. Coxeter seems to have been very capricious in his notions of metre, for he has here (as well as in too many other places) deserted the original. Mr. M. Mason is only accountable his want of attention.
518 THE OLD LAW.
Put it to me, I'm one of the best in Europe ; My father died last too, I have the most cause.
Eug. You have pick'd out such a time, sweet
gentlemen, To make your spleen a banquet.
Sim. Oh, the jest !
Lady, I have a jaw stands ready for't, I'll gape half way, and meet it.
JEug. My old husband,
That cannot say his prayers out for jealousy, And madness at your coming first to woo me —
Sim. Well said.
1 Court. Go on,
52 Court. On, on.
Eug. Takes counsel with The secrets of all art, to make himself Youthful again.
Sim. How ! youthful ? ha, ha, ha !
Eug. A man of forty-five he would fain seem
to be,
Or scarce so much, if he might have his will, indeed.
Sim. Ay, but his white hairs, they'll betray his hoariness.
Eug. Why, there you are wide : he's not the
man you take him for, Nor will you know him when you see him
again ; There will be five to one laid upon that.
1 Court. How !
Eug. Nay, you did well to laugh faintly there ; I promise you, I think he'll outlive me now, And deceive law and all.
Sim. Marry, gout forbid !
Eug. You little think he was at fencing-school At four o'clock this morning.
Sim. How, at fencing-school !
THE OLD LAW. 519
Eug. Else give no trust to woman.
Sim, By this light,
I do not like him, then ; he's like to live Longer than I, for he may kill me first, now.
Eug. His dancer now came in as I met you.
1 Court. His dancer, too !
Eug. They observe turns and hours with him; The great French rider will be here at ten, With his curveting horse.
2 Court. These notwithstanding,
His hair and wrinkles will betray his age.
Eug. I'm sure his head and beard, as he has
order'd it,
Look not past fifty now : he'll bring't to forty Within these four days, for nine times an hour He takes a black lead comb, and kembs it over: Three quarters of his beard is under fifty ; There's but a little tuft of fourscore left, All o'one side, which will be black by Monday.
Enter LYSANDER.
And, to approve my truth, see where he comes ! Laugh softly, gentlemen, and look upon him.
[They go aside. Sim. Now, by this hand, he's almost black i'the
mouth, indeed.
1 Court. He should die shortly, then. Sim. Marry, methinks he dies too fast already, For he was all white but a week ago.
1 Court. Oh! this same coney-white takes an
excellent black. Too soon, a mischief on't !
2 Court. He will beguile
Us all, if that little tuft northward turn black too. Eug. Nay, sir, I wonder 'tis so long a turning.
520 THE OLD LAW.
Sim. May be some fairy's child held forth at
midnight,
Has piss'd upon that side. 1 Court. Is this the beard ? Lys. Ah, sirrah? my young boys, I shall be for
you :
This little mangy tuft takes up more time Than all the beard beside. Come you a wooing, And I alive and lusty? you shall find An alteration, jack-boys ; I have a spirit yet, (An I could match my hairto't, there's the fault,)4 And can do offices of youth yet lightly ; At least, I will do, though it pain me a little. Shall not a man, for a little foolish age, Enjoy his wife to himself? must young court
tits
Play tomboys' tricks with her^ and he live? ha ! I have blood that will not bear't ; yet, I confess, I should be at my prayers — but where's the
dancer, there !
Enter Dancing-master.
Mast. Here, sir.
Lys. Come, come, come, one trick a day, And I shall soon recover all again.
Eug. 'Slight, an you laugh too loud, we are all
discover'd. Sim. And I have a scurvy grinning laugh
o'mine own,
Will spoil all, I am afraid. Eug. Marry, take heed, sir.
4 (An I could match my hair t<?t, t hire's the fault,)] i. c there's the misfortune : this is a further confirmation of what is said upon the subject, rol. ii. p. 98.
THE OLD LAW. 521
Sim. Nay, an I should be hang'd I cannot leave
it;
Pup !— there 'tis. [Bursts into a laugh.
JEug. Peace ! oh peace ! Lys. Come, I am ready, sir. I hear the church-book's lost where I was born
too,
And that shall set me back one twenty years ; There is no little comfort left in that : And — then my three court-codlings, that look parboil'd,
As if they came from Cupid's scalding-house
Sim. He means me specially, I hold my life. Mast. What trick will your old worship learn
this morning, sir ? Lys. Marry, a trick, if thou couldst teach a
man,
To keep his wife to himself; I'd fain learn that. Mast. That's a hard trick, for an old man spe cially; The horse- trick comes the nearest.
Lys. Thou say'st true, i'faith, They must be horsed indeed, else there's no
keeping them,
And horse-play at fourscore is not so ready. Mast. Look you, here's your worship's horse- trick,5 sir. [Gives a spring. Lys. Nay, say not so,
'Tis none of mine ; I fall down horse and man, If I but offer at it.
Mast. My life for yours, sir.
Lys. Say'st thou me so ? [Springs aloft.
5 Here's your worship's horse-trick,] Some rough curvetting is here meant, but I know not the precise motion. The word occurs in a Woman killed with Kindness. " Though we be but country fellows, it may be, in the way of dancing, we can do the horse- trick as well as the serving-men." A. 1.
VOL. iv. * M m
522 THE OLD LAW.
Mast. Well offer'd, by my viol, sir.
Lys. A pox of this horse-trick ! 't has play'd
the jade with me, And given me a wrench rthe back.
Mast. Now here's your inturn, and your trick
above ground.
Lys, Prithee, no more, unless thou hast a mind To lay me under-ground ; one of these tricks Is enough in a morning.
Mast. For your galliard, sir, You are complete enough, ay, and may challenge The proudest coxcomb of them all, I'll stand to't. Lys. Faith, and I've other weapons for the rest
too :
I have prepared for them, if e'er I take My Gregories here again. Sim. Oh ! I shall burst, I can hold out no longer.
Eug. He spoils all. [They come forward.
Lys. The devil and his grinners ! are you come?
Bring forth the weapons^ we shall find you play;
All feats of youth too, jack-boys, feats of youth,
And these the weapons, drinking, fencing,
dancing :* Your own road-ways, you clyster-pipes ! I am
old, you say,
Yes, parlous old, kids, an you mark me well ! This beard cannot get children, you lank suck- eggs,
Unless such weasels come from court to help us. We will get our own brats, you letcherous dog- bolts !
' Andttese th£ weapons, drinking, fencing^ dancing:] This line, which describes what the feats of youth are, and without which the subsequent speeches cannot be understood, is wholly omitted by Mr. M. Mason.
THE OLD LAW. 523
Enter a Servant with foils, and glasses.
Well said, down with them ; now we shall see
your spirits.
What ! dwindle you already ? Q Court. I have no quality. Sim. Nor I, unless drinking may be reckoned
for one.
1 Court. Why, Sim, it shall. Lys. Come, dare you choose your weapon now?
1 Court. I ? dancing, sir, an you will be so
hasty. Lys. We're for you, sir.
2 Court. Fencing, I.
Lys. We'll answer you too.
Sim. I am for drinking; your wet weapon
there. Lys. That wet one has cost many a princox
life ;
And I will send it through you" with a powder ! Sim. Let it come, with a pox ! I care not, so't
be drink.
I hope my guts will hold, and that's e'en all A gentleman can look for of such trillibubs/ Lys. Play the first weapon ; come strike, strike,
I say.
Yes, yes, you shall be first; I'll observe court rules :
7 of such trillibubs.] This seem*
to be a cant word for any thing of a trifling nature : I meet with it again in Shirley —
" But I forgive thee, and forget thy tricks 61 And trillibubs." Hyde Park.
* M m 2
524 THE OLD LAW.
Always the worst goes ^foremost, so 'twill prove, I hope. [1 Courtier dances a galliard.*
So, sir! you've spit your poison; now come I. Now, forty years go backward and assist me, Fail from me half my age, but for three minutes, That I may feel no crick ! I will put fair for't, Although I hazard twenty sciaticas. [Dances. So, I have hit you.
1 Court. You've done well, i'faith, sir. Lys. If you confess it well, 'tis excellent,
And I have hit you soundly ; I am warm now : The second weapon instantly.
2 Court. What, so quick, sir ?
Will you not allow yourself a breathing-time ? Lys. I've "breath enough at all times, Lucifer's
musk-cod,
To give your perfumed worship three venue's : A sound old man puts his thrust better home, Than a spiced young man : there I. ^They fence. 2 Court. Then have at you, fourscore. Lys. You lie, twenty, I hope, and you shall
find it. Sim. I'm glad I miss'd this weapon, I'd had an
eye
Popt out ere this time, or my two butter-teeth Thrust down my throat instead of a flap-dragon.
* 1 Courtier dances a galliard.] A galliard is described by sir John Davis, as a swift and wandering dance, with lofty turns and capriols in the air; and so very proper to prove the strength and activity of Lysander.
Jt is still more graphically described, as Mr. Gilchrist ob serves, in Burton's Anat. of Melancholy : " Let them take their pleasures, young men and maides flourishing in their age, fair and lovely to behold, well attired and of comely carriage, dan. cing a Greeke Galliarde, and, as their dance required, kept their time, now turning, now tracing, now apart, now altogether, now a curtesie, then a caper, $c., that it was a pleasant sight." Fol. 1632.
THE OLD LAW. 525
Lys. There's two, pentweezle. [Hits him.
Mast. Excellently touch'd, sir.
2 Court. Had ever man such luck ! speak your
opinion, gentlemen. Sim. Methinks your luck's good that your
eyes are in still ; Mine would have dropt out like a pig's half
roasted. .
Lys. There wants a third — and there it is again ! [Hits him again.
2 Court. The devil has steel'd him. Eug. What a strong fiend is jealousy ! Lys. You are dispatch'd, bear-wheip. Sim. Now comes my weapon in. Lys. Here, toadstool, here.
'Tis you and I must play these three wet venue's.
Sim. Venue's in Venice glasses ! let them come,
They'll hruise no flesh, I'm sure, nor break no
bones. 2 Court. Yet you may drink your eyes out,
sir.
Sim. Ay, but that's nothing ; . Then they go voluntarily : I do not Love to have them thrust out, whether they will
or no.
Lys. Here's your first weapon, duck's-meat. Sim. How! a Dutch what-do-you-cail-'em, Stead of a German faulchion ! a shrewd weapon, And, of all things, hard to be taken down: Yet down it must, I have a nose goes into't; I shall drink double, I think. 1 Court. The sooner off, Sim.
Lys. I'll pay you speedily, with a trick9
I learnt once amongst drunkards, here's a half- pike. [Drinks.
9 Lysan. I'll pay you speedily > with a tricky &c.]
526 THE OLD LAW.
Sim. Half-pike comes well after Dutch what-
clo-you-call-'em, They'd never be asunder by their good will.1
1 Court. Well pull'd of an old fellow !
Lys. Oh, but your fellows Pull better at a rope.
1 Court. There's a hair, Sim, In that glass.
Sim. An't be as long as a halter, down it goes; No hak shall cross me. [Drinks.
Lys. I'll make you stink worse than your pole cats do : Here's long-sword, your last weapon.
[Offers him the glass,
Sim. No more weapons.
1 Court. Why, how now, Sim ? bear up, thou
shamest us all, else. Sim. 'Slight I shall shame you worse, an I stay
longer.
I have got the scotomy in my head already,* The whimsey : you all turn round — do not you
dance, gallants ?
2 Court. Pish ! what's all this ? why, Sim, look,
the last venu6.
Lysander gives them all harsh names — here he bestows one on Simonides, which the delicacy or fear of the old publisher would not permit him to hazard in print : tant mieux.
1 This stuff is not worth explaining ; but the reader, if he has any curiosity on the subject, may amply gratify it by a visit to Pantagruel and his companions on the Isle Ennasin. Below, there is a miserable pun upon hair— the crossing of an hare was ominous.
4 / have got the scotomy in my head already,] The scotomy (a-Korupct) is a dizziness or swimming in the bead. Thus Jonson:
" Corb. How does he with the swimming of his head ? " Mos. O, sir, 'tis past the scotomy : he now " Hath lost his feeling," &c. The Fox.
THE OLD LAW. 527
Sim. No more venues go down here, for these
two Are coming up again.
2 Court.^Out ! the disgrace of drinkers !
Sim Yes, 'twill out, Do you smell nothing yet ?
1 Court Smell !
Sim. Farewell quickly, then; You will do, if I stay. " [Exit.
1 Court. A foil go with thee !
Lys. What, shall we put down youth at her
own virtues ?
Beat folly in her own ground? wondrous much! Why may not we he held as full sufficient To love our own wives then, get our own children, And live in free peace till we be dissolv'd, For such spring butterflies that are gaudy-wing'd, But no more substance than those shamble flies Which butchers' boys snap between sleep and
waking ? Come but to crush you once, you are but
maggots, For all your beamy outsides !
Enter CLEANTHES.
Eug Here's Cleanthes, He comes to chide ; — let him alone a little, Our cause will be revenged ; look, look, his face Is set for stormy weather ; do but mark How the clouds gather in it, 'twill pour down
straight. Clean. Methinks, I partly know you, that's my
grief.
Could you not all be lost ? that had been hand some ;
But to be known at all, 'tis more than shameful. Why, was not your name wont to be Lysander?
528 THE OLD LAW.
Lys. Tis so still, coz.
Clean. Judgment, defer thy coming ! else this
man's miserable.
Eug. I told you there would be a shower anon^ 2 Court. We'll in, and hide our noddles.
[Exeunt Eugenia and Courtiers. Clean. What devil brought this colour to your
mind, Which, since your childhood, I ne'er saw you
wear ?
[Sure] you were ever of an innocent gloss Since I was ripe for knowledge, and would you
lose it,
And change the livery of saints and angels For this mixt monstrousness : to force a ground That has been so long hallowed like a temple, To bring forth fruits of earth now; and turn back To the wild cries of lust, and the complexion Of sin in act, lost and long since repented ! Would you begin a work ne'er yet attempted, To pull time backward ?
See what your wife will do ! are your wits perfect ? Lys. My wits ! Clean. I like it ten times worse, for't had been
safer
Now to be mad,3 and more excusable : I hear you dance again, and do strange follies. Lys. I must confess I have been put to some>
coz. Clean. And yet you are not mad ! pray, say
not so ;
Give me that comfort of you, that you are mad, That I may think you are at worst ; for if You are not rnad, I then must guess you have
3 for't had been safer
Now to be mad, &c.] Minns est insania turpis. There ar« many traits of Massinger in this part of the scene.
THE OLD LAW. 530,
The first of some disease was never beard of, Which may be worse than madness, and more
fearful :
You'd weep to see yourself else, and your care To pray, would quickly turn you white again. I had a father, had he lived his month out, But to have seen this most prodigious folly, There needed not the law to have him cut off; The sight of this had proved his executioner, And broke his heart : he would have held it equal Done to a sanctuary, — for what is age But the holy place of life, chapel of ease For all men's wearied miseries? and to rob That of her ornament, it is accurst4 As from a priest to steal a holy vestment, Ay, and convert it to a sinful covering.
[Exit Lysander.
I see 't has done him good ; blessing go with it, Such as may make him pure again.
Re-enter EHGENIA.
Eug. Twas bravely touch'd, i' faith, sir.
Clean. Oh, you are welcome.
Eug. Exceedingly well handled.
Clean. Tis to you I come ; he fell but in my
way. Eug. You mark'd his beard, cousin ?
4 it is accurst] The editors are
nearly arrived at the conclusion of their labours, yet they areas far from any acquaintance with the manner of their author, as they were at setting out; they both insert as before accurst; though it spoils the metre, and was not the language of the time. It would be unpardonable to pass over this admirable speech without calling the reader's attention to the concluding lines : the conception is happy, and the expression beautiful in. the. highest degree.
530 THE OLD LAW.
Clean. Mark me.
Eug. Did you ever see a hair so changed ?
Clean. I must be forced to wake her loudly too, The devil has rock'd her so fast asleep: — Strumpet!
Eug. Do you call, sir ?
Clean. Whore ! > Eug. How do you, sir ?
Clean. Be I ne'er so well, I must be sick of thee ; thou art a disease That stick'st to the heart, — as all such women are.
Eug. What ails our kindred ?
Clean. Bless me, she sleeps still ! What a dead modesty is in this woman, Will never blush again ! Look on thy work But with a Christian eye, 'twould turn thy heart Into a shower of blood, to be the cause Of that old man's destruction, think upon't, Ruin eternally ; for, through thy loose follies, Heaven has found him a faint servant lately : His goodness has gone backward, and engender'd With his old sins again ; he has lost his prayers, And all the tears that were companions with
them :
And like a blind-fold man, (giddy and blinded,) Thinking he goes right on still, swerves but one
foot,
And turns to the same place where he set out ; So he, that took his farewell of the world, And cast the joys behind him, out of sight, Summ'd up his hours, made even with time and
men,
Is now in heart arrived at youth again, All by thy wildness : thy too hasty lust Has driven him to this strong apostacy. Immodesty like thine was never equall'd : I've heard of women, (shall I call them so ?)
THE OLD LAW. 531
Have welcomed suitors ere the corpse were cold ; But thou, thy husband living : — thou'rt too bold.
Eug. Well, have you done now, sir ?
Clean. Look, look ! she smiles yet.
Eug. All this is nothing to a mind resolved ; Ask any woman that, she'll tell you so much : You have only shewn a pretty saucy wit, Which I shall not forget, nor to requite it. You shall hear from me shortly.
Clean. Shameless woman ! I take my counsel from thee, 'tis too honest, And leave thee wholly to thy stronger master : Bless the sex o'thee from thee ! that's my prayer. Were all like thee, so impudently common, No man would e'er be found to wed a woman.
[Exit.
Eug. I'll fit you gloriously. He that attempts to take away my pleasure, I'll take away his joy ;5 and I can sure. His conceal'd father pays for't : I'll e'en tell Him that I mean to make my husband next, And he shall tell the duke — mass, here he comes.
Re-enter SIMONIDES.
Sim. He has had a bout with me too. Eug. What! no? since, sir?6
5 I'll take ai»ay his joy ; and I can sure.] So the old copy ; Coxeter sophisticated this passage very awkwardly, he reads,
.- and I can 'sure him
His conceal'd father pays for't!
The pretty aphaeresis ('sure for assure,} and the vulgar running of the sentence into the next line, might have raised suspicions in an ordinary editor that the text was incorrect : but Mr. M. Mason was not an ordinary editor ; if Coxeter be right, it is well ; if not, he looks no further.
6 Eug. What! no? since, sir?'] So the quarto. Coxeter reads,
332 THE OLD LAW.
Sim. A flirt, a little flirt ; he call'd me strange
names. But I ne'er minded him.
Eug. You shall quit him, sir, When he as little minds you.
Sim I like that well.
I love to be revenged when no one thinks of me ; There's little danger that way. •
Eug. This is it then ;
He you shall strike your stroke shall be profound, And yet your foe not guess who gave the wound.
Sim. O' my troth I love to give such wounds.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
4 Before a Tavern.
Enter GNOTHO, Butler, Bailiff, Tailor, Cookx Drawer, and Courtezan.
Draw. Welcome, gentlemen, will you not draw near? will you drink at door, gentlemen?
But. Oh ! the summer air is best.
Draw. What wine will't please you drink, gentlemen?
But, De Clare, sirrah. [Exit Drawer.
Gnoth. What, you're all sped already, bullies?
Cook. My widow's o' the spit, and half ready, lad ; a turn or two more, and 1 have done with her;
Gnoth Then, cook, I hope you have basted her before this time.
What? no since, sir ? and Mr. Mason, always correcting in the wrong place, What ? not since, sir !
THE OLD LAW. 53S
Cook. And stuck her with rosemary too, to sweeten her; she was tainted ere she came to my hands. What an old piece of flesh of fifty- nine, eleven months, and upwards ! she must needs be fly-blown.
Gnoth. Put her off, put her off, though you lose by her ; the weather's hot.
Cook. Why, drawer!
Re-enter Drawer.
Draw. By and by:— here, gentlemen, here's the quintessence of Greece; the sages never drunk better grape.
Cook. Sir, the mad Greeks of this age can taste their Palermo as well as the sage Greeks did before them. —Fill, lick-spiggot.
Draw. Ad imum, sir.
Gnoth. My friends, I must doubly invite you all, the fifth of the next month, to the funeral of my first wife, and to the marriage of my second, my two to one; this is she.
Cook. I hope some of us will be ready for the funeral of our wives by that time, to go with thee : but shall they be both of a day ?
Gnoth, Oh! best of all, sir; where sorrow and joy meet together, one will help away with another the better. Besides, there will be charges saved too ; the same rosemary that serves for the funeral, will serve for the wedding.
But. How long do you make account to be a widower, sir?
Gnoth. Some half an hour; long enough o'con- science. Come, come, let's have some agility; is there no music in the house ?
Draw. Yes, sir, here are sweet wire-drawers in the house.
534, THE OLD LAW.
Cook. Oh ! that makes them and you seldom part ; you are wine-drawers, and they ^ire- drawers.
Tail. And both govern hy the pegs too.
Gnoth. And you have pipes in your consort too.
Draw. And sack-huts too, sir.
But. But the heads of your instruments differ; yours are hogs-heads, theirs cittern and gittern- heads.
Bail. All wooden heads; there they meet again.
Cook. Bid them strike up, we'll have a dance, Gnotho ; come, thou shalt foot it too.
[Exit Drawer.
Gnoth. No dancing with me, we have Siren here.
Cook. Siren! 'twas Hiren, the fair Greek, man.
Gnoth. Five drachmas of that. I say Siren, the fair Greek, and so are all fair Greeks.
Cook. A match; five drachmas her name was Hiren.
Gnoth. Siren's name was Siren, for five drachmas.
Cook. 'Tis done.
Tail. Take heed what you do, Gnotho.
Gnoth. Do not I know our own countrywomen, Siren and Nell of Greece, two of the fairest Greeks that ever were ?
Cook. That Nell was Helen of Greece too.
Gnoth. As long as she tarried with her hus band, she was Ellen; but after she came to Troy, she was Nell of Troy, or Bonny Nell, whether you will or no.
Tail. Why, did she grow shorter when she came to Troy ?
Gnoth. She grew longer,7 if you mark the story.
f Gnoth. She grew longer, &c.] This miserable trash., which is quite silly enough to be original, has yet the merit of being
THE OLD LAW. 535
When she grew to be an ell, she was deeper than any yard of Troy could reach by a quarter; there was Cressid was Troy weight, and Nell was avoir dupois; she held more, by four ounces, than Cressida.
Bail. They say she caused many wounds to be given in Troy.
Gnoth. True, she was wounded there herself, and cured again by plaister of Paris; and ever since that has been used to stop holes with.
Re-enter Drawer.
Draw. Gentlemen, if you be disposed to be merry, the music is ready to strike up; and here's a consort of mad Greeks, I know not whether they be men or women, or between both; they have, what do you call them, wizards on their faces.
Cook. Vizards, good man lick-spiggot.
But. If they be wise women, they may be wizards too.
Draw. They desire to enter amongst any merry company of gentlemen-good-fellows, for a strain or two.
Enter old Women* and AGATHA in masks.
Cook. We'll strain ourselves with them, say; let them come, Gnotho; now for the honour of Epire !
copied from Shakspeare. The reader who has a taste for nice ties of this kind will find, upon examination, that Massinger's assistants have improved upon the indecency, if not the filth, of their original.
, 8 Enter Old Women.'] The stage direction in Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason is, Enter Old W&mcn. Gnotho's dance. The former
536 THE OLD LAW.
Gnoth. No dancing with me, we have Siren here.
[A dance by the old Women and Agatha; they offer to take the men, all agree except Gnotho, who sits with the Courtezan.
Cook. Ay ! so kind ! then every one his wench to his several room ; Gnotho, we are all provided now as you are.
[Exeunt all but Gnotho, Courtezan, and Agatha.
Gnoth. I shall have two, it seems: away! I have Siren here already.
Aga. What, a mermaid ?9 [Takes off her mask.
Gnoth. No, but a maid, horse-face : oh, old woman ! is it you r
Aga. Yes, 'tis I; all the rest have gulled them selves, and taken their own wives, and shall know that they have done more than they can well answer ; hut I pray you, husband, what are you doing ?
Gnoth. Faith, thus should I do, if thou wert dead, old Ag, and thou hast not long to live, I'm sure : we have Siren here.
Aga. Art thou so shameless, whilst I am living, to keep one under my nose?
Gnoth. No, Ag, I do prize her far above thy nose ; if thou wouldst lay me both thine eyes in iny hand to boot, I'll not leave her : art not ashamed to be seen in a tavern, and hast scarce
editor had carelessly taken the name from the speech of the Cook, and the latter ridiculously continued the blunder, though he must have seen that Gnotho is the only person who does not dance.
9 Aga. What., a mermaid?] The mermaids of the writer's time had succeeded to the Syrens of the ancients, and possessed all thtir musical as well as seductive qualities. Mermaid also was one of the thousand cant terms which served to denote a strum pet; and to this, perhaps, Agatha alludes.
i
THE OLD LAW. 537
a fortnight to live? oh, old woman, what art thou ? must thou find no time to think of thv end?
Aga. O, unkind villain !
Gnoth. And then, sweetheart, thou shalt have two new gowns; and the best of this old woman's shall make thee raiment for the working days.
Aga. O, rascal ! dost thou quarter my clothes already too?
Gnoth. Her ruffs will serve thee for nothing but to wash dishes ; for thou shalt have thine1 of the new fashion.
Aga. Impudent villain ! shameless harlot !
Gnoth. You may hear, she never wore any but rails all her lifetime.
Aga. Let me come, I'll tear the strumpet from him.
Gnoth. Dar'st thou call my wife strumpet, thou preterpluperfect tense of a woman ! I'll make thee do penance in the sheet thou shalt be buried in ; abuse my choice, my two-to-one !
Aga. No, unkind villain, I'll deceive thee yet, I have a reprieve for five years of life ; I am with child.
Court. Cud so, Gnotho, I'll not tarry so 1-ong; five years ! I may bury two husbands by that time.
Gnoth. Alas ! give the poor woman leave to talk, she with child ! ay, with a puppy : as long as I have thee by me, she shall not be with child, I warrant thee.
Aga. The law, and thou, and all, shall find I am with child.
» , for thou shalt have thine of the new fashion.] The
old copy reads— nine of the new fashion : I have little doubt but the word which I have inserted is the genuine one. VOL. IV. * N 11
538 THE OLD LAW.
Gnoth. I'll take my corporal oath I begat it not, and then thou diest for adultery.
Aga. No matter, that will ask some time in the proof.
Gnolh. Oh ! you'd be stoned to death, would you ? all old women would die o* that fashion with all their hearts ; but the law shall overthrow you the other way, first.
Court. Indeed, if it be so, I will not linger so long, Gnotho.
Gnoth. Away, away ! some botcher has got it; 'tis but a cushion, I warrant thee : the old woman is loth to depart ;* she never sung other tune in her life.
Court. We will not have our noses bored with a cushion, if it be so.
Gnoth. Go, go thy ways, thou old almanack at the twenty-eighth day of December, e'en al most out of date ! Down on thy knees, and make thee ready ; sell some of thy clothes to buy thee
* The old woman is loth to depart ;] There was anciently both a tune and a dance of this name ; to the former of which Gnotho alludes. In Wit at several Weapons^ the old copy has —
" Pompcy. Hum, hum, hum ! He hum* loth to depart." On which the editors observe that a the impropriety of putting this passage into Pompey's mouth is evident upon the bare mention, as it unquestionably belongs to the next speaker." And to the next speaker they boldly give it ! but they did not understand their author. The last part of the quotation is merely a marginal direction, and the passage in future should be thus regulated :
4i Pomp. Hum, hum, hum!
[He hums Loth to Depart."
The same expression occurs in the Man's the Master of
D*A?cnant, where the modern editors have also misunderstood
it. " You'd fain stay to sing loth to depart."
Tt is also mentioned in that old and popular ballad, Arthur of Bradley :
" Then Will, and his sweetheart " Did call for Loth to depart," &c.
THE OLD LAW.
539
a death's head, and put upon thy middle finger: your least considering bawd does so much ; be not thou worse, though thou art an old woman, as she is : I am cloy'd with old stock-fish, here's • a young perch is sweeter meat by half; prithee, die before thy day, if thou canst, that thou mayst not be counted a witch.
Aga. No, thou art a witch, and I'll prove it; I said I was with child, thou knew'st no other but by sorcery: thou said'st it was a cushion, and so it is ; thou art a witch for't, I'll be sworn to't.
Gnoth. Ha, ha, ha ! I told thee 'twas a cushion. Go, get thy sheet ready; we'll see thee buried as we go to church to be married.
[Exeunt Gnotho and Courtezan.
Aga. Nay, I'll follow thee, and shew myself a wife. I'll plague thee as long as I live with thee ; and I'll bury some money before I die>3 that my ghost may haunt thee afterward. [Exit.
3 And I'll bury some money before I die, &c.] This, as every one knows, was an infallible method of causing the person who did it, to walk after death. It is not unpleasant to remark how often one folly is counteracted by another : — but for this salutary persuasion, which was once very prevalent, much money would have been lost to the community in troublesome times. This petty superstition is dignified by the adoption of Shakspeare ; it is also frequently found in other writers of his ' age. Thus Shirley :
" I do but think how some like ghosts will walk
" For money surely hidden."
Again :
" Call this a churchyard, and imagine me " Some wakeful apparition 'mong the graves, " That, for some treasure buried in my life
" Walk up and down thus."
The Wedding.
* N-n.-S
540 THE OLD LAW.
SCENE II.
The Country. A Forest.
Enter CLEANTHES.
Clean. What's that? oh, nothing but the whis pering wind Breathes through yon churlish hawthorn, that
grew rude,
As if it chid the gentle breath that kiss'd it. I cannot be too circumspect, too careful ; For in these woods lies hid all my life's treasure, Which is too much never to fear to lose, Though it be never lost : and if our watchfulness Ought to be wise and serious 'gainst a thief That comes to steal our goods, things all without
us,
That prove vexation often more than comfort; How mighty ought our providence to be, To prevent those, if any such there were, That come to rob our bosom of our joys, That only make poor man delight to live ! Pshaw ! I'm too fearful— fie, fie ! who can hurt
me?
But 'tis a general cowardice, that shakes The nerves of confidence ; he that hides trea sure,
Imagines every one thinks of that place, When 'tis a thing least minded ; nay, let him
change
The place continually ; where'er it keeps, There will the fear keep still : yonder's the
storehouse Of all my comfort now — and see ! it sends forth
THE OLD LAW. 541
Enter HIPPOLITA,//WZ the wood.
A dear one to me :— Precious chief of women, How does the good old soul ? has he fed well ? Hip. Beshrew me, sir, he made the heartiest
meal to day — Much good may't do his health.
Clean. A blessing on thee, Both for thy news and wish !
Hip. His stomach, sir,
Is better'd wondrously, since his concealment. Clean. Heaven has a blessed work in't. Come,
we are safe here ; I prithee call him forth, the air's much whole-
somer. Hip. Father!
Enter LEON IDES.
Leon. How sweetly sounds the voice of a good
woman !
It is so seldom heard, that, when it speaks, It ravishes all senses. Lists of honour ! I've a joy weeps to see you, 'tis so full, So fairly fruitful.
Clean. I hope to see you often and return4 Loaded with blessings, still to pour on some ; I find them all in my contented peace,
4 Clean. I hope to see you often and return
Loaded with blessings^] Often and return, for often return, is a mode of speech so familiar to Massingcr, that we might almost affirm this exquisite scene to be his, if we could maintain any thing with confidence in this most incorrect publication. Be it whose it may, however, it makes large amends for the dull and tedious buffoonery of the former part of this act.
THE OLD LAW.
And lose not one in thousands, they are dis-
perst
So gloriously, I know not which are brightest. I find them, as angels are found, by legions : First, in the love and honesty of a wife, Which is the chiefest of all .temporal blessings ; Next in yourself, which is the hope and joy Of all my actions, my affairs, my wishes ; And lastly, which crowns all, I find my soul Crown'd with the peace of them, the eternal
riches, Man's only portion for his heavenly marriage !
Leon. Rise, thou art all obedience, love, and
goodness.
I dare say that which thousand fathers cannot, And that's my precious comfort, never son Was in the way more of celestial rising : Thou art so made of such ascending virtue, That all the powers of hell can't sink thee.
[A horn sounded within.
Clean. Ha!
Leon. What was't disturb'd my joy ?
Clean. Did you not hear, As afar off?
Leon. What, my excellent comfort?5
Clean. Nor you ?
Hip* I heard a [A horn.
Clean. Hark, again !
6 Leon. What, my excellent comfort ?] The old copy has consort, which induced Coxeter to give the speech to Hippolita. I have little doubt but that the mistake is in this word, which should be comfort as it stands in the text : by this term the fond parent frequently addresses his children. In the mouth of l^oonides too, it forms a natural reply to the question of Cieanthes, who then turns to make the same demand of his wife.
* THE OLD LAW. 543
Leon. Bless my joy, What ails it on a sudden ?
Clean. Now ? since lately ?
Leon. Tis nothing but a symptom of thy care, man.
Clean. Alas ? you do not hear well.
Leon. What was't, daughter ?
Hip. I heard a sound, twice. [A horn.
Clean. Hark ! louder and nearer : In, for the precious good of virtue, quick, sir ! Louder and nearer yet ! at hand, at hand !
[Exit Leonides.
A hunting here ? 'tis strange ! I never knew Game followed in these woods before.
Enter EVANDER, SIMONIDES, Courtiers, and CRATILUS.
Hip. Now let them come, and spare not. Clean. Ha ! 'tis — is't not the duke ? — look
sparingly. Hip. 'Tis he, but what of that ? alas, take heed,
sir,
Your care will overthrow us. Clean. Come, it shall not : Let's set a pleasant face upon our fears, Though our hearts shake with horror.— Ha, ha,
ha!
Evan. Hark 1 Clean. Prithee, proceed ; I am taken with these light things infinitely, Since the old man's decease ; ha ! —so they part ed ? ha, ha, ha ! Evan. Why, how should I believe this ? lookx
he's merry
As if he had no such charge : one with that care
54* THE OLD LAW.
Could never be so ; still he holds his temper, And 'tis the same still (with no difference) He brought his father's corpse to the grave with ; He laugh'd thus then, you know.
1 Court. Ay, he may laugh, That shews but how he glories in his cunning ; And is, perhaps, done more to advance his wit, That only he has over-reach'd the law, Than to express affection to his father.
Sim. He tells you right, my lord, his own
cousin-german
IleveaPd it first to me ; a free-tongued woman, And very excellent at telling secrets.
Evan. If a contempt can be so neatly carried, It gives me cause of wonder.
Sim. Troth, my lord,
'Twill prove a delicate cozening, I believe : I'd have no scrivener offer to come near it.
Evan. Cleanthes.
Clean. My loved lord.
Evan. Not moved a whit, Constant to lightness still !* Tis strange to meet
you
Upon a ground so unfrequented, sir r This does not fit your passion ; you're for mirth, Or I mistake you much.
Clean. But finding it Grow to a noted imperfection in me, For any thing too much is vicious, I come to these disconsolate walks, of purpose; Only to dull and take away the edge on't. I ever had a greater zeal to sadness, A natural propension, I confess, Before that cheerful accident fell out —
* Constant to lightness still /] The old copy reads — Constant to lightening still I the emendation by Mr. M. Mason.
THE OLD LAW. 545
If I may call a father's funeral cheerful, Without wrong done to duty or my love.
Evan. It seems, then, you take pleasure in these walks, sir.
Clean. Contemplative content I do, my lord : They bring into my mind oft meditations So sweetly precious, that, in the parting, I find a shower of grace upon my cheeks, They take their leave so feelingly.
Evan. So, sir!
Clean. Which is a kind of grave delight, my lord.
Evan. And I've small cause, Cleanthes, to
afford you The least delight that has a name.
Clean. My lord !
Sim. Now it begins to fadge.
\ Court. Peace ! thou art so greedy, Sim,
Evan. In your excess of joy you have express'd Your rancour and contempt against my law: Your smiles deserve a fining; you have profess'd Derision openly, e'en to my face, Which might be death, a little more incensed. You do not come for any freedom here, But for a project of your own : — But all that's known to be contentful to thee, Shall in the use prove deadly. Your life's mine, If ever your presumption do but lead you Into these walks again, — ay, or that woman; I'll have them watched o' purpose.
[Cleanthes retires from the wood, followed by Hippolita.
1 Court. Now, now, his colour ebbs and flows.
Sim. Mark her's too.
Hip. Oh, who shall bring food to the poor old
man, now ! Speak somewhat, good sir, or we're lost for ever.
546 THE OLD LAW.
Clean. Oh, you did wonderous ill to call me
again.
There are not words to help us ; if I entreat, 'Tis found ; that will betray us worse than silence 'J Prithee let heaven alone, and let's say nothing.
1 Court* You have struck them dumb, my lord,
Sim. Look how guilt looks ! I would not have that fear upon my flesh, To save ten fathers.
Clean. He is safe still, is he not ?
Hip. Oh, you do ill to doubt it.
Clean. Thou art all goodness.
Sim. Now does your grace believe ?
Evan. Tis too apparent.
Search, make a speedy search ; for the imposture Cannot be far off, by the fear it sends.
Clean. Ha!
Sim. He has the lapwing's cunning, I am afraid, That cries most when she's furthest from the nest.8
Clean. Oh, we are betray'd.
7 ... _ if I entreat,
'Tis found; that will betray us worse than silence ;] The sense of this, and, indeed, of the whole speech, is sufficiently clear. You should not have called me back, says Cleanthes; no words can help us, for if I beseech the duke to suffer me to remain here, the secret will be discovered; entreaties will be worse than silence, for by these his suspicions will be confirmed. This, however, does not satisfy Mr. M. Mason, who chooses to mo- dernize it in this way :
— — if I entreat^ 9Tis sound that will betray us 'worse than silence;
8 Sim. He has the lapwing's cunning , I am afraid.
That cries most when she's furthest from the nest.] Our old poets abound in allusions to this stratagem of the lapwing: thus Jonson :
" He that knows, will like a lapwiitg fly " Far from the nest, and so himself belie " To others," &c. Underwoods.
THE OLD LAW. 547
Hip. Betray'd, sir !
Sim. See, my lord, It comes out more and more still.
[Simonides and Courtiers enter the wood.
Clean. Bloody thief!
Come from that place ; 'tis sacred, homicide ! Tis not for thy adulterate hands to touch it.
Hip. Oh miserable virtue, what distress Art thou in at this minute !
Clean. Help me, thunder, For my power's lost ! angels, shoot plagues, and
help me !
Why are these men in health, and I so heart-sick? Or why should nature have that power in me To levy up a thousand bleeding sorrows, And not one comfort ? only make me lie Like the poor mockery of an earthquake here, Panting with horror,
And have not so much force in all my vengeance, To shake a villain off me.
Re-enter SJTVIONIDES and Courtiers with LEONIDES.
Hip. Use him gently, And heaven will love you for it.
Clean. Father ! oh father ! now I see thee full In thy affliction ; thou'rt a man of sorrow, But reverendly becom'st it, that's my comfort: Extremity was never better graced, Than with that look of thine; oh! let me look
still, For I shall lose it ; all my joy and strength
[Kneelsi
Is e'en eclipsed together: I transgress'd Your law, my lord, let me receive the sting on't ;
548 THE OLD LAW.
Be once just, sir, and let the offender die: He's innocent in all, and I am guilty.
Leon. Your grace knows, when affection only
speaks,
Truth is not always there ; his love would draw An undeserved misery on his youth, And wrong a peace resolv'd, on both parts sinful. Tis I am guilty of my own concealment, And, like a worldly coward, injured heaven With fear to go to't : — now I see my fault, I am prepared with joy to suffer for it.
Evan. Go, give him quick dispatch, let him
see death :
And your presumption, sir, shall come to judg ment.
[Exeunt Evander, Courtiers, Simonides ; and Cratilus with Leonides.
Hip. He's going ! oh, he's gone, sir !
Clean. Let me rise.
Hip. Why do you not then, and follow ?
Clean. I strive for it,
Is there no hand of pity that will ease me, And take this villain from my heart awhile ?
[Rises.
Hip. Alas ! he's gone.
Clean. A worse supplies his place then, A weight more ponderous ; I cannot follow.
Hip. Oh misery of affliction !
Clean. They will stay
Till I can come ; they must be so good ever, Though they be ne'er so cruel : My last leave must be taken, think of that, And his last blessing given ; I will not lose That for a thousand consorts.
Hip. That hope's wretched.
Clean. The unutterable stings of fortune ! All griefs are to be born save this alone,
THE OLD LAW. 549
This, like a headlong torrent, overturns The frame of nature : For he that gives us life first, as a father, Locks all his natural sufferings in our blood, The sorrows that he feels are our heart's too, They are incorporate to us.
Hip. Noble sir !
Clean. Let me behold thec well.
Hip. Sir!
Clean. Thou should'st be good, Or thou'rt a dangerous substance to be lodged So near the heart of man.
Hip. What means this, dear sir ?
Clean. To thy trust only was this blessed
secret
Kindly committed, 'tis destroy'd, thou seest; What follows to be thought on't?
Hip. Miserable !
Why, here's the unhappiness of woman still : That, having forfeited in old times her trust, Now makes their faiths suspected that are just.
Clean. What shall I say to all my sorrows then, That look for satisfaction ?
Enter EUGENIA.
Eug. Ha, ha, ha! cousin.
Clean. How ill dost thou become this time !
Eug. Ha, ha, ha !
Why, that's but your opinion ; a young wench Becomes the time at all times. Now, coz, we are even : an you be remember'd, You left a strumpet and a whore with me, And such fine field- bed words, which could not
cost you Less than a father.
Clean. Is it come that way?
550 THE OLD LAW.
Eug. Had you an uncle, He should go the same way too.
Clean. Oh eternity, What monster is this fiend in labour with?
Eug. An ass-colt with two heads, that's she
and you :
I will not lose so glorious a revenge, Not to be understood in't; I betray'd him ; And now we are even, you'd best keep you so.* Clean. Is there not poison yet enough to kill
me ? Hip. Oh, sir, forgive me ; it was I betray'd
him.
Clean. How ! Hip. I. Clean. The fellow of my heart ! 'twill speed
me, then. Hip. Her tears that never wept, and mine own
Even cozen 'd me together, and stole from me This secret, which fierce death should not have
purchased. Clean. Nay, then we are at an end ; all we are
false ones,
And ought to suffer. I was false to wisdom, In trusting woman ; thou wert false to faith, In uttering of the secret ; and thou false To goodness, in deceiving such a pity : We are all tainted some way, but thou worst, And for thy infectious spots ought'st to die first.
[Offers to kill Eugenia. Eug. Fray turn your weapon, sir, upon your
mistress, I come not so ill friended : — rescue, servants !
9 And now we are even, you'd best keep you so.] I know not how Mr. M, Mason understood this line, but he altered you to him!
THE OLD LAW. 551
Re-enter SIMONIDES and Courtiers.
' Clean. Are you so whorishly provided ?
Sim. Yes, sir, 'She has more weapons at command than one.
Eug. Put forward, man, thou art most sure to have me.
Sim. I shall he surer, if I keep hehind, though.
Eug. Now, servants, shew your loves.
Sim. I'll shew my love, too, afar off.
Eug. I love to be so courted, woo me there.
Sim. I love to keep good weapons, though
ne'er fought with. I'm sharper set within than I am without.
Hip. Oh gentlemen ! Cleanthes !
Eug. Fight ! upon him !
Clean. Thy thirst of blood proclaims thee now a strumpet.
Eug. 'Tis dainty, next to procreation fitting; I'd either be destroying men or getting.
Enter Guard,
1 Officer. Forbear, on your allegiance, gentle men.
He's the duke's prisoner, and we 'seize upon him To answer this contempt against the law.
Clean. I obey fate in all things.
Hip. Happy rescue !
Sim. I would you'd seized upon him a minute sooner, it had saved me a cut finger.; I wonder how I came by't, for I never put my hand forth, I'm sure ; I think my own sword did cut it; if truth were known; may be the wire in. the handle : I have lived these five and twenty years and never knew what colour my blood was
552 THE OLD LAW.
before. I never durst eat oysters, nor cut peck- loaves.
Eug. You've shewn your spirits, gentlemen ;
but you Have cut your finger.
Sim. Ay, the wedding-finger too, a pox on't !
Court. You'll prove a bawdy bachelor, Sim, to have a cut upon your finger, before you are married.
Sim. I'll never draw sword again, to have such a jest put upon me. [Exeunt.
ACTV. SCENE I.
A Court of Justice.
Enter SIMON IDES and Courtiers, sword and mace carried before them.
Sim. Be ready with your prisoner ; we'll sit
instantly,
And rise before eleven, or when we please ; Shall we not, fellow-judges ?
1 Court. Tis committed
All to our power, censure, and pleasure, now ; The duke hath made us chief lords of this sessions, And we may speak by fits, or sleep by turns.
Sim. Leave that to us, but, whatsoe'er we do, The prisoner shall be sure to be condemn'd ; Sleeping or waking, we are resolved on that, Before we sit upon him ?
2 Court. Make you question
THE OLD LAW. 553
If not ?-rCleanthes ! and an2 enemy !
Nay a concealer of his father too !
A vile example in these days of youth.
Sim. If they were given to follow such ex amples ;
But sure I think they are not : howsoever, 'Twas wickedly attempted ; that's my judgment, And it shall pass whilst I am in power to sit. Never by prince were such young judges made, But now the cause requires it : if you mark it, He must make young or none ; for all the old ones He hath sent a fishing— and my father's one, I humbly thank his highness
Enter EUGENIA.
1 Court. Widow!
Eug. You%almost hit my name now, gentlemen ; You come so wonderous near it, I admire you For your judgment.
Sim. My wife that must be ! She.
Eug. My husband goes upon his last hour now.
1 Court. On his last legs, I am sure, Sim. September the seventeenth —
I will not bate an hour on't, and to morrow His latest hour's expired.
2 Court. Bring him to judgment;
a 2 Court. Make you question
If not ? — Cleantltes ! and an enemy !
Nay, a concealer of his father too !] The old copy reads,
Make you question If not Cleanthes and one enemy — which Coxeter printed, though he conjectured it ahbuld be,
Make you question If not Cleanthes is our enemy !
while Mr. M. Mason gravely pronounces that, stand our enemy, is nearer to the original I
VOL. IV * O O
554, THE OLD LAW.
The jury's panelPd, and the verdict given
Ere he appears ; we have ta'en a course for that,
Sim. And officers to attach the gray young man, The youth of fourscore : Be of comfort, lady, You shall no longer bosom January ; For that I will take order, and provide For you a lusty April.
Eug. The month that ought, indeed, To go before May.
1 Court. Do as we have said, Take a strong guard, and bring him into court. Lady Eugenia, see this charge performed, That, having his life forfeited by the law, He may relieve his soul,
Eug. Willingly.
From shaven chins never came better justice Than these ne'er touch'd by razor.3 [Exit.
Sim. What you do,
Do suddenly, we charge you, for we purpose To make but a short sessions : — a new business !
Enter HIPPOLITA.
1 Court. The fair Hippolita ! now what's your suit?
Hip. Alas ! I know not how to style you yet j To call you judges doth not suit your years, Nor heads and beards4 shew more antiquity ; — Yet sway yourselves with equity and truth,
3 From shaven chins never came better justice
Than these ne'er touch'd by razor.] This is the conjectural emendation <?f Mr. M. Mason : the old copy reads — Than these new tucht by reason; which, though not absolutely void of meaning, is so poor, in comparison of the substitution in the text, that few doubts can remain as to the propriety of the exchange.
* To call ya&jttdgtt doth not suit your years9
THE OLD LAW. 555
And Fll proclaim you reverend, and repeat Once in my lifetime I have seen grave heads Placed upon young men's shoulders,
2 Cottrt. Hark ! she flouts us, And thinks to make us monstrous.
Hip. Prove not so ;
For yet, methinks, you bear the shapes of men ; (Though nothing more than merely beauty serves To make you appear angels,) but if you crimson Your name and power with blood and cruelty, Suppress fair virtue, and enlarge bold vice,5 ,-i Both against heaven and nature, draw your sword, Make either will or humour turn the soul' Of your created greatness, and in that Oppose all goodness, I must tell you there You are more than monstrous ; in the very act, You change yourselves to devils.
1 Court. She's a witch ; Hark ! she begins to conjure.
Sim. Time, you see,
Is short, much business now on foot: — shall I Give her her answer?
Nor heads and beards she1® more antiquity ; — ] Mr. M. Ma«-
son reads,
To call you Judges doth not suit your years, Nor heads ; and brains shew more antiquity : It is etident that he did not comprehend the sense, which, though ill conceived and harshly expressed, is — You have not the years of judges, nor do your headS and beards (old copy brains) shew more of age.
5 and enlarge bold vice?] The quarto
has, of old vice, of which the former editors have made old ; but I know not in what sense vice could here be termed old. This speech has suffered both by alterations and interpolations. I have thrown out the one, and reformed the other.
6 furn the soul] So the old copy: Coxeter
and Mr. M. Mason read, turn the scale, which has neither the spirit nor the sense of the original. * O O 52
556 THE OLD LAW.
2 Court. None upon the bench, More learnedly can do it.
Sim. He, he, hem ! then list : I wonder at thine impudence, young huswife, That thou darest plead for such a base offender. Conceal a father past his time to die! What son and heir would have done this but he ?
1 Court. I vow, not I.
Hip. Because ye are parricides ; And how can comfort be derived from such That pity not their fathers ?
2 Court. You are fresh and fair; practise young
women's ends ; When husbands are distress'd, provide them
friends.
Sim. I'll set him forward for thee without fee : Some wives would pay for such a courtesy. Hip. Times of amazement ! what duty, good ness dwell 7
I sought for charity, but knock at hell. [Exit.
Re-enter EUGENIA, and Guard with LYSANDER.
Sim. Eugenia come ! command a second guard To bring Cleanthes in ; we'll not sit long ; My stomach strives to dinner.1
Eug. Now, servants, may a lady be so bold To call your power so low ?
7 Hip. Times of amazement ! what duty, goodness dwell — ] Mr. M. Mason takes this for a complete sentence, and would read, Where do you goodness dwell? In any case the alteration would be too violent ; but none is needed here. Hippolita sees the woman who betrayed her approaching, breaks off her intended speech with an indignant observation, and hastily retires from the court.
8 My stomach strives to dinner.] This is sense, and therefore I have not tampered with it : the author probably wrote, My stomach strikes to dinner.
THE OLD LAW. 557
Sim. A mistress may,
She can make all things low; then in that language ' There can be no offence.
Eug. The time's now come Of manumissions, take him into bonds, And I am then at freedom.
2 Court. This the man ! He hath left off o' late to feed on snakes ; His beard's turn'd white again.
1 Court. Is't possible these gouty legs danced
lately, And shatter'd in a galliard?
Eug. Jealousy And fear of death can work strange prodigies.
2 Court. The nimble fencer this, that made me
tear
And traverse 'bout the chamber ? Sim. Ay, and gave me
Those elbow healths, the hangman take him for't!
They'd almost fetch'd my heart out : the Dutch what-you-call,
I swallow 'd pretty well ; but the half-pike
Had almost pepper'd me ; but had I ta'en long- sword,
Being swollen, I had cast my lungs out
A Flourish. Enter EVANDER and CRATILUS.
1 Court. Peace, the duke !
Evari Nay, back9 t' your seats: who's that?
s» Evan. Nay, back V your seats:'] The old copy reads, Nay, bathe your seats, out of which Mr. ML Mason formed keep, Davis, take; and every one may make what he can. I believe the young men were pressing forward to receive the duke, and that his exclamation was, as above, Nay, back t' your seats.
Coxeter has changed almost all the speakers in this scene ; some of them indeed were evidently wrong, bu-t I can see no
558 THE OLD LAW.
2 Court. May't please your highness, it is old
Ly sander. Evan. And brought in by his wife ! a worthy
precedent
Of one that no way would offend the law. And should not pass away without remark. You have been look'd for long.
Lys. But never fit
To die till now, my lord. My sins and I Have been but newly parted ; much ado I had to get them leave me, or be taught That difficult lesson how to learn to die. I never thought there had been such an act, And 'tis the only discipline we are born for : All studies else are but as circular lines, And death the centre where they must all meet. I now can look upon thee, erring woman, And not be vex'd with jealousy ; on young men, And no way envy their delicious health, Pleasure, and strength; all which were once mine
own,
And mine must be theirs one day. Evan. You have tamed him. Sim. And know how to dispose him; that, my
liege,
Hath been before determined. You confess Yourself of full age ?
Lys. Yes, and prepared to inherit
Eug. Your place above. Sim. Of which the hangman's strength Shall put him in possession. Lys. Tis still cared1
reason for giving the duke's second speech to SimonidesJ as it i* in perfect unison with his real character.
1 Lys. 'Tis still cored
To take me willing and in mind to die:
And sttch are. when the earth grows weary o
THE OLD LAW. 559
To take me willing and in mind to die;
And such are, when the earth grows weary of
them, Most fit for heaven.
Sim. The court shall make his mittimus, And send him thither presently : i' the mean
time — — Evan. Away to death with him.
{Exit Cratilus with Lysander.
Enter Guard with CLEANTHES, HIPPOLITA following, weeping.
Sim. So ! see another person brought to the bar.
1 Court. The arch-malefactor.
2 Court. The grand offender, the most refrac
tory To all good order ; 'tis Cleanthes, he
Sim. That would have sons grave fathers, ere
their fathers Be sent unto their graves.
Evan. There will be expectation In your severe proceedings against him ; His act being so capital.
Sim. Fearful and bloody ;
Therefore we charge these women leave the court, Lest they should swoon to hear it.
Eug. I, in expectation Of a most happy freedom. [Exit.
Hip. I, with the apprehension Of a most sad and desolate widowhood. [Exit.
1 Court. We bring him to the bar
Most Jit for heaven.] Half of this speech Coxeter omits, and gives the other half, which in his edition has no sense, to Si mon ides : it is needless to observe how ill it suits with his cha racter. Mr. M. Mason follows him, as usual.
660
THE OLD LAW.
2 Court, Hold up your hand, sir.
Clean. More reverence to the place than to.
the persons :
To the one I offer up a [spreading*] palm Of duty and obedience, as to heaven, Imploring justice, which was never wanting Upon that bench whilst their own fathers sat; But unto you, my hands contracted thus, As threatening vengeance against murderers, For they that kill in thought, shed innocent
blood.
With pardon of your highness, too much passion Made me forget your presence, and the place I now am call'd to.
Evan. All our majesty And power we have to pardon or condemn, Is now conferr'd on them.
Sim. And these we'll use, Little to thine advantage.
Clean. I expect it :
And, as to these, I look no mercy from them, And much less mean3 to entreat it, I thus now Submit me to the emblems of your power, The sword and bench : but, my most reverend
judges,
Ere you proceed to sentence, (for I know You have given me lost,) will you resolve me one thing ?
* To the one I offer up a [spreading] palm] I hare inserted spreading, not merely on. account of its completing the verso, but because it contrasts well with contracted. Whatever the author's word was, it was shuffled out of its place at the press, and appears as a misprint (shoiedii) in the succeeding line.
* And much less mean to entreat it^} For mean the old copy has shovm^ which is pure nonsense : it stands, however, in ail the editions. I have, I believe, recovered the genuine text by adopting mean, which was superfluously inserted in the line Immediately below it.
THE OLD LAW.
461
1 Court. So it be briefly question'd.
2 Court. Shew your bonour; Day spends itself apace.
Clean. My lords, it4 shall. Resolve me, then, where are your filial tears, Your mourning habits, and sad hearts become, That should attend your fathers' funerals ? Though the strict law (which I wilt not accuse, Because a subject) snatch'd away their lives, It doth not bar you to lament their deaths : Or if you cannot spare one sad suspire, It doth not bid you laugh them to their graves, Lay subtle trains to antedate their years, To be the sooner seized of their estates. Oh, time of age ! where's that ,Eneas now, Who letting all his jewels to the flames ; Forgetting country, kindred, treasure, friends, Fortunes and all things, save the name of son, Which you so much forget, godlike ^Eneas, Who took his bedrid father on his back, And with that sacred load (to him no burthen) Jiew'd out his way through blood, through fire,
through [arms,5]
Even all the arm'd streets of bright-burning Troy, Only to save a father ?
Sim. We've no leisure now,
4 Clean. My lords, it shall.'] i. e. it shall be briefly questioned. This would not have deserved a note had not Mr. M, Mason mistaken the meaning, and corrupted the text to, My lords, \sJ\att.
5 Hcw'd out Us way through blood, through fire, through [arms,] Even all the arrnd streets of bright burning Troy,
Only to save a fat her?] So the lines stand in the old copy, with the exception of the word enclosed in brackets, for which I am answerable. They wanted but little regulation, as the reader sees ; yet both the editors blundered them into Downright prose. Coxeter, a circumstance by no means common with him, gave an incorrect statement of the original, and Mr. M. Mason, who never looked beyond his page, was reduced to random guesses.
562 THE OLD LAW.
To hear lessons read from Virgil; we are past
school, And all this time thy judges.
2 Court. It is fit That we proceed to sentence.
1 Court. You are the mouth, And now 'tis fit to open.
Sim. Justice, indeed,
Should ever be close-ear'd, and open-mouth'd ; That is to hear a little and speak much. Know then, Cleanthes, there is none can be A good son and bad subject; for, if princes Be called the people's fathers, then the subjects Are all his sons, and he that flouts the prince, Doth disobey his father: there you are gone,
1 Court. And not to be recover'd. Sim. And again —
2 Court. If he be gone once, call him not again. Sim. I say again, this act of thine expresses
A double disobedience : as our princes Are fathers, so they are our sovereigns too; And he that doth rebel 'gainst sovereignty, Doth commit treason in the height of degree: And now thou art quite gone.
1 Court. Our brother in commission, Hath spoke his mind both learnedly and neatly, And I can add but little; howsoever, It shall send him packing. He that begins a fault that wants example, Ought to be made example for the fault.
Clean* A fault ! no longer can I hold myself To hear vice upheld and virtue thrown down. A fault ! judge, I desire, then, where it lies, In those that are my judges, or in me : Heaven stands on my side, pity, love, and duty.
Sim. Where are they, sir? who sees them but yourself?
THE OLD LAW. 363
Clean. Not you ; and I am sure, You never had the gracious eyes to see them. You think that you arraign me, but I hope To sentence you at the bar.
2 Court. That would shew brave.
Clean. This were the judgment-seat we [stand
at] now !6
Of the heaviest crimes that ever made up [sin], Unnaturalness, and inhumanity, You are found foul and guilty, by a jury Made of your father's curses, 'which have brought Vengeance impending on you ; and I, now, Am forced to pronounce judgment on my judges. The common laws of reason and of nature Condemn you, ipso facto; you are parricides, And if you marry, will beget the like, Who, when they are grown to full maturity,7 Will hurry you, their fathers, to their graves. Like traitors, you take council from the living, Of upright judgment you would rob the bench, (Experience and discretion snatch'd away prom the earth's face,) turn all into disorder,
6 Clean. This were the judgment seat we [stand af] now /] i. c. O, that this were, &c. But, indeed, this speech is so strangely printed in the quarto, that it is almost impossible to guess what the writer really meant. The first three lines stand thus : Clean. This were the judgment seatt we now
The heaiiest crimes that ever made up
Unnaturalness in humanity.
Whether the genuine, or, indeed, any sense be elicited by the additions which I hare been compelled to make, is not mine to say ; but certainly some allowance will be made for any tem perate endeavour to regulate a text where the words, in too many instances, appear as if they had been shook out of the printer's boxes by the hand of chance.
i Who, when they are grown to full maturity,] Former editors ftave. Who when you're : but this cannot be right.
THE OLD LAW.
Imprison virtue, and infranchise vice, And put the sword of justice in the hands Of boys and madmen.
Sim. Well, well, have you done, sir ?
Clean. I have spoke my thoughts.
Sim. Then I'll begin and end,
Evan. 'Tis time I now begin — Here your commission ends. Cleanthes, come you from the bar. Because I know you are severally disposed, I here Invite you to an object will, no doubt, Work in you contrary effects.- — Music !
Loud Music. Enter LEON IDES, CREON, LY- SANDEU, and other old men.
Clean. Pray, heaven, I dream not ! sure he
moves, talks comfortably, As joy can wish a man. If he be changed, (Far above from me,) he's not ill entreated; His face doth promise fulness of content, And glory hath a part in't.
Leo. Oh my son !
Evan. You that can claim acquaintance with
these lads, Talk freely.
Sim. I can see none there that's worth One hand to you from me.
Evan. These are thy judges, and by their
grave law
I find thee clear, but these delinquents guilty. You must change places, for 'tis so decreed : Such just pre-eminence hath thy goodness gain'd, Thou art the judge now, they the men arraigned.
[To Cleanthes.
1 Court, Here's fine dancing, gentlemen.
THE OLD LAW.
565
saw him the first thing I
2 Court. Is thy father amongst them ? Sim. Oh, pox ! I
look'd on.
Alive again ! 'slight, I helieve now a father Hath as many lives as a mother.
Clean. 'Tis full as blessed as 'tis wonderful. Oh ! bring. me back to the same ia\v -again, I am fouler than all these; seize on me, of ficers,
And bring me to new sentence. Sim. What's all this? Clean. A fault not to be pardon'd, Unnaturalness is but sin's shadow to it.
Sim. I am glad of that ; I hope the case may
alter, ,.
And I turn judge again. Evan. Name your offence. Clean. That I should be so vile As once to think you cruel.
Evan. Is that all ? 'Twas pardon'd ere confess'd : you that have
sons.,
If they be worthy, here may challenge them. Creon. I should have one amongst them, had
he had grace To have retained that name.
Sim. I pray you, father. [Kneels.
Creon. That name, I know, Hath been long since forgot.
Sim. I find but small comfort in remembering it now.
Evan. Cleanthes, take your place with these
grave fathers, And read what in that table is inscribed.
[Gives him a paper. Now set these at the bar,
566 THE OLD LAW.
And read, Cleanthes, to the dread and terror Of disobedience and unnatural blood.
Clean, [reads.] It is. decreed by the grave and learned council of Epire, that no son and heir shall be held capable of his inheritance at the age of one and twenty, unless he be at that time as mature in obedience, manners, and goodness.
Sim. Sure I shall never be at full age, then, though I live to an hundred years ; and that's nearer by twenty than the last statute allow'dk
1 Court. A terrible act!
Clean. Moreover, it is enacted that all sons afore said, whom either this law, or their own grace, shall reduce into the true method of duty, virtue, and affection, [shall appear before us] and relate their trial9 and approbation from Cleanthes, the son of Leonides — from me, my lord !
Evan. From none but you, as fullest. Proceed, sir.
Clean. Whom, for his manifest virtues, we make such judge and censor of youth, and the absolute reference of life and manners.
Sim. This is a brave world I when a man should be selling land he must be learning man ners. I-s't not, my masters ?
Re-enter EUGENIA. Eug. What's here to do? my suitors at the bar !
8 [Shall appear before vs] and relate their trial, &c.] In the old copy, w.hich the modern editions follow, and relate comes immediately after virtue and affection. That this cannot be right is evident : whether the words which I have inserted convey the author's meaning, or not, may be doubted, but they make some sense of the passage, and this is all to which they pretend.
THE OLD LAW. 567
The old band shines again :' oh miserable !
[She swoons.
Evan. Read the law over to her, 'twill awake
her : Tis one deserves small pity.
Clean. Lastly, it is ordained, that all such wives now whatsoever, that shall design their husbands' death, to be soon rid of them, aiid enter tain suit or sin their husbands' lifetime—
Sim. You had best read that a little louder ; for, if any thing, that will bring her to herself again, and find her tongue.
Clean. Shall not presume, on the penalty of our heavy displeasure, to marry within ten years after.
Eug. That law's too long by nine years and a
half, I'll take my death upon't, so shall most women.
Clean. And those incontinent women so offending^ to be judged and censured by Hippolita, wife to Cleanthes.
Eug. Of all the rest, I'll not be judged by .her.
Re-enter HIPPOLITA.
Clean. Ah ! here she comes. Let me prevent
thy joys, Prevent them but in part, and hide the rest ;
9 The old band shines again :] Coxeter printed, The old bard shines again ; Mr. M. Mason, who could make nothing of this, proposes, as the genuine reading, The old revived again ! While Mr. Davies, with due solemnity, declares that the in sertion of a letter will make all right, and that it should be, The old beard shines again ! Nothing can be more preposterous than the conduct of these gentlemen, in thus presuming to correct Massinger upon the authority of Coxeter. The old copy neither reads bard nor beard^ but baud, a misprint, perhaps, for band. In the last scene of the Fatal Dowry, by a similar oversight, band is printed for baud.
568 THE OLD LAW.
Thou hast not strength enough to bear them, else.
Hip, Leonides ! [She faints.
Clean. I fear'd it all this while ; I knew 'twas past thy power. Hippolita ! What contrariety is in women's blood ? One faints for spleen and anger, she for grace.
Evan. Of sons and wives we see the worst and
best.
May future ages yield Hippolitas Many ; but few like thee, Eugenia ! Let no Simonides henceforth have a fame, But all blest sons live in Cleanthes' name —
[Harsh music within.
Ha ! what strange kind of melody was that ? Yet give it entrance, whatsoe'er it be, This day is all devote to liberty.1
1 It is to be lamented that the Old Law did not end here t the higher characters are all disposed of; and the clown and his fellows might heve been silently sunk on the reader without exciting the slightest regret. But the groundlings of those days, like the godlings of the present, were too apt to cry out with Christophero Sly, When does the fool come again, Sim? and, Unfortunately, they have had but too much influence, at all times, over the managers.
What follows is utterly unworthy of Massinger, (indeed, it was not written by him,) and may be past over without loss: of all pertness, that of folly is the most tiresome; and here is little else : but the audience were to be dismissed in good humour^ and they undoubtedly walked home as merry as noise and non sense could make them.
It appears from the title-page of the quarto, that the Old Law was a favourite with all ranks of people, and not, indeed, with*, out some degree of justice; for the plot, though highly impro bable, is an interesting one, and conducted with singular artifice, to a pleasing and surprising end. It must be allowed, however, that the moral justice of the piece is not altogether what it should be ; for though Cleanthes and Hippolita receive the full reward of their filial piety, yet Simonides and Eugenia do not meet a punishment adequate to their unnatural conduct. As a
THE OLD LAW.
669
Enter Fiddlers, G NTOTHO, Courtezan, Cook, Butler, $c. with the old Women, AGATHA, and one bearing a bridecake for the wedding.
Gnoth. Fiddlers, crowd on, crowd on;* let no man lay a block in your way. — Crowd on, I say. Evan. Stay the crowd awhile; let's know the reason of this jollity.
Clean. Sirrah, do you know where you are? Gnoth. Yes, sir; I am here, now here, and now
here again, sir. Lys. Your hat is too high crown'd, the duke
in presence.
Gnoth. The duke! as he is my sovereign, I do give him two crowns for it,* and that's equal change all the world over : as I am lord of the day (being my marriage-day the second) I do advance my bonnet. Crowd on afore.
Leon. Good sir, a few words, if you will vouch safe them ;
Or will you he forced ?
Gnoth. Forced ! I would the duke himself would say so.
composition, this play has several charming scenes, and not a few passages of exquisite beauty : it once, perhaps, had more ; but the transcriber and the printer have conspired to reduce them.
* Clown. Fiddlers, crowd on, crowd on;] Mr. M. Mason ob serves, that a fiddle was/brwer/v called a crowd. Why formerly? Is it not still called so in almost every part of the kingdom? But he was ambitious of following the learned commentators on other dramatic writers, who gravely tell us, that words, which are in every one's mouth, once signified such and such things in Cornwall, perhaps, or Northumberland I
5 Gnoth. The duke! as he is my sovereign, / do give him two crowns/c/r it, &c.] Here is some poor pun. A sovereign was a gold coin worth ten shillings ; or, is the wit in some fancied similarity of sound between duke and ducat (a piece of th» game value as the other ?) pudet, pudet!
VOL. IV. * P p
570 THE OLD LAW.
Evan. I think he dares, sir, and does ; if you
stay not, You shall be forced.
Gnoth. I think so, my lord, and good reason too; shall not I stay when your grace says I shall ? I were unworthy to be a bridegroom in •any part of your highness's dominions, then:' will it please you to taste of the wedlock- courtesy ?
Evan. Oh, by no means, sir; you shall not deface so fair an ornament for me.
Gnoth. If your grace please to be cakated, say so.
Evan. And which might be your fair bride, sir?
Gnoth. This is my two-for-one that must be the uxor uxoris, the remedy doloris, and the very syceum amoris.
Evan. And hast thou any else ?
Gnoth. I have an older, my lord, for other uses.
Clean. My lord,
,1 do observe a strange decorum here: These that do lead this day of jollity, Do march with music and most mirthful cheeks; Those that do follow, sad, and woefully, Nearer the haviour of a funeral, Than of a wedding.
Evan. 5Tis true ; pray expound that, sir.
Gnoth. As the destiny of the day falls out, my lord, one goes to wedding, another goes to hang ing ; and your grace, in the due consideration, .shall find them much alike; the one hath the ring upon her finger, the other the halter about her neck. / take thee, Beatrice, says the bride groom ; 1 take thce, Agatha, says the hangman ; and both say together, to have and to hold, till death do part us.
THE OLD LAW.
571
Evan. This is not yet plain enough to my un derstanding.
Gnoth. If further your grace examine it, you shall find I shew myself a dutiful subject, and obedient to the law, myself, with these my good friends, and your good subjects, our old wives, whose days are ripe, and their lives forfeit to the law: only myself, more forward than the rest, am already provided of my second choice.
Evan. Oh ! take heed, sir, you'll run yourself
into danger;
If the law finds you with two wives at once, There's a shrewd premunire.
Gnoth. I have taken leave of the old, my lord; I have nothing to say to her; she's going to sea, your grace knows whither, better than I do : she has a strong wind with her, it stands full in her poop; when you please, let her disembogue.
Cook. And the rest of her neighbours with her» whom we present to the satisfaction of your highness' law.
Gnoth. And so we take our leaves, and leave them to your highness. — Crowd on.
Evan. Stay, stay, you are too forward. Will
you marry, And your wife yet living?
Gnoth. Alas ! she'll be dead before we can get to church. If your grace would set her in the way, I would dispatch her: I have a venture on'lt, which would return me, if your highness would make a little more haste, two for one.
Evan. Come, my lords, we must sit again;
here's a case Craves a most serious censure.
Cook. Now they shall be dispatched out of the way.
572
THE OLD LAW.
Gnoth. I would they were gone once; the time goes away.
Evan Which is the wife unto the forward bridegroom ?
Aga. I am, an it please your grace.
Evan. Trust me, a lusty woman, able-bodied, And well- blooded cheeks.
Gnoth. Oh, she paints, my lord ; she wds a chambermaid once, and learn'd it of her lady.
Evan. Sure I think she cannot be so old.
Aga. Truly I think so too, an't please your grace.
Gnoth. Two to one with your grace of that! she's threescore by the book.
Leon. Peace, sirrah, you are too loud.
Cook. Take heed, Gnotho: if you move the duke's patience, 'tis an edge-tool; but a word and a blow, he cuts off your head.
Gnoth. Cut off my head! away, ignorant! he knows it cost, more in the hair ; he does not use to cut off many such heads as mine : I will talk to him too ; if he cut off my head, I'll give him my ears. I say my wife is at full age for the law, the clerk shall take his oath, and the church-book shall be sworn too.
Evan. My lords, I leave this censure to yoji.
Leon. Then first, this fellow does deserve pu nishment,
For offering up a lusty able woman, Which may do service to the commonwealth, Where the law craves one impotent and useless.
Creon. Therefore to be severly punished, For thus attempting a second marriage, His wife yet living.
Lys. Nay, to have it trebled ; That even the day and instant when he should mourn,
THE OLD LAW. 573
As a kind husband, at her funeral, He leads a triumph to the scorn of it; Which unseasonable joy ought to be punish'd With all severity.
But. The fiddles will be in a foul case too, by and by.
Leon. Nay, further; it seems he has a venture Of two for one at his second marriage, Which cannot be but a conspiracy Against the former.
Gnoth. A mess of wise old men !
Lys. Sirrah, what can you answer to all these?
Gnoth. Ye are good old men, and talk as age will give you leave. I would speak with the youthful duke himself; he and I may speak of things that shall be thirty or forty years after you are dead and rotten. Alas! you are here to day, and gone to sea to morrow.
Evan In troth, sir, then I must be plain with you. The law that should take away your old wife
from you,
The which 1 do perceive was your desire, Is void and frustrate ; so for the rest : There has been since another parliament, Has cut it off.
Gnoth. I see your grace is disposed to be pleasant.
Evan. Yes, you might perceive that; I had
not else Thus dallied with your follies.
Gnoth. I'll talk further with your grace when I come back from church ; in the mean time, you know what to do with the old women.
Evan. Stay, sir, unless in the mean time you
mean
I cause a gibbet to be set up in your way, .And hang you at your return.
574 THE OLD LAW.
Aga. O gracious prince !
Evan. Your old wives cannot die to day by any law of mine ; far aught I can say to them, They may, hy a new edict, bury you, And then, perhaps, you'll pay a new line too.
Gnoth. This is fine, indeed !
Aga. O gracious prince ! may he live a hun dred years more.
Cook. Your venture is not like to come'in to day, Gnotho.
Gnoth. Give me the principal back.
Cook. Nay, by my troth we'll venture still — and I'm sure we have as ill a venture of it as you; for we have taken old wives of purpose, that we had thought to have put away at this market, and now we cannot utter a pennyworth.
Evan. Well, sirrah, you were best to discharge your new charge, and take your old one to you.
Gnoth. Oh music ! no music, but prove most
doleful trumpet ; Oh bride ! no bride, but thou mayst prove a
strumpet ;
Oh venture! no venture, I have, for one, now none ; Oh wife ! thy life is saved when I hoped it had
been gone. Case up your fruitless strings ; no penny, no
wedding ;
Case up thy maidenhead ; no priest, no bedding : Avaunt, my venture ! ne'er to be restored, Till Ag, my old wife, be thrown overboard : Then come again, old Ag, since it must be so; Let bride and venture with woful music go.
Cook. What for the bridecake, Gnotho ?
Gnoth. Let it be mouldy, nosv 'tis out of season, Let it grow out of date, currant, and reason ; Let it be chipt and chopt, and given to chickens. No more is got by that, than William Dickins
THE OLD LAW. 575
Got by his wooden dishes.
Put up your plums, as fiddlers put up pipes,
The wedding dash'd, the bridegroom weeps and
wipes.
Fiddlers, farewell! and now, without perhaps, Put up your fiddles as you put up scraps.
Lys. This passion5 has given some satisfaction yet. My lord, I think you'll pardon him now, with all the rest, so they live honestly with the wives they have.
Evan. Oh ! most freely ; free pardon to all.
Cook. Ay, we have deserved our pardons, if we can live honestly with such reverend wives, that have no motion in them but their tongues.
Aga. Heaven bless your grace ! you are a just prince.
Gnoth. All hopes dash'd; the clerk's duties lost, My venture gone; my second wife divorced; And which is worst, the old one come back again! Such voyages are made now-a-days ! Besides these two fountains of fresh water, I will weep twosaltoutof my nose. Yourgraeehad been more kind to your young subjects — heaven bless and mend your laws, that they do not gutl your poor countrymen : but I am not the first, by forty, that has been undone by the law. 'Tis but a folly to stand upon terms ; I take my leave of your grace, as well as mine eyes will give me leave : I would they had been asleep in their beds when they opened them to see this day! Come Ag, come Ag. [Exeunt Gnotho and Agatha.
5 Lys. This passion has given some satisfaction yet.'] i. e. this pathetic exclamation : it is parodied in part from the Spanish Tragedy, and is, without all question, by far the stupidest at tempt at wit to which that persecuted play ever gave rise. That it afforded some satisfaction to Lysander ought, in courtesy, to be attributed to his having more good nature than taste.
576
THE OLD LAW.
Creon. Were not you $11 my servants ? Cook. During your life, as we thought, sir; but our young master turn'd us away.
Creon. How headlong, villain, wert thou in thy
ruin !
Sim. I followed the fashion, sir, as other young men did. If you were as we thought you had been, we should ne'er have come for this, I war rant you. We did not feed, after the old fashion, on beef.. and mutton, and such like,
Creon. Well, what damage or charge you have run yourselves into by marriage, 1 cannot help, nor deliver you from your wives ; them you must keep ; yourselves shall again return to me.
AIL We thank your lordship for your love, and must thank ourselves for our bad bargains.
[Exeunt.
Evan. Cleanthes, you delay the power of law, To be inflicted on these misgoverned men, That filial duty have so far transgress'd.
Clean. My lord, I see a satisfaction Meeting the sentence, even preventing it, Beating my words back in their utterance. See, sir, there's salt sorrow bringing forth fresh And new duties, as the sea propagates.
The elephants have found their joints too
[They kneel.
Why, here's humility able to bind up The punishing hands of the severest masters, Much more the gentle fathers'.
Sim. I had ne'er thought to have been brought so low as my knees again ; but since there's no remedy, fathers, reverend fathers, as you ever hope to have good sons and heirs, a handful of pity ! we confess we have deserved more than we are willing to receive at your hands, though sons can never deserve too much of their fathers, as shall appear afterwards.
THE OLD LAW. 577
Creon. And what way can you decline your
feeding now ? You cannot retire to beeves and muttons sure.
Sim. Alas! sir, you see a good pattern for that now we have laid by our high and lusty meats, and are down to our marrowbones already. Creon. Well, sir, rise to virtues: we'll bind you now ; [They rise.
You that were too weak yourselves to govern, By others shall be govenrd.
Lys. Cleanthes,
I meet your justice with reconcilement: If there he tears of faith in woman's breast, I have received a myriad, which confirms me To find a happy renovation.
Clean Here's virtue's throne, Which I'll embellish with my dearest jewels Of love and faith, peace and affection ! This is the altar of my sacrifice, Where daily my devoted knees shall bend. Age-honoured shrine ! time still so love you, That I so long may have you in mine eye Until my memory lose your beginning ! For you, great prince, long may your fame sur vive,
Your justice and your wisdom never die, Crowu of your crown, the blessing of yourland, Which you reach to her from your regent hand !
Leon. O Cleanthes, had you with us tasted The entertainment of our retirement, Fear'd and exclaim 'd on in your ignorance, You might have sooner died upon the wonder, Than any rage or passion for our loss. A place at hand we were all strangers in, So sphered about with music, such delights, Such viands and attendance, and once a day So cheered with a royal visitant,
378 THE OLD LAW.
That oft times, waking, our unsteady fancies Would question whether we yet lived or no, Or had possession of that paradise Where angels be the guard !
Evan. Enough, Leonid es, You go beyond the praise ; we have our end, And all is ended well : we have now seen The flowers and weeds that grow about our court.
Sim. If these be weeds, I'm afraid I shall wear none so good again as long as my father lives.
Evan. Only this gentleman we did abuse With our own bosom : we seem'd a tyrant, And he our instrument. Look, 'tis Cratilus,
[Discovers Cratilus. The man that you supposed had now been tra-
vell'd;
Which we gave leave to learn to speak, And bring us foreign languages to Greece. All's joy, I see ; let music be the crown : And set it high, " The good needs fear no law, It is his safety, and the bad man's awe."
[Flourish. Exeunt?
6 It must be unacceptable both to the reader and to myself to enter into any examination of this unfortunate comedy. The purpose which it professes is sufficiently good : but we lose sight of it in the meanness and extravagance which disfigure the sub ject. Yet it is impossible not to be touched by occasional passages, which in tenderness and beauty, are hardly excelled by any of Massinger. They are either descriptive or sentimen tal, and are rather excrescences from the story than essential parts of it ; and, on this account they may be easily detached^ and remembered, for their own excellence, when the place in which they were found is deservedly forgotten. Perhaps they derive a grace from their very situation; — they are " precious jewels" in the *' head" of ugliness. Any attempt to ascertain the portions contributed by Middleton or Rowley, would be but losspf labour. The ruggedness of the versification, and the obscurity of so many of the thoughts, laboured in their ex pression, and trivial in their meaning; prove that a great part of
i
. [ 57.9 ]
the play came from some other than Massinger. Nor could the lighter scenes, if the awkward movements of filth and dulness may claim that name, have been furnished by him. His manner is chiefly to be perceived in the second scene of the fourth act, and where Cleanthes and Leonides fondly expatiate on the hap piness of their contrivance, at the very moment when their security is about to be interrupted.
But the reader shall be no longer detained on so questionable a composition as the Old Law. He may be better pleased with a few observations arising from a general view of the Plays of Massinger, and affording some illustration, however imper fect, of his talents and character.
It is truly surprising that the genius which produced these Plays should have obtained so little noHce from the world. It does not appear that in any age since his own, Massinger has been ranked among the principal writers for the stage. Rarely have any of his pieces been acted ; and dramatic criticism has been unwilling to mention his name. It has attributed variety and greatness of character to Shakspeare and Fletcher, as if Massinger had never existed, or were entitled to none of this praise. It has objected to the clenches and bombast which disfigure the scenes of our great bard, as if it were no credit to Massinger that he has little of the one and less of the other ; and it has lamented the too close and laboured language of Jonson, without observing that the language of Massinger is some of the most chaste and flowing which the English stage can boast. — One of his characteristic qualities is his STYLE ; and, on this account he is entitled to a portion of the praise which has followed the names of Beaumont and Fletcher. It is ob vious, that he seldom, if ever, approaches the harsh compactness of Jonson ; and he is free from certain peculiarities which too often cloud the poetry of Shaksprare. The construction of his sentences is direct and uninvolved, even in the most solemn and passionate of his scenes ; and rarely does he seek for uncommon meanings by forcing his words upwards to their original sources. He is content with their usual acceptation, and does not at tempt to heighten poetic effect either by inversion or a strange use of current terms. The faults into which he occasioffally falls are his own, and arise from the ease which generally distinguishes him. He frequently ends a line with an unim. portant word serving only as a passage to the next line ; and sometimes two following lines are hurried on in the same incon siderate manner: sometimes he raises a jingle by throwing
[ 580 ]
into the same line two words of somewhat similar sound, but of different meaning: now and then too he rhymes in the middle of a speech. These are blemishes ; but they grow from the very freedom of his poetry, and shew his habitual ease through the accidental carelessness which they betray: nor can it be denied that in general he is entitled to our sincere admiration for the purity and simplicity of his language, the free structure of his lines, and the natural flow and unaffected harmony of his periods. It is observable that Mr. Hume regrets the want of " purity and simplicity of diction," qualities which he cannot discover in Shakspeare. He might have praised them in Massinger ; but he must have been a stranger to these Plays, and affords one instance more of the undeserved neglect which has hitherto been their portion.
Another of the peculiarities of Massinger arises from the ma nagement of his PLOT. The reader must have observed, in too many instances, with what rapidity the story is carried on, with what neglect of time and place, and, not unfrequently, of character itself. This indeed was not unusual with other writers of that age. What distinguishes Massinger, is his carefulness of memory amidst his neglect of probability. He does not fall into hurry of scene through inadvertence. He draws a plan of his irregularities before he enters upon the execution of them. This appears from the caution with which they are introduced ; for some of the strangest incidents which are to befall his cha racters are pointed out by early strokes and studied intimations. Thoughtlessness as to the conclusion of bis story does not there, fore apply to him, as it does to others, He looks forward to the frequent change of his business, and is satisfied. He is rapid " by advice," and unites, in a greater degree than almost any other writer, precipitation with precaution :
— — insanit certd ratione modoque.
Among the writers of that age, Jonson alone, perhaps, knew all the impropriety arising from a frequent and violent change of scene. This sense of exactness was doubtless impressed upon him by his love of the ancients; and he has obtained the difficult praise both of copiousness and close connexion of his incidents. Yet Jonson himself, who blamed Sbakspeare's change of scene, was nut wholly free from the same practice : and this has been re&.arkcd by Dryden with some appearance of triumph. Whatever might have been the sentiments of Massinger, his general practice was a disregard of consistency of plan ; and his striking propensity to hurry of scene is, perhaps, to be consi dered as a principal cause of his comparative want of success, when he undertakes the higher and more regular subjects of history. Either he seems constrained by the new restrictions
[ 581 ]
to which he occasionally submits ; or, lired of these, he sud denly falls into liberties which ill accord with the gravity of his first design. Sometimes he lessens the effect of history by a choice not sufficiently sagacious or comprehensive; and some- times he interrupts its influence by additions extraneous to the subject, or unimportant in themselves. He is then most suc cessful when he approaches the scenes of invention under cover of some previous truth ; when he glances at some known event, and presently resigns himself to the accustomed license of romance. How extravagant is the mixture of fable with fact in several of these plays, the reader must have already observed. But if he feels with me, he will derive a pleasure from the de tection of some circumstance of truth amid the mass of inven tion, and will hail the " sacred influence" of historic light, which sometimes —
" Shoots far into the bosom of dim night " A glimmering dawn."
The LEARNING of Massinger here suggests itself. It seems to have been not without respectability; yet rather ornamental to his poetry than very solid or very comprehensive. It was such, perhaps, as Jonson might have sneered at, but with some injustice. Apart from his treatment of history, which has been just noticed, it chiefly consists in an acquaintance with the moralists and poets, and shews itself in an occasional introduc tion of some ancient maxim resulting from the observation of common life ; or of some pretty image or tender sentiment transplanted into his love scenes. Not unfrequently, indeed, a classical thought is discoverable in him, not formally applied, but incorporated with his own sentiment, as if the recollection of an ancient writer were familiar and habitual with him; and, "* In an instance or two, this is done with some ruggedness, as if he had no objection to make a momentary experiment on what was the general character of Jonson. His favourite book is Ovid ; and his chief display is of the common and popular mythology. Of this, indeed, he is by far too fond. Sometimes be indulges it against probability, in scenes from which the ignorance and vulgarity of the speakers ought to have excluded it ; and sometimes against propriety, when the solemnity of the business, and the engagement of the attention of his personages ought to have been secured from such unseasonable interruption. He is also apt, on some of these untoward occasions, to state his mythological tale too circumstantially, and to adapt it, point by point, to the situation which he means to illustrate. He is minutely exact in applying what should have been con veyed, if conveyed at ah, by a general glance ; and while he pleases himself with the scrupulous fidelity of his particulars,
[ 582 ]
the reader is taore and more impatient at too long a detention from the proper business of the stage. There is, indeed, another kind of reading which is peculiar to himself, and claims a separate notice. It is impossible not to observe how zealous he is on religious subjects, how conversant with the images and sentiments which occur in the history of the early persecutions, and how ready in the use of ecclesiastical terms and arguments. He seems to dwell with fondness on conversions to the faith ; indulges with fervour the mode of reasoning which had been used between the early Christians and the Pagans, and is so impressed with it that he employs the same train of thought for the persuasion of Mahometans and idolaters. Where he ob tained this knowledge, it is difficult to say. The reader must determine whether he is likely to have drawn it from the sources pointed out in the observations on the Virgin-Martyr^ or in those on the Renegado : from the general appearance of his learning, I have no objection to the opinion that he was acquainted with the works of the Christian writers themselves. One thing is very observable in him. When he describes the ceremonies of religion as they are practised in the church of Rome, it is with an earnestness and a reverence more than sufficient for the support of the character that speaks. Of this the Renegado alone furnishes several instances ; and not only is lie anxious to procure from any hand the rite of baptism for the new convert (Donusa) about to suffer death ; but, a doubt being raised for the sake of an authoritative decision, the question of lay baptism is familiarly settled upon Roman Catholie principles- —
" A question in itself with much ease answered : " Midwives, upon necessity, perform it ; " And knights that, in the Holy Land, fought for <e The freedom of Jerusalem, when full ic Of sweat and enemies' blood, have made their helmeti " The fount, out of which with their holy hands u They drew that heavenly liquor:/ &c.* Vol. II. p. 211. One circumstance, however, seems to have escaped his at tention, which the history of Christian antiquity would have afforded him. In cases of extremity, (when the rage of perse, cution would not allow the consolation of religious rites, the death itself of the sufferer was supposed by some to convey the desired benefit, and the blood of the martyr was the salutary water of baptism. But I will add no more on this subject. The learning of Massinger appears, in this view of it, to have some
* The reader may compare this with the pious office which Tasso make* Tancred perform to Clcrinda :
Poco quindi lontan nel sen del monte, &c. Canto 13, St. 67. -
[ 583 ]
connexion with his religion. Indeed, the sources from which his plots were derived might have furnished some of the circumstances just noticed : but if they arc his own, they are sufficient to raise a suspicion that he had a secret attachment to the church of Rome : and this seems to be the more probable opinion.
The MORALS of Massinger shall next be noticed. It may- seem surprising that the licentiousness which too frequently ap pears in these Plays, should be accompanied with any expressions of regard for morality. However, we must remember the times in which he wrote, and make allowance for the influence which the general state of society will always have on compositions for the stage. The comparative Crossness of common conversa tion, the rude manner in which theatrical business was conducted, the wish of giving as strong an effect as possible to the character represented, and a taste as yet imperfectly formed for the ma. nagement of delicate situations, and the expression of wrong desires ; these and many other causes must have been very unfriendly to the purity which virtue demands. In these particulars Massinger was unhappy with other writers. Indeed no situation in life was a sufficient security for theatrical decorum ; and Beaumont and Fletcher, one the son of a judge, the other of a bishop, are still more licentious than Massinger, without the consoling attention to moral consequences which he discovers.
In the observations on several of these Plays, the reader will have noticed the seriousness of the moral arising from the conclusion of the story : and in justice to Massinger it must be added, that, however blameable he is for the admission of any indecency of others into a work over which he had a control, .the most offensive parts are not his own. The licentiousness for which he is personally answerable, is of two sorts — one, the chief part, consists in the incidents of the story itself; the other, in loose conversation not strictly subservient to the plot, but rather gratuitously indulged. It is with much satisfaction we observe, that the indelicacy in the former case is in some mea sure atoned for by the merited punishment to which he com monly conducts the offenders ; and lest his design should be mis understood, he earnestly reminds us, that, notwithstanding the grossness of the story, he still means to serve the cause of vir tue, and that wickedness is sure to be " mulcted" by him " in the conclusion." The Parliament of Love, where this caution occurs, is a convincing instance of the practice just noticed, as it combines licentiousness of incident with characteristic punish ment on the contrivers of the mischief. For the other part no excuse can nor ought to be offered. There is only one conso lation under it : happily, his loose dialogue is ill managed. It
[584]
is without spirit or attraction, as if his mind had no natural inclination to it; and the reader must be of a disposition de cidedly prurient who will turn to those scenes a second time. One praise remains for Massinger, and I mention it with heart felt satisfaction ; he is entirely without profaneness. How is it to be wished that Shakspeare had been thus! and that the extraordinary power with which he impresses both- good and evil sentiment had never been employed in loosening the reverence of sacred principles in the mind of the young and inexperienced reader, or in teaching other men of genius to recommend the most pernicious levity through the attractions of their wit !
The POLITICAL CHARACTER of Massinger is very creditable to him. His allusions to the public events of the times are not unfrequent ; and they are such as to shew him a man of honesty and spirit. He ridicules, with successful humour, the weak and licentious fops who infested the court. He indignantly exposes the system of favouritism, which was so injurious to the country in the reign of James, and lashes the easy or corrupt grant of monopolies with the honest views of a patriot. In return, he takes a pleasure in contrasting the loyalty of the true friends of the throne with the interested services of common courtiers. He also endeavours to correct the profligate facility with which a personal devotion was pledged to the sovereign, and glances at the thoughtless or fallacious offers of " lives and fortunes." The dreadful events which took place not long alter the ex pression of these sentiments throw an unusual interest over them ; and we are persuaded by his personal satire, as well as by the open praises which he liberally bestows on his country, how strong and sincere was the patriotism of Massinger. It is observable too, that he does not bend to the slavish doctrine which was inculcated by so many other writers of the age; but, while he preserves a firm and substantial reverence to the throne, he watches over the actions of the sovereign, and distinguishes between his just authority and the arbitrary excesses of it. One circumstance more. Massinger lived for the most part in poverty and neglect; and it is highly honourable to him that there are no traces of public spleen or faction in his writings. He is always a good subject; and if he reprehends the follies or the vices which stood too near the throne, he does it as a friend, and with the view of restoring it to that purity and wisdom which became it, and to that lustre in which he loved to see it shine.
ft would not be necessary to mention Massinger's IMITATIONS of his contemporaries, if such a practice had not been unduly attributed to him. Mr. M. Mason seems disposed to talk of passages remembered from Shakspeare. But the practice is not
[ 585 ]
very frequent, and whenever it does occur, the obligation is too unimportant to be dwelt upon. Indeed, it may be affirmed in general, that, though he may adopt occasional sentiments from Shakspeare, he can hardly be said to copy his incidents or situations. Perhaps the nearest approach to such an obligation is in the Emperor of the East^ where jealousy on account of the apple recalls to our mind the handkerchief of Othello. Yet even here the history itself may well be supposed to furnish the situation without assistance from any other quarter; and the imitation is, after all, confined to a few scattered thoughts. It ought, indeed, to be allowed, (since the subject is thus entered upon,) that when such an imitation does take place, it is some times not quite so happy as the reader might wish. Either the thoughts are not so forcibly expressed as by Shakspeare, or they are given to persons whose characters do not so well agree with them. Thus, when Asambeg (Renegado) repeats his determi nation to do something terrible, but what, he does not yet know, he reminds us of a sentiment highly characteristic of the wild and ungoverned temper of Lear. But Asambeg is of a different cast. In the midst of his passion his interest is consulted ; he blusters indeed, but stops to calculate consequences, and in reality is a tame character. Again, when imprecations are used against Richard, and guilty fear is to deprive him of the power of wielding his sword, we feel that the thought is natural. But when Overreach (New Way to pay Old Debts) finds that the curses of those whom he has undone are upon him, and take away his strength, we perceive an incongruity. A sword was the natural and proper weapon of Richard, — the instrument by which his situation was to be maintained. Overreach has a sword never intended to be drawn : he endeavours to use it in the moment of frenzy; yet talks of its failure in the terms of a baffled soldier, as if it would no longer avenge his cause, or preserve his falling fortunes.
This notice will be sufficient for the imitations attributed to Massinger, and the circumstances which attend them. In fact, he has borrowed little from his contemporaries, and has given to Milton alone perhaps as much sentiment as he has himself taken from Shakspeare. To some later writers he has been too convenient a quarry. Without acknowledgment, they have dug from his scenes for the construction of their own, and have done him at once an injustice and an honour. By their unskilful use of his plundered matter, they have proved how much he is their superior. The imitation of the Fatal Dowry in the Fair Penitent, has been already noticed. If the reader will pass from one of these Plays to the other, he will hardly fail to acknowledge the truth of this assertion, bold as it may appear: he will find,
VOL. IV. * Q q
[ 5S6 ]
notwithstanding the praises bestowed on Rowe by Dr. Johnson, that laboured softness and artificial sentiment are but an ill exchange for the genuine feelings of nature, and the genuine expression of them. Again, if he will compare Ike Guardian of Massinger with the imitation of it in the Inconstant of Farquhar, he cannot but observe how much the natural briskness and flow ing humour of Durazzo are degraded in the forced levity and empty bustle of Old Mirabel. I am not certain that Lee remem bered Massinger in his Theodosius, or the Force of Love ; but he boasts of the reception of that piece by the public Yet who ever will compare the Emperor of the East with it, will soon learn to think favourably of Massinger on this account also; and will wonder that his nature and force should be neglected, while the public taste has been content to admire in Lee passion which never moves the soul, and vehemence which does but excite ridicule.
From these few particulars some conclusion may be drawn respecting the genius and disposition of Massinger. Perhaps he cannot be called sublime. He docs not, liEe Shakspeare, seize the soul, and in a moment pierce it with terror or affliction: nor does he sustain it at will in transports beyond the usual height of nature. He moves us rather by the accumulation of circum stances, than by single passages of unusual strength and impres sion. He melts too, rather than terrifies. Yet while we surrender all our compassionate feelings to the Fatal Dowry, we must re member the horror excited by the Unnatural Combat ; horror inherent in the very situations of the principal agents, and in- creased, with equal artifice and power, by dark and mysterious allusions to the causes of their strange enmity, and of the fear ful imprecations which they utter. He does not venture into the ideal world, and create new personages and imagine strange agencies for them. His few ghosts deserve no mention. The good and bad spirit in the Virgin Martyr are not to be compared with the fantastic beings of Shakspeare: their appearance is, for the most part, human ; and when their true nature breaks forth, they act iu a manner which custom had already prescribed for them. The most imposing use of an event beyond the expec- rience of common life occurs in the Picture ; yet this is an ex traordinary trick of art, which appeals rather to the ear than the eye, and which, once allowed, suffices throughout the piece: there is no magical apparatus, no visible agent conducting the train of surprise.
His comic talent is not equal to- his tragic power. His merit chiefly consists in the invention of comic situations ; and in these he is often remarkably happy. But the great support of Comedy is dialogue j and in this he is deficient. In general
[ 587]
it wants briskness and variety. Of course, we must not look into him for those characters whose wit predominates through the piece, or whose fatuity is the principal cause of laughter. He has neither a Falstaff nor a Bessus ; not even a master Ste phen, or a Slender. Sylli, however small his pretensions, is his chief mirth-maker. Indeed, the Comedy of Massinger has a near connexion with history and the graver satire. He draws copious descriptions of the trifling or vicious manners of the age, and discovers strong purposes of moral correction, rather than smartness of conversation, and the attacks and defences of dra matic wit. Of this sort is the City Madam. This I regard as the chief effort of his Comedy ; as the Fatal Dowry is of his Tragedy. These two Plays alone would be sufficient to create an high reputation. Pity for suffering virtue can hardly be ex cited in a stronger manner than in the latter. In the former it is difficult to say which quality prevails, the powerful ridicule of an unfeeling affectation, or the just reprobation of hypocrisy. This determines the nature of Massinger's writings. He does not soar to the heights of fancy ; he dwells among men, and de scribes their business and their passions with judgment, feeling, and discrimination. He has a justness of principle which is admirably fitted to the best interests of human life; and I know no writer of his class from whom more maxims of prudence, morality, or religion may be drawn. He is eminently success ful in representing the tender attachment of virtuous love, and in maintaining the true delicacy and dignity of the female cha racter; and in general he displays a warmth of zeal on the side of goodness which at once pleases and elevates the reader. To this excellence of sentiment he adds much strength and variety of talent; nor will any one doubt it who has perused these Plays with attention. The general chasteness of language with which they are written, the peculiar elegance of style in the Great Duke of Florence and the Parliament of Lore,— the united dignity and madness of passion of the Duke of Milan, — the ani mation and heroism of the Bondman, and the talent of discrimi nation added to those in the Maid of Honour, — the striking elo quence of the Roman Actor,— the comic force of the Very Woman, — the strong ridicule and moral reprobation in the Nc* Way to pay Old Debts,— and the peculiar playfulness of the Picture;— these, and many others which might be mentioned with equal justice, are incontrovertible proofs of a genius far beyond the common level. Cartwright has invidiously remarked the " wretched genius and dependent fires" of those who, in his time, wrote plays for bread. This cannot be said of Massinger without the greatest injustice. He has written not for hi* be nefactors alone : his country owes him an obligation, and it *Qq2
[ 588 ]
would be a reproach to our discernment if so much merit were still overlooked. Indeed it is very difficult to account for the long inattention of which he has hitherto to complain. The troubles which so soon followed the first appearance of these Plays, dropt the curtain on Massinger and every other genuine writer for the stage. Perhaps for about twenty years the stage was altogether silent. It might have been expected, however, that the Restoration, which revived several of the plays of Shakspeare, and more of Beaumont and Fletcher, would have done some justice to Massinger.
I am not sanguine about my conjecture, but the following may be considered as one of the leading causes of the neglect which he experienced. It appears that the prevailing taste of those times was such as his scenes were not much calculated to gratify. An extraordinary attachment burst forth to the swift turns and graces of the stage, as Dryden terms them, and to the chase of wit briskly pursued in dramatic conversation. These qualities, as it was just now observed, do not distinguish Massinger. They uere supposed at that time to be possessed by Fletcher alone ; and this probably was the reason of the marked preference which he obtained ; for we know from Dryden, that two of Fletcher's Plays were acted for one of Shakspeare. As to the wit of Jonson, it was considered as too stiff for that age. But the chief injustice seems to rest with Dryden himself. In his Essay on Dramatic Poetry he praises others for qualities of which Massinger might have been adduced as an example, and blames them for failings from w hich he was free ; yet of Massinger no mention is made : and probably this was sufficient warrant for succeeding critics to pass by a name which so great a man had appeared not to know, or not to value. As to the attempts in the last century to make Massinger known through succeeding editions of his works, they call for some acknowledgment on account of their motive ; but the per formance can hardly be mentioned without indignation. Lord Bacon somewhere talks of the disservice done to literature by the u rash diligence'' of some u in the correction and edition of authors.'7 One would think he had looked forward to the treatment of poor Massinger by Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason ! — But it is time that his obscured merit should at length appear in its proper light; and Massinger has found, from the present Editor, what has been so humanely wished for him, a vindication of his name in a pure and accurate text.
One thing yef remains : to explain why I have taken a part in the present publication. The account is short and simple. The Editor, having already resolved on the publication, and pre pared the text for the press, requested of me a, revision of these
t 589 ]
Plays, and such observations as the active discharge of profes. sional duties w«uld allow me to bestow on them. To this he was doubtless impelled by his known partiality to the judgment of his friend : and, in some measure, perhaps, by the recol lection that, in our early days, we had read together some of the works of our dramatic writers. This statement, it is hoped, will excuse me with the professed lovers of the drama, who may find these observations of too serious a cast, or want, ing that minute acquaintance with the stage which might be required. My chief attention has long since been turned to other pursuits ; nor have I thrust myself into this employment ; neither, indeed, has any -c* calling'' been " left" for it. Mas- singer has truly said, that to be able
« to pierce to the depth,
" Or write a comment on the obscurest poets, u Is but an ornament."
The great business of life has more solemn claims ; and it is a consolation to add, that while this act of friendship has been performed, the higher and more important duties have not suf fered. If, with this necessary reservation, the talent of Massin- ger has been at all unfolded ; and especially, if his writings are now made more useful than they might otherwise have been, by the careful observation of his subject, and the pointing of his moral, I shall be satisfied. As to the rest, it is but a trifling service which can be performed by me in this, or perhaps any other, province of letters ; but, to apply the words of a great man on a far higher occasion, " so have I been content to tune the instruments of the Muses, that they may play who hav« better hands."
POEMS
ON
SEVERAL OCCASIONS,
BY
PHILIP MASSINGER.
to fafe p. SOS cf v-'l. //.'
[593]
POEMS
To my Honorable ffreinde Sr.
ffrancis jfoliambe Knight
and Baronet.
Sr. with rny service I praesent this booke,
A trifle, I confesse, but pray you looke Upon the sender, not his guift, with your
Accustomde favor, and then 't will indure Your serch the better. Somethinge there may bee
You '1 finde in the perusall fit for mee To give to one I honor, and may pleade,
In your defence, though you descende to reade A Pamplet of this nature. May it prove
In your free iudgement, though not worth you'
Hove, Yet fit to finde a pardon, and I'll say
Upon your warrant that it is a play,
M
ever at your comaundment
MASHNGER.
594 P O E M S.
To my judicious and learned Friend the Author, [JAMES SHIRLEY] upon his ingenious Poem, the Grateful Servant, a Comedy ', published in 1630.
THOUGH I well know, that my obscurer name
Listed with theirs1 who here advance thy fame,
Cannot add to it, give me leave to be,
Among the rest a modest votary
At the altar of thy Muse. I dare not raise
Giant hyperboles unto thy praise ;
Or hope it can find credit in this age,
Though I should swear, in each triumphant page
Of this thy work there's no line but of weight,
And poesy itself shewn at the height :
Such common places, friend, will not agree
With thy own vote, and my integrity.
I'll steer a mid way, have clear truth my guide,
And urge a praise which cannot be denied.
Here are no forced expressions, no rack'd phrase ;
No Babel compositions to amaze
The tortured reader; no believed defence
To strengthen the bold Atheist's insolence ;
No obscene syllable, that may compel
A blush from a chaste maid ; but all so well
Express'd and order'd, as wise men must say
It is a grateful poem, a good play :
And such as read ingeniously, shall find
Few have outstripp'd thee, many halt behind.
PHILIP MASSINGER.
1 Listed with theirsJ\ John Fox, John Hall, Charles Aleyn, Thomas Randolph, Robert Stapylton, Thomas Craford, William Habington.
POEMS.
595
To his Son, J. S. upon his Minerva.1
THOU art ray son ; in that my choice is spoke : Thine with thy father's Muse strikes equal stroke. It shew'd more art in Virgil to relate, And make it worth the hearing, his gnat's fate, Than to conceive what those great minds must be That sought, and found out, fruitful Italy. And such as read and do not apprehend, And with applause, the purpose and the end Of this neat poem, in themselves confess A dull stupidity and barrenness. Methinks I do behold, in this rare birth, A temple built up to facetious Mirth, Pleased Phoebus smiling on it : doubt not, then, But that the suffrage of judicious men Will honour this Thalia; and, for those That praise sir Bevis, or what's worse in prose, Let them dwell still in ignorance. To write In a new strain, and from it raise delight, As thou in this hast done, doth not by chance, But merit, crown thee with the laurel branch.
PHILIP MASSINGER.
- To his son, J. S. upon his Minerva,] Coxeter and Mr. M. Mason (or rather Coxeter alone, for Mr.M. Mason neither knew nor thought any thing about the matter,) say this little poem was addressed to James Shirley ; and Dayies, in his Life of Mas- singer, reasons upon it as an indisputable fact. The truth, how ever, is, that these initial letters belong to James Smith, a man of considerable wit and learning, and a dignitary of the church. He was the author of several short pieces, and, among the rest, of that to which this, with other commendatory poems, is pre. fixed, the Innovation of Penelope and Ulysses, a burlesque satire upon some incoherent translation of those days, and the proto type, perhaps, of Cotton's Virgil, and the R,ehcarsal. Wood says, that Smith " was much in esteem with the poetical wits of that day, particularly with Philip Massin^er, who called him his son."
Athen. Oxon. Vol. II. p. 397.
P O E M S.
SERO SED SER10.
To the Right Honourable my most singular good Lord and Patron, PH i LI P Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, Lord- Chamber lain of His Majesty's Household, <§*c. upon the deplorable and untimely Death of his late truly noble Son, CHARLES Lord HERBERT, <§*c.3
'TWAS fate, not want of duty, did me wrong; Or, with the rest, my hymenaeal song Had been presented, when the knot was tied That made the bridegroom and the virgin bride A happy pair. I curs'd my absence then That hinder'd it, and bit my star-cross'd pen, Too busy in stage-blanks, and trifling rhyme, When such a cause call'd, and so apt a time To pay a general debt ; mine being more Than they could owe, who since, or heretofore, Have labour'd with exalted lines to raise Brave piles, or rather pyramids of praise To Pembroke and his family : and dare I, Being silent then, aim at an elegy ? Or hope my weak Muse can bring forth one verse Deserving to wait on the sable hearse Of your late hopeful Charles? his obsequies Exact the mourning of all hearts and eyes That knew him, or loved virtue. He that would Write what he was, to all posterity, should
1 Charles lord Herbert, whose early death is here lamented, was the eldest surviving son of Philip earl of Pembroke and Montgomery. He was made a knight of the Bath at the coronation of Charles I. and married in 1634 to Mary, daughter of the great duke of Buckingham ; soon after which he went abroad, (for she was too young for cohabitation,) and died of the small-pox at Florence, in January 1635-6.
POEMS. 597
Have ample credit in himself, to borrow, Nay, make his own, the saddest accents sorrow Ever express'd, and a more moving quill, Than Spenser used when he gave Astrophil A living epicedium. For poor me, By truth I vow it is no flattery, I from my soul wish, (if it might remove Grief's burthen, which too feelingly you prove,) Though I have been ambitious of fame, As poets are, and would preserve a name, That, my toys burnt, I had lived unknown to men, And ne'er had writ, nor ne'er to write again. Vain wish, and to be scorn'd ! can my foul dross, With such pure gold be valued ? or the loss Of thousand lives like mine, merit to be The same age thought on, when his destiny Is only mentioned? no, my lord, his fate, Is to be prized at a higher rate ; Nor are the groans of common men to be Blended with those, which the nobility Vent hourly for him. That great ladies mourn His sudden death, and lords vie at his urn Drops of compassion ; that true sorrow, fed With showers of tears, still bathes the widow'd bed Of his dear spouse ; that our great king and
queen
(To grace your grief) disdain'd not to be seen Your royal comforters; these well become The loss of such a hope, and on his tomb Deserve to live : but, since no more could be Presented, to set off his tragedy, And with a general sadness, why should you (Pardon my boldness !) pay more than his due, Be the debt ne'er so great ? No stoic can, As you were a loving father, and a man, Forbid a moderate sorrow; but to take Too much of it, for his or your own sake,
598 POEMS.
If we may trust divines, will rather be
Censured repining, than true piety.
I still presume too far, and more than fear
My duty may offend, pressing too near
Your private passions. I thus conclude,
If now you shew your passive fortitude,
In bearing this affliction, and prove
You take it as a trial of heaven's love
And favour to you, you ere long shall see
Your second care4 return'd from Italy,
To bless his native England, each rare part,
That in his brother lived, and joy'd your heart,
Transferred to him; and to the world make known
He takes possession of what's now his own.
Your honour's
most humble
and faithful servant,
PHILIP MASSINGER.'
4 Your second care] Philip Herbert, who survi?ed him, and succeeded to his title and estates.
THE END.
London : Printed by W, Bulmer and Co. Cleveland-Row, St. James's.
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UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY