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THE   WORKS 


BEAUMONT   AND  FLETCHER. 


THE   WORKS 


BEAUMONT   &   FLETCHER; 


THE    TEXT    FORMED    FROM    A    NEW    COLLATION    OF   THE 
EARLY    EDITIONS. 


AND   A   BIOGRAPHICAL    MEMOIR 

BY 

THE  REV.   ALEXANDER   DYCE. 

IN   ELEVEN  VOLUMES. 


VOL.  II. 


THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS. 

THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE. 

A  KING  AND  NO  KING. 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 

THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  INNER -TEMPLE 
AND  GRAYS  INN. 


FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 


5138G5 


LONDON  : 
EDWARD    MOXON,   DOVER    STREET. 


HDCCCXLIU. 


LONDON  : 
BRADBORY   AND    EVANS,   PRINTERS,   WHITKFRIARS 


V.  ^ 


THE   FAITHFUL    SHEPHERDESS. 


TTie  FaithfvU  Shepheardesse.  By  John  Fletcher-  Printed  at  London  for  R.  Bonian  and 
H.  Walley,  and  are  to  be  sold  at  the  spred  Eagle  oner  against  the  great  North  dore  of 
S-  Panics,  n.  d.  4to, 

The  FaithfvU  Shepheardesse.  By  John  Fletcher.  The  second  Edition,  newly  corrected. 
London,  Printed  by  T.  C.  for  Richard  Meighen,  in  St.  Dnnstanes  Church-yard  in  Fleet- 
streete.  1629.  4to. 

The  FaithfvU  Shepherdesse.  Acted  at  Somerset  House  before  the  King  and  Qveene  on 
Twelfe  night  last,  1633.  And  divers  times  since  with  great  applause  at  the  Private  House  in 
Blacke-Friers,  by  his  Majesties  Servants.  Written  by  John  Fletcher.  The  third  Editioti, 
with  Addition.  London,  Printed  by  A.  31.  for  Richard  Meighen,  next  to  the  Middle  Temple 
in  Fleet-street.    1634.  4to. 

The  FaithfuU  Shepherdesse,  &c.  The  Fourth  Edition.  London,  Printed  for  Ga. 
Bedell  and  The.  Collins,  at  the  Middle  Temple  Gate  in  Fleet-street.    1656.  4to. 

The  FaithfuU  Shepherdesse,  &c.  The  Fifth  Edition  (also  printed  for  BedeU  and  Collins), 
1665.  4to.  This  edition  is  not  noticed  by  Weber  ;  but  he  mentions  one  dated  1661,  which,  I 
believe,  does  not  exist. 

And  in  the  folio  of  1679. 


This  drama  is  mentioned  by  Davies  of  Hereford  in  an  epigram  already 
cited,  vol.  I.  p.  199;  and  The  Scourge  of  Fo%,  which  contains  that 
epigram,  is  supposed  to  have  been  published  about  1611.  The  Faithful 
Shepherdess,  says  GifFord,  "  was  brought  out  in  1610,  perhaps  before." 
Note  on  Jonson's  Works,  vi.  305.  The  first  edition  is  printed  without  a 
date  ;  but  Sir  AVilliam  Skipwith,  one  of  the  thi-ee  fiiends  to  whom  the 
author  dedicates  it,  died  on  the  third  of  Ma}',  1610. 

This  pastoral  was  wholly  from  the  pen  of  Fletcher.  That  in  com- 
posing it  he  had  an  eye  to  the  Aminta  of  Tasso  and  to  the  Pastor  Fido  of 
Guarini,  is,  I  think,  quite  evident.  A  Satyr,  whose  character  became  so 
refined  and  poetical  in  Fletcher's  hands,  is  found  in  both  those  dramas  ; 
while  the  latter  suggested  the  title  of  The  Faithful  Shepherdess,  and  un- 
fortunately afforded  in  Corisca  a  model  for  the  wanton  Cloe.  A  version  of 
the  Aminta  ("somewhat  altered*")  into  English  hexameters  had  already 
appeared  in  the  First  Part  of  The  Countesse  of  Pembrokes  Yuychurch, 
&c.,  by  Abraham  Fraunce,  in  1591 ;  and  an  English  translation  of  the 
Pastor  Fido  by Dymock  (wliich,  in  spite  of  Daniel's  commen- 
datory sonnet,  is  a  very  bad  one)  had  been  published  in  1602.  But,  though 
in  all  probability  the  poor  attempts  of  Fraunce  and  Dymock  were  not 
unknowTi  to  Fletcher,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  Italian  text  of  those 
celebrated  pieces  was  perfectly  familiar  to  him. 

Mr.  Darley,  however,  (Introd.  to  tlie  Works  of  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher,  p.  xii.),  is  willing  to  trace  the  origin  of  the  Faithful  Shepherdess 
to  Spenser.  "  Various  thoughts,"  he  says,  "  descriptions,  &c.,  are  taken 
or  imitated  from  the  Shepherd's  Calendar  ;  some  peculiar  words,  as  '  dell,' 
'  leese,'  are  common  to  both  productions ;  and  so  like%vise  are  some 
proper  names,  as  Thenot,  Perigot,  which  do  not  exist  m  Fletcher's  sup- 
posed prototypes,  the  Aminta  and  the  Pastor  Fido."  He  then  gives  two 
specimens  of  the  foraier  coincidences,  which  will  be  found  among  Seward's 

»  "  I  haue  somewhat  altered  S.[ignor]  Tassocs  Itali.an  and  M.[aster]  Watsons  Latinc 
Amyntas,  to  makje  them  both  one  English."    Dedie.  Epistle  to  the  Countcts  of  Pembroke. 

n  2 


notes'in  this  edition.  That  Fletcher  has  occasionally  imitated  Spenser, 
is  unquestionable  ;  and  indeed  the  very  subject  on  which  he  was  employed 
would  naturally  call  to  his  recollection  the  well-known  Eclogues  of  that 
mighty  poet ;  but  I  must  still  continue  to  believe  that  if  the  pastoral 
di'amas  of  Tasso  and  Guarini  had  never  been  written,  we  should  never 
have  possessed  The  Faithful  Shepherdess.  As  to  "  dell "  and  "  leese," — 
they  occur  more  frequently  in  the  works  of  Fletcher's  contemporaries 
than  Mr.  Darley  seems  to  be  aware  ;  the  latter  word  is  used  eleven  times 
by  Dymock  in  his  translation  of  the  Pastor  Fido. 

With  all  its  poetic  beauty.  The  Faithful  Shepherdess  is  but  little  fitted 
for  the  stage  ;  and  on  its  first  representation  it  was  decidedly  condemned 
by  the  audience.  The  various  addresses  to  and  by  the  author,  which,  in 
consequence  of  its  failure  at  the  theatre,  were  prefixed  to  the  first  4to., 
have  been  retained  in  the  present  edition. 

Several  years  after  the  decease  of  Fletcher,  this  long-neglected 
pastoral  was  exhibited  at  court.  Its  revival  is  thus  noticed  in  the  MSS. 
of  Sir  Henry  Herbert*: — "  On  Monday  night  the  sixth  of  January 
[1633-43  and  the  Twelfe  Night  was  presented  at  Denmark-house'', 
before  the  King  and  Queene,  Fletchers  pastorall  called  The  Faithfull 
Shepheardesse,  in  the  clothes  the  Queene  had  given  Taylor  the  year  before 
of  her  owne  pastorall.  The  scenes  were  fitted  to  the  pastorall,  and  made, 
by  Mr.  Inigo  Jones,  in  the  great  chamber,  1633."  Malone's  Shakespeare 
(by  Boswell),  iii.  234.  Garrard,  the  gossiping  correspondent  of  Lord 
Strafford,  has  a  passage  to  the  same  effect  in  a  letter  dated  January  9th, 
1633: — "I  never  knew  a  duller  Christmas  than  we  had  at  Court  this 
Year,  but  one  Play  all  the  time  at  Whitehall,  and  no  dancing  at  all. 
The  Queen  had  some  little  Infirmity,  a  Bile,  or  some  such  Tiling, 
which  made  her  keep  in,  only  on  Twelfth-night  she  feasted  the  King  at 
Somerset-house,  and  presented  him  with  a  Play,  newly  studied,  long 
since  printed.  The  Faithful  Shepherdess,  which  the  King's  Players  acted 
in  the  Robes  she  and  her  Ladies  acted  their  Pastoral  in  the  last  Year." 
The  Earl  of  Straffordes  Letters  and  Dispatches,  i.  177.  "  Instead  of  a 
Prologue,  there  was  a  Song  in  Dialogue,  sung  between  a  Priest  and  a 
Nymph,  which  was  writ  by  Sir  William  D'Avenant ;  and  an  Epilogue  was 
spoken  by  the  Lady  Mary  Mordant,  which  the  Reader  may  read  in  Covent- 
Garden  Drollery,  p.  86."  Langbaine's  Account  of  Engl.  Dram.  Poets, 
p.  208.  In  consequence,  we  may  presume,  of  the  favour  which  it  had 
experienced  at  court,  The  Faithful  Shepherdess  was  again  brought  out  at  a 

''  Denniark-Ifmise  wivs  the  later  name  of  S(inifr.si."t-IIousf, 


regular  theatre ;  from  the  third  quarto  we  learn  that,  soon  after  its 
revival  before  the  King  and  Queen,  it  vi'as  acted  "  divers  times  with 
great  applause  at  the  Private  House  in  Black- Friars." 

In  1037,  Milton  testified  to  the  world  his  admiration  of  this  drama  by 
the  various  passages  of  Comus  which  are  closely  imitated  from  it. 

In  1658,  Sir  Richard  Fanshaw  published  a  translation  of  The  Faithful 
Shepherdess  into  Latin  verse, — La  Fida  Pastora  °.  Comcedia  Pastoralis. 
Autore  F.  F.  Anylo-Britanno.  Adduntur  nonmiUa  varii  argwnenti  Car- 
mina  ah  eodem.  8vo., — a  performance  of  considerable  merit  on  the  whole, 
though  containing  not  a  little  to  which  the  critical  scholar  might  object. 
I  subjoin  two  specimens  of  it.     The  speech  of  Cloe, 

"  Shepherd,  I  pray  thee  stay.     Where  hast  thou  been,"  &c. — Act  i.  so.  3. 

is  rendered  as  follows  : 

"  Pastor,  non  abeas,  non,  qu?esumus.     Unde  venis  nunc  ? 
Aut  quo  vadis  ?     Ubi  viret  hae  magis  horrida  silva  1 
Spirat  et  hie  qua  nee  melior  nee  moUior  aura  est, 
Lee  vis  ubi  Zephyrus  faciem  lascivus  oberrat 
Crispatam  labentis  aqua;  ;  floresque  quot  ulla 
Vera  novo  producit  humus,  totidemque  eolorum. 
Quod  placet  hie  omne  est  ;  gelidi  fontesque  laeusque, 
Arboreffique  domus  pluraatis  flore  corymbis, 
Antra,  lacunosique  apices.     Horum  elige  quid  vis. 
Ipsa  tuo  cantans  lateri  conereta  sedebo  ; 
Hosve  legam  juncos  (digitis  tibi  vincula  longis) ; 
Crebraque  anioris  erit  pro  te  milai  fabula  ;  pallens 
Ut  primum  vidit  silvis  venando  Diana 
Endymiona,  bibens  oculis  labefacta  puelli 
iEternos  ignes  et  non  mcdicabile  vulnus  ; 
Molliter  ut  conduxit  eum,  gremioquc  refusura, 
Atque  soporifero  redimitum  tempera  flore, 
Ad  Latmi  caput  antiqui,  quo  devolat  ilia 
Omni  uocte,  aiu-ans  fratcrno  lumine  montem, 
Basia  mille  datura  gcnis  quas  deperit." 

The  concludmg  portion  of  the  play,  from  the  speech  of  the  Satyr, 
"  Thou  divinest,  fairest,  brightest,"  &c. 

is  translated  thus : 

"  Sat.  Terrae  pulchrior  incolis,  beata, 

Perquam  Candida  virgo  prsepotensque, 
Dilectissima  Dis  et  absque  fraude, 

c  ■•  Hanc  tibi  appcUiitionem  (non  ogo)  celata  imposuit  autoritas,  a  qna  leccdere  ncutlqunni 
debeo.  Casu  an  consilio  id  eperit,  non  constat;  nee  qiiani  ilia  dictabat  Angliic,  succurrit 
mihi ab  antiquis  vocabuUim  quo  icdduin  Latino.     Ilinc  ncccsaiUib."    A iilhvr  nit  Opusiulum . 


Stellatis  oculis,  pari  capillo 
Phoebeis  radiis  ;  mihi  explicato 
Quid  digni  super  arduique  quid  sit 
Quod  prrestet  tibi  Satyrus  :  volabo 
Per  regnum  celer  aeris  secundum, 
Et  nimbi  (potis)  impetum  rotantis 
Sistam  ?  fortiter  occupabo  lunam, 
Et  blande  dominam  rogabo  noctis 
Pallentem  tibi  mutuum  det  astrum  ? 
Immergar  penetralibus  profundi, 
Ut  rubrum  tibi  colligam  coi-allum, 
Discludens  tumidas  viam  per  undas 
Tanquam  velleribus  nivis  cadentes  1 
Vis,  carissima,  capreas  fugaces, 
Aut  muscas  capiam  quibus  per  alas 
^stas  texuit  Iridis  colores  1 
Aut  pina  alta  legam  ?  polove  f  urer 
Vatis  Threicii  lyi'am  vetusti  ? 
Cuncta  baec  plusque  tui  probabo  causa, 

Quam  cunctee  hse  flexo  venerantur  vertice  silvae. 
dor.  Satyre,  prospicias  tantum  (nihil  amplius  oro) 

Hos  circum  lucos,  ne  gens  innoxia  noxam 

Aut  damnum  capiat.     Sat.  Puella  sancta. 
Per  totum  nemus  hoc  tripudiabo, 
Surgentis  celer  ut  jubar  diei, 
Saltus  perque  ferar  per  atque  valles, 
Alis  ventimolse  magis  citatus. 
Tu  nunc  ut  valeas  precor,  simulque 
Quod  solaminis  uspiam  invenitur, 
Phoebi  quale  solet  creare  lumen, 
Et  te  prosperet  et  tuum  vii-etum  ! 
dor.  Et  tu  sis  domini  tui  voluptas  !" 


TO  MY  LOVED  FRIEND  %  MASTER  JOHN  FLETCHER,  ON  HIS 
PASTORAL. 

Can  my  approvement,  sir,  be  worth  your  thanks, 
Whose  unknown  name,  and  Muse  in  swathing  clouts, 
Is  not  yet  grown  to  strength,  among  these  ranks 
To  have  a  room,  and  bear  off  the  sharp  flouts 
Of  this  our  pregnant  age,  that  does  despise 
All  innocent  verse  that  lets  alone  her  vice  ? 

But  I  must  justify  what  privately 
I  censur'd  "^  to  you  :  my  ambition  is 
(Even  by  my  hopes  and  love  to  poesy) 
To  live  to  perfect  such  a  work  as  this, 
Clad  in  such  elegant  propriety 
Of  words,  including  a  morality. 

So  sweet  and  profitable ;  though  each  man  that  hears, 

And  learning  has  enough  to  clap  and  hiss. 

Arrives  not  to''t,  so  misty  it  appears. 

And  to  their  filmed  reasons  so  amiss : 

But  let  Art  look  in  Truth,  she,  like  a  mirror, 

Reflects  her  comfort  ^ ;   Ignorance's  terror 

Sits  in  her  own  brow,  being  made  afraid 
Of  her  unnatural  complexion, 
As  ugly  women,  when  they  are  arrayM 
By  glasses,  loathe  their  true  reflection. 
Then  how  can  such  opinions  injure  thee, 
That  tremble  at  their  own  deformity  ? 

"=  To  my  loved  friend  &c.]  These  recommendatory  poems  by  Field,  Beaumont, 
Jonson,  and  Chapman  are  found  in  all  the  4tos.  The  folio  of  lern  gives  only 
those  by  Beaumont  and  Jonson. 

•^  /  censur''d']  i.  e.  I  gave  as  my  opinion. 

*  comforf}  The  three  latest  4tos.  have  "consort:"  the  meaning  of  this 
passage  is  far  from  clear. 


Opinion,  tiiat  great  fool,  makes  fools  of  all, 
And  once  I  fear'd  her,  till  I  met  a  mind, 
Whose  grave  instructions  philosophical 
Toss'd  it  like  dust  upon  a  March  strong  wind  : 
He  shall  for  ever  my  example  be, 
And  his  embraced  doctrine  grow  in  me. 

His  soul,  (and  such  commend  this,  ^)  that  commands 

Such  art,  it  should  me  better  satisfy, 

Than  if  the  monster  =  clapt  his  thousand  hands, 

And  drownM  the  scene  with  his  confused  cry  ; 

And  if  doubts  rise,  lo,  their  own  names  to  clear  'em ! 

Whilst  I  am  happy  but  to  stand  so  near  'em  ^\ 

Nathaniel  Field'. 


TO  x\IY  FRIEND,  MASTER  JOHN  FLETCHER,  UPON  HIS  FAITHFUL 
SHEPHERDESS. 


I  KNOW  too  well  that,  no  more  than  the  man 
That  travels  through  the  burning  deserts  can, 
When  he  is  beaten  with  the  raging  sun, 
Half-smother'd  with  •*  the  dust,  have  power  to  run 

'  and  such  commend  this]  "  i.  e.  and  the  souls  of  such  as  commend  this  poem." 
Weber.     Is  it  not  rather — and  such  souls  as  his  do  commend  this  poem  ? 

B  the  monsterl  "  i.  e.  the  multitude."     Weber. 

''  near  'em]  "  In  reference  to  the  ensuing  poems."     Weber. 

'  Nathaniel  Field]  A  player  and  dramatist.  He  originally  was  one  of  the 
Children  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  Chapel  ;  and  subsequently  belonged  to  the 
Black-friars  Company.  During  the  earlier  part  of  his  career  he  performed 
female  parts,  which  he  afterwards  abandoned.  As  an  actor,  his  reputation 
stood  very  high.  He  WTote  two  dramas,  j1  Woman  is  a  Weathercock,  and 
Amends  for  Ladies,  the  former  printed  in  1612,  the  latter  (an  excellent  comedy) 
in  1618  ;  and  he  also  assisted  Massinger  in  The  Fatal  Dowry.  It  has  been 
supposed  that  he  was  dead  in  1641  ;  but  the  probability  seems  to  be  that  he 
had  only  retired  from  his  ju'ofession  :  see  Collier's  Pref.  Remarks  to  A  Woman 
is  a  Weathercock, — Supplementary  Volume  to  Dodsley's  Old  Flays. 

i  icith]  The  two  latest  4tos.  and  folio  16/9  "  in." 


From  a  cool  river,  which  himself  doth  find, 

Ere  he  be  slak'd  ;  no  more  can  he  whose  mind 

Joys  in  the  Muses  hold  from  that  delight, 

When  nature  and  his  full  thoughts  bid  him  write  : 

Yet  wish  I  those,  whom  I  for  friends  have  known, 

To  sing  their  thoughts  to  no  ears  but  their  own. 

Why  should  the  man,  whose  wit  ne''er  had  a  stain. 

Upon  the  public  stage  present  his  vein. 

And  make  a  thousand  men  in  judgment  sit. 

To  call  in  question  his  undoubted  wit, 

Scarce  two  of  which  can  understand  the  laws 

Which  they  should  judge  by,  nor  the  party's  cause  ? 

Among  the  rout  ^  there  is  not  one  that  hath 

In  his  own  censure  an  explicit  faith : 

One  company,  knowing  they  judgment  lack. 

Ground  their  behef  on  the  next  man  in  black  ; 

Others,  on  him  that  makes  signs  and  is  mute  ; 

Some  like,  as  he  does  in  the  fairest  suit ; 

He,  as  his  mistress  doth ;  and  she,  by  chance  ; 

Nor  want  there  those  who,  as  the  boy  doth  dance 

Between  the  acts  ',  will  censure  the  whole  play  ; 

Some  like,  if  the  wax-lights  be  new  that  day "' ; 

But  multitudes  there  are  whose  judgment  goes 

Headlong  according  to  the  actors'  clothes. 

For  this,  these  public  things  and  I  agree 

So  ill,  that,  but  to  do  a  right  to  thee, 

I  had  not  been  persuaded  to  have  hurl'd 

These  few  ill-spoken  hues  into  the  world, 

Both  to  be  read  and  censured  of  by  those 

Whose  very  reading  makes  verse  senseless  prose  ; 


'^  rout]  i.  e.  set,  company. 

'  as  the  boy  doth  dance 

Between  the  acts]  "  This  was  a  usual  entertainment  between  the  acts,  and 
several  times  occurs  in  The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle."     Weber. 

■"  Some  like,  if  the  ivax-lights  be  neiv  that  day']  The  two  latest  4tos.  and  folio 

1679,— 

"  Some  if  the  wudc  lights  be  not  new  that  day." 


10 

Such  as  must  spend  above  an  hour  to  spell 
A  challenge  on  a  post ",  to  know  it  well. 
But  since  it  was  thy  hap  to  throw  away 
Much  wit,  for  which  the  people  did  not  pay, 
Because  they  saw  it  not,  I  not  dislike 
This  second  publication,  which  may  strike 
Their  consciences,  to  see  the  thing  they  scornM, 
To  be  with  so  much  wit  and  art  adorned. 
Besides,  one  Vantage  more  in  this  I  see ; 
Your  censurers  must  °  have  the  quality 
Of  reading,  which  I  am  afraid  is  more 
Than  half  your  shrewdest  judges  had  before. 

Francis  Beaumont. 


TO  THE  WORTHY  AUTHOR,  MASTER  JOHN  FLETCHER. 


The  wise  and  many-headed  bench,  that  sits 

Upon  the  life  and  death  of  plays  and  wits, 

(ComposM  of  gamester,  captain,  knight,  knight's  man, 

Lady  or  pusill  ^,  that  wears  mask  or  fan '', 

Velvet  or  taffata-cap,  rank'd  in  the  dark 

With  the  shop's  foreman,  or  some  such  brave  spark, 


"  A  challenge  on  a  post.']  "  Instances  of  this  ostentatious  custom  among 
fencing-masters  and  others  may  be  found  in  several  old  plays,  particularly  in 
Jensen's  Every  Man  in  his  Humour."     Weber. 

"  Your  censurers  must]  The  tlu-ee  latest  4tos.  and  folio  1679,  "  Your  cen- 
surers now  must  ", — unnecessarily. 

p  pusill]  Equivalent  here  to  wench,  di'ab,  or,  at  least,  to  one  who  pretends 
to  be  a  virgin.  See  notes  of  the  commentators  on  the  line, "  Pucelle  or  puzzel, 
dolphin,  or  dogfish,"  Shakespeare's  Henry  vi,  P.  i.,  act  l.sc.  4.  Nares  {Gloss, 
m  V.  Puzzel  or  Pusle)  incoiTectly  states  that  in  the  present  passage  the  old 
cds.  have  "  pucelle." 

1  that  wears  mask  or  faii]  "  The  practice  of  wearmg  masks  in  theatres  was 
prevalent  as  late  as  the  time  of  Congreve."    Weber. 


11 

That  may  judge  for  his  sixpence ')  had,  before 

They  saw  it  half,  daran"'d  thy  whole  play  and  more  : 

Their  motives  were,  since  it  had  not  to  do 

With  vices,  which  they  look'd  for  and  came  to. 

I,  that  am  glad  thy  innocence  was  thy  guilt, 

And  wish  that  all  the  Muses'  blood  were  spilt 

In  such  a  martyrdom,  to  vex  their  eyes, 

Do  crown  thy  murder'd  poem  ;  which  shall  rise 

A  glorified  work  to  time,  when  fire 

Or  moths  shall  eat  what  all  these  fools  admire. 

Ben  Jonson, 


TO  HIS  LOVING  FRIEND,  MASTER  JOHN  FLETCHER,  CONCERNING 
HIS  PASTORAL,  BEING  BOTH  A  POEM  AND   A.  PLAY. 


There  are  no  sureties,  good  friend,  will  be  taken 

For  works  that  vulgar  good-name  hath  forsaken  : 

A  poem  and  a  play  too  !  why,  'tis  like 

A  scholar  that's  a  poet  ;  their  names  strike 

Their  pestilence  inward,  when  they  take  the  air, 

And  kill  outright ;  one  cannot  both  fates  bear. 

But  as  a  poet,  that's  no  scholar,  makes 

Vulgarity  his  whiffler%  and  so  takes 

Passage  with  ease  and  state  through  both  sides'  prease ' 

Of  pageant-seers  ;  or  as  scholars  please 

That  are  no  poets  more  than  poets  learn'd, 

Since  their  art  solely  is  by  souls  disccrn'd ; 

The  others'  falls  within  the  common  sense, 

And  sheds,  like  common  light,  her  influence  ; 

'  sixpence]  i.  e.  the  lowest  sum  taken  at  the  theatre  on  the  first  repre- 
sentation of  The  Faithful  Shepherdess.  Concerning  the  various  prices  of 
admission  to  theatres,  see  Collier's  Ilisl.  of  Engl.  Dram.  Poet.,  iii.  341.  sqq. 

*  whiffler]  Properly,  a  person  who  cleared  the  way  for  a  procession.  Here 
(as  Nares  observes,  Gloss,  in  v.)  it  means — a  person  to  introduce. 

*  prease}  i.  e.  press,  crowd. 


12 

So,  were  your  play  no  poem,  but  a  thing 

That  every  cobbler  to  his  patch  might  sing, 

A  rout  of  nifles ",  like  the  multitude, 

With  no  one  limb  of  any  art  enduM, 

Like  would  to  like,  and  praise  you.     But  because 

Your  poem  only  hath  by  us  applause, 

Renews  the  golden  world,  and  holds  through  all 

The  holy  laws  of  homely  pastoral, 

Where  flowers  and  founts,  and  nymphs  and  semi -gods, 

And  all  the  Graces  find  their  old  abodes, 

Where  forests  flourish  but  in  endless  verse  ", 

And  meadows  nothing  fit  for  purchasers  ; 

This  iron  age,  that  eats  itself,  will  never 

Bite  at  your  golden  world  ;  that  other's  ever 

Lov'd  as  itself.     Then,  like  your  book,  do  you 

Live  in  old  peace,  and  that  for  praise  allow. 

George  Chapman  '''. 


"  A  rout  of  nifles']  i.  e.  a  set  of  trifles,  frivolous  things. 
"  but  in  endless  versel   "  i.  e.  only  in  immoi'tal  verse."     Weber. 
™  Geoi-ge  Chapmaii]  Tlie  prolific  dramatist,  translator  of  Homer,  &c.,  and 
author  of  several  original  poems.     He  died,  aged  77,  May  12th,  1634. 


13 


TO   THAT   NOBLE   AND  TRUE    LOVER   OF   LEARNING,   SIR 
WALTER  ASTON",  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BATH. 

Sir,  I  must  ask  your  patience  and  be  true  ; 

This  play  was  never  lik\l,  unless  by  few 

That  brought  their  judgments  with  'em ;  for,  of  late, 

First  the  infection,  then  the  common  prate 

Of  common  people,  have  such  customs  got, 

Either  to  silence  plays  or  like  them  not : 

Under  the  last  of  which  this  interlude 

Had  fain  for  ever,  prest  down  by  the  rude, 

That  like  a  torrent,  which  the  moist  south  feeds, 

Drowns  both  before  him  the  ripe  corn  and  weeds, 

Had  not  the  saving  sense  of  better  men 

RedeemM  it  from  corruption.     Dear  sir,  then. 

Among  the  better  souls,  be  you  the  best, 

In  whom,  as  in  a  centre,  I  take  rest 

And  proper  being  ;  from  whose  equal  eye 

And  judgment  nothing  grows  but  purity. 

Nor  do  I  flatter,  for,  by  all  those  dead. 

Great  in  the  Muses,  by  Apollo's  head, 

He  that  adds  anything  to  you,  'tis  done 

Like  his  that  lights  a  candle  to  the  sun  : 

Then  be,  as  you  were  ever,  yourself  still, 

Mov'd  by  your  judgment,  not  by  love  or  will ; 

And  when  I  sing  again,  (as  who  can  tell 

My  next  devotion  to  that  holy  well  ?) 

Your  goodness  to  the  Muses  shall  be  all 

Able  to  make  a  work  heroical. 

Given  to  your  service, 

John  Fletcher. 

"  To  that  noble  and  true  lover  of  learning,  Sir  Waller  Anton,  &e.]  "  This,  ami 
the  two  following  Dcdicatoi'y  Epistles,  are  only  to  be  found  in  the  first  ([uarto, 
as  well  as  the  Address  to  the  Reader. 

Sii-  Walter  Aston  of  Tixall  in  Staftordshirc,  was  born  in  1.^8 1,  [was  made  a 
Knight  of  the  Bath  at  the  Coronation  of  King  .James  I.],  was  one  of  the  first 
created  baronets,  and,  in  16'27,  was  raised  to  the  dignity  of  Baron  Aston  of 
Forfar,  in  the  kingdom  of  Scotland,  lie  was  employed  in  several  important 
embassies,  and  died  the  13th  August,  1039."     Wedku. 


14 


TO  THE  INHERITOR  OF  ALL  WORTHINESS,  SIR  WILLIAM 
SKIPWITHy. 


If,  from  servile  hope  or  love, 
I  may  prove 

But  so  happy  to  be  thought  for 

Such  a  one,  whose  greatest  ease 
Is  to  please, 

Worthy  sh',  I've  all  I  sought  for  : 

For  no  itch  of  greater  name, 

Which  some  claim 

By  their  verses,  do  I  shew  it 

To  the  world  ;  nor  to  protest 

'Tis  the  best ; 

These  are  lean  faults  in  a  poet ; 


Nor  to  make  it  serve  to  feed 

At  my  need. 
Nor  to  gain  acquaintance  by  it, 
Nor  to  ravish  kind  attornies 

In  their  jom^nies, 
Nor  to  read  it  after  diet. 

y  Sir  William  Skipwith]  Of  Cotes  in  Leicestershii-e,  (and  descended  from  the 
ancient  family  of  the  Skipwiths  of  Yorkshire,)  was  high-sheriff  in  1597,  and  was 
knighted  by  King  James  I.  at  Worksop,  30th  April,  1603.  His  first  wife  was 
Margaret,  daughter  of  Roger  Cave  of  Stanford  in  Leicestershire  ;  his  second, 
Jane,  daughter  and  heir  of  John  Roberts  of  Wollaston  in  Northamptonshire. 
Ho  died  3rd  May,  1610  :  on  a  tablet  erected  to  his  memory  in  the  Church  of 
Prestwould,  where  he  was  buried,  are  lines  by  Sir  John  Beaumont.  He  was  a 
person  greatly  esteemed  and  respected  ;  and  was  celebrated  among  his  friends 
for  "  his  witty  conceits  "  (says  Burton,  cited  by  Nichols)  "  in  making  fit  and 
acute  epigrams,  poesies,  mottos,  and  devices,  but  cliicfly  in  devising  apt  and 
fit  impreses  agi'eeing  and  expressing  the  party's  conceit  and  intendment."  See 
Nichols's  Leicestershire,  vol.  iii.  Part  1,  pp.  359,  366.  Some  verses  \vritten 
by  Sir  William,  printed  from  a  MS.,  may  be  found  ibid.,  p.  367. 


13 

Far  from  me  are  all  these  aims, 

Fittest  frames 
To  build  weakness  on  and  pity. 
Only  to  yourself,  and  such 

Whose  true  touch 
Makes  all  good,  let  me  seem  witty. 

The  admirer  of  your  virtues, 

John  Fletcher. 


TO  THE  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN,  SIR  ROBERT  TOWNSHEND ' 


If  the  greatest  faults  may  crave 

Pardon  where  contrition  is, 

Noble  sir,  I  needs  must  have 

A  long  one  for  a  long  amiss  ^. 

If  you  ask  me,  how  is  this  1 

Upon  my  faith,  I'll  tell  you  frankly, 
You  love  above  my  means  to  thank  ye. 

Yet,  according  to  my  talent, 

As  sour  fortime  loves  to  use  me, 

A  poor  shepherd  I  have  sent 

In  home-spun  gray  for  to  excuse  me  ; 

And  may  all  my  hopes  refuse  me, 
But  when  better  comes  ashore. 
You  shall  have  better,  newer,  more  ! 

^  Sir  Robert  Townshend']  "  Was  the  youngest  son  of  Sir  Roger  Townshend, 
the  ancestor  of  the  present  noble  family  of  that  name.  He  was  knighted  by 
King  James,  May  11,  1603  ;  married  [Anne]  the  daughter  of  William  Lord 
Spencer,  and  died  without  issue,  after  having  sensed  as  member  for  Castle- 
Rising  and  Orford  in  all  parliaments  from  42d  Elizabeth  to  the  last  of  King 
James."    Weber. 

*  a  long  amiss'\  i.  e.  a  fault  of  long  continuance. 


16 

Till  when,  like  our  desperate  debtors, 
Or  our  three-pird  ^  sweet  protesters, 
I  must  please  you  in  bare  letters, 
And  so  pay  my  debts,  like  jesters  ; 
Yet  I  oft  have  seen  good  feasters. 
Only  for  to  please  the  pallet. 
Leave  great  meat  and  choose  a  sallet ". 

All  yours, 

John  Fletcher. 


TO  THE  READER. 

If  you  be  not  reasonably  assured  of  your  knowledge  in  this 
kind  of  poem,  lay  down  the  book,  or  read  this,  which  I  would 
wish  had  been  the  prologue.  It  is  a  pastoral  tragi-comedy, 
which  the  people  seeing  when  it  was  played,  having  ever  had 
a  singular  gift  in  defining,  concluded  to  be  a  play  of  country 
hired  shepherds  in  gray  cloaks,  with  curtailed  dogs  in  strings, 
sometimes  laughing  together,  and  sometimes  killing  one 
another ;  and,  missing  Whitsun-ales,  cream,  wassail,  and 
morris-dances,  began  to  be  angry.  In  their  error  I  would 
not  have  you  fall,  lest  you  incur  their  censure.  Understand, 
therefore,  a  pastoral  to  be  a  representation  of  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  with  their  actions  and  passions,  which  must  be 
such  as  may  agree  with  their  natures,  at  least  not  exceeding 
former  fictions  and  vulgar  traditions  ;  they  are  not  to  be 
adorned  with  any  art,  but  such  improper  •*  ones  as  nature  is 
said  to  bestow,  as  singing  and  poetry  ;  or  such  as  experience 
may  teach  them,  as  the  virtues  of  herbs  and  fountains,  the 
ordinary  course  of  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  and  such  like. 
But  you  are  ever  to  remember  shepherds  to  be  such  as  all  the 

''  ihree-pil'd]  i.  e.  exaggerating  ;  or  perhaps,  literally,  wearing  the  finest 
velvet :  see  note,  vol.  I.  p.  296. 

•^  pallet sallet]  Were  modernised  by  Weber  to  "  palate  "  and  "  sallad  ", 

without  regard  to  the  rhyme. 

•^  improper]  i.  e.  not  confined  to  particular  persons,  common. 


17 

ancient  poets,  and  modern,  of  understanding,  have  received 
them  ;  that  is,  the  owners  of  flocks,  and  not  hirelings.  A 
tragi-comedy  is  not  so  called  in  respect  of  mirth  and  killing, 
but  in  respect  it  wants  deaths,  which  is  enough  to  make  it  no 
tragedy,  yet  brings  some  near  it,  which  is  enough  to  make  it 
no  comedy,  which  must  be  a  representation  of  familiar  people, 
with  such  kind  of  trouble  as  no  life  be  questioned  ;  so  that  a 
god  is  as  lawful  in  this  as  in  a  tragedy,  and  mean  people  as  in 
a  comedy.  Thus  much  I  hope  will  serve  to  justify  my  poem, 
and  make  you  understand  it ;  to  teach  you  more  for  nothing, 
I  do  not  know  that  I  am  in  conscience  bound. 

John  Fletcher. 


VOL.  n. 


18 


UNTO  HIS  WORTHY  FRIEND,  MASTER  JOSEPH  TAYLORS, 

UPON  HIS    PRESENTMENT    OF  THE    FAITHFUL    SHEPHERDESS    BEFORE    THE    KING    AND    QUEEN 

AT    WHITE-HALL,    ON    TWELFTH-NIGHT    LAST, 

1G33. 

When  this  smooth  pastoral  was  first  brought  forth, 
The  age  "'twas  born  in  did  not  know  its  worth. 
Since,  by  thy  cost  and  industry  reviv'd, 
It  hath  a  new  fame  and  new  birth  achivM  ^ ; 
Happy  in  that  she  found  in  her  distress 
A  friend  as  faithful  as  her  Shepherdess  ; 
For  having  cur'd  her  from  her  coarser  rents, 
And  deckt  her  new  with  fresh  habiliments. 
Thou  brought'st  her  to  the  court,  and  made  her  be 
A  fitting  spectacle  for  majesty  ; 
(So  have  I  seen  a  clouded  beauty,  drest 
In  a  rich  vesture,  shine  above  the  rest ; ) 
Yet  did  it  not  receive  more  honour  from 
The  glorious  pomp  than  thine  own  action. 
Expect  no  satisfaction  for  the  same  ; 
Poets  can  render  no  reward  but  fame : 
Yet  this  I'll  prophesy,  when  thou  slialt  come 
•     Into  the  confines  of  Elysium, 

Amidst  the  quire  of  Muses,  and  the  lists 
Of  famous  actors  and  quick  dramatists, 

^  Unto  his  worthy  friend.  Master  Joseph  Taylor  ike.']  In  4to.  1G34  and  the 
later  4tos. — Joseph  Taylor  was  an  actor  of  considerable  eminence.  He  is 
mentioned  as  belonging,  at  various  periods  of  his  life,  to  various  companies  of 
performers  :  when  The  Faithful  Shejjherdess  was  revived  at  court,  he  had  the 
principal  management  of  the  King's  (Charles's)  Players.  In  1G39  he  was 
appointed  Yeoman  of  the  Revels  under  Sir  Henry  Herbert.  In  1(;47,  he  was 
one  of  the  ten  players  associated  in  dedicating  to  the  Earl  of  Pembroke  the 
folio  edition  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  Works  ;  and  in  1652,  when  reduced 
to  poverty  by  the  suppression  of  the  theatres,  he  published,  in  conjunction  with 
Lowin,  the  recovered  JVild-Goose  Chace  of  Fletcher  (see  prefatory  matter  to 
that  play).  Some  encomiastic  verses  by  Taylor  are  ])refi.\ed  to  Massinger's 
Unman  Actor.  Concerning  the  various  parts  which  he  perfoi'racd,  vide  Malone's 
Shakespeare  (by  Boswell),  iii.  217,  512.  He  died  at  an  advanced  ago,  either  in 
1653,  or  1654. 
'  acJi%v''d'\  A  form  of  the  word  not  uncommon  in  early  writers. 


19 

So  much  admir'd  for  gesture  and  for  wit, 
That  there  on  seats  of  living  marble  sit, 
The  blessed  consort  of  that  numerous  train 
Shall  rise  with  an  applause  to  entertain 
Thy  happy  welcome,  causing  thee  sit  down. 
And  with  a  laurel-wreath  thy  temples  crown  : 
And  meantime,  while  this  poem  shall  be  read, 
Taylor,  thy  name  shall  be  eternized  ; 
For  it  is  just  that  tliou,  who  first  didst  give 
Unto  this  book  a  life,  by  it  shouldst  live. 

Shakerley  Marmion  ^ 


THIS  DIALOGUE  f. 


NEWLY    ADDED,  WAS    SPOKEN    BY    WAY    OF    PROLOGUE,  TO    BOTH    THEIR    MAJESTIES,   AT  THE 

FIRST  ACTING  OF  THIS  PASTORAL  AT  SOMERSET-HOUSE,  ON  TWELFTH-NIGHT, 

1633. 

PRIEST. 

A  BROILING  lamb  on  Pan"'s  chief  altar  lies, 
JNIy  wreath,  my  censer,  virge '',  and  incense  by  ; 
But  I  delayed  the  precious  sacrifice 
To  shew  thee  here  a  gentler  deity. 

'  Shakerley  Marmion]  Descended  from  the  ancient  family  of  the  Marmions 
of  Scrivelsby,  was  born  in  1602  at  Aynlio  in  Northamptonshire.  He  was 
entered  as  a  gentleman-commoner  at  Wadham  College,  Oxford,  and  took  the 
degree  of  M.A.  in  1624.  Either  in  consequence  of  his  own  or  his  father's 
extravagance,  he  was  forced  to  seek  his  fortune  as  a  soldier  in  the  Low 
Countries.  He  soon,  however,  returned  to  England,  and  seems  to  have  had 
recourse  to  his  pen  for  support.  Having  been  received  by  his  friend  Sir  John 
Suckling  into  the  troop  of  horse  raised  for  the  service  of  the  King,  he  was, 
during  his  journey  northwards,  taken  ill  at  York  ;  and  being  removed  from 
that  place  by  easy  stages  to  London,  he  died  there  in  1G39.  He  was  author  of 
Cupid  and  Psyche,  1G37,  a  poem  containing  some  beautiful  passages  ;  of  several 
comedies,  three  of  which  have  been  printed, — Holland's  Leaguer,  1G32,  A  Fine 
Companion,  1633,  and  The  Antiquary,  1G41  ;  and  of  various  scattered  verees. 

s  This  Dialogue  &c.]  In  4to.  1634  and  the  later  eds.  It  was  written  by  Sir 
William  Davenant,  in  whose  Works,  p.  305,  it  occurs  with  some  variations 
which  he  probably  made  subsequently  to  the  period  when  it  was  originally 
spoken.  ^  virge'^  i.  e.  I'od. 

C  2 


20 
NYMPH. 

Nor  was  I  to  thy  sacred  summons  slow ; 
Hither  I  came  as  swift  as  th''  eagle's  '  wing, 
Or  threatening  shaft  from  vext  Diana's  bow, 
To  see  this  island's  god,  the  world's  best  king  '. 

PRIEST. 

Bless,  then,  that  queen  that  doth  his  eyes  invito 
And  ears  t'  obey  her  sceptre  half  this  night  ^ 

NYMPH. 

Let's  sing '  such  welcomes  as  shall  make  her  sway 
Seem  easy  to  him,  though  it  last  till  day. 

BOTH. 

Welcome  as  peace  t'  unwalled "'  cities  when 

Famine  and  sword  leave  them  "  more  graves  than  men  ; 

As  spring  to  birds,  or  noon-day's  sun  "  to  th'  old 

Poor  mountain  Muscovite  congeal'd  with  cold  ; 

As  shore  to  th'  pilot ''  in  a  safe-known  coast, 

When's  card  is  broken  and  his  rudder  lost "". 

'  came  as  stvift  as  M   eagle's']   In  Daveiiant's  Works,  "  came  sivifl  as  the 
Eagles." 

J    To  see  this  island's  god,  the  world's  best  king}  In  Davenant's  IVorks, 

"  Pan  sends  his  offering  to  this  Island's  King." 
^  Bless,  then,  that  qveen,  &c.  .  .  this  night]  Instead  of  these  two  lines,  the 
following  four  are  found  in  Davenant's  Works  ; 

"  Bless  then  that  Queen  whose  Eies  have  brought  that  light 
Which  hither  led  and  stays  him  here  ; 
He  now  doth  shine  within  her  Spliear, 
And  must  obey  her  Scepter  half  this  night." 
'  Let's  sing]   In  Davenant's  Work.o,  "  Sing  we." 
■"  t'unwalled]  In  Davenant's  Works,  "to  wealthy." 
"  leave  them]   In  Davenant's  W^orfcs,  "  have  left." 
"  noon-day' s  sun]   In  Davenant's  Works,  "  Phcbus." 
P  to  th'  pilot]  In  Davenant's  Work.':,  "  to  pilots." 
1    When's  card  is  broken  and  his  rudder  lost]  In  Davenant's  Works, 
"  Their  Cards  being  broken  and  their  Rudders  lost :" 
card,  i.  e.  compass,  properly,  the  paper  on  which  the  points  of  the  \\  ind  are 
marked. 


DRAMATIS  PERSON^.. 


Perigot. 

Thenot. 

Daphnis. 

Alexis. 

Sullen  Shepherd. 

Old  Shepherd. 

Priest  of  Pan. 

Sliepherds. 


God  of  the  River 

Satyr. 

i 
] 

Clorin. 

1 

1 

Amoret. 

i 
1 

Amarillis, 

i 

1 

Cloe. 

1    Shepherdesses. 

Scene,  1 

"/iC4S«/y. 

THE 


FAITHFUL    SHEPHERDESS. 


ACT   I. 

Scene  I. — The  wood  before  Clorin's  hoicer. 


Enter  Clorin'". 
Clorin.  Hail,  holy  earth,  whose  cold  arms  do  embrace 
The  truest  man  that  ever  fed  his  flocks 
By  the  fat  plains  of  fruitful  Thessaly  ! 
Thus  I  salute  thy  grave  ;  thus  do  I  pay 
My  early  vows  and  tribute  of  mine  eyes 
To  thy  still- loved  ashes ;  thus  I  free 
]\l3'self  from  all  ensuing  heats  and  fires 
Of  love  ;  all  sports,  delights,  and  jolly  games, 
That  shepherds  hold  full  dear,  thus  put  I  off: 
Now  no  more  shall  these  smooth  brows  be  begirt^ 
With  youthful  coronals,  and  lead  the  dance ; 
No  more  the  company  of  fresh  fair  maids 
And  wanton  shepherds  be  to  mo  delightful, 
Nor  the  shrill  pleasing  sound  of  merry  pipes 
Under  some  shady  dell,  when  the  cool  wind 
Plays  on  the  leaves  :  all  be  far  away, 
Since  thou  art  far  away,  by  whose  dear  side 
How  often  have  I  sat  crownM  with  fresh  flowers 

'  Enter  Clorinl  Old  cds.  add,  "  having  buried  her  love  in  an  ai'bour." 
•  be   begirt]  So  the   two   latest  4tos.  and   folio  1079.     The   earlier  4tos. 
"  be  girt " ;  and  so  the  Editors  of  1 778  and  Weber. 


24  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  i. 

For  summer's  queen,  whilst  every  shepherd's  boy 

Puts  on  his  lusty  green,  with  gaudy  hook, 

And  hanging  scrip  of  finest  cordovan  *  I 

But  thou  art  gone,  and  these  are  gone  with  thee. 

And  all  are  dead  but  thy  dear  memory ; 

That  shall  outlive  thee,  and  shall  ever  spring, 

AVhilst  there  are  pipes  or  jolly  shepherds  sing. 

And  here  will  I,  in  honour  of  thy  love, 

Dwell  by  thy  grave,  forgetting  all  those  joys 

That  former  times  made  precious  to  mine  eyes ; 

Only  remembering  what  my  youth  did  gain 

In  the  dark,  hidden  virtuous  use  of  herbs  * : 

That  will  I  practise,  and  as  freely  give 

All  my  endeavours  as  I  gain'd  them  free. 

Of  all  green  wounds  I  know  the  remedies 

In  men  or  cattle,  be  they  stung  with  snakes, 

Or  charmM  with  powerful  words  of  wicked  art, 

Or  be  they  love-sick,  or  through  too  much  heat 

Grown  wild  or  lunatic,  their  eyes  or  ears 

Thicken'd  with  misty  film  of  dulling  rheum  ; 

These  I  can  cure,  such  secret  virtue  lies 

In  herbs  applied  by  a  virgin"'s  hand. 

My  meat  shall  be  what  these  wild  woods  afford, 

Berries  and  chesnuts,  plantains,  on  whose  cheeks 

The  sun  sits  smiling,  and  the  lofty  fruit 

PuU'd  from  the  fair  head  of  the  straight-grown  pine ; 

On  these  I'll  feed  with  free  content,  and  rest, 

When  night  shall  blind  the  world,  by  thy  side  blest. 

Enter  Satyr  tcit/i  a  basket  of  fruit. 
Sat.  Through  yon  same  bending  plain  ", 
That  flings  his  arms  down  to  the  main, 

'  cordevan]  i.  c.  Spanish  leather. 

'  use  of  herljs]  "  Almost  all  the  damsels  of  romance  are  described  as  being 
skilful  in  the  use  of  herbs,  and  frequently  even  in  the  occupations  of  surgery, 
&c.  [but  Clorin  is  not  a  damsel  of  romance].  Warton  observes,  that  Sabruia, 
in  Milton's  Comus,  possesses  the  same  skill  as  Clorui.  See  his  note,  ad  v. 
844."    Weber. 

"    Throiujh  yon  same  bending  plain]  "That  Fletcher   had   freiiucntly  in  his 


SCENE  I.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  25 

And  through  these  thick  woods,  have  I  run, 
Whose  bottom  never  kissM  the  sun 
Since  the  histy  spring  began  ; 
All  to  please  my  master  Pan, 
Have  I  trotted  without  rest 
To  get  him  fruit ;  for  at  a  feast 
He  entertains,  this  coming  night, 
His  paramour,  the  Syrinx  bright. — 
But,  behold,  a  fairer  sight  ! 

[^Seeiuf/  Clorin,  he  stands  amazed. 
By  that  heavenly  form  of  thine, 
Brightest  fair,  thou  art  divine, 
Sprung  from  great  immortal  race 
Of  the  gods ;  for  in  thy  face 
Shines  more  awful  majesty 
Than  dull  weak  mortality 
Dare  with  misty  eyes  behold, 
And  live  :  therefore  on  this  mould 
Lowly  do  I  bend  my  knee 
In  worship  of  thy  deity. 
Deign  it,  goddess,  from  my  hand 
To  receive  whatever  this  land 
From  her  fertile  womb  doth  send 
Of  her  choice  fruits  ;  and  but  lend 
Belief  to  that  the  Satyr  tells  : 
Fairer  by  the  famous  wells 
To  this  present  day  ne'er  grew, 
Never  better  nor  more  true. 
Here  be  grapes,  whose  lusty  blood 
Is  the  learned  poet"'8  good, 

eye  Shakespeare's  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  is  certain.     The  bcgiiiiiiug  aiul 
ending  of  this  speech  are  an  imitation  of  tlie  Fairy's  speech,  act  ii.  scene  i.  : 
'  Over  hill,  over  dale. 
Thorough  bush,  thorough  briar. 
Over  park,  over  pale. 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 
I  do  wander  every  where. 

Swifter  than  the  moon's  sphere.'  "  Sewaud, — who  jirinted 
"  Thorough  yon  same,"  kc, ,  and  rightly  perhaps,  though  not  warranted  by  the 
old  eds. 


26  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  i. 

Sweeter  yet  did  never  crown 

The  head  of  Bacchus  ;  nuts  more  brown 

Than  the  squirrel's  teeth  that  crack  them  ; 

Deign,  O  fairest  fair,  to  take  them ''  ! 

For  these  black-eyed  Dryope 

Hath  oftentimes  commanded  me 

With  my  clasped  knee  to  climb  : 

See  how  well  the  lusty  time 

Hath  deck'd  their  rising  cheeks  in  red, 

Such  as  on  your  lips  is  spread  ! 

Here  be  berries  for  a  queen, 

Some  be  red,  some  be  green  ; 

These  are  of  that  luscious  meat, 

The  great  god  Pan  himself  doth  eat : 

All  these,  and  what  the  woods  can  yield, 

The  hanging  mountain  or  the  field, 

I  freely  offer,  and  ere  long 

Will  bring  you  more,  more  sweet  and  strong ; 

Till  when,  humbly  leave  I  take. 

Lest  the  great  Pan  do  awake '% 

^         nuts  more  brown 
Than  the  sgrdrrel's  teeth  that  crack  them']  "  But  the  teeth  of  the  squirrel  is  the 
only  visible  part  that  is  not  browTi,"  says  Seward,  who  introduced  into  the  text 
a  violent  alteration,  which  the  Editors  of  1778  retained.     Weber  cites  from 
Herrick's  OberorCs  Feast ; 

"  the  red  capp'd  worm,  that's  shut 
Within  the  concave  of  a  nut, 
Brown  as  his  tooth." 
Seward  remarks  that  in  these  presents  Fletcher  had  undoubtedly  both  Vu-gil 
and  Theocritus  in  his  eye,  Eel.  iii.  70.,  Ej5.  y'.  10.     Perhaps  so  :  but  I  may  just 
notice  that  the   SatyT  in   Tasso's  Aminta  speaks  of  the  fruit  which  he  had 
offered  to  Sih-ia,  act  ii.  sc.  i. 

'^  Lest  the  great  Pan  do  aicake,  &c.]  "Thus  Theocritus,  Elo.  a',  [lo.] 
Ou  Befiis,  S>  TTOiixav,  rh  fieffafifipivhi',  ou  6efits  &ufxiv 
Supi'crSef  Thv  Tlava  SeSot'/ca/ues"  ■^  yap  air'  S-ypos 
Tav'iKa  KSKfiaKws  afiiraveTaf  ivri  ye  iriKphs, 
Kal  oi  ae\  Sptfuua  ;^oA.o  ttotI  pivl  Kad-qrai. 
'  Shepherd,  forbear  ;  no  song  at  noon's  di-ead  horn*  ; 
Tir'd  with  the  chase,  Pan  sleeps  in  yonder  bower  ; 
Churlish  he  is,  and,  stirr'd  in  his  repose. 
The  snappish  choler  quivers  on  his  nose.' 
That  Fletcher  had  this  in  his  eye  is  evident,  but  he  has  varied  from  Theo- 
critus's  theology,"  «Scc,,  &c.     Seward. 


scEXE  I.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  27 

That  sleeping  lies  in  a  deep  glade, 

Under  a  broad  beech's  shade. 

I  must  go,  I  must  run 

Swifter  than  the  fiery  sun.  [Exit, 

Clo.  And  all  my  fears  go  with  thee  ! 
What  greatness,  or  what  private  hidden  power. 
Is  there  in  me,  to  draw  submission 
From  this  rude  man  and  beast  ?     Sure  I  am  mortal, 
The  daugliter  of  a  shepherd  ;  he  was  mortal. 
And  she  that  bore  me  mortal :  prick  my  hand, 
And  it  will  bleed ;  a  fever  shakes  me,  and 
The  self-same  wind  that  makes  the  young  lambs  shrink 
Makes  me  a-cold  :   my  fear  says  I  am  mortal. 
Yet  I  have  heard  (my  mother  told  it  me, 
And  now  I  do  believe  it),  if  I  keep 
My  virgin-flower  uncropt,  pure,  chaste,  and  fair, 
No  goblin,  wood-god,  fairy,  elf,  or  fiend, 
Satyr,  or  other  power "  that  haunts  the  groves, 

^  No  goblin,  wood-god,  fairy,  elf,  or  fiend. 

Satyr,  or  other  power,  &c.J  "Milton  was  so  charmed  with  the  noble 
enthusiasm  of  this  passage,  that  he  has  no  less  than  three  imitations  of  it. 
Twice  in  Comus  : 

'  Some  say,  no  evil  thing  that  walks  by  night 
In  fog  or  fire,  by  laiie  or  moorish  fen, 
Blue  meagre  hag,  or  stubborn  unlaid  ghost 
That  breaks  his  magick  chains  at  curfeu  time  ; 
No  goblin,  or  swart  faery  of  the  mine, 
Hath  Iiurtful  power  o'er  true  virginity  : '     [v.  432.] 

see  the  whole  passage  in  the  first  scene  of  the  two  Brothers.     So  again,  the 

young  Lady  in  the  wood  ; 

' a  thousand  fantasies 

Begin  to  throng  into  my  memory, 

Of  calling  shapes,  and  l)eckoning  shadows  dire. 

And  aery  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names 

On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desart  wildernesses,'     [v.  205.] 

And  again,  Paradise  Lost,  book   ix.  line  639,  in  his  noble  description  of  the 

ignis  fatuus ; 

'  Hovering  and  blazing  with  delusive  light, 
Misleads  the  ama/.'d  night-wanderer  from  his  way 
To  bogs  and  mires,  and  oft  through  pond  or  pool  ; 
There  swallow'd  up  and  lost,  from  succour  far.'  " — Se\n  ard. 


28  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [a<.ii. 

Shall  hurt  my  body,  or  by  vain  illusion 

Draw  me  to  wander  after  idle  fires ; 

Or  voices  calling  me  in  dead  of  night, 

To  make  me  follow,  and  so  tole  me  on '', 

Through  mire  and  standing  pools,  to  find  my  ruin  : 

Else  why  should  this  rough  thing,  who  never  knew 

Manners  nor  smooth  humanity,  whose  heats 

Are  rougher  than  himself  and  more  mis-shapen, 

Thus  mildly  kneel  to  me  ?     Sure  there  is  a  power 

In  that  great  name  of  virgin,  that  binds  fast 

All  rude  uncivil  bloods,  all  appetites 

That  break  their  confines  :  then,  strong  chastity, 

Be  thou  my  strongest  guard,  for  here  Til  dwell 

In  opposition  against  fate  and  hell  ! 

\^Retires  into  the  bower. 


SCENE  II. — In  the  neighhourhoocl  of  a  villarje. 

Enter  Old  Shepherd,  with  four  couple  of  Shepherds  and  Shepherd- 
esses, among  tchom  are  Perigot  and  Amoret. 

Old  Shep.  Now  we  have  done  this  holy  festival 
In  honour  of  our  great  god,  and  his  rites 
Perform'd"',  prepare  yourselves  for  chaste 
And  uncorrupted  fires  ;  that  as  the  priest 
With  powerful  hand  shall  sprinkle  on  your  brows 
His  pure  and  holy  water,  ye  may  be 
From  all  hot  flames  of  lust  and  loose  thoughts  free. 
Kneel,  shepherds,  kneel ;  here  comes  the  priest  of  Pan. 

[  The?/  kneel. 

Enter  Priest  of  Pan. 

Priest.  Shepherds,  thus  I  purge  away 

[^Sprinkling  them  ivith  ivater. 
Whatsoever  this  great  day, 

y  tole  mc  on]  i.  e.  draw  nic  on  by  degrees. 

'  Perform'd]  Some  wor(i  seems  to  liave  dropt  out  :  qy.  '•  Duly  perform'd"  ? 


SCENE  II.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  29 

Or  the  past  hours,  gave  not  good, 

To  corrupt  your  maiden  blood. 

From  the  high  rebellious  heat 

Of  the  grapes,  and  strength  of  meat. 

From  the  wanton  quick  dcvsires 

They  do  kindle  by  their  fires 

I  do  wash  you  with  this  water ; 

Be  you  pure  and  fair  hereafter  ! 

From  your  livers''  and  your  veins  .',  .■ 

Thus  I  take  away  the  stains : 

All  your  thoughts  be  smooth  and  fair ; 

Be  ye  fresh  and  free  as  air  ! 

Never  more  let  lustful  heat 

Through  your  purged  conduits  beat, 

Or  a  plighted  troth  be  broken, 

Or  a  wanton  verse  be  spoken 

In  a  shepherdess's  ear  : 

Go  your  ways,  ye  are  all  clear. 

[  They  rise,  and  sinrj  the  folloii  ing 

SONG. 

Sing' his  praises  that  doth  keep 

Our  flocks  from  hami. 
Pan,  the  father  of  our  sheep  ; 

And  arm  in  arm 
Tread  we  softly  in  a  round, 
Whilst ''  the  hollow  neighbouring  ground 
Fills  the  music  witli  her  sound. 

Pan,  O  great  god  Pan,  to  thee 

Thus  do  we  sing  ! 
Thou  that  keep'st  us  chaste  and  free 

As  the  young  spring  ; 
Ever  be  thy  honour  spoke, 
From  that  place  the  Morn  is  broke 
To  tliat  place  Day  doth  unyoke  ! 

{^Exeunt  all  except  Perigot  and  Amoret. 

Peri,    [detaining   hcr.^^     Stay,    gentle    Amoret,   thou    fair- 
brow\l  maid  ; 

*  /ire)-.<]   Supposed  to  be  the  seat  of  desire. 

''    irhilst]   Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  While." 


30  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  i. 

Thy  shepherd  prays  thee  stay,  that  holds  thee  dear, 
Equal  with  his  souFs  good. 

Amo.  Speak  ;  I  give 
Thee  freedom,  shepherd  ;  and  thy  tongue  be  still 
The  same  it  ever  was,  as  free  from  ill 
As  he  whose  conversation  never  knew 
The  court  or  city ;  be  thou  ever  true  ! 

Peri.  When  I  fall  off  from  my  affection, 
Or  mingle  my  clean  thoughts  with  foul  desires. 
First,  let  our  great  god  cease  to  keep  my  flocks, 
That,  being  left  alone  without  a  guard, 
The  wolf,  or  winter's  rage,  summer''s  great  heat 
And  want  of  water,  rots,  or  what  to  us 
Of  ill  is  yet  unknown,  fall  speedily. 
And  in  their  general  ruin  let  me  go  ! 

Amo.  I  pray  thee,  gentle  shepherd,  wish  not  so  : 
I  do  believe  thee ;   'tis  as  hard  for  me 
To  think  thee  false,  and  harder,  than  for  thee 
To  hold  me  foul. 

Pe7'i.  Oh,  you  are  fairer  far 
Than  the  chaste  blushing  morn,  or  that  fair  star 
That  guides  the  wandering  seaman  through  the  deep  ; 
Straighter  than  straightest  pine  upon  the  steep 
Head  of  an  aged  mountain  ;  and  more  white 
Than  the  new  milk  we  strip  before  day-light 
From  the  full-freighted  bag-s  of  our  fair  flocks  : 
Your  hair  more  beauteous  than  those  hano-ino:  locks 
Of  young  Apollo  ! 

Amo.  Shepherd,  be  not  lost ; 
You  are  saiPd  too  far  already  from  the  coast 
Of  our  discourse. 

Peri.  Did  you  not  tell  me  once 
I  should  not  love  alone,  I  should  not  lose 
Those  many  passions,  vows,  and  holy  oaths, 
I  have  sent  to  heaven  ?  did  you  not  give  your  hand, 
Even  that  fair  hand,  in  hostage  I     Do  not,  then, 
Give  back  again  those  sweets  to  other  men, 
^^ou  yourself  vow'd  were  mine. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  31 

Amo.  Shepherd,  so  far  as  maiden's  modesty 
May  give  assurance,  I  am  once  more  thine. 
Once  more  I  give  my  hand  :  be  ever  free 
From  that  great  foe  to  faith,  foul  jealousy  ! 

Peri.  I  take  it  as  my  best  good  ;  and  desire, 
For  stronger  confirmation  of  our  love. 
To  meet  this  happy  night  in  that  fiiir  grove, 
Where  all  true  shepherds  have  rewarded  been 
For  their  long  service  :  say,  sweet,  shall  it  hold  ? 

Amo.  Dear  friend,  you  must  not  blame  me,  if  I  make 
A  doubt  of  what  the  silent  night  may  do. 
Coupled  with  this  day's  heat,  to  move  your  blood  : 
]\laids  must  be  fearful.     Sure  you  have  not  been 
WashM  white  enough,  for  yet  I  see  a  stain 
Stick  in  your  liver  '^ :  go  and  purge  again. 

Pejn.  Oh,  do  not  wrong  my  honest  simple  truth  ! 
Myself  and  my  affections  are  as  pure 
As  those  chaste  flames  that  burn  before  the  shrine 
Of  the  great  Dian  :  only  my  intent 
To  draw  you  thither  was  to  plight  our  troths. 
With  interchange  of  mutual  chaste  embraces, 
And  ceremonious  tying  of  our  souls. 
For  to  that  holy  wood  is  consecrate 
A  virtuous  well  ""j  about  whose  flowery  banks 
The  nimble-footed  fairies  dance  their  rounds 
By  the  pale  moonshine,  dipping  oftentimes 
Their  stolen  children,  so  to  make  them  free 
From  dying  flesh  and  dull  mortality  : 
By  this  fair  fount  hath  many  a  shepherd  sworn, 
And  given  away  his  freedom,  many  a  troth 
Been  plight,  which  neither  envy  nor  old  time 
Could  ever  break,  with  many  a  chaste  kiss  given, 
In  hope  of  coming  happiness  ; 

=  Hver'\  See  note,  p.  29. 

**  A  virtuous  well,  &e.]  "  The  fairies  were  supposed  to  be  peculiarly 
attached  to  wells  and  brooks.  I  refer  the  reader  to  the  admirable  essay  on  the 
Fairies  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  fourth  edition,  vol.  II.  p.  1C3, 
where  the  passage  in  the  te.\t  is  quoted.''     Webeu. 


32  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  i. 

By  this  fresh  fountain  many  a  bhishing  maid 
Hath  crownM  the  head  of  her  long-loved  shepherd 
With  gaudy  flowers,  whilst  he  happy  sung 
Lays  of  his  love  and  dear  captivity ; 
There  grow  ^  all  herbs  fit  to  cool  looser  flames 
Our  sensual  parts  provoke,  chiding  our  bloods, 
And  quenching  by  their  power  those  hidden  sparks 
That  else  would  break  out,  and  provoke  our  sense 
To  open  fires  ;  so  virtuous  is  that  place. 
Then,  gentle  shepherdess,  believe,  and  grant : 
In  troth,  it  fits  not  with  that  face  to  scant 
Your  faithful  shepherd  of  those  chaste  desires 
He  ever  aini'd  at,  and 

Amo.  Thou  hast  prevailM  :  farewell.     This  coming  night 
Shall  crown  thy  chaste  hopes  with  long-wishM  delight. 

Peri.  Our  great  god  Pan  reward  thee  for  that  good 
Thou  hast  given  thy  poor  shepherd  !      Fairest  bud 
Of  maiden  virtues,  when  I  leave  to  be 
The  true  admirer  of  thy  chastity. 
Let  me  deserve  the  hot  polluted  name 
Of  a  wild  woodman  *,  or  affect "  some  dame 
Whose  often  prostitution  hath  begot 
More  foul  diseases  than  e'er  yet  the  hot 
Sun  bred  th[o]rough  his  burnings,  whilst  the  Dog 
Pursues  the  raging  Lion  '\  throwing  fog 

^  grow]  Old  eds.  "grows." 

'  a  wild  woodman}  So  the  first  4to.    Later  eds.  "  tlie  wild  ",  &c. ;  and  so  the 
modern  editors.      Woodman,  properly,  a  forester,  is  used  here,  in  a  wanton 
sense,  for  one  who  pursues  another  sort  of  game. 
8  affect]  "i.e.  love."     Weber. 
''  whilst  the  Dog 

Pursues  the  raging  lAon,  &c.]  Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  while  the 
Dog  ",  &c. — "  The  malignant  effects  of  the  dog-star  is  an  imitation  of  a  like 
description  of  it  in  Spenser's  Shepherdh  Calender,  speaking  of  the  sun's 
progress  in  July  ; 

'  The  rampant  Lyon  hunts  he  fast 
With  dogges  of  noysome  breath, 
Whose  baleful!  barking  bringes  in  hast 
Pyne,  plagues,  and  dreerie  death.' 
The  lines  are  extremely  poetical  in  Spenser,  but  arc  improved  by  Fletcher  to 


SCENE  IT.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  33 

And  deadly  vapour  from  his  angry  breath, 
Filling  the  lower  world  with  plague  and  death  ! 

[Exit  Amoret  ". 

Enter  Amarillis. 

Amar.  Shepherd,  may  I  desire  to  be  believ\l. 
What  I  shall  blushing  tell  ? 

Peri.  Fair  maid,  you  may. 

Amar.  Then,  softly  thus  :   I  love  thee,  Perigot ; 
And  would  be  gladder  to  be  lovM  again 
Than  the  cold  earth  is  in  his  frozen  arms 
To  clip  J  the  wanton  spring.     Nay,  do  not  start. 
Nor  wonder  that  I  woo  thee ;  thou  that  art 
The  prime  of  our  young  grooms,  even  the  top 
Of  all  our  lusty  shepherds.     What  dull  eye, 
That  never  was  acquainted  with  desire, 
Hath  seen  thee  wrestle,  run,  or  cast  the  stone. 
With  nimble  strength  and  fair  delivery, 
And  hath  not  sparkled  fire,  and  speedily 
Sent  secret  heat  to  all  the  neighbouring  veins  ? 
Who  ever  heard  thee  sing,  that  brought  again 
That  freedom  back  was  lent  unto  thy  voice  ? 
Then,  do  not  blame  me,  shepherd,  if  I  be 
One  to  be  numberVl  in  this  company, 
Since  none  that  ever  saw  thee  yet  were  free. 

Peri.  Fair  shepherdess,  much  pity  I  can  lend 
To  your  complaints ;  but  sure  I  shall  not  love  : 
AH  that  is  mine,  myself  and  my  best  hopes. 
Are  given  already.     Do  not  love  him,  then, 

such  a  dignity,  tliat  tliey  even  emulate  as  well  as  imitate  one  of  the  noblest 
passages  in  all  Virgil,  [^n.  x.  273]  ; 

ant  Sirius  ardor  : 

Ille  silim  morbosque  ferens  mortalibtis  cegris 
Nascitur,  et  Icbvo  contristat  himine  coelum." — SewaRD. 
'  Emt  Amoref]  "The  modern  editors  [Seward  and  those  of  1778],  without 
giving  any  notice  of  the  variation,  transfer  the  exit  of  Amoret  to  the  end  of  her 
last  speech.     There  is  no  reason  why  she  should  not  hear  the  speech  of  her 
lover."     Weber. 
J  clip]  i.  e.  embrace. 
VOL.  11.  D 


34  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  i. 

That  cannot  love  again  ;  on  other  men 
Bestow  those  heats,  more  free,  that  may  return 
You  fire  for  fire,  and  in  one  flame  equal  burn. 

Amar.  Shall  I  rewarded  be  so  slenderly 
For  my  affection,  most  unkind  of  men  ? 
If  I  were  old,  or  had  agreed  with  art 
To  give  another  nature  to  my  cheeks. 
Or  were  I  common  mistress  to  the  love 
Of  every  swain,  or  could  I  with  such  ease 
Call  back  my  love  as  many  a  wanton  doth, 
Thou  mightst  refuse  me,  shepherd  ;  but  to  thee 
I  am  only  fixM  and  set ;  let  it  not  be 
A  sport,  thou  gentle  shepherd,  to  abuse 
The  love  of  silly  maid. 

Peri.  Fair  soul,  you  use 
These  words  to  little  end  ;  for,  know,  I  may 
Better  call  back  that  time  was  yesterday, 
Or  stay  the  coming  night,  than  bring  my  love 
Home  to  myself  again,  or  recreant  prove. 
I  will  no  longer  hold  you  with  delays  : 
This  present  night  I  have  appointed  been 
To  meet  that  chaste  fair  that  enjoys  my  soul, 
In  yonder  grove,  there  to  make  up  our  loves. 
Be  not  deceivM  no  longer,  choose  again  : 
These  neighbouring  plains  have  many  a  comely  swain. 
Fresher  and  freer  far  than  I  e'er  was  ; 
Bestow  that  love  on  them,  and  let  me  pass. 
Farewell :  be  happy  in  a  better  choice  !  [  Exit. 

Amar.  Cruel,  thou  hast  struck  me  deader  with  thy  voice 
Than  if  the  angry  heavens  with  their  quick  flames 
Had  shot  me  through.     I  must  not  leave  to  love, 
I  cannot;  no,  I  must  enjoy  thee,  boy. 
Though  the  great  dangers  ""twixt  my  hopes  and  that 
Be  infinite.     There  is  a  shepherd  dwells 
Down  by  the  moor,  whose  life  hath  ever  shewn 
More  sullen  discontent  than  Saturn's  brow 
When  he  sits  frowning  on  the  births  of  men  ; 
One  that  doth  wear  himself  away  in  loneness, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  35 

And  never  joys,  unless  it  be  in  breaking 

The  holy  plighted  troths  of  mutual  souls ; 

One  that  lusts  after  every  several  beauty, 

But  never  yet  was  known  to  love  or  like, 

Were  the  face  fairer  or  more  full  of  truth 

Than  Phoebe  in  her  fulness,  or  the  youth 

Of  smooth  Lyseus  ;  whose  nigh-starved  flocks 

Are  always  scabby,  and  infect  all  sheep 

They  feed  withal ;  whose  lambs  are  ever  last. 

And  die  before  their  weaning ;  and  whose  dog 

Looks,  like  his  master,  lean  and  full  of  scurf, 

Not  caring  for  the  pipe  or  whistle.     This  man  may, 

If  he  be  well  wrought,  do  a  deed  of  wonder. 

Forcing  me  passage  to  my  long  desires : 

And  here  he  comes,  as  fitly  to  my  purpose 

As  my  quick  thoughts  could  wish  for. 

Enter  Sullen  Shepherd. 

Sull.  Shep.  Fresh  beauty,  let  me  not  be  thought  uncivil, 
Thus  to  be  partner  of  your  loneness  :  'twas 
My  love  (that  ever-working  passion)  drew 
Me  to  this  place,  to  seek  some  remedy 
For  my  sick  soul.     Be  not  unkind  and  fair. 
For  such  the  mighty  Cupid  in  his  doom 
Hath  sworn  to  be  avengM  on  ;  tlien,  give  room 
To  my  consuming  fires,  that  so  I  may 
Enjoy  my  long  desires,  and  so  allay 
Those  flames  that  else  would  burn  my  life  away. 

Amar.  Shepherd,  were  I  but  sure  thy  heart  were  sound 
As  thy  words  seem  to  be,  means  might  be  found 
To  cure  thee  of  thy  long  pains  ;  for  to  me 
That  heavy  youth-consuming  misery 
The  love -sick  soul  endures  never  was  pleasing : 
I  could  be  well  content  with  the  quick  easing 
Of  thee  and  thy  hot  fires,  might  it  procure 
Thy  faith  and  farther  service  to  be  sure. 

Sidl.  Shep.  Name  but  that  groat  work,  danger,  or  what  can 
Be  compassM  by  the  wit  or  art  of  man, 

D  2 


36  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  i. 

And,  if  I  fail  in  ray  performance,  may 
I  never  more  kneel  to  the  rising  day  ! 

Amar.  Then,  thus  I  try  thee,  shepherd.     This  same  night 
That  now  comes  stealing  on,  a  gentle  pair 
Have  promised  equal  love,  and  do  appoint 
To  make  yon  wood  the  place  where  hands  and  hearts 
Are  to  be  tied  for  ever  :  break  their  meeting 
And  their  strong  faith,  and  I  am  ever  thine. 

Sull.  Shep.  Tell  me  their  names,  and  if  I  do  not  move. 
By  my  great  power,  the  centre  of  their  love 
From  his  fixM  being,  let  me  never  more 
Warm  me  by  those  fair  eyes  I  thus  adore. 

Amar.  Come  ;  as  we  go,  Fll  tell  thee  what  they  are, 
And  give  thee  fit  directions  for  thy  work.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.— Another  part  of  the  loood. 

Enter  Cloe. 

Cloe.  How  have  I  wrong'd  the  times  or  men,  that  thus. 
After  this  holy  feast,  I  pass  unknown 
And  unsaluted  \     'Twas  not  wont  to  be 
Thus  frozen  with  the  younger  company 
Of  jolly  shepherds  ;  'twas  not  then  held  good 
For  lusty  grooms  to  mix  their  quicker  blood 
With  that  dull  humour,  most  unfit  to  be 
The  friend  of  man,  cold  and  dull  chastity ''. 
Sure  I  am  held  not  fair,  or  am  too  old. 
Or  else  not  free  enough,  or  from  my  fold 
Drive  not  a  flock  sufficient  great  to  gain 
The  greedy  eyes  of  wealth-alluring  swain  '. 

k  cold  and  dull  chastity]  "  In  the  Pastor  FiJo  of  Guarini,  Corisca,  who  is 
obviously  the  prototype  of  Cloe,  makes  very  similar  reflections  in  her  soliloquy, 
act  I.,  scone  IV.,  beginning  '  Chi  vide  mai,  chi  mat  udt  pin  straiia,^  &c." 
Weber 

'  wealth-alluring  xu'uinj  "  The  true  reading,"  says  Heath,  "  is  undoubtedly 


SCENE  III.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  ■'^7 

Yet,  if  I  may  believe  what  others  say, 
My  face  has  foil ""  enough  ;  nor  can  they  lay 
Justly  too  strict  a  coyness  to  my  charge  ; 
My  flocks  are  many,  and  the  downs  as  large 
They  feed  upon  :  then,  let  it  ever  be 
Their  coldness,  not  ray  virgin -modesty 
flakes  me  complain. 

Enter  Thenot. 

Tlie.  Was  ever  man  but  I 
Thus  truly  taken  with  uncertainty  °  1 
Where  shall  that  man  be  found  that  loves  a  mind 
Made  up  in  constancy,  and  dares  not  find 
His  love  rewarded  ?     Here,  let  all  men  know, 
A  wretch  that  lives  to  love  his  mistress  so. 

'  wea///i-allured.'  "  MS.  Notes.     I  believe  that  the  text  is  as  Fletcher  gave  it. 
Sir  R.  Fansliawe  readers  the  passage  thus  ; 

"  alliciatur  avarus 
Quo  pastoris  opes  solum  sectantis  ocellus." 
™ /oiV]  So  the  first   4to.      Later  eds.    (with   various   spelling)    "  soile." — 

"Fueille the   foyle  of    precious    stones,    or  looking-glasses  ;    and 

hence,  a  grace,  beautie,  or  glosse  given  tinlo.''     Cotgrave's  French-English 
Did. 

"  In  this  soliloquy,  relating  to  her  wealth  and  beauty,  our  poet  imitates  both 
Theocritus  and  Virgil ;  but  I  cannot  say  that  he  does  it  with  his  usual  spirit. 
Though  there  are  some  additional  beauties,  yet  more  are  omitted  than  added. 

Kai  yap  Oriv  oii5'  iJSos  tx'^  xaKhv,  Sis  fie  Xeyovrt. 

^H  yap  TTpav  is  irdmov  f(Ti$\eirov  r^v  Se  yaKaw 

Kal  Ka\a  h(P  to.  yeveia,  Ka\a  S'  ifiiv  a  n'la  Kcipa, 

'Us  Trap'  f/Au  KtKpnai,  KaTf(paiveTO'  ruv  5e'  t'  oSdvraii' 

AevKoreiiav  aiiyav  Tlapias  inri^aive  \iQoto. 

QeoK.  El3.  s-'.  3i. 

nec  qui  sim  quarts,  Alexi  ; 

Quam  dives  pecoris,  nivei  qnam  laclis  abundaiis. 

Mille  mece  Siculis  errant  in  montibus  af;ncB — 

Nec  sum  adeo  informis  ;  nuper  me  in  litore  vidi, 

Cum  placidum  ventis  staret  mare. Virg.  Eel.  ii.  19. 

See  also  a  like  passage  in  the  19th  Idylliura  of  Theocritus."     Seward. 

"  uncertainty]  "  Is  here  used  in  the  sense  of  inconsistency,  a  desire  of 
obtaining  things  incompatible  with  each  other."     Mason. 


38  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  i. 

Cloe.  Shepherd,  I  pray  thee  stay.     Where  hast  thou  been  ? 
Or  whither  goest  thou  ?     Here  be  woods  as  green 
As  any  ° ;  air  hkewise  ^  as  fresh  and  sweet 
As  where  smooth  Zephyrus  plays  on  the  fleet 
Face  of  the  curled  streams  ;  with  flowers  as  many 
As  the  young  spring  gives,  and  as  choice  as  any ; 
Here  be  all  new  delights,  cool  streams  and  wells, 
Arbours  overgrown  with  woodbines  p,  caves,  and  dells  : 
Choose  where  thou  wilt,  whilst  I  sit  by  and  sing. 
Or  gather  rushes  "i,  to  make  many  a  ring 
For  thy  long  fingers  ;  tell  thee  tales  of  love, — 
How  the  pale  Phoebe,  hunting  in  a  grove, 

° Here  he  woods  as  green 

As  any,  &c.]  "This  whole  speech  breathes  the  true  spirit  of  Theocritus 
and  Virgil.  In  the  latter  part  he  has  greatly  improved  a  hint  taken  from  the 
third  Idyllium  of  the  former,  relating  to  EndjTuion  ;  and  the  beginning  is  a 
direct  imitation  of  the  two  following  passages : 

TOVTO  Spies,  u>5e  Kinreipos, 

'n.5e  Ka\ov  ^ofx^ivvTi  ttotI  a/xdvecrffi  fj.e\ta<ra.i' 
"Evd^  xiSaTos  ^vxpiHi  Kpavai  Svo'  tat  5'  eVl  SevSpcfi 
''Opvix^s  \a)~ayii}VTi'  Kal  a.  (Tkio,  ouSfv  ofxola 
Ta  irapa  tiv  PdWei  5e  Kal  a  tt'ltvs  v-\p6de  Kuiuovs. 

SeoK.  Ei5.  e'.  45. 
Fletcher  has  not  here  equalled  the  variety  and  beauty  of  these  images  :  the 
'  humming  of  the  bees,  the  chirping  of  the  birds,  and  the  apples  dropping  from 
the  pine,  (whose  seed  in  the  hot  countries  far  excels  our  finest  nuts)  are  all 
omitted  by  Fletcher,  but  he  has  fully  made  amends  in  his  beautiful  description 
of  a  bank  by  Perigot,  about  the  middle  of  the  third  act,  and  even  here  he  has 
at  least  equalled  Vh'gil,  whom  he  has  more  exactly  copied  : 
Uic  ver  purpurcum  ;  varios  hie  flumina  circnm 
Fundil  humus  fl ores  ;  hie  Candida  populus  antra 
Imminet,  et  lentce  texunt  umbracula  vites.  Eclog.  ix.  40." 

Seward. 

0  likewise']  "  Which  indeed  is  very  prosaic,  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  tw  o 
oldest  quartos,  but  occurs  in  the  foUo."  Weber.  It  occurs  also  in  4tos. 
1656,  1665. 

^  jvoodbines]  Seward  gave  with  the  later  eds.  "  woodbinds." 

1  Or  gather  rushes,  &c.]  "  The  practice  of  parties  making  a  marriage- 
contract,  (whether  in  earnest  or  only  in  jest,  has  been  disputed,  but  not 
settled,  by  the  editors  of  Shakespeare)  is  often  alluded  to  in  old  authors,"  &c. 
Weber.     In  jest,  certainly. 


scEMEiii.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  39 

First  saw  the  boy  Endymion,  from  whose  eyes 
She  took  eternal  fire  that  never  dies ; 
How  she  convey'd  him  softly  in  a  sleep, 
His  temples  bound  with  poppy,  to  the  steep 
Head  of  old  Latmus,  where  she  stoops  each  night, 
Gilding  the  mountain  with  her  brother's  light. 
To  kiss  her  sweetest. 

The.  Far  from  me  are  these 
Hot  flashes,  bred  from  wanton  heat  and  ease  ; 
I  have  forgot  what  love  and  loving  meant ; 
Rhymes,  songs,  and  merry  rounds "",  that  oft  are  sent 
To  the  soft  ear  of  maid,  are  strange  to  me  : 
Only  I  live  to  admire  a  chastity. 
That  neither  pleasing  age  %  smooth  tongue,  or  gold, 
Could  ever  break  upon  *,  so  sure  the  mould 
Is  that  her  mind  was  cast  in  ;  'tis  to  her 
I  only  am  reserved  ;  she  is  my  form  I  stir 
By,  breathe  and  move ;  'tis  she,  and  only  she, 
Can  make  me  happy,  or  give  misery. 

Cloe.  Good  shepherd,  may  a  stranger  crave  to  know 
To  whom  this  dear  observance  you  do  owe  I 

The.  You  may,  and  by  her  virtue  learn  to  square 
And  level  out  your  life ;  for  to  be  fair, 
And  nothing  virtuous,  only  fits  the  eye 
Of  gaudy  youth  and  swelling  vanity. 
Then,  know,  she's  callM  the  Virgin  of  the  Grove, 
She  that  hath  long  since  buried  her  chaste  love, 
And  now  lives  by  his  grave,  for  whose  dear  soul 
She  hath  vow'd  herself  into  the  holy  roll 
Of  strict  virginity  :  'tis  her  I  so  admire. 
Not  any  looser  blood  or  new  desire.  [^Exit. 

Cloe.  Farewell,  poor  swain  !  thou  art  not  for  my  bend " ; 
I  must  have  quicker  souls,  whose  words  may  tend 

'  rounds]  "  i.  e.  roundelays."     Ed.  1778. 

"  pleasing  age]  "  i.  e.  youth  ;  the  word  age  being  used  to  express  one  of  the 
seasons,  or  ages  of  hfe."     Ed.  1778. 

'  break  upon]  "  i.  e.  break  in  upon."     Seward. 

"  bend]  i.  e.  bent,  purpose  :  see  Todd's  Jolnison's  Diet,  in  i-. 


40  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  Lacx  i 

To  some  free  action  :  give  me  him  dare  love 

At  first  encounter,  and  as  soon  dare  prove  !  [Si7i(/ii 

Come,  shepherds,  come  ! 
Come  away 
Without  delay, 
Whilst  the  gentle  time  doth  stay. 

Green  woods  are  dumb. 
And  will  never  tell  to  any 
Those  dear  kisses,  and  those  many 
Sweet  embraces,  that  are  given  ; 
Dainty  pleasures,  that  would  even 
Raise  in  coldest  age  a  fire. 
And  give  virgin-blood  desire. 
Then,  if  ever. 
Now  or  never, 
Come  and  have  it : 
Thmk  not  I 
Dare  deny, 
If  you  crave  it. 

Enter  Daphnis. 
Here  comes  another.     Better  be  my  speed, 
Thou  god  of  blood  !     But  certain,  if  I  read 
Not  false,  this  is  that  modest  shepherd,  he 
That  only  dare  salute,  but  ne'er  could  be 
Brought  to  kiss  any,  hold  discourse,  or  sing, 
.  Whisper,  or  boldly  ask  that  wished  thing 
We  all  are  born  for  ;  one  that  makes  loving  faces, 
And  could  be  well  content  to  covet  graces. 
Were  they  not  got  by  boldness.     In  this  thing 
My  hopes  are  frozen  ;  and,  but  fate  doth  bring 
Him  hither  ",  I  would  sooner  choose 
A  man  made  out  of  snow,  and  freer  use 
An  eunuch  to  my  ends  ;  but,  since  he's  here. 
Thus  I  attempt  him.  [Aside.] — Thou,  of  men  most  dear, 
Welcome  to  her  that  only  for  thy  sake 
Hath  been  content  to  live  !     Here,  boldly  take 
My  hand  in  pledge,  this  hand,  that  never  yet 
Was  given  away  to  any ;  and  but  sit 
Down  on  this  rushy  bank,  whilst  I  go  pull 
Fresh  blossoms  from  the  boughs,  or  quickly  cull 

-   IJim  hither,  &c.]   A  word  probably  has  dropt  out. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  4L 

The  choicest  delicates  from  yonder  mead, 

To  make  thee  chains  or  chaplets,  or  to  spread 

Under  our  fainting  bodies,  when  dehght 

Shall  lock  up  all  our  senses.     How  the  sight 

Of  those  smooth  rising  cheeks  renew  the  story 

Of  young  Adonis ' ,  when  in  pride  and  glory 

He  lay  infolded  'twixt  the  beating  arms 

Of  wilHno;  Venus  !     Methinks  strontjer  charms 

Dwell  in  those  speaking  eyes,  and  on  that  brow 

More  sweetness  than  the  painters  can  allow 

To  their  best  pieces.     Not  Narcissus,  he 

That  wept  himself  away  in  memory 

Of  his  own  beauty,  nor  Silvanus''  boy'". 

Nor  the  twice-ravisliM  maid,  for  whom  old  Troy 

Fell  by  the  hand  of  Pyrrhus,  may  to  thee 

Be  otherwise  compar'd  than  some  dead  tree 

To  a  young  fruitful  olive. 

Daph.  I  can  love. 
But  I  am  loath  to  say  so,  lest  I  prove 
Too  soon  unhappy. 

Cloe.  Happy,  thou  wouldst  say. 
My  dearest  Daphnis,  blush  not ;  if  the  day 
To  thee  and  thy  soft  heats  be  enemy. 
Then  take  the  coming  night ;  fair  youth,  'tis  free 
To  all  the  world.     Shepherd,  ni.meet  thee  then 
When  darkness  hath  shut  up  the  eyes  of  men. 
In  yonder  grove :  speak,  shall  our  meeting  hold  ? 
Indeed  you  are  too  bashful ;  be  more  bold, 
And  tell  me  ay. 

Daph.  I  am  content  to  say  so, 
And  would  be  glad  to  meet,  might  I  but  pray  so 
Much  from  your  fairness,  that  you  would  be  true. 

Cloe.  Shepherd,  thou  hast  thy  wish. 

Daph.   Fresh  maid,  adieu. 
Yet  onu  word  more :  since  you  have  drawn  me  on 

"  Of  young  Adonin]  "In  this  speech,  which  is  similar  to  that  iiiaile  before 
to  Thenot,  the  poet  continues  his  imitation  of  the  third  IdyUium  of  Theocritus." 
Seward.  "   Silvanus"  boy]  i.  e.  C^parissus. 


42  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  i. 

To  come  this  night,  fear  not  to  meet  alone 

That  man  that  will  not  offer  to  be  ill, 

Though  your  bright  self  would  ask  it,  for  his  fill 

Of  this  world's  goodness  ;  do  not  fear  him,  then, 

But  keep  your  'pointed  time.     Let  other  men 

Set  up  their  bloods  to  sale,  mine  shall  be  ever 

Fair  as  the  soul  it  carries,  and  unchaste  never.  [Exit. 

Cloe.  Yet  am  I  poorer  than  I  was  before. 
Is  it  not  strange,  among  so  many  a  score 
Of  lusty  bloods,  I  should  pick  out  these  things, 
Whose  veins,  like  a  dull  river  far  from  springs, 
Is  still  the  same,  slow,  heavy,  and  unfit 
For  stream  or  motion,  though  the  strong  winds  hit 
With  their  continual  power  upon  his  sides  ? 
Oh,  happy  be  your  names  that  have  been  brides. 
And  tasted  those  rare  sweets  for  which  I  pine  ! 
And  far  more  heavy  be  thy  grief  and  tine '', 
Thou  lazy  swain,  that  mayst  relieve  my  needs. 
Than  his,  upon  whose  liver  always  feeds 
A  hungry  vulture  ! 

Enter  Alexis. 

Alex.  Can  such  beauty  be '' 
Safe  in  his  own  guard,  and  not  draw  the  eye 
Of  him  that  passeth  on,  to  greedy  gaze 
Or  covetous  desire,  whilst  in  a  maze 
The  better  part  contemplates,  giving  rein 
And  wished  freedom  to  the  labouring  vein  ? 
Fairest  and  whitest,  may  I  crave  to  know 
The  cause  of  your  retirement,  why  you  go 
Thus  all  alone  ?     Methinks  the  downs  are  sweeter, 

"  tine]  "  The  same  as  teen,  wliich  signifies  sorrow."     Webeb. 
r  Can  such  heatity  he,  &c,]  "  Imitated  in  Milton's  Coniiis  : 
'  Beauty,  like  the  fair  Hesperian  tree 
Laden  with  blooming  gold,  had  need  the  guard 
Of  dragon-watch  with  uncnchanted  eye, 
To  save  her  blossoms,  and  defend  her  fx-uit, 
From  the  rash  hand  of  bold  incontinence.'  "    [v.  :^}93.]     Webeb. 
The  resemblance  between  tliesc  passages,  which  after  all  is  but  a  faint  one,  had 
been  already  pointed  out  by  Warton. 


SCENE  III]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  4:5 

And  the  young  company  of  swains  more  meeter  ^, 
Than  these  forsaken  and  untrodden  places. 
Give  not  yourself  to  loneness,  and  those  graces 
Hide  from  the  eyes  of  men,  that  were  intended 
To  live  amongst  us  swains. 

Cloe.  Thou  art  befriended, 
Shepherd  :  in  all  my  life  I  have  not  seen 
A  man,  in  whom  greater  contents  have  been, 
Than  thou  thyself  art.     I  could  tell  thee  more, 
Were  there  but  any  hope  left  to  restore 
My  freedom  lost.     Oh,  lend  me  all  thy  red, 
Thou  shame-fac'd  Morning,  when  from  Tithon's  bed 
Thou  risest  ever-maiden  ! 

Alex.  If  for  me, 
Thou  sweetest  of  all  sweets,  these  flashes  be. 
Speak,  and  be  satisfied.     Oh,  guide  her  tongue. 
My  better  angel ;  force  my  name  among 
Her  modest  thoughts,  that  the  first  word  may  be 

Cloe.  Alexis,  when  the  sun  shall  kiss  the  sea. 
Taking  his  rest  by  the  white  Thetis'  side. 
Meet  in  the  holy  wood,  where  Til  abide 
Thy  coming,  shepherd. 

Alex.  If  I  stay  behind, 
An  everlasting  dulness,  and  the  wind, 
That  as  he  passeth  by  shuts  up  the  stream 
Of  Rhine  or  Volga,  whilst "  the  sun's  hot  beam 
Beats  back  again,  seize  me,  and  let  me  turn 
To  coldness  more  than  ice  !     Oh,  how  I  burn 
And  rise  in  youth  and  fire  !     I  dare  not  stay. 

Cloe.   My  name  shall  be  your  word. 

Alex.  Fly,  fly,  thou  day  !  [Exit. 

Cloe.  My  grief  is  great,  if  both  these  boys  should  fail : 
He  that  will  use  all  winds  must  shift  his  sail.  [Exit. 

'  more  meeter']  "  Such  is  the  reading  of  the  two  [three]  oldest  quartos,  and 
such  was  undoubtedly  the  phraseology  of  the  age.  [The  other  4tos],  the  folio, 
and  all  later  [he  means — modern]  editions,  read  '  far  meeter.' ''  Weber. 

»  whilat]  -.Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  while." 


44  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  ii. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — A  pasture. 

Enter  Old  Shepherd  ringing  a  hell,  and  Priest  of  Fan  following. 

Priest.  Shepherds  all,  and  maidens  fair, 
Fold  your  flocks  up,  for  the  air 
'Gins  to  thicken,  and  the  sun 
Already  his  great  course  hath  run. 
See  the  dew-drops  how  they  kiss 
Every  little  flower  that  is, 
Hanging  on  their  velvet  heads, 
Like  a  rope  of  crystal  beads  : 
See  the  heavy  clouds  low  falling, 
And  bright  Hesperus  down  calling 
The  dead  Night  from  under  ground  ^  ; 
At  whose  rising  mists  unsound, 
Damps  and  vapours  fly  apace, 
Hoverinff  o'er  the  wanton  face 
Of  these  pastures,  where  they  come, 
Striking  dead  both  bud  and  bloom : 
Therefore,  from  such  danger  lock 
Every  one  his  loved  flock  ; 

>>  See  the  heavy  clouds  loiv  falling, 
And  briijht  Hesperus  down  calling 

The  dead  Night  from  under  ground]  "  Down-calling,"  says  Seward,  after 
noticing  Sympson's  absurd  correction  of  this  passage,  "  will,  I  think,  signify 
calling  down  to  Night  to  arise  from  under  gro^ind."  If  the  text  be  right, 
Seward's  explanation  is  the  correct  one.  It  ought  to  be  observed,  however,  that 
the  three  earUest  4tos.  have, — 

See  the  heavy  clondes  lowdc  fiiHitig,  &c. 
Qy.  did  the  words  "  loud  "  and  "  down  "  change  places  by  a  mistake  of  the 
compositor  ;  and  is  the  true  reading— 

«  See  the  heavy  clouds  down  falling, 
And  bright  Hesperus  loud  calling"  &c.  ? 


SCENE  II.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  45 

And  let  your  dogs  lie  loose  without, 

Lest  the  wolf  come  as  a  scout 

From  the  mountain,  and,  ere  day, 

Bear  a  lamb  or  kid  away ; 

Or  the  crafty  thievish  fox 

Break  upon  your  simple  flocks. 

To  secure  yourselves  from  these. 

Be  not  too  secure  in  ease  ; 

Let  one  eye  his  watches  keep, 

Whilst <■  the  t'other*^  eye  doth  sleep  ; 

So  you  shall  good  shepherds  prove, 

And  for  ever  hold  the  love 

Of  our  great  god.     Sweetest  slumbers, 

And  soft  silence,  fall  in  numbers  ^ 

On  your  eyelids  !     So,  farewell : 

Thus  I  end  ui}^  evening's  knell.  [Exeunt 


SCENE    II. —  The  ivood  before  Clorin's  boioer. 

Enter  Clorin,  sort'wff  herbs. 

Clo.  Now  let  me  know  what  my  best  art  hath  done, 
HelpM  by  the  great  power  of  the  virtuous  moon  ^ 
In  her  full  light.     Oh,  vou  sons  of  earth. 
You  only  brood,  unto  whose  happy  birth 

■=    Whilst]  Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  While." 

''  the  father']  Is  a  form  not  uncommon  in  old  writers.  The  Editors  of  1778 
and  Weber  printed  "  the  other." 

"^ Sweetest  shunhers. 

And  soft  silence,  fall  in  numbers']  "  Mr.  Seward  says,  that  silence  falling  in 
numbers  is  a  very  dark  expression,  and  therefore  proposes  [introduces  into 
the  text]  an  unnecessary  amendment.  Silence  falling  in  numbers  would  indeed 
be  not  merely  a  dark  expression,  but  absolute  nonsense  ;  but  as  the  verb/a/^ 
refers  to  slumbers,  not  to  silence,  the  passage  requires  no  alteration  :  .Ind  soft 
silence  means,  With  soft  silence."     Mason. 

'  Help'd  by  the  great  power  of  the  virtuous  moon.]  "  Herbs  used  for  magical 
purposes  were  not  esteemed  as  efficacious  except  they  had  been  gathered  by 
moonlight,"  &c.     Weber. 


46  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  n. 

Virtue  was  given,  holding  more  of  nature 

Than  man,  her  first-born  and  most  perfect  creature. 

Let  me  adore  you  !  you,  that  only  can 

Help  or  kill  nature,  drawing  out  that  span 

Of  life  and  breath  even  to  the  end  of  time  ; 

You,  that  these  hands  did  crop  long  before  prime 

Of  day^,  give  me  your  names,  and,  next,  your  hidden  power. 

This  is  the  clote ",  bearing  a  yellow  flower  ; 

A  nd  this,  black  horehound  ;  both  are  very  good 

For  sheep  or  shepherd  bitten  by  a  wood  ^ 

Dog's  venom'd  tooth  :  these  rhamnus'' '  branches  are, 

Which,  stuck  in  entries,  or  about  the  bar 

f  Of  day]  Omitted  by  Seward,— Theobald  having  "scratcli'd  out"  the  words 
in  the  copy  which  he  left  behind  him,  supposing  them  to  have  been  a  marginal 
comment  to  explain  what  prime  signiiied.  The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber 
restored  them  to  the  text.  Heath  (MS.  Notes)  disapproves  of  theii-  being 
omitted.  I  suspect  them  to  be  an  interpolation,  though  they  are  found  in  all 
the  old  eds., — the  first  4to.  giving  the  line  thus, — 

"  Of  day,  told  me  your  names,  and  next  your  hidden  power." 
The  sixth  line  after  this  is  exhibited  thus  by  4to.  1629  and  the  later  eds., — 
"  That  holds  the  dore  fast,  kill  all  inchantments,  charmes  ,• " 
(and  so  Seward  and  the  Editors  of  1778  printed) :  the  omission  of  "  fast  "  m 
the  first  4to.  proves  the  word  to  be  an  interpolation.     But  other  lines,  which 
are  over-measure,  occur,  with  no  variation  of  the  old  eds.,  in  the  present 
drama : — 

"  Not  caring  for  the  pipe  or  whistle.     This  man  may."     Act  i.  sc.  2. 

"  Can  my  imagination  Avork  me  so  much  ill."     Act  ii.  sc.  4. 

"  Dearer  than  thou  canst  love  thy  new  love,  if  thou  hast."     Act  iv.  sc.  4. 

e  the  clote]  See  "Clote  Burre,  or  Burre  Docke  "  in  Gerarde's  Ilerlja/l.  j). 
809,  ed.  1G33. 

•>  wood]  "i.  e.  mad."     Ed.  1778. 

'  rhamnus"]  First  4to.  "  Ramuus."  Later  eds.  "  Ramuns." — "  Mr.  Theobald 
would  read  '  Raymund's  ',  and  has  left  us  a  long  note  relating  to  the  history  of 
Raymund  Lully,  the  great  philosopher  and  chjTnist,  from  whom  he  supposes 
some  alexipharmick  to  have  taken  its  name.  But  he  was  certainly  in  a  wrong 
track.  The  true  word,  as  Mr.  S^-mpson  discovered,  is  '  Bamson's',  the  Allium 
Silvestre  or  Wild  Garlick,  which  is  helpful,  says  the  London  Dispensatory,  in 
the  jaundice  and  palsies.  But  our  author  chose  its  superstitious  virtues  as 
more  proper  for  poetry."  SEWARD,^who  accordingly  printed  "  Ramson's  "  : 

and  so  the  succeeding  editors. Concerning  Rhamnus,  "  Ramme  or  Harts 

Thorne,"  see  Gerarde's  Herball,  p.  1333,  ed.  1633.  See  also  Parkinson's 
Theatrum   Botanicum,   1640,  p.    IOO.t  ;  and  p.  lOOH,  where  he  says, "  Cordus 


SCENE  II.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  47 

That  holds  the  door,  kill  all  enchantments  J,  charms, 

(Were  they  INIedea's  verses.)  that  do  harms 

To  men  or  cattle :  these  for  frenzy  be 

A  speedy  and  a  sovereign  remedy, 

The  bitter  wormwood,  sage,  and  marigold  ; 

Such  sympathy  w'ith  man's  good  they  do  hold  : 

This  tormentil  ^,  whose  virtue  is  to  part 

All  deadly  killing  poison  from  the  heart : 

And,  here,  narcissus"'  root,  for  swellings  best : 

Yellow  lysimachus ',  to  give  sweet  rest 

To  the  faint  shepherd,  killing,  where  it  comes, 

All  busy  gnats,  and  every  fly  that  hums  : 

For  leprosy,  darnel  and  celandine, 

With  calamint,  whose  virtues  do  refine "' 

The  blood  of  man,  making  it  free  and  fair 

As  the  first  hour  it  breathM,  or  the  best  air  : 

Here,  other  two  ;  but  your  rebellious  use 

Is  not  for  me,  whose  goodness  is  abuse  ; 

also  witneseth  that  lihamnus  is  called  by  the  Latines  Spina  alba,  but  wisely 
adviseth  that  this  shrub  Spina  alba  be  not  confounded  with  the  other  two  sorts 
of  Thistles  so  called  also.  Ovid  also  speaketh  of  it  lib.  6.  [129.J  Faslorum, 
shewing  the  use  of  it  in  his  time  to  expell  incantations  in  these  \erses. 

Sic  fatus,  spinam,  qua  tristes  pellere  posset 
A  foribus  woras,  (hsec  erat  alba,)  dedit." 

Sir  R.  Fanshawe  renders  the  passage  thus  ; — 

"  Hi  rami  sunt  mollis  Acanthi, 
Qufe  si  vestibulis,"  &c. 
i  kill  all  enchanimen/s}    "  The  medicinal  as  well    as  superstitious  virtues 
ascribed  by  Clorin  to  her  various  herbs  are  imitated  by  Milton  in  his  description 
of  the  Hsemony,  in  the  first  scene  of  the  Two  Brothei-s  and  the   Attendant 
Spirit  in  Comtis."     Seward. 

^  tormenlil]   Or  ■•*  setfoile."     Gerarde's  i/er6a//,  p.  992.  ed.  1633. 
'  li/simachnsl  See  the  account  of  "  Lysimachia,  Willow-herb  or  Loose-strife", 
Gerarde's  Herball,  p.  474.  ed.  1633.  — Seward  and  the  Editors  of  1778  printed 
"  Lysimacha." 

""  whose  virtues  do  refine,  &c.]  "  So  in  Conms,  v.  ()G8, 
'  See,  here  be  all  the  pleasures 
That  fancy  can  beget  on  youthful  thoughts 
When  the  fresh  l)lood  grows  lively,  and  returns 
Brisk  as  the  April  buds  in  primrose  season.' "    ^^'EBER. 


48  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  it. 

Therefore,  foul  standergrass ",  from  me  and  mine 

I  banish  thee,  with  histful  turpentine  ; 

You  that  entice  the  veins  and  stir  the  heat 

To  civil  mutiny,  scaling  the  seat 

Our  reason  moves  in,  and  deluding  it 

AVith  dreams  and  wanton  fancies,  till  the  fit 

Of  burning  lust  be  quenchM,  by  appetite 

Hobbing  the  soul  of  blessedness  and  light : 

And  thou,  light  vervain  too,  thou  must  go  after, 

Provoking  easy  souls  to  mirth  and  laughter  ; 

No  more  shall  I  dip  thee  in  water  now, 

And  sprinkle  every  post  and  every  bough 

With  thy  well-pleasing  juice,  to  make  the  grooms 

Swell  with  high  mirth,  and"  with  joy  all  the  rooms. 

Enter  Thenot. 

The.  This  is  the  cabin  where  the  best  of  all 
Her  sex  that  ever  breathM,  or  ever  shall 
Give  heat  or  happiness  to  the  shepherd's  side, 
Doth  only  to  her  worthy  self  abide. 
Thou  blessed  star,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  light, 
Thou  by  whose  power  the  darkness  of  sad  night 
Is  banisli'd  from  the  earth,  in  whose  dull  place 
Thy  chaster  beams  play  on  the  heavy  face 
Of  all  the  world,  making  the  blue  sea  smile. 
To  see  how  cunningly  thou  dost  beguile 
Thy  brother  of  his  brightness,  giving  day 
Again  from  chaos ;  whiter  than  that  way 
That  leads  to  Jove's  high  court  p,  and  chaster  far 
Than  chastity  itself,  you  blessed  star 

°  standergrass]  "  i.  e.  satyrion."  Weber.  Gerarde  in  the  English 
Table  refers  the  reader  from  "  standergrass "  to  another  name  of  the 
plant  (equivalent  to  "  cynosorchis," — the  word  used  by  Fanshawe  in  his 
translation  of  this  passage),  under  which  he  describes  it,  Herbal!,  p.  205, 
ed.  Ifi33. 

"  and]  So  the  first  4 to.  Seward  and  the  Editors  of  1778  gave  with  the  later 
eds.  "as," 

P  Jove's  high  conrt}   So  Milton  in  the  first  line  of  Comus  ; 

"  Before  the  staiTv  tlireshold  of  Jove's  court." 


SCENE  II.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  19 

That  nightly  shines  p  !   thou,  all  the  constancy 
That  in  all  women  was  or  e''er  shall  be ; 
From  whose  fair  eye-balls  flies  that  holy  fire 
That  poets  style  the  mother  of  desire, 
Infusing  into  every  gentle  breast 
A  soul  of  greater  price,  and  far  more  blest, 
Than  that  quick  power  which  gives  a  difference 
'Twixt  man  and  creatures  of  a  lower  sense  ! 

Clo,  Shepherd,  how  cam'st  thou  hither  to  this  place ''  ? 
No  way  is  trodden ;  all  the  verdant  grass 
The  spring  shot  up  stands  yet  unbruised  here 
Of  any  foot ;  only  the  dappled  deer, 
Far  from  the  feared  sound  of  crooked  horn. 
Dwells  in  this  fastness. 

The.  Chaster  than  the  morn, 
I  have  not  wanderM,  or  by  strong  illusion 
Into  this  virtuous  place  have  made  intrusion  : 
But  hither  am  I  come  (believe  me,  fair,) 
To  seek  you  out,  of  whose  great  good  the  air 

P  you  blessed  star 

That  nightly  shines]  So  the  two  earliest  4tos. ,  except  tliat  the  first  has  "  brightly 
shines."     Later  eds.  "  yon  hlessed,""  &c.     Seward  printed — 
"  Thou  blessed  star 
That  nightly  shin'st  "  ; 
so  the  Editors  of  1778  ;  and  so  Weber,  except  that  he  gave  "  shines." 

This  speech  is  a  very  obscure  one.  That  part  of  it  is  addressed  to  the  moon 
(see  the  eleventh  line,  "  Thy  brother,"  &c.)  is  not  to  be  doubted.  Qy.  in  the 
present  passage  is  "  yon  blessed  star  "  the  right  reading,  and  does  Thoiiot  begin 
to  address  Clorin  at  "  Whiter  than  that  way," — proceeding  to  call  her  chaster 
than  the  goddess  of  chastity,  "  yon  blessed  star," — i.  e.  the  moon,  which  he  bad 
so  termed  in  the  fourth  line  of  the  speech  ; — 

"  Thou  blessed  star,  I  thank  thee,"  &c.  ? 
1  Shepherd,  how  earnest  thou  hither  to  this  place,  &c.]  "  Milton's  imitation  of 
these  lines  (Comus,  v.  497)  is  noticed  by  Warton  : 

'  How  cam'st  thou  here,  good  swain  ?  hath  any  ram 
Slipt  from  the  fold,  or  young  kid  lost  his  dam, 
Or  straggling  wether  tlie  pent  flock  forsook  ? 
How  could'st  thou  find  this  dark  scquester'd  nook?' 
The  imitation  is  so  slight,  tliat  it  would  hardly  be  worth  mentioning,  if  the 
fact  was  not  established  that  iMilton  had  an  eye  upon  Fletcher's  pastoral  all  the 
while  he  was  composing  his  Masque."     Wehkr. 
VOL.   II.  E 


50  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  ii. 

Is  full,  and  strongly  labours,  whilst '  the  sound 
Breaks  against  heaven,  and  drives  into  a  stound 
Th'  amazed  shepherd,  that  such  virtue  can 
Be  resident  in  lesser  than  a  man. 

Clo.  If  any  art  I  have,  or  hidden  skill, 
May  cure  thee  of  disease  or  fester'd  ill. 
Whose  grief  or  greenness  to  another''s  eye 
May  seem  unpossible '  of  remedy, 
I  dare  yet  undertake  it. 

TJie.  'Tis  no  pain 
I  suffer  through  disease,  no  beating  vein 
Conveys  infection  dangerous  to  the  heart. 
No  part  imposthumM,  to  be  cur'd  by  art, 
This  body  holds  ;  and  yet  a  feller  grief 
Than  ever  skilful  hand  did  give  relief 
Dwells  on  my  soul,  and  may  be  heaFd  by  you. 
Fair,  beauteous  virgin. 

Clo.  Then,  shepherd,  let  me  sue 
To  know  thy  grief :  that  man  yet  never  knew 
The  way  to  health  that  durst  not  shew  his  sore. 
The.  Then,  fairest,  know,  I  love  you. 
Clo.  Swain,  no  more  ! 
Thou  hast  abusM  the  strictness  of  this  place. 
And  offered  sacrilegious  foul  disgrace 
To  the  sweet  rest  of  these  interred  bones  ; 
For  fear  of  whose  ascending,  fly  at  once. 
Thou  and  thy  idle  passions,  that  the  sight 
Of  death  and  speedy  vengeance  may  not  fright 
Thy  very  soul  with  horror. 

The.  Let  me  not. 
Thou  all  perfection,  merit  such  a  blot 
For  my  true  zealous  faith. 
Clo.  Dar'st  thou  abide 
To  see  this  holy  earth  at  once  divide, 

"■  whilst^  Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  while." 

'  unpossible-[  So  all  the  old  eds.,  except  4to.  ICG;"),  which  has  "  impossible  ' 
see  note,  vol.  I.  396. 


SCENE  11.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  51 

And  give  her  body '  up  i  for  sure  it  will, 
If  thou  pursu'st  with  wanton  flames  to  fill 
This  hallowM  place  :  therefore  repent  and  go, 
Whilst  I  with  prayers  "  appease  his  ghost  below, 
That  else  would  tell  thee  what  it  were  to  bo 
A  rival  in  that  virtuous  love  that  he 
Embraces  yet. 

T7ie.  'Tis  not  the  white  or  red 
Inhabits  in  your  cheek  that  thus  can  wed 
My  mind  to  adoration  ;  nor  your  eye, 
Though  it  be  full  and  fair,  your  forehead  high 
And  smooth  as  Pelops''  shoulder  ;  not  tlie  smile 
Lies  watching  in  those  dimples  to  beguile 
The  easy  soul ;  your  hands  and  fingers  long. 
With  veins  enameird  richly  ;  nor  your  tongue, 
Though  it  spoke  sweeter  than  Arion's  harp  ; 
Your  hair  woven  into  many  a  curious  warp, 
Able  in  endless  error  to  enfold 
The  wandering  '  soul ;  not  the  true  perfect  mould 
Of  all  your  body,  which  as  pure  doth  shew 
In  maid  en- whiteness  as  the  Alpen''  snow  : 
All  these,  were  but  your  constancy  away, 
Would  please  me  less  than  a  black  stormy  day 
The  wretched  seaman  toiling  through  the  deep. 
But,  whilst  this  honoured  strictness  you  do  keep  % 
Though  all  the  plagues  that  e'er  begotten  were 
In  the  great  womb  of  air  were  settled  here, 
In  opposition,  I  would,  like  the  tree, 
Shake  off  those  drops  of  weakness,  and  be  free 
Even  in  the  arm  of  danger. 

'  her  hody'\  "  That  is,  the  body  which  is  in  her  possession."     Mason. 

"  prayers'^  First  4to. "  praics  "  (a  misprint  for  "  pi'aiers");  later  cds.  "  praise." 

"  rvandering'\  So  all  the  old  eds.,  except  the  first  4to.,  which  has  "  errant," 
— a  reading  adopted  hy  Weber,  but  surely  objectionable  on  account  of  "  eiTor  " 
in  the  preceding  line. 

"■"  Alpcii]  So  the  first  4to.  Later  eds.  "  Alpsicn,"  and  "  Alpsian."  Seward 
and  the  Editors  of  1778  printed  "  Alpsien  ",  Weber  "Alpine." 

"  you  do  kccp.'\  "  This  reading  is  fi-oni  the  oldest  quai'to.  All  other  editions 
read — '  you  dare  keep,'  [which  Seward  and  the  Editors  of  1 778  gave]."  Wedku. 

E  2 


52  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [a(t  n. 

Clo.  Woiildst  thou  have 
Me  raise  again,  fond  '^  man,  from  silent  grave 
Those  sparks,  that  long  ago  were  buried  here 
With  my  dead  friend's  cold  ashes  ? 

Tlie.  Dearest  dear, 
I  dare  not  ask  it,  nor  you  must  not  grant : 
Stand  strongly  to  your  vow,  and  do  not  faint. 
Remember  how  he  lov'd  you,  and  be  still 
The  same  opinion  speaks  you  :  let  not  will, 
And  that  great  god  of  women,  appetite, 
Set  up  your  blood  again  ;  do  not  invite 
Desire  and  fancy  ^  from  their  long  exile. 
To  seat  them  once  more  in  a  pleasing  smile  : 
Be,  like  a  rock,  made  firmly  up  'gainst  all 
The  power  of  angry  heaven,  or  the  strong  fall 
Of  Neptune's  battery.     If  you  yield,  I  die 
To  all  affection ;  'tis  that  loyalty 
You  tie  unto  this  grave  I  so  admire  : 
And  yet  there's  something  else  I  would  desire. 
If  you  would  hear  me,  but  withal  deny. 
Oh,  Pan,  what  an  uncertain  destiny 

Hangs  over  all  my  hopes  !     I  will  retire ; 

For,  if  I  longer  stay,  this  double  fire 

Will  lick  my  life  up. 

Clo.  Do ;  and  let  time  wear  out 

What  art  and  nature  cannot  bring  about. 

The.  Farewell,  thou  soul  of  virtue,  and  be  blest 

For  ever,  whilst  that  here  I  wretched  rest 

Thus  to  myself  .'     Yet  grant  me  leave  to  dwell 

In  kenning  of  this  arbour  ;  yon  same  dell, 

O'ertopp'd  with  mourning  cypress  and  sad  yew, 

Shall  be  my  cabin,  where  I'll  early  rue. 

Before  the  sun  hath  kiss'd  this  dew  away, 

The  hard  uncertain  chance  which  fate  doth  lay 

Upon  this  head. 

Clo.  The  gods  give  quick  release 

And  happy  cure  unto  thy  hard  disease  ! 

\^Exit  Thenot,  Clorix  retiring  into  the  hotoer. 

^  fond]  i.  e.  foolish.  ^'  fanaj]  i.  e.  love. 


THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  53 


SCENE  111.— Another  part  of  the  luood. 

Enter  Sullen  Shepherd. 
Sull.  Shep.  I  do  not  love  this  wench  that  T  should  meet ; 
For  ne'er  did  my  unconstant  eye  yet  greet 
That  beauty,  were  it  sweeter  or  more  fair  • 

Than  the  new  blossoms  when  the  morning-air 
Blows  gently  on  them,  or  the  breaking  light 
When  many  maiden-blushes  to  our  sight 
Shoot  from  his  ^  early  face :  were  all  these  set 
In  some  neat  form  before  me,  'twould  not  get 
The  least  love  from  me  ;  some  desire  it  might, 
Or  present  burning.     All  to  me  in  sight 
Arc  equal ;  be  they  fair,  or  black,  or  brown, 
Virgin,  or  careless  wanton,  I  can  crown 
My  appetite  with  any  ;  swear  as  oft, 
And  weep,  as  any ;  melt  my  words  as  soft 
Into  a  maiden's  ears,  and  tell  how  long 
My  heart  has  been  her  servant,  and  how  strong 
My  passions  are  ;  call  her  unkind  and  cruel ; 
Offer  her  all  I  have  to  gain  the  jewel 
Maidens  so  highly  prize ;   then  loathe,  and  fly  : 
This  do  I  hold  a  blessed  destiny. 

Enter  Amarillis. 

Aynar.  Hail,  shepherd  !   Pan  bless  both  thy  flock  and  thee, 
For  being  mindful  of  thy  word  to  me  ! 

Sull.  Shep.   AVelcome,  fair  shepherdess  I     Thy  loving  swain 
Gives  thee  the  self-same  wishes  back  again  ; 
Who  till  this  present  hour  ne'er  knew  that  eye 
Could  make  me  cross  mine  arms,  or  daily  die 
AVith  fresh  consumings.     Boldly  tell  me,  then, 
How  shall  we  part  their  faithful  loves,  and  when  ? 
Shall  I  belie  him  to  her  ?  shall  I  swear 
His  faith  is  false  and  he  loves  every  where  ? 

'  /lis]  Altered  liy  the  luodern  editors  to  "  its." 


54  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  u. 

ril  say  he  mockM  her  th'  other  day  to  you  ; 

Which  will  by  your  confirming  shew  as  true, 

For  she  *  is  of  so  pure  an  honesty, 

To  think,  because  she  will  not,  none  will  lie. 

Or  else  to  him  Fll  slander  Amoret, 

And  say,  she  but  seems  chaste ;  Fll  swear  she  met 

Me  'mongst  the  shady  sycamores  last  night. 

And  loosely  offer'd  up  her  flame  and  sprite 

Into  my  bosom ;  made  a  wanton  bed 

Of  leaves  and  many  flowers,  where  she  spread 

Her  willing  body  to  be  pressed  by  me  ; 

There  have  I  carv'd  her  name  on  many  a  tree. 

Together  with  mine  own.     To  make  this  shew 

More  full  of  seeming, — Hobinal,  you  know, 

Son  to  the  aged  shepherd  of  the  glen. 

Him  I  have  sorted  out  of  many  men, 

To  say  he  found  us  at  our  private  sport, 

And  rous'd  us  'fore  our  time  by  his  resort : 

This  to  confirm,  Fve  promised  to  the  boy 

Many  a  pretty  knack  and  many  a  toy ; 

As  gins  to  catch  liim  birds,  with  bow  and  bolt '' 

To  shoot  at  nimble  squirrels  in  the  holt  '^ ; 

A  pair  of  painted  buskins,  and  a  lamb 

Soft  as  his  own  locks  or  the  down  of  swan. 

This  I  have  '^  done  to  win  you  ;  which  doth  give 

Me  double  pleasure  :  discord  makes  me  live. 

Amar.  Lov'd  swain,  I  thank  you.  These  tricks  might  prevail 
With  other  rustic  shepherds,  but  will  fail 
Even  once  to  stir,  much  more  to  overthrow, 
His  fixed  love  from  judgment,  who  doth  know 
Your  nature,  my  end,  and  his  chosen's  merit ; 
Therefore  some  stronger  way  must  force  his  spirit. 
Which  I  have  found :  give  second,  and  my  love 
Is  everlasting  thine. 

a  she}  Seward's  correction,  here,  and  in  tlie  next  line.     Old  cds.  "  he." 

''  t/olt]  "  i.  e.  arrow."     Reed. 

'  holt]   "  Is  a  wood  or  grove."     Reed. 

"'   f  have]  AVcbcr  chose  to  print  "  have  I." 


SCENE  III]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  55 

Sull.  Shep.  Try  me,  and  prove. 

Aiiiar.  These  happy  pair  of  lovers  meet  straightway, 
Soon  as  they  fold  their  flocks  up  with  the  day, 
In  the  thick  grove  bordering  upon  yon  hill, 
In  whose  hard  side  nature  hath  carvVl  a  well, 
And,  but  that  matchless  spring  which  poets  know, 
Was  ne'er  the  like  to  this  :  by  it  doth  grow, 
About  the  sides,  all  herbs  which  witches  use, 
All  simples  good  for  medicine  ^  or  abuse, 
All  sweets  that  crown  the  happy  nuptial  day, 
With  all  their  colours  ;   there  the  month  of  May 
Is  ever  dwelling,  all  is  young  and  green  ; 
There's  not  a  grass  on  which  was  ever  seen 
The  falling  autumn  or  cold  w^inter"'s  hand  ; 
So  full  of  heat  and  virtue  is  the  land 
About  this  fountain,  w'hich  doth  slowly  break, 
Below  yon  mountain's  foot,  into  a  creek 
That  waters  all  the  valley,  giving  fish 
Of  many  sorts  to  fill  the  shepherd's  dish. 
This  holy  well,  my  grandame  that  is  dead, 
Right  wise  in  charms,  hath  often  to  me  said, 
Hath  power  to  change  the  form  of  any  creature. 
Being  thrice  dipp'd  o'er  the  head,  into  what  feature 
Or  shape  'twould  please  the  letter-down  to  crave. 
Who  must  pronounce  this  charm  too,  which  she  gave 

[Shewi7i(/  a  scroll. 
Me  on  her  death-bed  ;  told  me  what,  and  how, 
I  should  apply  unto  the  patients'  brow- 
That  would  be  chang'd,  casting  them  thrice  asleep, 
Before  I  trusted  them  into  this  deep]: 
All  this  she  shew'd  me,  and  did  charge  me  prove 
This  secret  of  her  art,  if  crost  in  love. 
I'll  this  attempt  now,  shepherd  ;   I  have  here 
All  her  prescriptions,  and  I  will  not  fear 
To  be  myself  dipp'd.     Come,  my  temples  bind 
With  these  sad  herbs,  and  when  I  sleep,  you  find, 

"■  medicine]  Alti-rcd  h\  the  modern  editors  to  "medicines." 


56  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  La^t  u. 

As  you  do  speak  your  charm,  thrice  dowu  me  let, 
And  bid  the  water  raise  me  Amoret ; 
Which  being  done,  leave  me  to  my  affair. 
And  ere  the  day  shall  quite  itself  outwear, 
I  will  return  unto  my  shepherd's  arm ; 
Dip  me  again,  and  then  repeat  this  charm, 
And  pluck  me  up  myself,  whom  freely  take, 
And  the  hottest  fire  of  thine  affection  slake. 

Sidl.  Shejj.  And  if  I  fit  thee  not,  then  fit  not  me, 
I  long  the  truth  of  this  well's  power  to  see.  [Exeimt. 


SCENE  IV. — Another  part  of  the  wood. 

Enter  Daphnis. 

Daph.  Here  will  I  stay,  for  this  the  covert  is 
Where  I  appointed  Cloe.     Do  not  miss, 
Thou  bright-eyed  virgin  ;  come,  oh,  come,  my  fair  ! 
Be  not  abus'd  with  fear,  nor  let  cold  care 
Of  honour  stay  thee  from  thy  shepherd's  arm, 
W\\o  would  as  hard  be  won  to  offer  harm 
To  thy  chaste  thoughts,  as  whiteness  from  the  day. 
Or  yon  great  round  to  move  another  way : 
My  language  shall  be  honest,  full  of  truth. 
My  flames  as  smooth  and  spotless  as  my  youth  ; 
I  will  not  entertain  that  wandering  thought, 
Whose  easy  current  may  at  length  be  bj'ought 
To  a  loose  vastness. 

Alex.  \ioitkiu.^  Cloe  ! 

Daph.  'Tis  her  voice, 
And  I  must  answer.— Cloe  ! — Oh,  the  choice 
Of  dear  embraces,  chaste  and  holy  strains 
Our  hands  shall  give  !     I  charge  you,  all  my  veins. 
Through  which  the  blood  and  spirit  take  their  way, 
Look  up  your  disobedient  heats,  and  stay 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  57 

Those  mutinous  desires  that  else  would  grow 
To  strong  rebellion  ;   do  not  wilder  shew 
Than  blusliing  modesty  may  entertain. 

Alex,  [xoithin.']  Cloe  ! 

Daph.  There  sounds  that  blessed  name  again, 
And  I  will  meet  it.     Let  me  not  mistake ; 

Eyiter  Alexis. 

This  is  some  shepherd.  Sure,  I  am  awake  : 
What  may  this  riddle  mean  i  I  will  retire, 
To  give  myself  more  knowledge.  [  Retires. 

Alex.   Oh,  my  fire, 
How  thou  consum'st  me  ! — Cloe,  answer  me  ! 
Alexis,  strong  Alexis,  high  and  free. 
Calls  upon  Cloe.     See,  mine  arms  are  full 
Of  entertainment,  ready  for  to  pull 
That  golden  fruit  which  too,  too  long  hath  hung 
Tempting  the  greedy  eye.     Thou  stay"'st  too  long  ; 
I  am  impatient  of  these  mad  delays : 
I  must  not  leave  unsought  those  many  ways 
That  lead  into  this  centre,  till  I  find 
Quench  for  my  burning  lust.     I  come,  unkind  !  yExit. 

Daph.  [coming  forward.^   Can  my  imagination  work  me  so 
much  ill, 
That  I  may  credit  this  for  truth,  and  still 
Believe  mine  eyes  i  or  shall  I  firmly  hold 
Her  yet  untainted,  and  these  sights  but  bold 
Illusion  1     Sure,  such  fancies  oft  have  been 
Sent  to  abuse  true  love,  and  yet  are  seen 
Daring  to  blind  the  virtuous  thought  with  error ; 
But  be  they  far  from  me  with  their  fond  ^  terror  ! 
I  am  resolvM  my  Cloe  yet  is  true. 

Cloe.  [ivithin.^  Cloe  ! 

Daph.  Hark  !   Cloe  !     Sure,  this  voice  is  new. 
Whose  shrillness,  like  the  sounding  of  a  bell. 
Tells  me  it  is  a  woman. — Cloe,  tell 
Thy  blessed  name  again. 

f  fowi]  i.  c,  foolish,  vaiii . 


58  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  ii. 

Cloe.  [w^thln.^^  Cloe'!  here! 

Daph.  Oh,  what  a  grief  is  this,  to  be  so  near, 
And  not  encounter  ! 

Enter  Cloe. 

Cloe.  Shepherd,  we  are  met : 
Draw  close  into  the  covert,  lest  the  wet, 
Which  falls  like  lazy  mists  upon  the  ground. 
Soak  through  your  startups". 

Daph.  Fairest,  are  you  found  ? 
How  have  we  wanderM,  that  the  better  part 
Of  this  good  night  is  perish'd  ?     Oh,  my  heart  ! 
How  have  I  long'd  to  meet  you,  how  to  kiss 
Those  lily  hands,  how  to  receive  the  bliss 
That  charming  tongue  gives  to  the  happy  ear 
Of  him  that  drinks  your  language  !    But  I  fear 
I  am  too  much  unmanner''d,  far  too  rude, 
And  almost  grown  lascivious,  to  intrude 
These  hot  behaviours  ;  where  regard  of"  fame. 
Honour  and  modesty,  a  virtuous  name, 
And  such  discourse  as  one  fair  sister  may 
Without  offence  unto  the  brother  •  say, 
Should  rather  have  been  tendered.     But,  believe, 
Here  dwells  a  better  temper  :   do  not  grieve, 
Then,  ever  kindest,  that  my  first  salute 
Seasons  so  much  of  fancy  ^ ;   I  am  mute 
Henceforth  to  all  discourses  but  shall  be 
Suiting  to  your  sweet  thoughts  and  modesty. 
Indeed,  I  will  not  ask  a  kiss  of  you, 
No,  not  to  wring  your  fingers,  nor  to  sue 
To  those  blest  pair  of  fixed  stars  for  smiles  ; 
All  a  young  lover''s  cunning,  all  his  wiles, 
And  pretty  wanton  dyings,  shall  to  me 
Bo  strangers  ;  only  to  your  chastity 
I  am  devoted  ever. 

'  Cloe\  Omitted  by  mistake  in  the  old  eds. 

?  startups']  I.  c.  a  sort  of  rustic  shoes  with  hiph  tops,  galoches,  or  half-gaitors. 

I'  of]  Altered  by  Weber  to  "  to." 

'  t/io  brother]  Is  not  the  ri{;ht  reading,  "  the  other  "  ? 

J  fancy]  i.  e.  love,  amorousness. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  59 

Cloe.  Honest  swain, 
First  let  rae  thank  you,  then  return  again 
As  much  of  my  love. — No,  thou  art  too  cokl, 
Unhappy  boy,  not  temper'd  to  my  mould  ; 
Thy  blood  falls  heavy  downward.     'Tis  not  fear 
To  offend  in  boldness  wins  ;  they  never  wear 
Deserved  favours  that  deny  ^  to  take 
When  they  are  offered  freely.     Do  I  wake, 
To  see  a  man  of  his  youth,  years,  and  feature, 
And  such  a  one  as  we  call  goodly  creature, 
Thus  backward  ?     What  a  world  of  precious  art 
Were  merely'  lost,  to  make  him  do  his  part  ! 
But  I  will  shake  him  off,  that  dares  not  hold  : 
Let  men  that  hope  to  be  belov'd  be  bold.     \^Aside. — 
Daphnis,  I  do  desire,  since  we  are  met 
So  happily,  our  lives  and  fortunes  set 
Upon  one  stake,  to  give  assurance  now. 
By  interchange  of  hands  and  holy  vow, 
Never  to  break  again.     Walk  you  that  way, 
Whilst  I  in  zealous  meditation  stray 
A  little  this  way  :  when  we  both  have  ended 
These  rites  and  duties,  by  the  woods  befriended 
And  secrecy  of  night,  retire  and  find 
An  aged  oak,  whose  hollowncss  may  bind 
Us  both  within  his  body  ;  thither  go  ; 
It  stands  within  yon  bottom. 

Da-ph.  Be  it  so.  \Exit. 

Cloe.  And  I  will  meet  there  never  more  with  thee, 
Thou  idle  shamefacedness  ! 

Alex.  \yDithin?^  Cloe  ! 

Cloe.  'Tis  he 
That  dare,  I  hope,  be  bolder. 

Alex.  \xcitldn^  Cloe ! 

Cloe.  Now, 
Great  Pan,  for  Syrinx'  sake,  bid  speed  our  plough  !       yExit. 

^  dcni/]  i.  c.  I'cfusc.  '  vicrely]  i.  c.  wholly,  utterly. 


60  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  hi. 


ACT    III. 

Scene  I. — Part  of  the  ivoodivith  t/ie  holt/  icell. 


Enter  Sullen  Shepherd,  carrying  Amarillis  asleep. 

Sull.  Shep.  From  thy  forehead  thus  I  take 
These  herbs,  and  charge  thee  not  awake 
Till  in  yonder  holy  well 
Thrice,  with  powerful  magic  spell 
Fiird  with  many  a  baleful  word. 
Thou  hast  been  dippVl.     Thus,  with  my  cord 
Of  blasted  hemp,  by  moonlight  twin'd, 
I  do  thy  sleepy  body  bind. 
I  turn  thy  head  unto"'  the  east, 
And  thy  feet  unto  the  west, 
Thy  left  arm  to  the  south  put  forth, 
And  thy  right  unto  the  north. 
I  take  thy  body  from  the  ground. 
In  this  deep  and  deadly  swound ", 
And  into  this  holy  spring 
I  let  thee  slide  down  by  my  string. — 

[Lets  her  doivn  into  the  icell. 
Take  this  maid,  thou  holy  pit. 
To  thy  bottom  ;  nearer  yet ; 
In  thy  water  pure  and  sweet 
By  thy  leave  I  dip  her  feet ; 
Thus  I  let  her  lower  yet, 
That  her  ankles  may  be  wet ; 
Yet  down  lower,  let  her  knee 
In  thy  waters  washed  be. 

'"  unto]  Here  and  in  the  next  line  old  cds.  have  "  into  "  (which  the  modern 
editors  give),  but  all  in  the  third  line  after  this  have  "  unlo." 
"  !'Wound'\  i.  e.  swoon. 


srENE  I.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  61 

There  stop.'^ — Fly  away, 

Every  thing  that  loves  the  day  ! 

Truth,  that  hath  but  one  face, 

Thus  I  charm  thee  from  this  place. 

Snakes  that  cast  your  coats  for  new, 

Chameleons  that  alter  hue, 

Hares  that  yearly  sexes  change, 

Proteus  altering  oft  and  strange, 

Hecate  with  shapes  three, 

Let  this  maiden  changed  be, 

With  this  holy  water  wet. 

To  the  shape  of  Amoret  ! 

Cynthia,  work  thou  with  my  charm  ! — 

Thus  I  draw  thee,  free  from  harm, 

^Draws  her  out  of  the  tvell,  hi  the  shape  of  Amoret. 

Up  out  of  this  blessed  lake  : 

Rise  both  like  her  and  awake  ! 
Amar.  Speak,  shepherd,  am  I  Amoret  to  sight  ? 
Or  hast  thou  missM  in  any  magic  rite, 
For  want  of  which  any  defect  in  me 
May  make  our  practices  discover'd  be  ? 

Sull.  Shep.  By  yonder  moon,  but  that  I  here  do  stand. 
Whose  breath  hath  thus  transformed  thee,  and  whose  hand 
Let  thee  down  dry,  and  pluck'd  thee  up  thus  wet, 
I  should  myself  take  thee  for  Amoret  ! 
Thou  art,  in  clothes,  in  feature,  voice  and  hue, 
So  like,  that  sense  can  not  distinguish  you. 

Amar.  Then,  this  deceit,  which  cannot  crossed  be. 
At  once  shall  lose  her  him,  and  gain  thee  me. 
Hither  she  needs  must  come,  by  promise  made ; 
And,  sure,  his  nature  never  was  so  bad, 
To  bid  a  virgin  meet  him  in  the  wood. 
When  night  and  fear  are  up,  but  understood 
'Twas  his  part  to  come  first.     Being  come,  Fll  say, 
My  constant  love  made  me  come  first  and  stay ; 

"  There  slop]  Weber,  who  has  a  note  on  this  Hne  about  Seward's  "  rage  of 
menduig  the  meti'e,"  prints,  with  liis  predecessors,  iu  opposition  to  all  the  old 
ods.,  "  There  I  stop^  ! 


62  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [actiii. 

Then  will  I  lead  him  further  to  the  grove : 

But  stay  you  here,  and,  if  his  own  true  love 

Shall  seek  him  here,  set  her  in  some  wrong  path, 

Which  say  her  lover  lately  trodden  hath ; 

I'll  not  be  far  from  hence.     If  need  there  be. 

Here  is  another  charm,  whose  power  will  free     IGwes  a  acrolL 

The  dazzled  sense,  read  by  the  moonbeams  clear, 

And  in  my  own  true  shape  make  me  appear. 

Enter  Perigot, 

Sull.  Sliep.   Stand   close :    here's  Perigot ;    whose  constant 
heart 
Longs  to  behold  her  in  whose  shape  thou  art. 

\^Retires  with  Amauillis. 

Peri.  This  is  the  place. — Fair  Amoret  ! — The  hour 
Is  yet  scarce  come.     Here  every  sylvan  power 
Delights  to  be,  about  yon  sacred  well, 
Which  they  have  bless'd  with  many  a  powerful  spell ; 
For  never  traveller  in  dead  of  night, 
Nor  strayed  beasts  have  fain  in  ;  but  when  sight 
Hath  fail'd  them,  then  their  right  way  they  have  found 
By  help  of  them,  so  holy  is  the  ground. 
But  I  will  farther  seek,  lest  Amoret 
Should  be  first  come,  and  so  stray"  long  unmet. — 
My  Amoret,  Amoret  p  !  [Exit. 

Amar.   [coming  forward.']  Perigot ! 

Peri,  [within.^  My  love  ! 

Amar.  I  come,  my  love  !  [Exit. 

Sull.  Shep.  Now  she  hath  got 
Her  own  desires,  and  I  shall  gainer  be 
Of  my  long-look'd-for  hopes,  as  well  as  she. 

"  strai/]  Altered  by  Weber  to  "  stay."     But  compare  what  Amoret  afterwards 
says  in  this  scene  ; 

"  Many  a  weary  step  in  yonder  path 
Poor  hopeless  Amoret  twice  trodden  hath 
To  seek  her  Perigot,"  &c. 

1'  Amorell  Seward   pi'inted  "my   Amoret,"  and  in  the  next  speech,  "My 
Perigot." 


SCENE  I.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  63 

How  bright  the  moon  shines  here,  as  if  she  strove 
To  shew  her  glory  in  this  little  grove 

Enter  Amoret. 
To  some  new-loved  shepherd  !     Yonder  is 
Another  Amoret.     Where  differs  this 
From  that  I  but  that  she  Perigot  hath  met, 
I  should  have  ta'en  this  for  the  counterfeit. 
Herbs,  woods,  and  springs,  the  power  that  in  you  lies, 
If  mortal  men  could  know  your  properties  !  { Aside. 

Amo.  Methinks  it  is  not  night ;   I  have  no  fear, 
Walking  this  wood,  of  lion  or  of  bear, 
Whose  names  at  other  times  have  made  me  quake. 
When  any  shepherdess  in  her  tale  spake 
Of  some  of  them,  that  underneath  a  wood 
Have  torn  true  lovers  that  together  stood ; 
Methinks  there  are  no  goblins,  and  men's  talk, 
That  in  these  woods  the  nimble  fairies  walk. 
Are  fables  :  such  a  strong  heart  I  have  got. 
Because  I  come  to  meet  with  Perigot. — 
My  Perigot !   ^Mlo"'s  that  ?  my  Perigot  ? 

Sull.  Shep.  [coming  for icard.^  Fair  maid  ! 

Amo.  Aye  me,  thou  art  not  Perigot  ! 

Sull.  Shep.  But  I  can  tell  you  news  of  Perigot : 
An  hour  together  under  yonder  tree 
He  sat  with  wreathed  arms,  and  callVl  on  thee, 
And  said,  "  Why,  Amoret,  stay'st  thou  so  long  I" 
Then  starting  up,  down  yonder  path  he  flung, 
Lest  thou  hadst  miss'd  thy  way.     ^^'ere  it  daylight, 
He  could  not  yet  have  borne  him  out  of  sight. 

Amo.  Thanks,  gentle  shepherd  ;  and  beshrew  my  stay, 
That  made  me*^  fearful  I  had  lost  my  way  ! 
As  fast  as  my  weak  legs  (that  cannot  be 
^Veary  with  seeking  him)  will  carry  me, 
ril  follow  ;  and,  for  this  thy  care  of  me,"^ 
Pray  Pan  thy  love  may  ever  follow  thee  !  [Exit. 

t  me]  "  We  should  certainly  read  '  him.'  "     Masox. 

'  I'll  follow;  and,  for  this  thy  care  of  me]  So  the  first  4  to.     In  the  second 


64  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [a(t  hi. 

Sidl.    Shep.    How    bright    s^lio    was,    liow    lovely   did    she 
shew  ! 
Was  it  not  pity  to  deceive  her  so  ? 
She  pluekM  her  garments  up,  and  trippM  away, 
And  with  a  virgin-innocence  did  pray 
For  me  that  perjur'd  her.^     Whilst  she  was  here, 
Methought  the  beams  of  light  that  did  appear 
Were  shot  from  her  ;  methought  the  moon  gave  none 
But  what  it  had  from  her.     She  was  alone 
With  me  ;  if  then  her  presence  did  so  move, 
Why  did  not  I  assay  to  win  her  love  ? 
She  would  not  sure  have  yielded  unto  me ; 
Women  love  only  opportunity, 
And  not  the  man  ;  or  if  she  had  denied, 
Alone,  I  might  have  forc'd  her  to  have  tried 
Who  had  been  stronger :  oh,  vain  fool,  to  let 
Such  bless'd  occasion  pass  !     I'll  follow  yet; 
My  blood  is  up  ;   I  cannot  now  forbear. 

Enter  Alexis  and  Cloe. 

I  come,  sweet  Amoret  ! — Soft,  who  is  here  ? 

A  pair  of  lovers  ?     He  shall  yield  her  me  : 

Now  lust  is  up,  alike  all  women  be.  [Aside^  and  retires. 

Alex.  Where  shall  we  rest  ?     But  for  the  love  of  me, 
Cloe,  I  know,  ere  this  would  weary  be. 

Cloe.  Alexis,  let  us  rest  here,  if  the  place 
Be  private,  and  out  of  the  common  trace 
Of  every  shepherd  ;  for,  I  understood. 
This  night  a  number  are  about  the  wood : 
Then,  let  us  choose  some  place,  where,  out  of  sight, 
We  freely  may  enjoy  our  stoln  delight. 

Alex.  Then,  boldly  here,  where  we  shall  ne'er  be  found  : 
No  shepherd's  way  lies  here,  'tis  hallowVl  ground  ; 

4to.  the  line  is  entirely  omitted.  The  third  4to  has  "  He  seeke  him  out  ;  and 
for  thy  curtesie;"  so  later  eds  ;  and  so  Seward  and  the  Editors  of  1778. 
Weber,  who  intended  to  follow  the  first  4to.,  carelessly  printed,  "  I'll  follow 
him  ;  and  for  this  thy  care  of  me." 

*  that  perjiir'd  her]  "  i.  e.  that  swore  false  to  her."     Ed.  1778. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  G5 

No  maid  seeks  here  her  strayed  cow  or  sheep  ; 
Fairies  and  fawns  and  satyrs  do  it  keep* : 
Then,  carelessly  rest  here,  and  clip"  and  kiss, 
And  let  no  fear  make  us  our  pleasures  miss. 

Cloe.  Then,  lie  by  me  :  the  sooner  we  begin, 
The  longer  ere  the  day  descry  our  sin.  \_Tlieij  lie  dozen. 

Still.  Shep.  [coming  fur  10 arcl.'\     Forbear  to  touch  my  love  ; 
or,  by  yon  fiame^'. 
The  greatest  power  that  shepherds  dare  to  name, 
Here  where  thou  sit'st,  under  this  holy  tree. 
Her  to  dishonour,  thou  shalt  buried  be  ! 

Alex.  If  Pan  himself  should  come  out  of  the  lawns, 
With  all  his  troops  of  satyrs  and  of  fawns, 
And  bid  me  leave,  I  swear  by  her  two  eyes, 
(A  greater  oath  than  thine)  I  would  not  rise  ! 

Sull.  Shep.  Then,  from  the  cold  earth  never  thou  shalt  move. 
But  lose  at  one  stroke  both  thy  life  and  love. 

[  Wounds  him  loitk  his  spear. 

Cloe.  Hold,  gentle  shepherd  ! 

Sull.  Shep.  Fairest  shepherdess, 
Come  you  with  me ;   I  do  not  love  you  less 
Than  that  fond  "  man,  that  would  have  kept  you  there 
From  me  of  more  desert. 

Alex.  Oh,  yet  forbear 
To  take  her  from  me  !     Give  me  leave  to  die 
By  her  ! 

Enter  Satyr  ;  Sullen  Shepherd  runs  one  way.,  and  Cloe  another. 

Sat.  Now,  whilst  the  moon  doth  rule  the  sky. 
And  the  stars,  whose  feeble  light 
Give[s]  a  pale  shadow  to  the  night. 
Are  up,  great  Pan  commanded  me 
To  walk  this  grove  about,  whilst  he, 

'  keep]  i.  e.  frequent,  haunt.  "  clip]  i.  e.  embrace. 

^  yon  flame']  i.  e.  the  moon.     Compare  p.  69.  1.  18,  p.  79,  1.  18.     Fanshawe 
renders  the  passage  thus, — "  Solve  meam  :  si  non,  sidits  tibi  juro  per  illud,"  &c. 
"  fond]  i.  e.  foolisli,  vain. 
VOL.  II.  F 


66  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  hi. 

In  a  corner  of  the  wood, 

Where  never  mortal  foot  hath  stood, 

Keeps  dancing,  music,  and  a  feast, 

To  entertain  a  lovely  guest ; 

Where  he  gives  her  many  a  rose, 

Sweeter  than  the  breath  that  blows 

The  leaves,  grapes,  berries  of  the  best ; 

I  never  saw  so  great  a  feast. 

But,  to  my  charge''.     Here  must  I  stay. 

To  see  what  mortals  lose  their  way, 

And  by  a  false  fire,  seeming  bright, 

Train  them  in  and  leave  them  right. 

Then  must  I  watch  if  any  be 

Forcing  of  a  chastity  ; 

If  I  find  it,  then  in  haste 

Give  my  wreathed  horn  a  blast, 

And  the  fairies  all  will  run, 

Wildly  dancing  by  the  moon. 

And  will  pinch  him  to  the  bone. 

Till  his  lustful  thoughts  be  gone. 
Alex.  Oh,  death  ! 

Sat.  Back  again  about  this  ground  ; 

Sure,  I  hear  a  mortal  sound. — • 

I  bind  thee  by  this  powerful  spell. 

By  the  waters  of  this  well. 

By  the  glimmering  moonbeams  bright, 

Speak  again,  thou  mortal  wight  ! 
Alex.  Oh  ! 

Sat.  Here  the  foolish  mortal  lies. 

Sleeping  on  the  ground. — Arise  ! — 

^  Iiut,lo  my  charge,  &c.]  "  Warton  has  noticed  the  evident  similarity  between 
the  Satyr  and  the  Attendant  Spirit  in  Milton's  Comus,and  has  observed  that  the 
passage  in  the  text  was  imitated  by  that  poet  in  these  verses  (1.  78). 

— '  When  any,  favour'd  of  high  Jove, 

Chances  to  pass  through  this  adventurous  glade, 

Swift  as  the  sparkle  of  a  glancing  star 

I  shoot  from  heaven  to  give  him  safe  convoy.'  "     Weber. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  07 

The  poor  wight  is  almost  dead ; 

On  the  ground  his  wounds  have  bled, 

And  his  clothes  foulM  with  his  blood  : 

To  my  goddess  in  the  wood 

Will  I  lead  him,  whose  hands  pure 

Will  help  this  mortal  wight  to  cure.  [Exit,  carrj/inff  Alexis. 

Re-enter  Cloe. 
Che.  Since  I  beheld  yon  shaggy  man,  my  breast 
Doth  pant ;  each  bush,  methinks,  should  hide  a  beast. 
Yet  my  desire  keeps  still  above  my  fear  : 
I  would  fain  meet  some  shepherd,  knew  I  where  ; 
For  from  one  cause  of  fear  I  am  most  free, 
It  is  impossible  to  ravish  me, 
I  am  so  willing.     Here  upon  this  ground 
I  left  my  love,  all  bloody  with  his  wound  ; 
Yet,  till  that  fearful  shape  made  me  begone, 
Though  he  were  hurt,  I  furnish'd  was  of  one  ; 
But  now  both  lost. — Alexis,  speak  or  move. 
If  thou  hast  any  life ;  thou  art  yet  my  love  !  — 
He's  dead,  or  else  is  with  his  little  might 
Crept  from  the  bank  for  fear  of  that  ill  sprite. — ■ 
Then,  where  art  thou  that  struck'st  my  love  ?     Oh,  stay  ! 
Bring  me  thyself  in  change,  and  then  Fll  say 
Thou  hast  some  justice  :   I  will  make  thee  trim 
With  flowers  and  garlands  that  were  meant  for  him  ; 
I'll  clip  thee  round  with  both  mine  arms,  as  fast 
As  I  did  mean  he  should  have  been  embrac'd. 
But  thou  art  fled. — What  hope  is  left  for  me  ? 
Fll  run  to  Daphnis  in  the  hollow  tree. 
Whom '  I  did  mean  to  mock ;  though  hope  be  small 
To  make  him  bold,  rather  than  none  at  all, 
I'll  try  him  ;  his  heart  ^,  and  my  behaviour  too. 
Perhaps  may  teach  him  what  he  ought  to  do.  [Exit. 

y   Whom'\  So  folio  1G79.     Qtos.  "  Who"  ;  which  the  modern  editors  give. 

'  ril  try  him;  his  heart]  "The  last  editors  [of  1778]  read,  'I'll  try  liis 
heart  ; '  but  the  old  text  is  better  sense  than  the  alteration,  which  a  mere  defect 
of  metx'e  is  never  sufficient  to  justify."     Weber. 

F  2 


68  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  hi. 

Re-enter  Sullen  Shepherd. 
Sull.  Shep.  This  was  the  place.     'Twas  but  my  feeble  sight, 
Mix'd  with  the  horror  of  my  deed,  and  night, 
That  shap'd  these  fears,  and  made  me  run  away, 
And  lose  my  beauteous  hardly-gotten  prey. — 
Speak,  gentle  shepherdess  !     I  am  alone, 
And  tender  love  for  love. — But  she  is  gone 
From  me,  that,  having  struck  her  lover  dead. 
For  silly  fear  left  her  alone,  and  fled. 
And  see,  the  wounded  body  is  remov'd 
By  her  of  whom  it  was  so  well  belov'd. 
But  all  these  fancies  must  be  quite  forgot  : 
I  must  lie  close  ;  here  comes  young  Perigot, 
With  subtle  Amarillis  in  the  shape 
Of  Amoret.     Pray  love,  he  may  not  scape  !  [Retires. 

Efiter  Perigot,  and  Amarillis  in  the  shape  of  Amoret. 

Amar.  Beloved  Perigot,  shew  me  some  place, 
AVhere  I  may  rest  my  limbs,  weak  with  the  chace 
Of  thee,  an  hour  before  thou  cam''st  at  least. 

Peri.  Beshrew  my  tardy  steps  !     Here  shalt  thou  rest, 
Upon  this  holy  bank  ^ :  no  deadly  snake 
Upon  this  turf  herself  in  folds  doth  make ; 

^  Upon  this  holy  bank,  &c.]  "  I  have  before  observed  that  this  passage  equals 
the  most  descriptive  beauties  of  Theocritus  and  Virgil ;  though  the  ideas  are  all 
negative,  they  strike  the  imagiuation  as  pleasingly,  and  perhaps  more  strongly, 
than  positive  ones.  Shakespeare  often  delights  in  such  negative  descriptions. 
Thus,  3I'ulsummer  Night's  Dream,  act  ii.  the  Faii'y  Song  ; 
'  You  spotted  snakes  with  double  tongue, 

Thorny  hedgehogs,  be  not  seen  ; 
Newts  and  blind-worms  do  no  wTong  ; 
Come  not  near  our  fairy  queen.' 
This  song  is  again  imitated  by  Fletcher  in  the  song  of  the  River-God  in  the  next 
[present]  scene  ;  but  in  the  lines  referred  to  above,  he  had  more  immediately 
in  his  eye  the  description  of  a  bank  by  Shakespeare,  in  the  same  play  and  act : 
*  I  know  a  bank  where  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  ox-lips  and  the  nodding  violet  grows  ; 
Quite  overcanopied  with  luscious  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk-roses,  and  with  eglantine  :  -  -  - 
And  there  the  snake  throws  hereuamell'd  skin, 
Weed  wide  enough  to  wrap  a  fairy  in.'  "  Seward. 


SCENE  I.J  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  G9 

Here  is  no  poison  for  the  toad  to  feed  ; 

Here  boldly  spread  thy  hands,  no  venom'd  weed 

Dares  blister  them  ;  no  slimy  snail  dare  creep 

Over  thy  face  when  thou  art  fast  asleep  ; 

Here  never  dm'st  the  babbling  cuckoo  spit '' ; 

No  slouffh  of  fallinof  star  did  ever  hit 

Upon  this  bank  :  let  this  thy  cabin  be  ; 

This  other,  set  with  violets,  for  me.  [  They  lie  down. 

Amar.  Thou  dost  not  love  me,  Perigot. 

Peri.  Fair  maid, 
You  only  love  to  hear  it  often  said  ; 
You  do  not  doubt. 

Amar.  Believe  me,  but  I  do. 

Peri.  What,  shall  we  now  begin  again  to  woo  ? 
"'TIS  the  best  way  to  make  your  lover  last, 
To  play  with  him  when  you  have  caught  him  fast. 

Amar.  By  Pan  I  swear,  beloved  Perigot  '\ 
And  by  yon  moon,  I  think  thou  lov'st  me  not. 

Peri.  By  Pan  I  swear, — and,  if  I  falsely  swear. 
Let  him  not  guard  my  flocks  ;  let  foxes  tear 
My  earhest  lambs,  and  wolves,  whilst  I  do  sleep. 
Fall  on  the  rest ;  a  rot  among  my  sheep, — 
I  love  thee  better  than  the  careful  ewe 
The  new-yean  d  lamb  that  is  of  her  own  hue ; 
I  dote  upon  thee  more  than  that  '^  young  lamb 
Doth  on  the  bag  that  feeds  him  from  his  dam  ! 
Were  there  a  sorf^  of  wolves  got  in  my  fold. 
And  one  ran  after  thee,  both  young  and  old 

»  spiQ  "The  last  editors  [of  1778]  unnecessarily  alter  the  word  to  sit. 
The  frothy  matter  very  commonly  seen  on  the  leaves  of  plants,  is  still  called  the 
ffowk's  (or  cuckow's)  spittle  in  Scotland  ;  and  in  Hei'rick's  Oberon's  Feast, 

'  He  tastes  a  little 

Of  what  we  call  the  cuckovo's  spittle.'  "     Weber. 

''  beloved  Peri(/ot]  So  the  first  4to.  Later  eds.  "I  loved  Perigot  " ;  and  so 
the  modern  editors,  Weber  excepted. 

«  that]  So  the  three  earhest  4tos.  Later  eds.  "  the  "  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 

■'  sort]  i.  e.  set,  herd. 


70  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  hi. 

Should  be  devourd,  and  it  should  be  my  strife 
To  save  thee,  whom  I  love  above  my  life. 

Amar.  How  should  ^  I  trust  thee,  when  I  see  thee  choose 
Another  bed,  and  dost  my  side  refuse  ? 

Peri.  'Twas  only  that  the  chaste  thoughts  might  be  shewn 
'Twixt  thee  and  me,  although  we  were  alone. 

Amar.  Come,  Perigot  will  shew  his  power,  that  he 
Can  make  his  Amoret,  though  she  weary  be, 
Rise  nimbly  from  her  couch,  and  come  to  his. 
Here,  take  thy  Amoret ;  embrace  and  kiss. 

\^Lies  doicn  beside  him. 

Peri.  What  means  my  love  ? 

Amar.  To  do  as  lovers  should. 
That  are  to  be  enjoy 'd,  not  to  be  wooM. 
There's  ne'er  a  shepherdess  in  ail  the  plain 
Can  kiss  thee  with  more  art ;  there's  none  can  feign 
]\Iore  wanton  tricks. 

Peri.  Forbear,  dear  soul,  to  try 
Whether  my  heart  be  pure  ;   FH  rather  die 
Than  nourish  one  thought  to  dishonour  thee. 

Amar.  Still  think'st  thou  such  a  thing  as  chastity 
Is  amongst  women  ?     Perigot,  there's  none 
That  with  her  love  is  in  a  wood  alone, 
And  would  come  home  a  maid  :  be  not  abus'd 
With  thy  fond  *  first  belief;  let  time  be  us'd. 

[Perigot  rise.-i. 
Why  dost  thou  rise  1 

Peri.  My  true  heart  thou  hast  slain  ! 

Amar.  Faith,  Perigot,  Fll  pluck  thee  down  again. 

Peri.  Let  go,  thou  serpent,  that  into  my  breast 
Hast  with  thy  cunning  div'd  ! — Art  not  in  jest  ? 

Amar.  Sweet  love,  lie  down. 

Peri.  Since  this  I  live  to  see. 
Some  bitter  north  wind  blast  my  flocks  and  me  ! 

e  should]  So  the  first  4 to.     Later  eds.  "  shall  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors, 
Weber  excepted. 

'  fond]  i.  e.  foolish,  vain. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  71 

Amar.  You  swore  you  lovM,  yet  will  not  do  my  will,  v^ 

Peri.  Oh,  be  as  thou  wert  once,  I'll  love  thee  still ! 

Amar.  I  am  as  still  I  was,  and  all  my  kind  ; 
Though  other  shows  we  have,  poor  men  to  blind. 

Peri.  Then,  here  I  end  all  love ;  and,  lest  my  vain 
Belief  should  ever  draw  me  in  again. 
Before  thy  face,  that  hast  my  youth  misled, 
I  end  my  life  !  my  blood  be  on  thy  head  ! 

[^Offers  to  kill  himself  with  his  spear. 

Amar.  [rising.]  Oh,  hold  thy  hands,  thy  Amoret  doth  cry  ! 

Peri.  Thou  counseFst  well ;  first,  Amoret  shall  die, 
That  is  the  cause  of  my  eternal  smart  ! 

Amar.  Oh,  hold  !  [Exit. 

Peri.  This  steel  shaU  pierce  thy  lustful  heart ! 

[Exit,  running  after  her. 
Sull.  Shep.  [coming  forward.]  Up  and  down,  every  where, 

I  strew  the  herbs  ^,  to  purge  the  air  : 

Let  yom*  odoiu'  drive  hence 

All  mists  that  dazzle  sense. 

Herbs  and  springs,  whose  hidden  might 

Alters  shapes,  and  mocks  the  sight, 

Thus  I  charge  ye  to  undo 

All  before  I  brought  ye  to  ! 

Let  her  fly,  let  her  scape  ; 

Give  again  her  own  shape  !  [Retires. 

Re-enter  Amarillis  in  her  oicn  shape,  and  Perigot  follotciug  with 

his  spear. 

Amar.  Forbear,  thou  gentle  swain  !  thou  dost  mistake ; 
She  whom  thou  follow'dst  fled  into  the  brake. 
And,  as  I  crossed  thy  way,  I  met  thy  wrath  ; 
The  only  fear  of  which  near  slain  me  hath. 

Peri.  Pardon,  fair  shepherdess  :  my  rage  and  night 
Were  both  upon  me,  and  beguil'd  my  sight ; 
But  far  bo  it  from  me  to  spill  the  blood 
Of  harmless  maids  that  wander  in  the  wood  !  \_Exit  Amarillis. 

t  the  herbs]  Seward  and  liis  successors  print "  these  herbs  ", — rightly  perhaps, 
though  without  the  authority  of  any  old  ed. 


72  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  hi. 

Enter  Amoret. 

Amo.  Many  a  weary  step,  in  yonder  path, 
Poor  hopeless  Amoret  twice  trodden  hath, 
To  seek  her  Perigot,  yet  cannot  hear 
His  voice. — My  Perigot  !     She  loves  thee  dear 
That  calls. 

Peri.  See  yonder  where  she  is  !  how  fair 
She  shews  !  and  yet  her  breath  infects  the  air. 

Amo.  My  Perigot ! 

Peri.  Here. 

Amo.  Happy  ! 

Peri.  Hapless  !  first 
It  lights  on  thee  :  the  next  blow  is  the  worst.      [  Wounds  her. 

Amo.  Stay,  Perigot !  ray  love,  thou  art  unjust.  [^Falls. 

Peri.  Death  is  the  best  reward  that's  due  to  lust.       \^Exit. 

Sull.  Shep.    Now  shall  their  love  be  crossed ;    for,    being 
struck  li, 
I'll  throw  her  in  the  fount,  lest  being  took 
By  some  night-traveller,  whose  honest  care 
May  help   to   cure   her. — \^Aside,  and  then  comes  foricard.] 

Shepherdess,  prepare 
Yourself  to  die  ! 

Amo.  No  mercy  I  do  crave  ; 
Thou  canst  not  give  a  worse  blow  than  I  have. 
Tell  him  that  gave  me  this,  who  lov'd  him  too, 
He  struck  my  soul,  and  not  my  body  through ; 
Tell  him,  when  I  am  dead,  my  soul  shall  be 
At  peace,  if  he  but  think  he  injured  me. 

Sidl.  Shep.  In  this  fount  be  thy  grave.    Thou  wert  not  meant. 
Sure,  for  a  woman,  thou  art  so  innocent. — 

[Flinffs  her  into  the  ivell. 
She  cannot  scape,  for,  underneath  the  ground, 
In  a  long  hollow  the  clear  spring  is  bound, 
Till  on  yon  side,  where  the  morn"'s  sun  doth  look, 
The  struggling  water  breaks  out  in  a  brook.  [Exit. 

^  struck']  Fletcher  probably  wrote  "strook  ", — a  common  form  in  our  early 
poetry. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  73 

The  God  of  the  River  rises  with  Amoret  in  his  arms. 
God  of  the  JR.  What  powerful  charms  my  streams 
do  bring 
Back  again  unto  their  spring, 
With  such  force  that  I  their  god, 
Three  times  striking  with  my  rod, 
Could  not  keep  them  in  their  ranks  ? 
My  fishes  shoot  into  the  banks ; 
There's  not  one  that  stays  and  feeds, 
All  have  hid  them  in  the  weeds. 
Here's  a  mortal  almost  dead, 
Fain  into  my  river-head, 
Hallow'd  so  with  many  a  spell, 
That  till  now  none  ever  fell. 
^Tis  a  female  young  and  clear, 
Cast  in  by  some  ravisher  : 
See,  upon  her  breast  a  wound, 
On  which  there  is  no  plaster  bound. 
Yet,  she's  warm,  her  pulses  beat, 
'Tis  a  sign  of  hfe  and  heat. — 
If  thou  be'st  a  virgin  pure, 
I  can  give  a  present  cure  : 
Take  a  drop  into  thy  wound ', 
From  ray  watery  locks,  more  round 

'  Take  a  drop  into  thy  wound,  &c.]  "  This  healing  of  the  wound  he  [Milton] 
imitates  in  his  dissolution  of  Comus's  spell : 

*  Thus  I  sprinkle  on  thy  breast 

Drops,  that  from  my  fountain  pure 

I  have  kept,  of  precious  em*e  ; 

Thrice  upon  thy  finger's  tip, 

Tkrice  upon  thy  rubied  lip  : 

Next  this  marble  venom'd  seat, 

Smear'd  with  gums  of  glutinous  heat, 

I  touch  with  chaste  palms  moist  and  cold. 

Now  the  spell  hath  lost  his  hold.'     [v.  911.] 
The  two  last  of  these  lines  arc  a  more  immediate  imitation  of  what  Clorin 
afterwards  says  in  healmg  Amoret's  second  woimd  : 

'  With  spotless  hand  on  spotless  breast 

1  put  these  herbs,  to  give  thee  rest.'  "     Sewarp. 


74  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  in. 

Than  orient  pearl,  and  far  more  pure 

Than  unchaste  flesh  may  endure. — 

See,  she  pants,  and  from  her  flesh 

The  warm  blood  gusheth  out  afresh. 

She  is  an  unpolluted  maid  ; 

I  must  have  this  bleeding  staid. 

From  my  banks  I  pluck  this  flower 

With  holy  hand,  whose  virtuous  power 

Is  at  once  to  heal  and  draw. 

The  blood  returns.     I  never  saw 

A  fairer  mortal.     Now  doth  break 

Her  deadly  slumber. — -Virgin,  speak, 
Amo.  Who  hath  restor'd  my  sense,  given  me  new  breath, 
And  brought  me  back  out  of  the  arms  of  death  1 
God  of  the  R.  I  have  heaPd  thy  wounds. 
Amo.  Aye,  me ! 

God  of  the  R.  Fear  not  him  that  succoured  thee. 

I  am  this  fountain's  god  J :  below, 

My  waters  to  a  river  grow, 

And  'twixt  two  banks  with  osiers  set, 

That  only  prosper  in  the  wet, 

Through  the  meadows  do  they  glide, 

Wheeling  still  on  every  side, 

"  Warton,  in  his  iiotes  on  Comus,  lias  pointed  out  numerous  passages  in 
Fletcher's  pastoral,  from  which  Milton  took  the  process  of  dissolving  the  charm. 
(Todd's  jNIilton,  II.  p.  385,  387.)  He  has  also  observed  that  a  passage  occurs 
in  Browne's  Britannia's  Pastorals,  a  poem  which  will  be  noticed  more  particu- 
larly in  an  ensuing  note, '  strongly  resembling  the  circumstance  of  the  river  god 
in  Fletcher  applying  drops  of  water  to  the  enchanted  Amoret,  or  of  Sabrina 
doing  the  same  in  Comus.'  The  passage,  which  is  too  long  for  insertion  in  this 
place,  occurs  in  the  second  song  of  the  first  book."     Weber. 

i  I  am  this  fountain's  god,  &:c.]  "  This  beautiful  description  of  a  brook, 
Milton  makes  Sabrma  imitate  in  her  description  of  herself : 

'  By  the  rushy-fringcd  bank, 
Where  grows  the  willow,  and  the  osier  dank, 

My  sliding  chariot  stajs, 
Thick  set  with  agate,  and  the  azurn  sheen 
Of  turkis  blue,  and  emerald  green. 

That  in  the  channel  strays.'     [^Comus,  v.  890.]" 

Seward. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS. 

Sometimes  winding  round  about, 

To  find  the  evenest  channel  out. 

And  if  thou  wilt  go  with  me, 

Leaving  mortal  company, 

In  the  cool  streams ''  shalt  thou  lie, 

Free  from  harm  as  well  as  I  : 

I  will  give  thee  for  thy  food 

No  fish  that  useth  in  the  mud  ; 

But  trout  and  pike,  that  love  to  swim 

Where  the  gravel  from  the  brim 

Through  the  pure  streams  may  be  seen  ; 

Orient  pearl  fit  for  a  queen. 

Will  I  give,  thy  love  to  win. 

And  a  shell  to  keep  them  in ; 

Not  a  fish  in  all  my  brook 

That  shall  disobey  thy  look. 

But,  when  thou  wilt,  come  sliding  by, 

And  from  thy  white  hand  take  a  fly : 

And,  to  make  thee  understand 

How  I  can  my  waves  command, 

They  shall  bubble,  whilst  I  sing. 

Sweeter  than  the  silver  string. 

Do  not  fear  to  put  thy  feet 
Naked  in  the  river  sweet ' ; 
Thiniv  not  leech,  or  newt,  or  toad, 
Will  bite  thy  foot,  when  thou  hast  trod  ; 
Nor  let  the  water  rising  high, 
As  thou  wad'st  in,  make  thee  ci'y 
And  sob  ;  but  ever  live  with  me, 
And  not  a  wave  shall  trouble  thee. 

Aj7W.  Immortal  power,  that  rul'st  this  holy  flood, 
I  know  myself  unworthy  to  be  woo''d 
By  thee,  a  god ;  for  ere  this,  but  for  thee, 
I  should  have  shewn  my  weak  mortality  : 

^  streams]  The  Editors  of  1778  chose  to  pruit  "stream  ;"  and  so  Weber. 
'  sweet]  That  this  epithet  belongs  to  the  precedmg  word,  and  not  to  Amoret, 
is  proved  by  a  line  at  p.  GO. 

"  In  thy  water  pure  and  sweet." 


76  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  iir. 

Besides,  by  holy  oath  betwixt  us  twain, 
I  am  betrothed  unto  a  shepherd-swain, 
Whose  comely  face,  I  know,  the  gods  above 
May  make  me  leave  to  see,  but  not  to  love. 

God  of  the  R.  May  he  prove  to  thee  as  true  ! 

Fairest  virgin,  now  adieu  : 

I  must  make  my  w^aters  fly. 

Lest  they  leave  their  channels  dry  "\ 

"^  /  muat  make  my  waters  fly, 
Lest  they  leave  their  channels  dry,  &c.]  "  The  bounties  of  the  river,  and 
the  gratitude  of  the  shepherds,  are   closely   [?]   imitated  by   Milton   in  his 
description  of  Sabrina : 

' Still  she  retains 

Her  maiden  gentleness,  and  oft  at  eve 

Visits  the  herds  along  the  twUight  meadows, 

Helping  all  urchin  blasts,  and  ill-luck  signs 

That  the  shrewd  meddling  elfe  delights  to  make, 

Which  she  with  precious  vial'd  liquors  heals  ; 

For  which  the  shepherds  at  then-  festivals 

Carol  her  goodness  loud  in  rustick  lays, 

And  throw  sweet  garland  wreaths  into  her  stream 

Of  pansiesj  pinks,  and  gaudy  daffodils.'     \_Comus,  v.  842.] 

I  believe  the  reader  will  here  again  think  that  Milton  has  more  pomp  and 
sublimity,  but  that  the  extreme  prettiness,  delicacy,  and  ease  of  Fletcher  is 
more  consonant  to  the  pastoral,  and  consequently  more  pleasing.  But  this 
cannot  be  said  of  Milton's  imitation  of  Amoret's  answer,  in  which  Fletcher  has 
no  other  advantage  but  that  of  writing  first : 

'  Virgin,  daughter  of  Locrine 
Sprung  of  old  Anchises'  line. 
May  thy  brimmed  waves  for  this 
Theii'  full  tribute  never  miss 
From  a  thousand  petty  rills,   ,v 
Tiiat  tumble  down  the  snowy  hills  : 
Summer  drouth,  or  singed  aii*, 
Never  scorch  thy  tresses  fail". 
Nor  wet  October's  torrent  flood 
Thy  molten  crystal  fill  with  mud  ; 
May  thy  billows  roll  ashore 
The  beryl  and  the  golden  ore  ; 
May  thy  lofty  head  be  crowu'd 
With  many  a  tower  and  terrace  round, 
And  here  and  there  thy  banks  upon 
With  groves  of  myrrh  and  cinnamon  !'  [v.  922.]"'   Seward. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  77 

And  beasts  that  come  unto  the  spring 
Miss  their  morning's  watering  ; 

"  Warton,  in  noticing  this  imitation  of  JMilton's,  quotes  a  passage  from  Browne's 
Britannia's  Pastorals,  which  bears  so  strong  a  resemblance  to  the  passages  of 
Milton  and  Fletcher,  that  he  observes,  '  From  a  close  parallelism  of  thought 
and  incident,  it  is  clear  that  either  Browne's  pastoral  imitates  Fletcher's  play, 
or  the  play  the  pastoral.  Most  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  plays  appeared 
after  1616.  But  there  is  unluckily  no  date  to  the  first  edition  of  the  Faithful 
Shepherdess.  It  is  however  mentioned  in  Davies's  Scourge  of  Folly,  1611.' 
The  first  part  of  Browne's  poem  appeared  in  1616;  but  a  prefixed  address 
to  the  reader  is  dated  June  18,  1613,  when  he  was  twenty-three  years  old. 
Some  parts  of  his  work,  however,  have  been  conjectured  to  have  been 
WTitten  in  his  twentieth  year,  that  is,  about  1610.  As  it  is  ascertained  that 
Fletcher's  play  existed,  and  was  acted  before  1611,  [see  p.  3  of  this  vol.]  his 
claims  of  priority  are  unquestionably  greater,  as  Browne's  work  must  have 
been  in  a  very  crude  state  at  that  time,  if  it  existed  at  all ;  and  Fletcher  was 
not  likely  to  have  availed  himself  of  the  manuscript  labours  of  so  young  a 
man,  if  he  ever  saw  them.  Milton  certainly  recollected  the  passage  in  Browne, 
as  well  as  that  in  Fletcher.  Though  this  note  is  already  of  an  unreasonable 
length,  I  cannot  resist  transcribing  the  parallel  speech  of  Marine  to  the  River- 
God,  from  the  former  poet : 

'  May  first. 

Quoth  Marine,  swaincs  giue  lambs  to  thee  ; 

And  may  thy  floud  haue  seignorie 

Of  all  flouds  else,  and  to  thy  fame 

Meete  greater  springs,  yet  keepe  thy  name  ; 

May  neuer  euet  nor  the  toade 

Within  thy  bankes  make  their  abode  ; 

Taking  thy  iourney  from  the  sea, 

Maist  thou  ne'er  happen  in  thy  way 

On  niter  or  on  brimstone  niyne, 

To  spoyle  thy  taste  ;  this  spring  of  thine, 

Let  it  of  nothing  taste  but  earth. 

And  salt  conceiued  in  their  birth 

Be  ever  fresh  ;  let  no  man  dare, 

To  spoile  thy  fish,  make  locke  or  ware  ; 

But  on  thy  margcnt  still  let  dwell 

Those  flowrcs  which  haue  the  sweetest  smell ; 

And  let  the  dust  vpon  thy  strand 

Become  lilie  Tagus'  golden  sand  ! ' "  Weber, 
In  giving  the  preceding  quotation  from  Browne's  Britannia's  Pastorals,  Book  i. 
Song  2,  Weber  only  followed  Warton,  who  omitted  the  l'2th  and  13th  lines, 
which  I  have  restored,  though,  1  must  confess,  I  do  not  understand  them. 
According  to  some  bibliographers,  a  portion  of  Browne's  poem  appeared  in 
1613  ;  but  I  have  never  seen  an  edition  of  that  date. 


78  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  m. 

Which  I  would  not ;  for  of  late 
All  the  neighbour-people  sate 
On  my  banks,  and  from  the  fold 
Two  white  lambs  of  three  weeks  old 
Offer'd  to  my  deity  ; 
For  which  this  year  they  shall  be  free 
From  raging  floods,  that  as  they  pass 
Leave  their  gravel  in  the  grass  ; 
Nor  shall  their  meads  be  overflown 
When  their  grass  is  newly  mown. 

Amo.  For  thy  kindness  to  me  shewn, 
Never  from  thy  banks  be  blown 
Any  tree,  with  windy  force, 
'Cross  thy  streams,  to  stop  thy  course  ; 
May  no  beast  that  comes  to  drink. 
With  his  horns  cast  down  tliy  brink  ; 
May  none  that  for  thy  fish  do  look. 
Cut  thy  banks  to  dam  thy  brook ; 
Barefoot  may  no  neighbour  wade 
In  thy  cool  streams,  wife  nor  "  maid. 
When  the  spawns  on  stones  do  lie, 
To  wash  their  hemp,  and  spoil  the  fry  ! 

God  of  the  R.  Thanks,  virgin.     I  must  down  again. 
Thy  wound  will  put  thee  to  no  pain  : 
Wonder  not  so  soon  'tis  gone 
A  holy  hand  was  laid  upon.  [Descends, 

Amo.  And  I,  unhappy  born  to  be, 
Must  follow  him  that  flies  from  me.  [Exit 

\ 

n  nor]  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  to  "or." 


SCENE  I.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS. 


ACT    IV. 

Scene  I. — Part  of  the  wood. 


Enter  Perigot, 


Peri.  She  is  untrue,  unconstant,  and  unkind  ; 
She''s  gone,  she's  gone  !     Blow  high,  thou  north-west  wind, 
And  raise  the  sea  to  mountains ;  let  the  trees 
That  dare  oppose  thy  raging  fury  leese  ° 
Their  firm  foundation  ;  creep  into  the  earth, 
And  shake  the  world,  as  at  the  monstrous  birth 
Of  some  new  prodigy  ;  whilst  I  constant  stand. 
Holding  this  trusty  boar-spear  in  my  hand. 
And  falling  thus  upon  it !  {Offers  to  fall  on  his  spear. 

Enter  Amarillis  rtmnivg. 

Amar.  Stay  thy  dead-doing  hand  !  thou  art  too  hot 
Against  thyself.     Believe  me,  comely  swain, 
If  that  thou  diest,  not  all  the  showers  of  rain 
The  heavy  clouds  send  down  can  wash  away 
That  foul  unmanly  guilt  the  world  will  lay 
Upon  thee.     Yet  thy  love  untainted  stands  : 
Believe  me,  she  is  constant ;  not  the  sands 
Can  be  so  hardly  ^  numberM  as  she  won. 
I  do  not  trifle,  shepherd  ;  by  the  moon. 
And  all  those  lesser  lights  our  eyes  do  view, 
All  that  I  told  thee,  Perigot,  is  true  : 
Then,  be  a  free  man  ;  put  away  despair 
And  will  to  die  ;  smooth  gently  up  that  fair 

»  leesc'\  "  The  old  word  for  lose.    It  occurs  in  Chaucer,  Spenser,  and  almost 
every  ancient  poet."     Weber. 

p  so  hard!)/]  "  i.  e.  with  so  much  difficulty."     Weber. 


80  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  iv. 

Dejected  forehead  ;  be  as  when  those  ^  eyes 
Took  the  first  heat. 

Peri.  Alas,  he  double  dies 
That  would  believe,  but  cannot !     'Tis  not  well 
You  keep  me  thus  from  dying,  here  to  dwell 
With  many  worse  companions.     But,  oh,  death  ! 
I  am  not  yet  enamoured  of  this  breath 
So  much  but  I  dare  leave  it ;  'tis  not  pain 
In  forcing  of  a  wound,  nor  after-gain 
Of  many  days,  can  hold  me  from  my  will : 
'Tis  not  myself,  but  Amoret,  bids  kill. 

Amar.  Stay  but  a  little,  little  ;  but  one  hour ; 
And  if  I  do  not  shew  thee,  through  the  power 
Of  herbs  and  words  I  have,  as  dark  as  night, 
Myself  turn'd  to  thy  Amoret,  in  sight, 
Her  very  figure,  and  the  robe  she  wears, 
With  tawny  buskins,  and  the  hook  she  bears 
Of  thine  own  carving,  where  your  names  are  set, 
Wrought  underneath  with  many  a  curious  fret ', 
The  primrose-chaplet,  tawdry-lace  %  and  ring, 
Thou  gav'st  her  for  her  singing,  with  each  thing 
Else  that  she  wears  about  her,  let  me  feel 
The  first  fell  stroke  of  that  revenging  steel ! 

Peri.  I  am  contented,  if  there  be  a  hope. 
To  give  it  entertainment  for  the  scope 
Of  one  poor  hour.     Go  ;  you  shall  find  me  next 
Under  yon  shady  beech,  even  thus  perplext, 
And  thus  believing. 

1  those']  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  to  "  thine  ;"  and  so  Weber. 

■■  fret]  Weber  observes  that  the  meaning  of  the  word  is  obvious,  but  that 
he  has  not  met  witli  another  instance  of  its  use  as  a  substantive.  See  Richard- 
son's Diet,  in  V. 

•  taivdnj-lace']  i.  e.  a  sort  of  necldace, — bought  at  the  fair  of  Stawdi'y, 
Saint  Awdrey,  or  Saint  Ethelred.  See  Nares's  Gloss,  in  v.  whci'c  the 
following  passage  is  cited  :  "  Solent  Angliai  nostrse  mulieres  torqueni  quondam, 
ex  tenui  ct  subtili  sericii  confectuni,  collo  gestare  ;  quara  Ethelredoo  torqucm 
appellamus,  {tawdry-lace,)  foi'san  in  ejus  quod  diximus  memoriam  [viz.  that 
Ethelred  died  of  a  swelling  in  her  throat,  whicli  she  considered  as  a  judgment 
for  having  been  much  addicted  in  her  youth  to  wearing  fine  neck-laces]." 
Nich.  Harpsfield.,  Hist.  Eccl.  Angl.  Scbc.  Sept.  p.  86. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  81 

Amar.  Bind,  before  I  go, 
Thy  soul  by  Pan  unto  me,  not  to  do 
Harm  or  outrageous  wrong  upon  thy  hfe, 
Till  my  return. 

Peri.  By  Pan,  and  by  the  strife 
He  had  with  Phoebus  for  the  mastery, 
When  golden  Midas  judg'd  their  minstrelsy, 
I  will  not  !  [^Exeunt  severally. 


SCENE  II. — Tlie  icood  before  Clorin's  boiver : — Clorin 
discovered  in  the  bower. 

Enter  Satyr  carrying  Alexis. 

Sat.  Softly  gliding  as  I  go, 
With  this  burthen  full  of  woe, 
Through  still  silence  of  the  night, 
Guided  by  the  glow-worm's  light, 
Hither  am  I  come  at  last. 
Many  a  thicket  have  I  past ; 
Not  a  twig  that  durst  deny  me, 
Not  a  bush  that  durst  descry  me 
To  the  little  bird  '  that  sleeps 
On  the  tender  spray ;  nor  creeps 
That  hardy  worm  with  pointed  tail. 
But  if  I  be  under  sail, 
Flying  faster  than  the  wind, 
Leaving  all  the  clouds  behind, 
But  doth  hide  her  tender  head 
In  some  hollow  tree,  or  bed 

^  Not  a  bush  that  durst  descry  me 

To  the  little  bird,  &c.]  i.  e.  Not  a  bush  that  durst  give  notice  of,  discover 
me,  to  the  little  bird,  &c.     The  modern  editors,  as  their  pointing  shews,  did  not 
understand  the  passage.     Sir  R.  Fanshawe  rightly  renders  it, — 
"  Dumiis  qucm  tetigi  timebat  omnia 
Avi  prodere  me  levi,"  .kc. 
VOL.  II.  G 


82  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  iv. 

Of  seeded  nettles  ;  not  a  hare 

Can  be  started  from  his  fare  " 

By  my  footing ;  nor  a  wish 

Is  more  sudden,  nor  a  fish 

Can  be  found  with  greater  ease 

Cut  the  vast  unbounded  seas, 

Leaving  neither  print  nor  sound, 

Than  I,  when  nimbly  on  the  ground 

I  measure  many  a  league  an  hour. 

But,  behold,  the  happy  power 

That  must  ease  me  of  my  charge. 

And  by  holy  hand  enlarge 

The  soul  of  this  sad  man,  that  yet 

Lies  fast  bound  in  deadly  fit : 

Heaven  and  great  Pan  succour  it ! — 

Hail,  thou  beauty  of  the  bower, 

Whiter  than  the  paramour 

Of  my  master  !    Let  me  crave 

Thy  virtuous  help,  to  keep  from  grave 

This  poor  mortal,  that  here  lies, 

Waiting  when  the  Destinies 

Will  undo  his  thread  of  life  : 

View  the  wound,  by  cruel  knife 

Trench'd  "^  into  hira. 
Clo.  \_coming  from  the  bower."}  What    art    thou  calFst  me 
from  my  holy  rites. 
And  with  the  feared  name  of  death  affrights 
My  tender  ears  ?  speak  me  thy  name  and  will. 
Sat.  I  am  the  Satyr  that  did  fill 

Your  lap  with  early  fruit ;  and  will. 

When  I  hap  to  gather  more, 

Bring  you  better  and  more  store. 

Yet  I  come  not  empty  now  : 

See,  a  blossom  from  the  bough  ; 

"  fare]  "  We  do  not  remember  to  have  met  with  this  word  in  the  sense  here 
adopted,  before.  Fare,  in  this  place,  seems  to  mean  /or?«."  Ed.  1778.  It 
means — food. 

"   Trench'd]  "  i.  e.  cut,  from  the  French  trancher."     Weber. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  83 

But  beshrew  his  heart  that  pulFd  it, 

And  his  perfect  sight  that  cull'd  it 

From  the  other  springing  blooms  ! 

For  a  sweeter  youth  the  gi'ooms 

Cannot  shew  me,  nor  the  downs. 

Nor  the  many  neighbouring  towns. 

Low  in  yonder  glade  I  found  him  ; 

Softly  in  mine  arms  I  bound  him ; 

Hither  have  I  brought  him  sleeping 

In  a  trance,  his  wounds  fresh  weeping, 

In  remembrance  such  youth  may 

Spring  and  perish  in  a  day. 
Clo.  Satyr,  they  wrong  thee  that  do  term  thee  rude ; 
Though  thou  be'st  outward-rough  and  tawny- hued, 
Thy  manners  are  as  gentle  and  as  fair 
As  his  who  brags  himself  born  only  heir 
To  all  humanity.     Let  me  see  the  wound : 
This  herb  will  stay  the  current,  being  bound 
Fast  to  the  orifice,  and  this  restrain 
Ulcers  and  swellings,  and  such  inward  pain 
As  the  cold  air  hath  forcM  into  the  sore ; 
This  to  draw  out  such  putrifying  gore 
As  inward  falls. 

Sat.  Heaven  grant  it  may  do  "*'  good  ! 
Clo.  Fairly  wipe  away  the  blood  : 

Hold  him  gently,  till  I  fling 

Water  of  a  virtuous  spring 

On  his  temples  ;  turn  him  twice 

To  the  moonbeams ;  pinch  him  thrice  ; 

That  the  labouring  soul  may  draw 

From  his  great  eclipse. 
Sat.  I  saw 

His  eyelids  moving. 
Clo.  Give  him  breath  ; 

All  the  danger  of  cold  death 

Now  is  vanished  :  v/ith  this  plaster 

And  this  unction  do  I  master 

"^  do']  The  modern  editors  print  "  be  "  ! 
G  2 


84  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  iv. 

All  the  fester' d  ill  that  may 

Give  him  grief  another  day. 

Sat.  See,  he  gathers  up  his  sprite, 

And  begins  to  hunt  for  light ; 

Now  he  gapes  and  breathes  again  : 

How  the  blood  runs  to  the  vein 

That  erst  was  empty  ! 
Alex.  Oh,  my  heart  ! 
My  dearest,  dearest  Cloe  !    Oh,  the  smart 
Runs  through  my  side  !  I  feel  some  pointed  thing 
Pass  through  my  bowels,  sharper  than  the  sting 
Of  scorpion. 

Pan,  preserve  me  ! — What  are  you  ? 

Do  not  hurt  me  :   I  am  true 

To  my  Cloe,  though  she  fly. 

And  leave  me  to  this  destiny  : 

There  she  stands,  and  will  not  lend 

Her  smooth  white  hand  to  help  her  friend. 
But  I  am  much  mistaken,  for  that  face 
Bears  more  austerity  and  modest  grace. 

More  reproving  and  more  awe, 

Than  these  eyes  yet  ever  saw 

In  my  Cloe.     Oh,  my  pain 

Eagerly  renews  again  ! 
Give  me  your  help  for  his  sake  you  love  best. 

Clo.  Shepherd,  thou  canst  not  possibly  take  rest, 
Till  thou  hast  laid  aside  all  heats,  desires, 
Provoking  thoughts  that  stir  up  lusty  fires. 
Commerce  with  M-anton  eyes,  strong  blood,  and  will 
To  execute ;  these  must  be  purg'd  until 
The  vein  "  grow  whiter  ;  then  repent,  and  pray 
Great  Pan  to  keep  you  from  the  like  decay, 
And  I  shall  undertake  your  cure  with  ease ; 
Till  when,  this  virtuous  plaster  will  displease 
Your  tender  sides.     Give  me  your  hand,  and  risQ. — 
Help  him  a  little,  Satyr ;  for  his  thighs 
Yet  are  feeble. 

"  vein']  Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  veins  ". 


SCENE  n.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  85 

Alex,  [rising.]  Sure,  I  have  lost  much  blood. 
Sat.  'Tis  no  nicattor ;  'twas  not  good. 
Mortal,  you  must  leave  your  wooing : 
Though  there  be  a  joy  in  doing, 
Yet  it  brings  much  grief  behind  it ; 
They  best  feel  it,  that  do  find  it. 
Clo.  Come,  bring  him  in  ;  I  will  attend  his  sore.— 
When  you  are  well,  take  heed  you  lust  no  more. 

[Alexis  is  led  into  the  bower. 
Sat.  Shepherd,  see,  what  comes  of  kissing  ; 
By  my  head,  'twere  better  missing.- 
Brightest,  if  there  be  remaining 
Any  service,  without  feigning 
I  will  do  it ;  were  I  set 
To  catch  the  nimble  wind,  or  get 
Shadows  gliding  on  the  green, 
Or  to  steal  from  the  great  queen 
Of  fairies  ^  all  her  beauty  ; 
I  would  do  it,  so  much  duty 
Do  I  owe  those  precious  eyes. 
Clo.  I  thank  thee,  honest  Satyr.     If  the  cries 
Of  any  other,  that  be  hurt  or  ill, 
Draw  thee  unto  them,  prithee,  do  thy  will 
To  brino:  them  hither. 

Sat.  I  will ;  and  when  the  weather 
Serves  to  angle  in  the  brook, 
I  will  bring  a  silver  hook. 
With  a  line  of  finest  silk. 
And  a  rod  as  white  as  milk. 
To  deceive  the  little  fish  : 
So  I  take  my  leave,  and  wish 
On  this  bower  may  ever  dwell 
Spring  and  summer  ! 
Clo.  Friend,  farewell.  [Exit  Satyr.     Sce7ie  closes. 

y  Of  fairies]  The  modern  editoi-s,  without  noticing  the  insertion,  print,  "  Of 
tha  fairies  ".  In  the  earliest  eds.  the  spelling  is  "  Tajryes  "  ;  and  perhaps  the 
poet  meant  it  for  a  trisyllable. 


86  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [activ. 


SCENE  III.— Part  of  the  ivood  loith  the  holy  loell. 

Enter  Amoret. 
Amo.  This  place  is  ominous  ;  for  here  I  lost 
My  love  and  almost  life,  and  since  have  crost 
All  these  woods  over ;  ne'er  a  nook  or  dell  ^, 
Where  any  little  bird  or  beast  doth  dwell, 
But  I  have  sought  it  ^ ;  ne'er  a  bending  brow 
Of  any  hill,  or  glade  the  wind  sings  through, 
Nor  a  green  bank,  or  shade  where  shepherds  use 
To  sit  and  riddle,  sweetly  pipe,  or  choose 
Their  valentines,  that  I  have  miss'd,  to  find 
My  love  in.     Perigot  !    Oh,  too  unkind. 
Why  hast  thou  fled  me  ?  whither  art  thou  gone  ? 
How  have  I  wrong'd  thee  ?  was  my  love  alone 
To  thee  worthy  b  this  scorn'd  recompence  I     'Tis  well ; 
I  am  content  to  feel  it.    But  I  tell 
Thee,  shepherd,  and  these  lusty  woods  shall  hear, 
Forsaken  Amoret  is  yet  as  clear 
Of  any  stranger  lire,  as  heaven  is 
From  foul  corruption,  or  the  deep  abyss 
From  light  and  happiness  ;  and  thou  mayst  know 
All  this  for  truth,  and  how  that  fatal  blow 

*  7ie''er  a  nook  or  dell,  &c.]  "  Warton  has  noticed  [and  so  had  Seward 
before  him]  the  similarity  of  the  following  lines  in  Comus  to  those  in  the  text  : 

'  I  know  each  lane  and  every  alley  green, 
Dingle  or  bushy  dell  of  this  wild  wood, 
And  every  bosky  bourn  from  side  to  side, 
My  daily  walks  and  ancient  neighbourhood  ; 
And  if  your  stray  attendance  be  yet  lodg'd, 
Or  shroud  within  these  limits,' &c."     [v.  311.]     Weber. 

•  sought  it]  "  i.  e.  searched  it  through.  The  folio,  [and  the  three  latest  4tos.j 
and  all  the  modern  editions,  read —  '  But  I  have  sought  him.'  "     Weber. 

•>  icorlhy]  Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  worth." — "  The  consti'uction," 
.say  the  Editors  of  1778,"  is  rather  hard  ;  but,  resolved  into  plain  prose,  the 
meaning  is,  '  Was  my  love  worth  only  this  scornful  I'eturn  ? '  "  No  such  thing  : 
The  meaning  is, — Was  my  love,  which  was  only  yours,  worthy  of  this,  &c. 


SCENE  lit.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  87 

Thou  gav"'st  me,  never  from  desert  of  mine 
Fell  on  my  life,  but  from  suspect  of  thine, 
Or  fury  more  than  madness  :  therefore  here, 
Since  I  have  lost  my  life,  my  love,  my  dear, 
Upon  this  cursed  place,  and  on  this  green 
That  first  divorced  us,  shortly  shall  be  seen 
A  sight  of  so  great  pity,  that  each  eye 
Shall  daily  spend  his  spring  in  memory 
Of  my  untimely  fall. 

Enter  Amahillis. 
Amar.  I  am  not  blind. 
Nor  is  it  through  the  working  of  my  mind 
That  this  shews  Amoret.     Forsake  me,  all 
That  dwell  upon  the  soul,  but  what  men  call 
Wonder,  or,  more  than  wonder,  miracle  ! 
For,  sure,  so  strange  as  this,  the  oracle 
Never  gave  answer  of;  it  passeth  dreams. 
Or  ^  madmen's  fancy,  when  the  many  streams 
Of  new  imaginations  rise  and  fall : 
'Tis  but  an  hour  since  these  ears  heard  her  call 
For  pity  to  young  Perigot ;  whilst  "^  he, 
Directed  by  his  fury,  bloodily 

Lanch'd  "^  up  her  breast,  wliich  bloodless  fell  and  cold  ; 
And,  if  belief  may  credit  what  was  told, 
After  all  this,  the  Melancholy  Swain 
Took  her  into  his  arms,  being  almost  slain. 
And  to  the  bottom  of  the  holy  well 
Flunir  her,  for  ever  with  the  waves  to  dwell. 
'Tis  she,  the  very  same  ;  'tis  Amoret, 
And  living  yet ;  the  great  powers  will  not  let 
Their  virtuous  love  be  cross'd.  \^Aside.^ — IVIaid,  wipe  away 
Those  heavy  drops  of  sorrow,  and  allay 
The  storm  that  yet  goes  high,  which,  not  deprest. 
Breaks  heart  and  life  and  all  before  it -rest. 
Thy  Perigot 

'  Or^  The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  printed  "  Of"  ! 

"*   whilst]   Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  while." 

•  Lanch'd]  i.  e.  Lanced. — So  the  four  earliest  4tos.     Later  eds.  "  Lune't 


«8  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  iv. 

Amo.  Where,  which  is  Perigot  I 

Amar.  Sits  there  below,  lamenting  much,  God  wot, 
Tiiee  and  thy  fortmie.     Go,  and  comfort  him  ; 
And  thou  shalt  find  him  underneath  a  brim 
Of  sailing  pines  that  edge  yon  mountain  in. 

Amo.  I  go,  I  run.     Heaven  grant  me  I  may  win 
His  soul  again  !  [_Exit. 

Enter  Sullen  Shepherd. 

Sull.  Shep.  Stay,  Amarillis,  stay  ! 
You  are  too  fleet ;  'tis  two  hours  yet  to  day. 
I  have  performed  my  promise  ;  let  us  sit 
And  warm  our  bloods  together,  till  the  fit 
Come  lively  on  us. 

Amar.  Friend,  you  are  too  keen  ; 
The  morning  riseth,  and  we  shall  be  seen  ; 
Forbear  a  little. 

Sull.  Shep.  I  can  stay  no  longer. 

Amar.  Hold,  shepherd,  hold  !  learn  not  to  be  a  wronger 
Of  your  word.     Was  not  your  promise  laid, 
To  break  their  loves  first  ? 

Sull.  Shep.  I  have  done  it,  maid. 

Amar.  No  ;  they  are  yet  unbroken,  met  again, 
And  are  as  hard  to  part  yet  as  the  stain 
Is  from  the  finest  lawn. 

Sull.  Shep.  I  say,  they  are 
Now  at  this  present  parted,  and  so  far 
That  they  shall  never  meet. 

Amar.  Swain,  'tis  not  so  ; 
For  do  but  to  yon  hanging  mountain  go. 
And  there  believe  your  eyes. 

Sull.  Shep.  You  do  but  hold 
Off  with  delays  and  trifles. — Farewell,  cold 
And  frozen  bashfulness,  unfit  for  men  ! — 
Thus  I  salute  thee,  virgin  !  [Attempts  to  seize  her. 

Amar.  And  thus,  then, 
I  bid  you  follow  :  catch  me,  if  you  can  !  [E.vit  running. 

Sull.  Shep.  And,  if  I  stay  behind,  I  am  no  man  ! 

[Exit,  running  after  her. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  8y 


SCENE  IV.—A  dale  in  the  icood. 

Enter  Perigot. 
Peri.  Night,  do  not  steal  away ;  I  woo  thee  yet 
To  hold  a  hard  hand  o'er  the  rusty  bit 
That  guides  thy  "^  lazy  team.     Go  back  again, 
Bootes,  thou  that  driv"'st  thy  frozen  wain 
Round  as  a  ring,  and  bring  a  second  night, 
To  hide  my  sorrows  from  the  coming  light: 
Let  not  the  eyes  of  men  stare  on  my  face, 
And  read  my  falling  ;  give  me  some  black  place. 
Where  never  sunbeam  shot  liis  wholesome  light. 
That  I  may  sit  and  pour  out  my  sad  sprite 
Like  rimning  water,  never  to  be  known 
After  the  forced  fall  and  sound  is  gone. 

Enter  Amoret. 

Amo.  This  is  the  bottom. — Speak,  if  thou  be  here. 
My  Perigot  !    Thy  Amoret,  thy  dear. 
Calls  on  thy  loved  name. 

Peri.  What  art  thou  dare  ^ 
Tread  these  forbidden  paths,  where  death  and  care 
Dwell  on  the  face  of  darkness  ? 

Amo.  'Tis  thy  friend, 
Thy  Amoret,  come  hither,  to  give  end 
To  these  consumings.     Look  up,  gentle  boy  : 
I  have  forgot  those  pains  and  dear  annoy 
I  suffered  for  thy  sake,  and  am  content 
To  be  thy  love  again.      Why  hast  thou  rent 
Those  curled  locks,  where  I  have  often  hung 
Ribbons  and  damask-roses,  and  have  flung 
Waters  distilFd,  to  make  thee  fresh  and  gay. 
Sweeter  than  nosegays  on  a  bridal  day  ? 

'  thy']   So  the  three  earliest  4tos.     Later  eds.  "  the  "  ;  and  so  Weber. 
B   What  art  thou  dare]   So  the  second  and  third  4tos.     The  first  Ito.  has, 
"  What  thou  dare  "  ;  the  other  eds.  read  "  IVhat  art  thou  darcst  ". 


90  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  iv. 

Why  dost  thou  cross  thine  arms,  and  hang  thy  face 
Down  to  thy  bosom,  letting  fall  apace 
From  those  two  little  heavens,  upon  the  ground, 
Showers  of  more  price,  more  orient,  and  more  round, 
Than  those  that  hang  upon  the  moon''s  pale  brow  ? 
Cease  these  complainings,  shepherd  :   I  am  now 
The  same  I  ever  was,  as  kind  and  free, 
And  can  forgive  before  you  ask  of  me ; 
Indeed,  I  can  and  will. 

Peri.  So  spoke  my  fair  ! 
Oh,  you  great  working  powers  of  earth  and  air, 
Water  and  forming  fire,  why  have  you  lent 
Your  hidden  virtues  of*  so  ill  intent  I 
Even  such  a  face,  so  fair,  so  bright  of  hue, 
Had  Amoret ;  such  words,  so  smooth  and  new, 
Came  flowing  i  from  her  tongue ;  such  was  her  eye, 
And  such  the  pointed  sparkle  that  did  fly 
Forth  like  a  bleeding  shaft ;  all  is  the  same, 
The  robe  and  buskins,  painted  hook,  and  frame 
Of  all  her  body.     Oh  me,  Amoret ! 

Amo.   Shepherd,  what  means  this  riddle  ?  who  hath  set 
So  strong  a  difference  'twixt  myself  and  me, 
That  I  am  grown  another  ?     Look,  and  see 
The  ring  thou  gav'st  me,  and  about  my  wrist 
That  curious  bracelet  thou  thyself  didst  twist 
From  those  ^  fair  tresses.     Know'st  thou  Amoret  I 
Hath  not  some  newer  love  forc'd  thee  forget 
Thy  ancient  faith  ? 

Peri.  Still  nearer  to  my  love  ! 
These  be  the  very  words  she  oft  did  prove 
Upon  my  temper ;  so  she  still  would  take 
Wonder  into  her  face,  and  silent  make 
Signs  with  her  head  and  hand,  as  who  would  say, 
"  Shepherd,  remember  this  another  day." 

^  O/]    Altered  by  Seward  to  "  to  " ;  and  so  his  successors. 
'  flowing'^  So  the  first  4to.      Later  eds.    "  flying  "  ;   and   so  the  modern 
editoi'S. 

J  those]  Weber  chose  to  print"  these". 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  91 

Amo.  Am  I  not  Amoret  ?  where  was  I  lost  ? 
Can  there  be  heaven,  and  time,  and  men,  and  most'' 
Of  these  unconstant  i     Faith,  where  art  thou  fled  ; 
Are  all  the  vows  and  protestations  dead, 
The  hands  held  up,  the  wishes,  and  the  heart  ? 
Is  there  not '  one  remaining,  not  a  part 
Of  all  these  to  be  found  ?     Why,  then,  I  see 
Men  never  knew  that  virtue,  constancy. 

Peri.  Men  ever  were  most  blessed,  till  cross  fate 
Brought  love  and  women  forth,  unfortunate 
To  all  that  ever  tasted  of  their  smiles  ; 
Whose  actions  are  all  double,  full  of  wiles  ; 
Like  to  the  subtle  hare,  that  'fore  the  hounds 
Makes  many  turnings,  leaps,  and  many  rounds, 
This  way  and  that  way,  to  deceive  the  scent 
Of  her  pursuers. 

Amo.  'Tis  but  to  prevent 
Their  speedy  coming  on,  that  seek  her  fall ; 
The  hands  of  cruel  men,  more  bestial. 
And  of  a  nature  more  refusing  good 
Than  beasts  themselves,  or  fishes  of  the  flood. 

Feri.  Thou  art  all  these,  and  more  than  nature  me;int 
When  she  created  all ;  frowns,  joys,  content ; 
Extreme  fire  for  an  hour,  and  presently 
Colder  than  sleepy  poison,  or  the  sea 
Upon  whose  face  sits  a  continual  frost ; 
Your  actions  ever  driven  to  the  most '". 
Then  dowTi  again  as  low,  that  none  can  find 
The  rise  or  falling  of  a  woman's  mind. 

Amo.  Can  there  be  any  age,  or  days,  or  time, 
Or  tongues  of  men,  guilty  so  great  a  crime 
As  wronging  simple  maid  ?     Oh,  Perigot, 
Thou  that  wast  yesterday  without  a  blot ; 

''  7710*7]  Refers,  as  Weber  observes,  only  to  "  men."  The  other  editors 
strangely  misunderstood  the  passage. 

'  710/]  Weber  carelessly  printed  "no  ". 

"  Your  actions  ever  driven  to  the  most]  "  £ver  means  always,  and  the  most 
means  the  uttermost,  the  greatest  height."     Weber. 


92  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  iv. 

Thou  that  wast  every  good  and  every  thing 

That  men  call  blessed ;  tliou  that  wast  the  spring 

From  whence  our  looser  grooms  drew  all  their  best ; 

Thou  that  wast  always  just,  and  always  blest 

In  faith  and  promise ;  thou  that  hadst  the  name 

Of  virtuous  given  thee,  and  made  °  good  the  same 

Even  from  thy  cradle  ;  thou  that  wast  that  all 

That  men  delighted  in  !     Oh,  what  a  fall 

Is  this,  to  have  been  so,  and  now  to  be 

The  only  best  in  wrong  and  infamy  ! 

And  I  to  live  to  know  this  !  and  by  me, 

That  lovM  thee  dearer  than  mine  eyes,  or  that 

Which  we  esteem  '•  our  honour,  virgin-state  ; 

Dearer  than  swallows  love  the  early  morn. 

Or  dogs  of  chase  the  sound  of  merry  horn  ; 

Dearer  than  thou  canst  love  p  thy  nevk^  love,  if  thou  hast 

Another,  and  far  dearer  than  the  last ; 

Dearer  than  thou  canst  love  thyself,  though  all 

The  self-love  were  within  thee  that  did  fall 

With  that  coy  swain  that  now  is  made  a  flower, 

For  whose  dear  sake  Echo  weeps  many  a  shower  ! 

And  am  I  thus  rewarded  for  my  flame? 

Lov"'d  worthily  to  get  a  wanton's  name  ? 

Come,  thou  forsaken  willow,  wind  my  head, 

And  noise  it  to  the  world,  my  love  is  dead  ! 

I  am  forsaken,  I  am  cast  away, 

And  left  for  every  lazy  groom  to  say 

I  was  unconstant,  light,  and  sooner  lost 

Than  the  quick  clouds  we  see,  or  the  chill  frost 

When  the  hot  sun  beats  on  it  !     Tell  me  yet. 

Canst  thou  not  love  again  thy  Amoret  ? 

Peri.  Thou  art  not  worthy  of  that  blessed  name  ; 
I  must  not  know  thee  :  fling  thy  wanton  flame 

"  made]   Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  mad'st". 

"  esteem^  So  the  first  4to.  Later  ods.  "  esteem'd  " ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors  ! 

p  canst  love]  Seward  and  the  Eilitors  of  1778  omitted  these  words;  and 
perhaps  they  are  an  interpolation :  but  see  note,  p.  46. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  93 

Upon  some  lighter  blood,  that  may  be  hot 
With  words  and  feigned  passions  ;  Perigot 
Was  ever  yet  unstained,  and  shall  not  now 
Stoop  to  the  meltings  of  a  borrowed  brow. 

Amo.  Then,  hear  me,  Heaven,  to  whom  I  call  for  right, 
And  you,  fair  twinkling  stars,  that  crown  the  night ; 
And  hear  me,  woods,  and  silence  of  this  place. 
And  ye,  sad  hours,  that  move  a  sullen  pace  ; 
Hear  me,  ye  shadows,  that  delight  to  dwell 
In  horrid  darkness,  and  ye  powers  of  hell. 
Whilst  I  breathe  out  my  last  !     I  am  that  maid. 
That  yet-untainted  Amoret,  that  play'd 
The  careless  prodigal,  and  gave  away 
My  soul  to  this  young  man,  that  now  dares  say 
I  am  a  stranger,  not  the  same,  more  vild  '^ ; 
And  thus  with  much  belief  I  was  beguiFd  : 
I  am  that  maid,  that  have  delay'd,  denied. 
And  almost  scorn'd  the  loves  of  all  that  tried 
To  win  me,  but  this  swain  ;  and  yet  confess 
I  have  been  woo''d  by  many  with  no  less 
Soul  of  affection ;  and  have  often  had 
Rings,  belts,  and  cracknels ',  sent  me  from  the  lad 
That  feeds  his  flocks  down  westward  ;  lambs  and  doves 
By  young  Alexis  ;  Daphnis  sent  me  gloves ; 
All  which  I  gave  to  thee  :  nor  these  nor  they 
That  sent  them  did  I  smile  on,  or  e'er  lay 
Up  to  my  after-memory.     But  why 
Do  I  resolve  to  grieve,  and  not  to  die  ? 
Happy  had  been  the  stroke  thou  gav'st,  if  home  ; 
By  this  time  had  I  found  a  quiet  room, 

1  vikf]  i.  o.  vile  :  see  note,  vol.  1.  331.  Old  cds.  "  wild  "  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors.  "  As  wild,"  says  Sewai'd,  "  is  sense,  I  don't  reject  it,  though  I  think  it 
probable  that  the  author's  word  was  "  vild  ".  According  to  Weber,  "  wild  refers 
here  to  the  infidelity  and  wantonness  which  Perigot  had  accused  lier  of." — Com- 
pare (among  other  passages  of  these  plays)  a  line  in  The  Maid's  Tragedy  (vol. 
1.  368), — "this  riW woman", — where  the  old  eds,  have  by  a  misprint,  "  wild  ". 

'  cracknels'^  "  Are,"  says  Weber,  "  to  this  day  usual  in  some  parts  of 
England,  beuig  a  S[)ccies  of  hard  biscuit."  Cakes,  called  cracknels,  may  be 
found  in  most  of  the  London  bakers'  shops. 


94  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  iv. 

Where  every  slave  is  free,  and  every  breast, 
That  Hving  bred  ^  new  care,  now  Hes  at  rest ; 
And  thither  will  poor  Amoret. 

Peri.  Thou  must. 
Was  ever  any  man  so  loath  to  trust 
His  eyes  as  I  ?  or  was  there  ever  yet 
Any  so  like  as  this  to  Amoret  I 
For  whose  dear  sake  I  promise,  if  there  be 
A  living  soul  within  thee,  thus  to  free 
Thy  body  from  it  !  [Wounds  her  with  his  spear. 

Amo.  \^f ailing. \  So,  this  work  hath  end. 
Farewell,  and  live  ;  be  constant  to  thy  friend 
That  loves  thee  next. 

Enter  Satyr ;  Perigot  runs  o^. 

Sat.  See,  the  day  begins  to  break. 
And  the  light  shoots  like  a  streak 
Of  subtle  fire  ;  the  wind  blows  cold. 
Whilst  *  the  morning  doth  unfold  ; 
Now  the  birds  begin  to  rouse. 
And  the  squirrel  from  the  boughs 
Leaps,  to  get  him  nuts  and  fruit ; 
The  early  lark  ",  that  erst  was  mute, 
Carols  to  the  rising  day 
Many  a  note  and  many  a  lay : 
Therefore  here  I  end  my  watch. 
Lest  the  wandering  swain  should  catch 
Harm,  or  lose  himself. 

Amo.  Ah  me  ! 

Sat.  Speak  again,  whatever  thou  be ; 
I  am  ready  :   speak,  I  say  ; 
By  the  dawning  of  the  day, 

•  bred"]  So  the  first  4 to.  ("bread  ").  The  second  4to.  "  breds  ".  Later  eds. 
"  breeds  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 

*  Whilsf]  Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  Wliile  ". 

"  The  early  lark,  &c.]  Seward  (whose  note  is  retained  by  his  successors) 
cites,  as  an  imitation  of  this  passage,  some  lines  from  Milton's  U Allegro,  which 
only  resemble  it  in  the  mention  of  the  lark. 


SCENE  v.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  95 

By  the  power  of  night  and  Pan, 
I  enforce  thee  speak  again  ! 

Amo.  Oh,  I  am  most  unhappy  ! 

Sat.  Yet  more  blood  ! 
Sure,  these  wanton  swains  are  wood  ^'. 
Can  there  be  a  hand  or  heart 
Dare  commit  so  vild '''  a  part 
As  this  murder  ?     By  the  moon, 
That  hid  herself  when  this  was  done. 
Never  was  g  sweeter  face  : 
I  will  bear  her  to  the  place 
Where  my  goddess  keeps  "",  and  crave 
Her  to  give  her  life  or  grave.       [Exit,  carrying  Amoret. 


SCENE   V. —  The  icood  before  CLORm"'s  bmcer. 

Enter  Clorin. 
Ch.  Here  whilst  one  patient  takes  his  rest  secure, 
I  steal  abroad  to  do  another  cure. — 
Pardon,  thou  buried  body  of  my  love, 
That  from  thy  side  I  dare  so  soon  remove ; 
I  will  not  prove  unconstant,  nor  will  leave 
Thee  for  an  hour  alone  :  when  I  deceive 
My  first-made  vow,  the  wildest  of  the  wood 
Tear  me,  and  o'er  thy  grave  let  out  my  blood  I 
I  go  by  wit  to  cure  a  lover's  pain, 
Which  no  herb  can  ;  being  done,  Fll  come  again.  [^Exit. 

Enter  Thenot. 
The.  Poor  shepherd,  in  this  shade  for  ever  lie. 
And  seeing  thy  fair  Clorin's  cabin,  die  !  [Lying  down. 

"  wood]  "  i.  e.  mad."     Weder. 

*  vild]   So  the  three  earliest  4tos.     Later  eds.  "  vile  "  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors.     .See  note,  vol.  1.  ."JSl. 

*  keeps]  "  i.  e.  dwells,  resides."     Weber. 


96  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  iv. 

Oh,  hapless  love,  which  being  answered,  ends  ! 
And,  as  a  little  infant  cries  and  bends 
His  tender  brows,  when,  rolling  of  his  eye, 
He  hath  espied  something  that  glisters  nigh, 
Which  he  would  have,  yet,  give  it  him,  away 
He  throws  it  straight,  and  cries  afresh  to  play 
With  something  else ;  such  my  affection,  set 
On  that  which  I  should  loathe,  if  I  could  get. 

Re-enter  Clorin. 

Clo.  See,  where  he  hes  !     Did  ever  man  but  he 
Love  any  woman  for  her  constancy 
To  her  dead  lover,  which  she  needs  must  end 
Before  she  can  allow  him  for  her  friend, 
And  he  himself  must  needs  the  cause  destroy 
For  which  he  loves,  before  he  can  enjoy  ? 
Poor  shepherd,  Heaven  grant  I  at  once  may  free 
Thee  from  thy  pain,  and  keep  my  loyalty  ! —  [Aside. 

Shepherd,  look  up. 

The.  Thy  brightness  doth  amaze ; 
So  Phoebus  may  at  noon  bid  mortals  gaze ; 
Thy  glorious  constancy  appears  so  bright, 
I  dare  not  meet  the  beams  with  my  weak  sight. 

Clo.  Why  dost  thou  pine  away  thyself  for  me  ? 

The.  Why  dost  thou  keep  such  spotless  constancy  ? 

Clo.  Thou  holy  shepherd,  see  what  for  thy  sake 
Clorin,  thy  Clorin,  now  dare  undertake. 

The.  [starting  up.]    Stay  there,   thou  constant  Clorin  !  if 
there  be 
Yet  any  part  of  woman  left  in  thee, 
To  make  thee  light,  think  yet  before  thou  speak. 

Clo.  See,  what  a  holy  vow  for  thee  I  break  ; 
I,  that  already  have  my  fame  far  spread 
For  being  constant  to  my  lover  dead. 

The.  Think  yet,  dear  Clorin,  of  your  love  ;  how  true, 
If  you  had  died,  he  would  have  been  to  you. 

Clo.  Yet,  all  I'll  lose  for  thee 


SCENE  v.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  97 

Tlie.  Think  but  how  blest 
A  constant  woman  is  above  the  rest  ! 

CIo.  And  offer  up  myself,  here  on  this  ground, 
To  be  disposM  by  thee. 

The.  Why  dost  thou  wound 
His  heart  with  malice  against  women  more, 
That  hated  all  the  sex  but  thee  before  ? 
How  much  more  pleasant  had  it  been  to  me 
To  die  than  to  behold  this  chancre  in  thee  ! 
Yet,  yet  return  ;  let  not  the  woman  sway  ! 

Clo.  Insult  not  on  her  now,  nor  use  delay, 
Who  for  thy  sake  hath  venturM  all  her  fame. 

The.  Thou  hast  not  ventur  d,  but  bought  certain  shame  : 
Your  sex''s  curse,  foul  falsehood,  must  and  shall, 
I  see,  once  in  your  lives,  light  on  you  all. 
I  hate  thee  now.     Yet  turn  ! 

Clo.  Be  just  to  me  : 
Shall  I  at  once  lose  both  >  my  fame  and  thee  ? 

The.  Thou  hadst  no  fame  ;  that  which  thou  didst  like  good 
Was  but  thy  appetite  that  sway'd  thy  blood 
For  that  time  to  the  best ;  for  as  a  blast 
That  through  a  house  comes,  usually  doth  cast 
Things  out  of  order,  yet  by  chance  may  come, 
And  blow  some  one  thing  to  his  proper  room, 
So  did  thy  appetite,  and  not  thy  zeal, 
Sway  thee  by  chance  to  do  some  one  thing  well. 
Yet  turn  ! 

Clo.  Thou  dost  but  try  me,  if  I  would 
Forsake  thy  dear  embraces  for  ray  old 
Love's,  though  he  were  alive :  but  do  not  fear. 

Tlie.  I  do  contemn  thee  now,  and  dare  come  near, 
And  gaze  upon  thee  ;  for  methinks  that  grace. 
Austerity,  which  sate  upon  that  face. 
Is  gone,  and  thou  like  others.     False  maid,  see, 
This  is  the  gain  of  foul  inconstancy  !  [^Exit. 

y  lose  both]  So  the  two  earliest  4to.'<.     Later  eds.  "  both  lose  ;"  and  so  the 
modern  editors. 

VOL.  II.  H 


98  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  iv. 

Clo.  'Tis  done  :— great  Pan,  I  give  thee  thanks  for  it  ! — 
What  art  could  not  have  heaPd  is  cur'd  by  wit. 

Re-enter  Thenot. 

The.  Will  you  be  constant  yet  1  will  you  remove 
Into  the  cabin  to  your  buried  love  ? 

Clo.  No,  let  me  die,  but  by  thy  side  remain. 

The.  There"'s  none  shall  know  that  thou  didst  ever  stain 
Thy  worthy  strictness,  but  shalt  honoured  be, 
And  I  will  lie  again  under  this  tree, 
And  pine  and  die  for  thee  with  more  delight 
Than  I  have  sorrow  now  to  know  thee  light. 

Clo.  Let  me  have  thee,  and  I'll  be  where  thou  wilt. 

The.  Thou  art  of  women's  ^  race,  and  full  of  guilt. 
Farewell  all  hope  of  that  sex  !     Whilst  I  thought 
There  was  one  good,  I  fear'd  to  find  one  naught : 
But  since  their  minds  I  all  ahke  espy, 
Henceforth  I'll  choose,  as  others,  by  mine  eye.  \^Exit. 

Clo.  Blest  be  ye  powers  that  gave  such  quick  redress, 
And  for  my  labours  sent  so  good  success  ! 
I  rather  choose,  though  I  a  woman  be, 
He  should  speak  ill  of  all  than  die  for  me. 

\^Exit  into  the  bower. 

^  ivomen^s]  Altered  by  Weber  to  "  woman's." 


SCENE  1.]  TilE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  99 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — A  Village. 

Enter  Priest  of  Pan  and  Old  Shepherd. 
Priest.  Shepherds,  rise,  and  shake  off  sleep  ! 

See,  the  blushing  morn  doth  peep 

Through  the  windows,  whilst  ^  the  sun 

To  the  mountain-tops  is  run, 

Gilding  all  the  vales  below 

With  his  rising  flames,  which  grow 

Greater  by  his  climbing  still. 

Up,  ye  lazy  grooms,  and  fill 

Bag  and  bottle  for  the  field  ! 

Clasp  your  cloaks  fast,  lest  they  yield 

To  the  bitter  north-east  wind. 

Call  the  maidens  vip,  and  find 

Who  lay  longest,  that  she  may 

Go  without  a  friend  all  day  ; 

Then  reward  your  dogs,  and  pray 

Pan  to  keep  you  from  decay  : 

So,  unfold,  and  then  away  ! 
What,  not  a  shepherd  stirring  I     Sure,  the  grooms 
Have  found  their  beds  too  easy,  or  the  rooms 
Fiird  with  such  new  delight  and  heat,  that  they 
Have  both  forgot  their  hungry  sheep  and  day. 
Knock,  that  they  may  remember  what  a  shame 
Sloth  and  neglect  lays  on  a  shepherd's  name. 

Old  Shep.   [^after  hwchinr/  at  sex^eral  (hors.^    Tt  is  to  little 
purpose  ;  not  a  swain 
This  night  hath  known  his  lodging  licrc.  oi-  lain 

"  vfiilst]    Altered  by  tlio  modern  editors  to  "  while." 
II    2 


100  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  v. 

Within  these  cotes  :  the  woods,  or  some  near  town 
That  is  a  neighbour  to  the  bordering  down, 
Hath  drawn  them  thither,  ""bout  some  lusty  sport, 
Or  spiced  wassail-bowl  '\  to  which  resort 
All  the  young  men  and  maids  of  many  a  cote, 
Whilst  the  trim  minstrel  strikes  his  merry  note. 

Priest.  God  pardon  sin  ! — Shew  me  the  way  that  leads 
To  any  of  their  haunts. 

Old  Shep.  This  to  the  meads, 
And  that  down  to  the  woods. 

Priest.  Then,  this  for  me. 
Come,  shepherd,  let  me  crave  your  company.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  11.— TJie  wood  before  Cloein's  boioer :  Clorin  and 
Alexis  discovered  in  the  bower ;  at  the  side  of  the  stage,  a 
holloio  tree.,  in  which  are  Cloe  a7id  Daphnis. 

Clo.  Now  your  thoughts  are  almost  pure, 

And  your  wound  begins  to  cure ; 

Strive  to  banish  all  that's  vain. 

Lest  it  should  break  out  again. 

Alex.  Eternal  thanks  to  thee,  thou  holy  maid  ! 
I  find  my  former  wandering  thoughts  well  staid 
Through  thy  wise  precepts ;  and  my  outward  pain 
By  thy  choice  herbs  is  almost  gone  again  : 
Thy  sex's  vice  and  virtue  are  reveaFd 
At  once ;  for  what  one  hurt  another  healM. 

Clo.  May  thy  grief  more  appease  ! 
Relapses  are  the  worst  disease. 
Take  heed  how  you  in  thought  offend  ; 
So  mind  and  body  both  will  mend. 

^  wassail-bou'l]  "  This  alludes  to  the  ancient  custom  of  wassailing,  or  going 
about  the  village,  particularly  during  the  Christmas  holidays,  carousing  and 
dancing.  The  ingredients  of  the  bowl  were  spiced  ale  or  wine,  with  sugar  and 
roasted  apples,  &c."     Weber. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  101 


Enter  Satyr,  carrying  Amoret. 
Amo.  Be'st  thou  the  wildest  creature  of  the  wood, 
That  bear'st  me  thus  away,  drown'd  in  my  blood 
And  dying,  know  I  cannot  injured  be  ; 
I  am  a  maid  ;  let  that  name  fight  for  me. 
Sat.  Fairest  virgin,  do  not  fear 
Me,  that  doth  thy  body  bear, 
Not  to  hurt,  but  heal'd  to  be  ; 
Men  are  ruder  far  than  we. — 
See,  fair  goddess,  in  the  wood 
They  have  let  out  yet  more  blood  : 
Some  savage  man  hath  struck  her  breast. 
So  soft  and  white,  that  no  wild  beast 
Durst  have  touched,  asleep  or  'wake ; 
So  sweet,  that  adder,  newt,  or  snake. 
Would  have  lain,  from  arm  to  arm, 
On  her  bosom  to  be  warm 
All  a  night,  and,  being  hot, 
Gone  away,  and  stung  her  not. 
Quickly  clap  herbs  to  her  breast. 
A  man,  sure,  is  a  kind  of  beast. 

Clo.  With  spotless  hand  on  spotless  breast 
I  put  these  herbs,  to  give  thee  rest : 
Which  till  it  heal  thee,  there  will  bide. 
If  both  bo  pure  ;  if  not,  off  slide. — 
See,  it  falls  off  from  the  wound  : 
Shepherdess,  thou  art  not  sound, 
Full  of  lust. 

Sat.  Who  would  have  thought  it  ? 
So  fair  a  face  ! 

Clo.  Why,  that  hath  brought  it. 
Amo.  For  aught  I  know  or  think,  these  words  my  last, 
Yet,  Pan  so  help  me  as  my  thoughts  are  chaste  ! 
Ch.  And  so  may  Pan  bless  this  my  cure. 
As  all  my  thoughts  are  just  and  pure  ! 


102  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  v. 

Some  uncleanness  nigh  doth  lurk, 
That  will  not  let  my  medicines  work. — 
Satyr,  search  if  thou  canst  find  it. 

SaL   Here  away  methinks  I  wind  it : 
Stronger  yet. — Oh,  here  they  be  ; 
Here,  here,  in  a  hollow  tree, 
Two  fond'^  mortals  have  I  found. 

Clo.  Bring  them  out ;  they  are  unsound. 

Sat.  [bringing  out  Cloe  and  Daphnis.]  By  the  fingers  thus 
I  wring  ye. 
To  my  goddess  thus  I  bring  ye ; 
Strife  is  vain,  come  gently  in. — 
I  scented  them  ;  they're  full  of  sin. 

Clo.  Hold,  Satyr  ;  take  this  glass. 
Sprinkle  over  all  the  place, 
Purge  the  air  from  lustful  breath, 
To  save  this  shepherdess  from  death : 
And  stand  you  still  whilst  I  do  dress 
Her  wound,  for  fear  the  pain  increase. 

Sat.  From  this  glass  I  throw  a  drop 
Of  crystal  water  on  the  top 
Of  every  grass,  on  flowers  a  pair  : 
Send  a  fume,  and  keep  the  air 
Pure  and  wholesome,  sweet  and  blest, 
Till  this  virgin's  wound  be  drest. 

Clo.  Satyr,  help  to  bring  her  in. 

Sat.  By  Pan,  I  think  she  hath  no  sin, 

[Carrying  Amoret  into  the  boioer. 
She  is  so  light. — Lie  on  these  leaves. 
Sleep,  that  mortal  sense  deceives, 
Crown  thine  eyes  and  ease  thy  pain  ; 
Mayst  thou  soon  be  well  again  ! 

Clo.  Satyr,  bring  the  shepherd  near ; 
Try  him,  if  his  mind  be  clear. 

Sat.  Shepherd,  come. 

Daj)h.  My  thoughts  are  pure. 

Sat.  The  better  trial  to  endure. 

''  fond'\  i.  e.  foolish. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  103 

Clo.  In  this  flame '^  his  finger  thrust, 
Which  ^Yill  burn  him  if  he  lust ; 
But  if  not,  away  will  turn, 
As  loath  unspotted  flesh  to  burn. — 

[Satyr  applies  Daphnis\s  finger  to  the  taper. 
See,  it  gives  back  ;  let  him  go. 

Sat.  Farewell,  mortal :  keep  thee  so''.       [JSar^Y  Daphnis. 
Stay,  fair  nymph  ;  fly  not  so  fast ; 
We  must  try  if  you  be  chaste. — 
Here's  a  hand  that  quakes  for  fear  ; 
Sure,  she  will  not  prove  so  clear. 

Clo.  Hold  her  finger  to  the  flame  ; 
That  will  yield  her  praise  or  shame. 

Sat.  To  her  doom  she  dares  not  stand, 

[Applies  ChOEs  finger  to  the  taper. 
But  plucks  away  her  tender  hand  ; 
And  the  taper  darting  sends 
His  hot  beams  at  her  fingers'*  ends. — 
Oh,  thou  art  foul  within,  and  hast 
A  mind,  if  nothing  else,  unchaste  ! 

<=  In  this  flame,  &c.]  "  This  was  not,  as  Mr.  Seward  supposes,  a  fairy  legend, 
but  a  superstition  derived  from  the  ordeal  of  the  feudal  times.  For  further 
information  respecting  this  singular  trial,  I  refer  the  reader  to  a  curious  note 
in  Mr.  Scott's  edition  of  Sir  Tristi-em,  2d  edit.  p.  314.  Similar  to  the  lines  in 
the  text  [as  Seward  had  already  remarked]  are  the  following,  which  occur  in 
the  Meri-y  Wives  of  Windsor  : 

'  With  trial  fire  touch  me  his  finger  end  ; 
If  he  he  chaste,  the  flame  will  back  descend, 
And  put  him  to  no  pain  ;  but  if  he  start, 
It  is  the  flesh  of  a  corrupted  heart.'  "     Wkber. 
"*  Farewell,  mortal :  keep  thee  so.'\    That  neither  Sir  R.  Fanshawe  (see  his 
Latin  translation   of  this  drama)  nor  any  of  the  modern  editors  should  have 
perceived   that  these  words,  though    given   in  the  old  eds.    to  Clox'in,    could 
only  belong  to  one  who  was  not  a  mortal,  is  altogether  unaccountable.  Compare, 
among  several  others  that  might  be  cited,  the  following  speeches  of  the  Satyr  : 
"  Here  the  foolish  mortal  lies."     p.  66. 
"  Mortal,  you  must  leave  your  wooing."     p.  85. 
"  Two  fond  mortals  have  1  found."     p.  102. 
"  Mortal,  sure, 
'Tis  the  blood  of  maiden  pure."     p.  112. 


101  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  v. 

Alex.  Is  not  that  Cloe  ?     'Tis  my  love,  'tis  she  ! 
Cloe,  fair  Cloe  ! 

Cloe.  My  Alexis  ! 

Alex.  He. 

Cloe.  Let  me  embrace  thee. 

Clo.  Take  her  hence, 
Lest  her  sight  disturb  his  sense. 

Alex.  Take  not  her ;  take  my  life  first ! 

Clo.  See,  his  wound  again  is  burst : 
Keep  her  near,  here  in  the  wood, 
Till  I  have  stopt  these  streams  of  blood. 

[Satyr  leads  off  Cho^. 
Soon  again  he  ease  shall  find, 
If  I  can  but  still  his  mind. 
This  curtain  ^  thus  I  do  display, 
To  keep  the  piercing  air  away. 

[Draws  a  curtain  before  the  bower.     Scene  closes. 


SCENE  III.— A  pasture. 
Enter  Old  Shepherd  and  Priest  of  Pan. 

Priest.  Sure,  they  are  lost  for  ever  :  'tis  in  vain 
To  find  them  out  with  trouble  and  much  pain, 
That  have  a  ripe  desire  and  forward  will 
To  fly  the  company  of  all  but  ill. 
What  shall  be  counsell'd  now  ?  shall  we  retire, 
Or  constant  follow  still  that  first  desire 
We  had  to  find  them  I 

Old  Shep.  Stay  a  little  while ; 
For,  if  the  morning''s  mist  do  not  beguile 
My  sight  with  shadows,  sure  I  see  a  swain ; 
One  of  this  jolly  troop's  come  back  again. 

e   This  curtain,  &e.]  The  want  of  moveable  painted  scenery  in  the  early 
theatres  probably  forced  this  expedient  upon  the  poet. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS,  105 

Enter  Thenot. 
Priest.  Dost  thou  not  blush,  young  shepherd,  to  be  known 
Thus  without  care  leaving  thy  flocks  alone, 
And  following  what  desire  and  present  blood 
Shapes  out  before  thy  burning  sense  for  good  ; 
Having  forgot  what  tongue  hereafter  may 
Tell  to  the  world  thy  falling  off,  and  say 
Thou  art  regardless  both  of  good  and  shame. 
Spurning  at  virtue  and  a  virtuous  name  ? 
And  like  a  glorious  ^  desperate  man,  that  buys 
A  poison  of  much  price,  by  which  he  dies. 
Dost  thou  lay  out  for  lust,  whose  only  gain 
Is  foul  disease,  with  present  age "  and  pain, 
And  then  a  grave  ?     These  be  the  fruits  that  grow 
In  such  hot  veins,  that  only  beat  to  know 
Where  they  may  take  most  ease,  and  grow  ambitious 
Through  their  own  wanton  fire  and  pride  delicious. 
The.  Right  holy  sir,  I  have  not  known  this  night 
What  the  smooth  face  of  mirth  was,  or  the  sight 
Of  any  looseness  ;  music,  joy,  and  ease. 
Have  been  to  me  as  bitter  drugs  to  please 
A  stomach  lost  with  weakness,  not  a  game 
That  I  am  skilled  at  throughly'' :   nor  a  dame. 
Went  her  tongue  smoother  than  the  feet  of  time, 
Her  beauty  ever-living  like  the  rhyme 
Our  blessed  Tityrus  '  did  sing  of  yore  ; 
No,  were  she  more  enticing  than  the  store 

'  glorious^  "In  this  place,  bears  the  same  sense  as  the  French  adjective 
glorieux,  which  signifies  proud,  vain."     Ed.  1778. 

?  present  ar/e']  i.  e.,  as  Seward  rightly  explained  it,  an  early  old  age.  The 
Editors  of  1778  printed  "ache," — Sympson  having  previously  proposed  "aches." 

*■  throughlyl  Weber  chose  to  print  "  thoroughly." 

'  our  blessed  Titi/rux]  "Mr.  Sympson  would  suppose  that  Spenser  is  meant 
here,  but  I  happen  to  dissent  from  him  in  this  ;  first,  because  Spenser  died  but 
a  few  years  before  this  play  was  wrote,  and  the  expression  of  yore  seems  to 
imply  an  earlier  date  ;  secondly,  because  Titijrus  is  the  name  which  Spenser 
had  in  all  his  pastorals  given  to  Giaucer,  and  as  Fletcher  frequently  imitates 
those  pastorals,  I  doubt  not  but  Chaucer  was  hero  intended  ;  particulai'ly  as 
Spenser  is,  I  believe,  afterwards  mentioned  with  still  greater  honour  than 
Chaucer  is  here."     Seward. 


106  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  v. 

Of  fruitful  summer,  when  the  loaden  tree 
Bids  the  faint  traveller  be  bold  and  free  ; 
'Twere  but  to  me  like  thunder  'gainst  the  bay", 
Whose  lightning  may  enclose,  but  never  stay 
Upon  his  charmed  branches  ;  such  am  I 
Against  the  catching  flames  of  woman's  eye. 

Priest.  Then,  wherefore  hast  thou  wander'd  ? 

The.  'Twas  a  vow 
That  drew  me  out  last  night,  which  I  have  now 
Strictly  perforni'd,  and  homewards  go  to  give 
Fresh  pasture  to  my  sheep,  that  they  may  live. 

Priest.  'Tis  good  to  hear  you,  shepherd,  if  the  heart 
In  this  well-sounding  music  bear  his  part. 
Where  have  you  left  the  rest  ? 

The.  I  have  not  seen, 
Since  yesternight  we  met  upon  this  green 
To  fold  our  flocks  up,  any  of  that  train  ; 
Yet  have  I  walk'd  those  woods  round,  and  have  lain 
All  this  long ''  night  under  an  aged  tree  ; 
Yet  neither  wandering  shepherd  did  I  see, 
Or  shepherdess ;  or  drew  into  mine  ear 
The  sound  of  living  thing,  unless  it  were 
The  nightingale,  among  the  thick-leaved  spring 
That  sits  alone  in  sorrow,  and  doth  sing 
Whole  nights  away  in  mourning ;  or  the  owl, 
Or  our  great  enemy ',  that  still  doth  howl 
Against  the  moon's  cold  beams. 

Priest.  Go,  and  beware 
Of  after-falling. 

The.  Father,  'tis  my  care.  [Exit. 

Enter  Daphnis. 
Old  Shep.  Here  comes  another  straggler  ;  sure,  I  see 
A  shame  in  this  young  shepherd. — Daplmis  ? 
Daph.  He. 

J  thunder  Against  the  bay]  "  This  property  was  anciently  ascribed  to  the 
laurel.^'     Weber.     Bay  is  used  hero  for  laurel. 

^  All  this  long  niff  hi]  So  the  first  4to.  The  second  4to.  has"  All  this  night.'' 
Later  eds.  have  "  All  this  same  night ;  "  and  so  themodei-n  editors. 

'  our  great  enemy]     "i.  e,  the  wolf."     Ed.  1778. 


SCENE  iir.J  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  107 

Priest.  Where  hast  thou  left  the  rest,  that  should  have  been 
Long  before  this  grazing  upon  the  green 
Their  yet-imprison'd  flocks  ■. 

Daph,  Thou  holy  man, 
Give  me  a  little  breathing,  till  I  can 
Be  able  to  unfold  \\'hat  I  have  seen ; 
Such  horror,  that  the  like  hath  never  been 
Known  to  the  ear  of  shepherd.     Oh,  my  heart 
Labours  a  double  motion  to  impart 
So  heavy  tidings  !     You  all  know  the  bower 
Where  the  chaste  Clorin  lives,  by  whose  great  power 
Sick  men  and  cattle  have  been  often  cur''d ; 
There  lovely  Amoret,  that  was  assurd "" 
To  lusty  Perigot,  bleeds  out  her  life, 
Forc'd  by  some  iron  hand  and  fatal  knife  ; 
And,  by  her,  young  Alexis. 

Enter  Amarillis,  ru7inin<j. 

Amar.  If  there  be 
Ever  a  neighbour-brook  or  hollow  tree. 
Receive  my  body,  close  me  up  from  lust 
That  follows  at  my  heels  !     Be  ever  just. 
Thou  god  of  shepherds.  Pan,  for  her  dear  sake 
That  loves  the  rivers'  brinks,  and  still  doth  shake 
In  cold  remembrance  of  thy  quick  pursuit ; 
Let  me  be  made  a  reed,  and,  ever  mute. 
Nod  to  the  waters'  fall,  whilst  every  blast 
Sings  through  my  slender  leaves  that  I  was  chaste  ! 

Priest.  This  is  a  night  of  wonder. — Amarill, 
Be  comforted  :  the  holy  gods  are  still 
Revengers  of  these  wrongs. 

Amar.  Thou  blessed  man, 
Honour'd  upon  these  plains,  and  lovVl  of  Pan, 
Hear  me,  and  save  from  endless  infamy  " 
My  yet-unblasted  flower,  virginity  ! 

•"  assured]  i.  e.  affianced. 

"  Hear  me,  and  save  from  endless  infamy,  &;c.]  "These  lines  [as  Warton 
had  noticed]  may  be  compared  with  the  following  in  Milton's  Comus  : 
'  By  all  the  nymphs  that  nightly  dance 
Ui)on  thy  strtams  with  wayward  glance,'  "  (Sec.  [v.  88;{.]   Weber. 


108  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  v. 

By  all  the  garlands  that  have  crownM  that  head, 

By  thy  chaste  office,  and  the  marriage-bed 

That  still  is  bless'd  by  thee  ;  by  all  the  rites 

Due  to  our  god,  and  by  those  virgin-lights 

That  burn  before  his  altar  ;  let  me  not 

Fall  from  my  former  state,  to  gain  the  blot 

That  never  shall  be  purg'd  !     I  am  not  now 

That  wanton  Amarillis  :  here  I  vow 

To  Heaven,  and  thee,  grave  father,  if  I  may 

Scape  this  unhappy  night,  to  know  the  day 

A  virgin,  never  after  to  endure 

The  tongues  or  company  of  men  unpure  ! 

I  hear  him  come  ;  save  me  ! 

Priest.  Retire  a  while 
Behind  this  bush,  till  we  have  known  that  vile 
Abuser  of  young  maidens.  [  Tliey  retire. 

Enter  Sullen  Shepherd. 
Sull.  Shep.  Stay  thy  pace. 
Most  loved  Amarillis  ;  let  the  chase 
Grow  calm  and  milder ;  fly  me  not  so  fast : 
I  fear  the  pointed  brambles  have  unlacVl 
Thy  golden  buskins.     Turn  again,  and  see 
Thy  shepherd  follow,  that  is  strong  and  free. 
Able  to  give  thee  all  content  and  ease  : 
I  am  not  bashful,  virgin ;  I  can  please 
At  first  encounter,  hug  thee  in  mine  arm, 
And  give  thee  many  kisses,  soft  and  warm 
As  those  the  sun  prints  on  the  smiling  cheek 
Of  plums  or  mellow  peaches ;   I  am  sleek 
And  smooth  as  Neptune  when  stern  jEoIus 
Locks  up  his  surly  winds,  and  nimbly  thus 
Can  shew  my  active  youth.     Why  dost  thou  fly  ? 
Remember,  Amarillis,  it  was  I 
That  kiird  Alexis  for  thy  sake,  and  set 
An  everlasting  hate  'twixt  Amoret 
And  her  beloved  Perigot ;  'twas  I 
That  drowned  her  in  the  well,  where  she  must  lie 


SCENE  III.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  109 

Till  time  shall  leave  to  be.     Then,  turn  again, 
Turn  with  thy  open  arms,  and  clip  °  the  swain 
That  hath  performVl  all  this  ;  turn,  turn,  I  say ; 
I  must  not  be  deluded. 

Priest,  [coming  forward.^   Monster,  stay  ! 
Thou  that  art  like  a  canker  to  the  state 
Thou  liv'st  and  breath'st  in,  eating  with  debate '' 
Through  every  honest  bosom,  forcing  still 
The  veins  of  any  that  may  serve  thy  will ; 
Thou  that  hast  offer'd  with  a  sinful  hand 
To  seize  upon  this  virgin,  that  doth  stand 
Yet  trembling  here  ! 

Sull.  Shep.  Good  holiness,  declare 
What  had  the  danger  been,  if  being  bare 
I  had  embrac''d  her  ;  tell  me,  by  your  art, 
What  coming  wonders  would  that  sight  impart  { 

Priest.  Lust  and  a  branded  soul. 

Sull.  Shep.  Yet,  tell  me  more  ; 
Hath  not  our  mother  Nature,  for  her  store 
And  great  encrease,  said  it  is  good  and  just. 
And  wiird  i  that  every  living  creature  must 
Beget  his  like  1 

Priest.   YouVe  better  read  than  I, 
I  must  confess,  in  blood  and  lechery. — 
Now  to  the  bower,  and  bring  this  beast  along, 
Where  he  may  suffer  penance  for  his  wrong.  [Exeunt. 

°  clip']  i.  e.  embrace. 

•'  eatiriff  with  debate'\  "  The  word  debate,  in  this  place,  is  used  in  the  sense 
of  strife,  or  perhaps  hatred."     Weber.     Discord,  contention. 

1  iviWd]  So  the  first  Ito.  The  second  4to.  "will".  Later  eds.  "wills"; 
and  so  the  modern  editors. 


no  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [aci  v. 


SCENE  IV.— Por^  of  the  zvood. 

Enter  Perigot,  tcith  his  hand  bloody. 

Peri.  Here  will  I  wash  it  in  the  *"  morning's  dew, 
Which  she  on  every  little  grass  doth  strew 
In  silver  drops  against  the  sun's  appear  : 
'Tis  holy  water,  and  will  make  me  clear. 
My  hand  will  not  be  cleans'd. — My  wronged  love, 
If  thy  chaste  spirit  in  the  air  yet  move, 
Look  mildly  down  on  him  that  yet  doth  stand 
All  full  of  guilt,  thy  blood  upon  his  hand ; 
And  though  I  struck  thee  undeservedly, 
Let  my  revenge  on  her  that  injured  thee 
Make  less  a  fault  which  I  intended  not. 
And  let  these  dew-drops  wash  away  my  spot ! — 
It  will  not  cleanse.     Oh,  to  what  sacred  flood 
Shall  I  resort,  to  wash  away  this  blood  ? 
Amidst  these  trees  the  holy  Clorin  dwells, 
In  a  low  cabin  of  cut  boughs,  and  heals 
All  wounds  :  to  her  I  will  myself  address, 
And  my  rash  faults  repentantly  confess  ; 
Perhaps  she'll  find  a  means,  by  art  or  prayer, 
To  make  my  hand,  with  chaste  blood  stained,  fair. 
That  done,  not  far  hence,  underneath  some  tree 
I'll  have  a  little  cabin  built,  since  she 
Whom  I  ador'd  is  dead  ;  there  will  I  give 
Myself  to  strictness,  and,  like  Clorin,  live.  [Exit. 

■■  the]  So  the  first  4to.     Later  eds.  "this";  and  so  the  modern  editors, 
Weber  excepted. 


SCENE  v.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  Ill 


SCENE   V. —  TJie  wood  before  Clorin's   boiver :    Clorin  dis- 
covered sitting  in  the  bower  ;  A:moret  sitting  on  one  side  of 
her,  Alexis  a;z^CLOE  on  the. other  ;  the  Satyr  standing  by. 

CIo.  Shepherd,  once  more  your  blood  is  staid  : 
Take  example  by  this  maid, 
Who  is  healM  ere  you  be  pure ; 
So  hard  it  is  lewd  lust  to  cure. 
Take  heed,  then,  how  you  turn  your  eye 
On  this  other'  lustfully. — 
And,  shepherdess,  take  heed  lest  you 
Move  his  willing  eye  thereto  : 
Let  no  wring,  nor  pinch,  nor  smile 
Of  yours,  his  weaker  sense  beguile. — 
Is  your  love  yet  true  and  chaste, 
And  for  ever  so  to  last  ? 

Alex.  I  have  forgot  all  vain  desires, 
All  looser  thoughts,  ill-temperM  fires : 
True  love  I  find  a  pleasant  fume, 
Whose  moderate  heat  can  ne'er  consume. 

Cloe.  And  I  a  new  fire  feel  in  me, 
Whose  chaste  flame  is  not  quencli''d  to  be. 

Clo.  Join  your  hands  with  modest  touch. 
And  for  ever  keep  you  such. 

Enter  Perigot. 
Peri.  Yon  is  her  cabin  :  thus  far  off"  Fll  stand, 
And  call  her  forth ;  for  my  unhallow'd  hand 
I  dare  not  bring  so  near  yon  sacred  place. —  [Aside. 

Clorin,  come  forth,  and  do  a  timely  grace 
To  a  poor  swain. 

Clo.  What  art  tliou  that  dost  call  ? 
Clorin  is  ready  to  do  good  to  all : 
Come  near. 

'  this  other]  i.  c,  of  course,  Cloc.  The  tlirce  earliest  4tos.  liavc  "  these 
fiilicr"  ;  which  the  Kditors  of  1778  and  Weber  gave.  The  later  4tos.  and  folin 
1079  have  "  each  other  ",•  and  so  Seward. 


112  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  v. 

Peri.  I  dare  not. 
Clo.  Satyr,  see 
Who  it  is  that  calls  on  me. 

Sat.  [comiriff  from  the  hoxcer.']  There,   at  hand,  some 
swain  doth  stand, 
Stretching  out  a  bloody  hand. 
Peri.  Come,  Clorin,  bring  thy  holy  waters  clear, 
To  wash  my  hand. 

Clo.  \coming  oiit.'\   What  wonders  have  been  here 
To-night  !     Stretch  forth  thy  hand,  young  swain  ; 
Wash  and  rub  it,  whilst  I  rain 
Holy  water. 

Peri.  Still  you  pour, 
But  my  hand  will  never  scour. 

Clo.  Satyr,  bring  him  to  the  bower : 
We  will  try  the  sovereign  power 
Of  other  waters. 

Sat.   Mortal,  sure, 
'Tis  the  blood  of  maiden  pure 
That  stains  thee  so. 

The  Satyr  leads  him  to  the  lower ^  where.,  seeing  Amoret,  he  hieels 
down  hefore  her. 

Peri.  Whate'er  thou  be, 
Be'st  thou  her  sprite,  or  some  divinity, 
That  in  her  shape  thinks  good  to  walk  this  grove, 
Pardon  poor  Perigot ! 

Amo.  1  am  thy  love, 
Thy  Amoret,  for  evermore  thy  love  : 
Strike  once  more  on  my  naked  breast.  Til  prove 
As  constant  still.     Oh,  couldst  thou  love  me  yet, 
How  soon  could  I  my  former  griefs  forget  ! 

Peri.  So  over-great  with  joy  that  you  live,  now 
I  am,  that  no  desire  of  knowing  how 
Doth  seize  me.     Hast  thou  still  power  to  forgive  ? 

Amo.  AVhilst  thou  hast  power  to  love,  or  I  to  live  : 
More  welcome  now  than  hadst  thou  never  gone 
Astray  from  me  ! 

Peri.  And  when  thou  lov'st  alone, 


SCENE  v.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHErHERDESS.  113 

And  not  I  [thee'],  death,  or  some  Hngering  pain 
That's  worse,  hght  on  me  ! 
Clo.  Now  your  stain 

Perhaps  will  cleanse  thee ;  once  again  ". 

Sec,  the  blood  that  erst  did  stay. 

With  the  water  drops  away. 

All  the  powers  again  are  pleas'd, 

And  with  this  new  knot  are''  appeasM. 

Join  your  hands,  and  rise  together : 

Pan  be  blessM  that  brought  you  hither  ! 

Enter  Priest  of  Pan  and  Old  Sheplierd. 

Go  back  again,  whatever  thou  art ;  unless 
Smooth  maiden-thoughts  possess  thee,  do  not  press 
This  hallowed  ground. — Go,  Satyr,  take  his  hand, 
And  give  him  present  trial. 
Sat.  Mortal,  stand, 
Till  by  fire  I  have  made  known 
Whether  thou  be  such  a  one 
That  mayst  freely  tread  this  place. 
Hold  thy  hand  up. — Never  was 

[^Apphjing  the  Priest's  hand  to  the  taper. 
More  untainted  flesh  than  this. 
Fairest,  ho  is  full  of  bhss. 
Clo.  Then,  boldly  speak,  why  dost  thou  seek  this  place  I 
Priest.  First,  honoured  virgin,  to  behold  thy  face, 
Where  all  good  dwells  that  is  ;  next,  for  to  try 
The  truth  of  late  report  was  given  to  me, — 
Those  shepherds  that  have  met  with  foul  mischance 
Through  much  neglect  and  more  ill  governance, 

'  thee"]  "Was  properly,  but  silently,  introduced  in  the  modern  copies."  Weber. 

"  Perhaps  ivill  cleanse  thee ;  once  affain]  "  Tliis  is  the  reading  of  the  old 
[the  three  oldest]  quartos  :  [the  4tos.  of  1656,  16G5,  and]  the  folio  of  1()79  say, 
'  This  perhaps  will  cleanse  again'' ;  which  is  copied  by  the  later  editions.  We 
have  followed  the  older  books  ;  and  though  the  construction,  according  to  the 
usage  of  our  authoi',  is  a  little  licentious,  yet  the  meaning  is  obvious." 
Ed.  1778. 

^  are^  Omitted  in  folio  1G79, — rightly  perhaps. 
VOL.  II.  I 


114  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  v. 

Whether  the  wounds  they  have  may  yet  endure 

The  open  air,  or  stay  a  longer  cure  ; 

And  lastly,  what  the  doom  may  be  shall  light 

Upon  those  guilty  ^\Tetches,  through  whose  spite 

All  this  confusion  fell ;  for  to  this  place, 

Thou  holy  maiden,  have  I  brought  the  race "" 

Of  these  offenders,  who  have  freely  told 

Both  why  and  by  what  means  they  gave  this  bold 

Attempt  upon  their  lives. 

Clo.  Fume  all  the  ground, 
And  sprinkle  holy  water,  for  unsound 
And  foul  infection  'gins  to  fill  the  air : 
It  gathers  yet  more  strongly ;  take  a  pair 

[  Tlie  Satyr  fumes  the  ground,  &c. 
Of  censers  fillM  with  frankincense  and  myrrh, 
Together  with  cold  camphire  :  quickly  stir 
Thee,  gentle  Satyr,  for  the  place  begins 
To  sweat  and  labour  with  th'  abhorred  sins 
Of  those  offenders  :  let  them  not  come  nisfh. 
For  full  of  itching  flame  and  leprosy 
Their  very  souls  are,  that  the  ground  goes  back, 
And  shrinks  to  feel  the  sullen  weight  of  black 
And  so  unheard-of  venom. — Hie  thee  fast, 
Thou  holy  man,  and  banish  from  the  chaste 
These  manhke  monsters  ;  let  them  never  more 
Be  known  upon  these  downs,  but,  long  before 
The  next  sun's  rising,  put  them  from  the  sight 
And  memory  of  every  honest  wight : 
Be  quick  in  expedition,  lest  the  sores 
Of  these  weak  patients  break  into  new  gores. 

[Exit  Priest  of  Pan. 

Peri.  My  dear,  dear  Amoret,  how  happy  are 
Those  blessed  pairs,  in  whom  a  Httle  jar 
Hath  bred  an  everlasting  love,  too  strong 
For  time,  or  steel,  or  envy  to  do  wrong  ! 

"  the  race]    Altered   by   Seward   to   "  a  brace "  ;    and   so  the  Editoi's   of 

1778  ! 


SCENE  v.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  115 

How  do  you  feel  your  hurts  ?     Alas,  poor  heart, 
How  much  I  was  abus'd  !     Give  rae  the  smart, 
For  it  is  justly  mine. 

Amo.  I  do  believe  : 
It  is  enough,  dear  friend  ;  leave  off  to  grieve, 
And  let  us  once  more,  in  despite  of  ill. 
Give  hands  and  hearts  again. 

Peri.  With  better  will 
Than  e'er  I  wont  to  find  in  hottest  day 
Cool  crystal  of  the  fountain,  to  allay 
My  eager  thirst.     May  this  band  never  break  ! 
Hear  us,  oh,  Heaven  ! 

A7no.  Be  constant. 

Peri.  Else  Pan  wreak 
With  double  vengeance  my  disloyalty  .' 
Let  me  not  dare  to  know  the  company 
Of  men,  or  any  more  behold  those  eyes  ! 

Amo.  Thus,  shepherd,  with  a  kiss  all  envy  "  dies. 

Re-enter  Priest  of  Pan. 

Priest.  Bright  maid,  I  have  performM  your  will.    The  swain 
In  whom  such  heat  and  black  rebellions  reign 
Hath  undergone  your  sentence  and  disgrace : 
Only  the  maid  I  have  reserved,  whose  face 
Shews  much  amendment ;  many  a  tear  doth  fall 
In  sorrow  of  her  fault :  great  fair,  recall 
Your  heavy  doom,  in  hope  of  better  days. 
Which  I  dare  promise ;  once  again  upraise 
Her  heavy  spirit,  that  near  drowned  lies 
In  self-consuming  care  that  never  dies. 

Clo.  I  am  content  to  pardon  ;  call  her  in. — 

[Priest  of  Pan  hringa  in  AMAnir.i.is. 
The  air  grows  cool  again,  and  doth  begin 
To  purge  itself :  how  bright  the  day  doth  shew 
After  this  stormy  cloud  ! — Go,  Satyr,  go, 
And  with  this  taper  boldly  try  her  hand  : 
If  she  be  pure  and  good,  and  firmly  stand 

"   envy'\  i.  c.  ill-will. 
I  2 


116  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [aci  v. 

To  be  so  still,  we  have  perform'd  a  work 
Worthy  the  gods  themselves. 

Sat.  Come  forward,  maiden  ;   do  not  lurk, 

Nor  hide  your  face  with  grief  and  shame  ; 

Now  or  never  get  a  name 

That  may  raise  thee,  and  re-cure 

All  thy  life  that  was  impure. 

Hold  your  hand  unto  the  flame  : 

If  thou  be'st  a  perfect  dame, 

Or  hast  truly  vow^l  to  mend, 

This  pale  fire  will  be  thy  friend. — 

[Applies  her  hand  to  the  taper. 

See,  the  taper  hurts  her  not. 

Go  thy  ways ;  let  never  spot 

Henceforth  seize  upon  thy  blood  : 

Thank  the  gods,  and  still  be  good. 
Clo.  Young  shepherdess,  now  you  are  brought  again 
To  virgin-state,  be  so,  and  so  remain 
To  thy  last  day,  unless  the  faithful  love 
Of  some  good  shepherd  force  thee  to  remove  ; 
Then  labour  to  be  true  to  him,  and  live 
As  such  a  one  that  ever  strives  to  give 
A  blessed  memory  to  after-time  ; 
Be  famous  for  your  good,  not  for  your  crime. — 
Now,  holy  man,  I  offer  up  again 
These  patients,  full  of  health  and  free  from  pain  : 
Keep  them  from  after- ills  ;  be  ever  near 
Unto  their  actions;  teach  them  how  to  clear 
The  tedious  way  they  pass  through  fi'om  suspect ; 
Keep  them  from  wronging  others,  or  neglect 
Of  duty  in  themselves  ;  correct  the  blood 
With  thrifty  bits ""  and  labour  ;  let  the  flood. 
Or  the  next  neighbouring  spring,  give  remedy 
To  greedy  thirst  and  travail,  not  the  tree 
That  hangs  with  wanton  clustoi's ;  let  not  wine, 
Unless  in  sacrifice  or  rites  divine, 

•■«  lils\  "  i.  e.  morsels."     Weber. 


SCENE  V.J  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  H7 

Be  ever  known  of  shepherds  ;  have  a  care, 

Thou  man  of  holy  life  !     Now  do  not  spare 

Their  faults  through  much  remissness,  nor  forget 

To  cherish  him  whose  many  pains  and  sweat 

Hath  given  increase  and  added  to  the  downs ; 

Sort  all  your  shepherds  from  the  lazy  clowns 

That  feed  their  heifers  in  the  budded  brooms  ^  ; 

Teach  the  young  maidens  strictness,  that  the  grooms 

May  ever  fear  to  tempt  their  blowing  youtli ; 

Banish  all  compliment,  but  single  truth. 

From  every  tongue  and  every  shepherd's  heart ; 

Let  them  still  use  persuading,  but  no  art. 

Thus,  holy  priest,  I  wish  to  thee  and  these 

All  the  best  goods  and  comforts  that  may  please. 

All.  And  all  those  blessings  ^  Heaven  did  ever  give, 
We  pray  upon  this  bower  may  ever  live. 

Priest.  Kneel,  every  shepherd,  whilst  ^  with  powerful  hand 
I  bless  your  after-labours,  and  the  land 
You  feed  your  flocks  upon.     Great  Pan  defend  you 

From  misfortune,  and  amend  you  ; 

Keep  you  from  those  dangers  still 

That  are  followM  by  your  will ; 

Give  ye  means  to  know  at  length. 

All  your  riches,  all  your  strength, 

Cannot  keep  your  foot  from  falling 

To  lewd  lust,  that  still  is  calling 

y the  lazy  clowns 

That  feed  their  heifers  in  the  budded  brooms.  ]  "  This  instance  of  laziness  is  taken 
from  Spenser,  Shepherd's  Calendar,  February  : 

*  So  lojtring  live  you,  little  heardgroomes, 
Keeping  your  bcastes  in  the  budded  broomes.'  "     Seward. 
Here  (as  Mr.  Darley  remarks,  Introd.  to  the  fVorks  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
p.  xii.)  Spenser  imitates  Chaucer  : 

"  As  haue  these  little  heard  gromes, 
That  keepen  beasts  in  the  bi'omcs." 

House  of  Fame,  B.  iii.  Workes.  fol.  267,  ed.  1602. 
'  And  all  those  blessings,  &.C.]  "  In  the  third  edition,  thie  speech  is  given  to 
Alexis  singly,  and  continued  so  in  the  later  copies."     Ed.  177R. 
"  whilst}  Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  while  ". 


118  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  v. 

At  your  cottage,  till  his  power 

Bring  again  that  golden  hour 

Of  peace  and  rest  to  every  soul ; 

May  his  care  of  you  controul 

All  diseases,  sores,  or  pain, 

That  in  after-time  may  reign 

Either  in  your  flocks  or  you ; 

Give  ye  all  affections  new. 

New  desires,  and  tempers  new, 

That  ye  may  be  ever  true  ! 
Now  rise,  and  go  ;  and,  as  ye  pass  away, 
Sing  to  the  God  of  Sheep  that  happy  lay 
That  honest  Dorus ''  taught  ye, — Dorus,  he 
That  was  the  soul  and  god  of  melody. 

[  They  sing  the  following  song,  and  strew  the  ground 
\iithJloivers. 

All  ye  woods,  aud  trees,  and  bowers, 
All  ye  virtues  aud  ye  powers 
That  inhabit  in  the  lakes. 
In  the  pleasant  springs  or  brakes, 

Move  your  feet 
To  oui'  sound, 

Whilst  we  greet 
All  this  ground 
With  his  honour  and  his  name 
That  defends  our  flocks '  from  blame. 

''  honest  Dorus,  &c.]  "  Tliis  fine  eulogy  on  some  poet  beloved  and  almost 
adored  by  our  author,  I  take  to  have  been  meant  of  Spenser  for  these  reasons. 
He  seems  to  speak  of  one  who  lived  in  the  preceding  age,  but  was  dead  before 
The  Faithful  Shepherdess  was  published.  This  answers  to  none  so  well  as 
Spenser,  he  and  Shakespeare  being  the  only  very  great  poets  that  immediately 
preceded  our  author  ;  but  the  latter  lived  some  years  after  the  publication  of 
this  piece.  In  the  next  place,  as  he  had  just  before  taken  an  expression  from 
Spenser,  so  he  greatly  imitates  his  manner  iu  the  following  song,  and  inserts  one 
expression  of  his  in  it  literally  : 

DaffadilUes, 

Roses,  pinks,  and  loved  lilies, 
Let  us  fling,  &c. 
which  Spenser  had  tlms  expressed,  Shepherd's  Calendar,  April  ; 
"  Strowe  mee  the  grounde  with  daftadowndillios. 
And  cowslips,  aud  kiugcups,  and  loved  lillics."     Seward. 
•^^  flocks'^  Weber  chose  to  print  "  flock  ". 


SCENE  v.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  119 

He  is  great,  and  he  is  just, 
He  is  ever  good,  and  must 
Thus  be  honour'd.     Daffadillies, 
Roses,  pinks,  and  loved  lilies, 

Let  us  fling, 

Whilst  we  sing, 

Ever  holy, 

Ever  holy, 
Ever  honour'd,  ever  young  ! 
Thus  great  Pan  is  ever  sung. 

[£j'eun(  all  except  Clori.n  and  Satyr. 

Sat.  Thou  divinest,  fairest,  brightest, 
Thou  most  powerful  maid  and  whitest, 
Thou  most  virtuous  and  most  blessed, 
Eyes  of  stars,  and  golden-tressed  ^ 
Like  Apollo  ;  tell  me,  sweetest  ^, 
What  new  service  now  is  meetest 
For  the  Satyr  ?     Shall  I  stray 
In  the  middle  air  •",  and  stay 

^  lell  me,  sweetest,  &c.]    "  This,  and  the  following  lines,  as  Mr.   Henley 
observes,  are  [imitated]  from  the  well-known  speech  of  Ariel  in  the  Tempest  : 

— '  I  come 
To  answer  thy  best  pleasure ;  be't  to  fly, 
To  swim,  to  dive  into  the  fire,  to  ride 
On  the  curl'd  clouds  ;  to  thy  strong  bidding  task 
Ariel  and  all  his  quality.'  "     Webek. 
'         Shall  I  stray 
In  the  middle  air,  &c.]  "  The  character  of  the  Attendant  Spirit  in  Comus  is 
this  Satyr  under  another  shape  and  name.     The  Satyr  in  the  third  act  is  sent 
by  Pan  to  guide  aright  the  wandering  shepherds,  and  to  protect  vii-tue  in 
distress : 

'  But  to  ray  charge.     Here  must  I  stay, 
To  see  what  mortals  lose  their  way,'  &c. 
The  Attendant  Spirit  has  much  the  same  office  ;  he  is  sent  by  Jupiter  to  protect 
the  virtuous  against  the  enchantments  of  Comus  : 

'  Therefore  when  any,  favour' d  of  high  Jove,'  &c. 
When  they  have  finished  their  office,  they  both  give  the  same  account  of  their 
power  and  velocity.     In  imitation  of  the  lines  now  referred  to,  and  to  the  two 
last  of  the  Satyr's  first  speech, 

('  I  must  go,  T  must  run, 
Swifter  tlian  the  fiery  sun.') 

The  Attendant  Spirit  thus  takes  leave  of  the  audience  ; 


120  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  [act  v. 

The  sailing  rack  *^,  or  nimbly  take 
Hold  by  the  moon,  and  gently  make 
Suit  to  the  pale  queen  of  night 
For  a  beam  to  give  thee  light  ? 
Shall  I  dive  into  the  sea, 
And  bring  thee  coral,  making  way 
Through  the  rising  waves  that  fall 
In  snowy  fleeces  ?     Dearest,  shall 
I  catch  thee  wanton  fawns,  or  flies 
Whose  woven  wings  the  summer  dyes 
Of  many  colours  ?  get  thee  fiuiit. 
Or  steal  from  heaven  old  Orpheus''  lute  ? 
All  these  FU  venture  for,  and  more. 
To  do  her  service  all  these  woods  adore. 


'  But  now  my  task  is  smoothly  done, 
I  can  fly,  or  I  can  run, 
Quickly  to  the  green  earth's  end, 
Where  the  bow'd  welkin  slow  doth  bend  ; 
And  from  thence  can  soar  as  soon 
To  the  corners  of  the  moon.' 

The  two  first  and  the  two  last  of  Milton's  lines  are  directly  taken  from  Fletcher. 

The  Italians  have  the  honour  of  being  the  introducers  of  the  dramatic 

pastoral,  but  I  cannot,  upon  examination,  find  that  Fletcher  has  borrowed  a 

single  sentiment  or  expression  from  any   of  them,  except  the  name  of   The 

Faithful  Shepherdess  from  the  Pastor  Fido."     Seward. 

"  The  character  of  Corisca,  in  the  pastoral  of  Guarini,  seems  however  to  have 

been  the  prototype  of  the  wanton  Cloe,  as  has  been  observed  before."    Weber. 
At  the  conclusion   of  Seward's  notes  on  this  drama,  I  must  express  my 

belief  that  he  was  indebted  to  the  memoranda  of  Theobald  (who  was  then 
deceased)  for  the  various  passages  of  Theocritus  which  he  has  cited.  Seward's 
acquaintance  with  Greek  was,  I  apprehend,  but  very  slight :  Theobald, 
on  the  other  hand,  had  an  extensive  and  critical  knowledge  of  ancient  lite- 
rature. 

'  The  sailing  rack'\  "  '  The  winds  in  the  upper  regions,'  says  Lord  Bacon, 
'  which  move  the  clouds  above  (which  we  call  the  rack),  and  are  not  perceived 
below,  pass  without  noise.'  "  Reed, — who  cites  here  other  passages  from 
Steevens's  notes  on  Shakespeare.  Hack,  as  Tookc  first  shewed,  is  properly — 
vapour,  steam,  exhalation  (that  which  is  reeked)  ;  see  Richardson  {Diet,  in  v.), 
who  observes  that  "  The  commentators  [on  Shakespeare]  have  fallen  into  the 
common  mistake  of  including  a  meaning  expressed  by  the  context  in  their 
explanation  of  the  word  ;  and  were  thus  entirely  diverted  from  its  etymology, 
and  eonso(|ucntly  from  its  intrinsic  signification." 


SCENE  v.]  THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS.  121 

Clo.  No  other  service,  Satyr,  but  thy  watch 
About  these  thicks  ",  lest  harmless  people  catch 
Mischief  or  sad  mischance. 

Sat.  Holy  virgin,  I  will  dance 

Round  about  these  woods  as  quick 

As  the  breaking  light,  and  prick '' 

Down  the  lawns  and  down  the  vales 

Faster  than  the  windmill-sails. 

So  I  take  my  leave,  and  pray 

All  the  comforts  of  the  day, 

Such  as  Phcebus*"  heat  doth  send 

On  the  earth,  may  still  befriend 

Thee  and  this  arbour  ! 
Clo.  And  to  thee 

All  thy  master's  love  be  free  !  [Exeunt. 

s  thicks]  i.  e.  thickets.     So  the  two  eai'liest  -Itos.     Later  eils.  "thickets  ;" 
and  so  the  modern  editors,  Weber  excepted. 
''  prick']  i.  e.  spur,  speed. 


THE 


KNIGHT   OF  THE   BURNING   PESTLE, 


The  Knight  of  the  Burning  I'eslle. 

Quod  si 
Judicium  subtile,  videndis  artibus  illud 
Ad  libros  Sf  ad  licec  Musarum  dona  vocares  .- 
Baotitm  in  crasso  iurares  aere  natum. 

Hm-at.  in  Epist.  ad  Oct.  Aua- 

London,  Printed  for  Walter  Bum,  and  are  to  be  sold  at  the  signe  of  the  Crane  in  Pauley 
Church-ijard.  1613,  4to. 

The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle.    Full  of  Mirth  and  Delight. 

{Francis  Beamount, "] 
and  K  Gent. 

John  Fletcher.  J 

As  it  is  now  acted  by  her  Majesties  Servants  at  the  Private  house  in  Druri/  lane.    1635. 

Quod  si,  &c.  [as  above]. 

London :  Printed  by  N.  0.  for  /.  S.    1635.    4to. 

Another  quarto,  with  a  title-page  letter  for  letter  the  same  as  that  last  given,  but  with 
some  slight  variations  of  text,  appeared  in  1635. 

In  the  folio  of  1679. 


This  comedy,  as  Malone  observes  (^Supplement  to  Shakespeare,  i.  194), 
appears  to  have  been  produced  in  IGll  ;  for  Burre  in  the  Dedication  to 
the  first  4to.,  1G13,  declares  that  he  had  "  fostered  it  privately  in  his 
bosom  these  two  years,"  and  that  it  was  the  '•  elder  of  Don  Quixote 
above  a  j'ear," — meaning  doubtless  the  translation  of  that  work  by 
Shelton,  which  was  published  in  1612. 

Whether  The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  was  the  joint  composition 
of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  or  ^vl•itten  by  one  of  them  without  the 
assistance  of  the  other,  remains  a  matter  of  dispute.  Burre  m  the 
Dedication  just  cited  speaks  of  its  "  parents,"  and  afterwards  more  than 
once  of  its  "  father "."  In  the  two  4tos.  of  1C35  the  names  of  both 
poets  stand  on  the  title-page ;  but  the  Address  to  the  Readers  mentions 
"  the  author  ";  and  a  passage  towards  the  end  of  the  Prologue, — "  mis- 
taking the  authors  intention  ^," — leaves  us  uncertain  whether  "  authors  " 
is  to  be  understood  as  a  singular  or  plural  genitive.  Malone  notices  the 
play  as  a  joint  work  ;  Shakespeare  (by  Boswell),  iii.  170.  Weber  says, 
that  "  the  authority  for  ascribing  it  to  a  single  author,  who  is  most 
likel}'  to  have  been  Fletcher,  seems  to  be  the  stronger."  If  it  was  really 
written  in  the  short  space  of  eight  days,  as  Burre  informs  us,  the  proba- 
bility perhaps  would  be  that  it  was  not  the  effort  of  a  single  pen. 

The  author,  or  authors,  of  this  comedy  are  under  considerable  obligations 
to  Don  Quixote,  which,  before  the  year  1011,  must  have  been  well  known 
in  England,  where  the  Spanish  language  had  become  a  fashional)le  study. 
The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  was  evidently  written  to  ridicule  the 
extravagances  of  the  earlier  stage,  the  satire  being  more  particularly 
levelled  at  a  celebrated  piece  by  Hey  wood — The  Foure  Prcntises  of 
London.  With  the  Conquest  of  lerusalem.  As  it  hath  bene  diucrse  times 
Acted,  at  the  Red  Bull,  by  the  Queenes  Maiesties  Seruants.     That  curious 

a  Weber  remarks,  "it  is  not  improbable  that  in  tlic  former  term  ho  includes  Kobcrt 
Keysar,"  whom  he  is  addressing.  That  Keysar  is  not  included  in  the  term  "parents  "is 
quite  clear. 

•>  The  Prologue  is  borrowed  from  Lilly  ;  but  these  words  are  an  addition  to  it :  see  p.  12!l. 


126 

drama,  which,  though  not  printed  till  1615  '^,  was  acted  about  the  close 
of  the  preceding  century,  may  be  found  in  Dodsley's  Old  Plays,  vol.  vi. 
last  ed, ;  and  is  occasionally  referred  to  in  the  notes  on  the  present 
comedy.  Warton  and  others  have  supposed  that  Heywood's  play  "  is  a 
mixture  of  the  droll  and  serious  " ;  but,  says  GiflFord,  "  nothing  is  clearer 
than  that  Heywood  was  quite  serious.  He  lived  indeed  to  redeem  his 
absurdities,  and  to  write  in  a  nobler  strain  :  but  when  he  drew  up  this 
strange  piece,  which  yet  was  long  a  favourite  with  the  people,  he  was,  as 
he  tells  us  liimself,  'in  the  infancy  of  liis  judgment'  and  'in  his  first 
practice ',  and  he  adds,  as  his  best '  excuse '  for  his  play,  that  *  as  plaj's 
were  then  some  fifteen  or  sixteen  yeai's  ago,  both  the  plot  and  style  of  it 
Avere  in  fashion,' "  Note  on  Jonson's  Works,  vi.  31.  According  to 
Weber,  a  second  object  of  The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  was  to 
satirize  the  city,  and  it  was  condemned  on  its  first  representation  in  con- 
sequence of  the  anger  of  the  citizens  and  apprentices.  That  it  was  then 
damned  is  at  least  certain :  "  the  world,"  says  Burre,  "  for  want  of 
judgment,  or  not  understanding  the  privy  mark  of  irony  about  it  (which 
shewed  it  was  no  offspring  of  any  vulgar  brain),  utterly  rejected  it." 

Many  years  seem  to  have  elapsed  before  it  was  revived.  The  two 
4tos,  of  1635  "*  set  it  forth  "  as  now  acted  at  the  Private  house  in  Drurj^ 
lane."  In  Sir  Henry  Herbert's  MSS.  we  find  "  The  28  Feb.  [1635-6] 
The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  playd  by  the  Q.  [eon's]  men  at 
St.  James."  Malone's  Shakespeare  (by  Boswell),  iii.  238.  From  that 
period  until  the  suppression  of  the  theatres,  it  appears  to  have  been 
occasionally  performed.  Soon  after  the  Restoration,  it  was  again  brought 
upon  the  stage  :  "  this  Play,"  says  Langbaine,  "  was  in  vogue  some  years 
since,  it  being  reviv'd  by  the  King's  House,  and  a  new  Prologue  (instead 
of  the  old  One  m  prose)  being  spoken  by  Mrs.  Ellen  Guin."  Account  of 
Engl.  Dram.  Poets,  p.  210*. 

c  AVeber  follows  Warton  and  others  in  giving  the  wrong  date,  lOli,  to  the  first  ed.  of 
Heywood's  play. 

<!  As  a  proof  of  the  popularity  of  the  comedy  at  the  time,  AVeber  cites  the  following  passage 
from  Richard  Brome's  Sparagus  Garden,  first  acted  in  1635: — 

"  Rebecca. — I  long  to  see  a  play,  and  above  all  playes,  The  Knight  of  the  Burning 

what  dec'  call't  ? 

Monylacke.  The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle. 

Rebecca.  Pestle  is  it?  I  thought  of  another  thing;  but  I  would  faine  see  it.  They  say 
there 's  a  Grocer's  boy  kills  a  Gyant  in  it,  and  another  little  boy  that  does  a  Citizens  wife  the 
daintielist — but  I  would  faine  see  their  best  Actor  doc  me  ;  I  would  so  put  him  too't ;  they 
should  find  another  thing  in  handling  of  mco,  I  warrant  'em."    Sig.  C.  4  ed.  1640. 

*  Langbaine  adds  that  "  the  bringing  the  Citizen  and  his  AVife  upon  the  Stage,  was  possibly 
in  imitation  of  Ben  Johnson's  Staple  of  News"  :  but  that  drama  was  not  produced  till  16?5. 


12; 


TO    HIS   MANY   WAYS   ENDEARED    FRIEND,    MASTER 
ROBERT   KEYSAR'. 


Sir, 

This  unfortunate  child,  who  in  eight  days  (as  lately  I 
have  learned)  was  begot  and  born,  soon  after  was  by  his 
parents  (perhaps  because  he  was  so  unlike  his  brethren) 
exposed  to  the  wide  world,  who,  for  w-ant  of  judgment,  or  not 
understanding  the  privy  mark  of  irony  about  it  (which  shewed 
it  was  no  offspring  of  any  vulgar  brain),  utterly  rejected  it ; 
so  that,  for  want  of  acceptance,  it  was  even  ready  to  give  up 
the  ghost,  and  was  in  danger  to  have  been  smothered  in  per- 
petual oblivion,  if  you  (out  of  your  direct  antipathy  to  ingra- 
titude) had  not  been  moved  both  to  relieve  and  cherish  it : 
wherein  I  must  needs  commend  both  your  judgment,  under- 
standing, and  singular  love  to  good  wits.  You  afterwards 
sent  it  to  me,  yet  being  an  infant  and  somewhat  ragged :  I 
have  fostered  it  privately  in  my  bosom  these  two  years ;  and 
now,  to  shew^  my  love,  return  it  to  you,  clad  in  good  lasting 
clothes,  which  scarce  memory  will  wear  out,  and  able  to 
speak  for  itself ;  and  withal,  as  it  telleth  me,  desirous  to  try 
his  fortune  in  the  world,  where,  if  yet  it  be  welcome,  father, 
foster-father,  nurse,  and  child,  all  have  their  desired  end.  If 
it  be  slighted  or  traduced,  it  hopes  his  father  will  beget  him 
a  younger  brother,  who  shall  revenge  his  quarrel,  and  chal- 
lenge the  world  either  of  fond  ^  and  merely  literal  interpreta- 
tion, or  illiterate  misprision.  Perhaps  it  will  be  thought  to 
be  of  the  race  of  Don  Quixote :  we  both  may  confidently 
swear  it  is  his  elder  above  a  year ;  and   therefore  may  (by 

'  To  his  many  ways  endeared  friend,  Master  Robert  Kcysar]  This 
Dedication  is  found  only  in  4to.  1GI3.  It  was  first  reprinted  by  Weber, — and 
incorrectly. 

K  fond}  i.  e.  foolish. 


128 

virtue  of  his  birthright)  challenge  the  wall  of  him.  I  doubt 
not  but  they  will  meet  in  their  adventures,  and  I  hope  the 
breaking  of  one  staff  will  make  them  friends  ;  and  perhaps 
they  will  combine  themselves,  and  travel  through  the  world 
to  seek  their  adventures.  So  I  commit  him  to  his  good 
fortune,  and  myself  to  your  love.     Your  assured  friend, 

W.   B[urre]. 


TO  THE  READERS  OF  THIS  COMEDY \ 

Gentlemen,  the  world  is  so  nice  in  these  our  times,  that 
for  apparel  there  is  no  fashion  ;  for  music  (which  is  a  rare 
art,  though  now  slighted)  no  instrument ;  for  diet,  none  but 
the  French  kickshaws  '  that  are  delicate  ;  and  for  plays,  no 
invention  but  that  which  now  runneth  an  invective  way, 
touching  some  particular  persons,  or  else  it  is  contemned 
before  it  is  throughly  understood.  This  is  all  that  I  have  to 
say :  that  the  author  had  no  intent  to  wrong  any  one  in  this 
comedy ;  but,  as  a  merry  passage,  here  and  there  interlaced 
it  with  delight,  which  he  hopes  will  please  all,  and  be  hurtful 
to  none. 

''    To  the  Readers  of  this  comedy']   In  the  two  4tos.  of  1635,  and  folio  1679. 
•  kickshaws]    Old  eds.  "  Kickshoes  ";  which  I  notice  because  the  Editors  of 
1 778  chose  to  print  "  quelque  chose.'' 


PROLOGUE 


Where  the  bee  can  suck  no  honey,  she  leaves  her  sting 
behind  ;  and  where  the  bear  cannot  find  origanum  to  heal  his 
grief,  he  blasteth  all  ^  other  leaves  with  his  breath.  We  fear 
it  is  like  to  fare  so  with  us ;  that,  seeing  you  cannot  draw 
from  our  labours  sweet  content,  you  leave  behind  you  a  sour 
mislikc,  and  with  open  reproach  blame  our  good  meaning, 
because  you  cannot  reap  the  wonted  mirth.  Our  intent  was 
at  this  time  to  move  inward  delight,  not  outward  lightness  ; 
and  to  breed  (if  it  might  be)  soft  smiling,  not  loud  laughing ; 
knowing  it,  to  the  wise,  to  be  a'  great  pleasure  to  hear  counsel 
mixed  with  wit,  as  to  the  foolish,  to  have  sport  mingled  with 
rudeness.  They  were  banished  the  theatre  of  Athens,  and 
from  Rome  hissed,  that  brought  parasites  on  the  stage  with 
apish  actions,  or  fools  with  uncivil  habits,  or  courtezans  with 
immodest  words.  We  have  endeavoured  to  be  as  far  from 
unseemly  speeches,  to  make  your  ears  glow,  as  wo  hope  you 
will  be  free  from  unkind  reports,  o?*  mistaking  the  authors"^ 
intention,  (who  never  aimed  at  any  one  particular  in  this  play,) 
to  make  our  cheeks  blush.  And  thus  I  leave  it,  and  thee  to 
thine  own  censure  ^\  to  like  or  dislike.     Yaf-e. 

J  Prologue]  In  the  two  Itos.  of  1G35,  and  folio  1G79.  It  is  nothing  more 
than  the  "  Prologue  at  the  Black  fryers  "  to  Lilly's  Sapho  and  Phao,  with  a 
few  very  slight  alterations,  a  few  additions  (which  are  now  distinguished  by 
Italics),  and  the  omission  of  the  concluding  sentence,  which  is  as  follows  :  ■'  The 
Gryffyon  ncuer  spreadeth  lier  wings  in  the  sunne  when  she  hath  any  sick 
feathers  :  yet  haue  we  ventured  to  present  our  exercise  hecforc  your  iudge- 
ments,  when  we  know  them  full  of  weak  matter,  yeelding  rather  ourselues  to 
the  curtesie  whicli  we  haue  cuer  found,  then  to  the  precisenesse  which  wee 
ought  to  feare."  Sapho  and  Phao,  first  printed  in  ir)84,  had  been  re-published 
together  with  other  five  ]days  of  Lilly  in  a  volume  entitled  Sia-e  Court 
Comedies,  1632:  Weber  erroneously  states  that  it  had  been  represented  at  court 
in  1633. 

■*  all]  Weber  printed  "  all  the." 

'  fl]  Probably  an  error  of  the  transcriber  :  the  original  has  "  as." 

""  authors]  Seep.  P25.  "  censure]  i.  e.  opinion,  judgment. 

VOL.  II.  K 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Speaker  of  the  Prologue. 

A  Citizen. 

His  Wife. 

Ralph,  his  apprentice. 

Boys. 

Venturewell  0,  a  merchant. 

Humphrey. 

Merrythought. 


Jasper,    -i 

JIlCHAEL,  J 

Tim, 
Geoi 
Host. 


his  sons. 


Tim,        -1 

George  /  ^PP^^^tices. 


Tapster. 

Barber. 

Three  Men,  supposed  captives. 

Sergeant. 

William  Hammerton. 

George  Greengoose. 

Soldiers,  and  Attendants. 

Luce,  daughter  to  Venturewell. 
Mistress  ilERRYiHOUGHX. 
Woman,  supposed  a  captive. 
PoMPiONA,  daughter  to   the   lung  of 
Moldavia. 


Scene,  London  and  the  neighbouring  country,  excepting  act  iv.  scene  ii.,  where 
it  is  in  Moldavia. 


"  VentureweW]  Old  eds.  "  A  rich  Merchant."  "  The  name  of  this  character  is  mentioned 
to  be  Ventericels,  and  it  has  been  thought  better  to  distinguish  him  by  it  throughout." 
Weber, — who,  strangely  enough,  did  not  perceive  that  in  the  passage  to  which  he  alludes — 
"We'll  goto  Master  VenUrwels,  the  merchant,"  (Act  iii.  sc.  5)—"  VenterweU"  means  the 
house  of  Ventertcel,  and  that  the  name  in  modern  spelling  should  be  Venturewell. 


THE 


KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE. 


INDUCTION. 

Several  Gentlemen  sitting  on  stools  upon  the  %tage  p.      The  Citizen, 
his  Wife,  and  Ralph,  sitting  lelow  among  the  audience. 

Enter  Speaker  of  the  Prologue. 

S.  of  Prol.     From  all  tliafs  near  the  court,  from  all  ihafs 
great 
Within  the  compass  of  the  city-ioalh, 
We  now  have  brought  our  scene 

Citizen  leaps  on  the  stage, 

Cit.  Hold  your  peace,  goodman  boy  ! 

S.  of  Prol.  What  do  you  mean,  sir  I 

Cit.  That  you  have  no  good  meaning:  this  seven  years 
there  hath  been  plays  at  this  house,  I  have  observed  it,  you 
have  still  girds  "^  at  citizens ;  and  now  you  call  your  play  The 
London  Merchant^.  Down  with  your  title,  boy!  down  with 
your  title  ! 

S.  of  Prol.  Are  you  a  member  of  the  noble  city  ? 

P  Several  gentlemen  sitting  on  stools  upon  the  stage.']  "The  practice 
of  accommodating  gallants  with  seats  on  the  stage,  is  often  alluded  to  in  old 
plays ;  and  they  commonly  paid  from  sixpence  to  a  shilling  for  a  stool." 
Weber.  i  girds]  i.  e.  strokes  of  satire,  taunts,  scoffs. 

'  The  London  Aferchant]  Written  by  Ford.  Though  entered  on  the  Sta- 
tioners' Books,  June  2.0th,  16G0,  it  appears  never  to  have  been  printed.  It  was 
one  of  the  MS.  plays  destroyed  by  Warburtou's  cook. 

K  2 


132  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE. 

Cit.  I  am. 

S.  ofProl.  And  a  freeman? 

Cit.  Yea,  and  a  grocer. 

S.  of  Prol.  So,  grocer,  then,  by  your  sweet  favour,  we 
intend  no  abuse  to  the  city. 

Cit.  No,  sir  !  yes,  sir  :  if  you  were  not  resolved  to  play 
the  Jacks  ",  what  need  you  study  for  new  subjects,  purposely 
to  abuse  your  betters  ?  why  could  not  you  be  contented,  as 
well  as  others,  with  The  Legend  of  Whittington  p,  or  The  Life 
and  Death  of  Sir  Thomas  Gresham,  with  the  building  of  the 
Royal  Exchange  %  or  The  story  of  Queen  Eleanor.,  ivith  the 
rearing  of  London  Bridge  upon  icoolsacks^  ? 

S.  of  Prol.  You  seem  to  be  an  understanding  man :  what 
would  you  have  us  do,  sir  ? 

Cit.  Why,  present  something  notably  in  honour  of  the 
commons  of  the  cit}'. 

S.  of  Prol.  Why,  what  do  you  say  to  The  Life  and  Death 
of  fat  Drake.,  or  the  repairing  of  Eleet-privies  ^1 

°  the  Jacks']  Equivalent  to — insolent,  mocking  fellows  :  the  name  Jack  is 
often  used  as  a  familiar  term  of  contempt. 

p  The  Legend  of  Whittington']  "  This  play  was  probably  never  printed ;  but 
[was]  entered  on  the  Stationers'  Books,  Feb.  8, 1604,  with  the  following  title,  The 
History  of  Richard  Whittington,  of  his  loive  byrthe,  his  great  fortune,  as  yt  was 
plaied  by  the  Prynce's  Servants."     Weber. 

"J  The  Life  and  Death  of  Sir  Thomas  Gresham,  tvith  the  building  of  the 
Royal  Exchange]  IVIeans  certainly  (Weber  says  "  probably " )  a  drama  by 
Heywood,  entitled  //  you  know  not  me,  You  know  nobody.  The  Second  Part. 
With  the  building  of  the  Royall  Exchange.  Artd  the  famous  Victory  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  :  anno  1588,"  first  printed  in  1606".  (Weber  says  in  1605  ;  but  that 
is  the  date  of  The  First  Part  of  the  play.) 

'  The  story  of  Queen  Eleanor,  with  the  rearing  of  Loiidon  Bridge  upon  ivool- 
sacks]  An  allusion  doubtless  ( Weber  says  "  probably ")  to  The  Famous 
Chronicle  of  king  Edward  the  first,  sirnamed  Edward  Longshankes,  with  his 
returtie  from  the  holy  land.  Also  the  life  of  Llevellen  rebell  in  Wales.  Lastly, 
the  sinking  of  Queene  Elinor,  tcho  sunck  at  Charingcrosse,  and  rose  againe 
at  Potters-hilh,  noiv  named  Queenehith,  first  printed  in  1593  :  it  was  written  by 
Pecle,  and  may  be  found  in  my  ed.  of  his  JVorks,  vol.  i.  "  The  rearing  of 
London  Bridge  upon  woolsacks  "  is  added  in  jest. 

*  The  Life  and  Death  of  fat  Drake,  or  the  repairing  cf  Fleet-privies]  "  This 
probably  likewise  refers  to  a  contemporary  play,  though  T  have  not  mot  with 
any  other  allusion  to  it."  Weber.  There  could  have  been  no  such  drama  : 
the  title  is  merely  a  jocose  invention. 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE,  133 

Cit.  I  do  not  like  that;  but  I  will  have  a  citizen,  and  ho 
shall  be  of  my  own  trade. 

S.  of  Frol.  Oh,  you  should  have  told  us  your  mind  a  month 
since ;  our  play  is  ready  to  begin  now. 

Cit.  'Tis  all  one  for  that ;  I  will  have  a  grocer,  and  he  shall 
<io  admirable  thinsjs. 

tS".  ofProl.    What  will  you  have  him  do  ; 

Cit.  Marry,  I  will  have  him 

Wife.  \heloic.^  Husband,  husband  I 

Ralph.  \I)elotc.^  Peace,  mistress. 

Wife.  \below.'\  Hold  thy  peace,  Ralph ;  I  know  what  I  do, 
I  warrant  ye. — Husband,  husband  ! 

Cit.  What  sayst  thou,  cony  ? 

Wife,  [below. '\  Let  him  kill  a  lion  with  a  pestle  *,  husband  ! 
let  him  kill  a  lion  with  a  pestle  ! 

Cit.  So  he  shall. — Fll  have  him  kill  a  lion  with  a  pestle. 

Wife.  \hehic.^  Husband  !  shall  I  come  up,  husband  ? 

Cit.  Ay,  cony. — Ralph,  help  your  mistress  this  way. — Pray, 
gentlemen,  make  her  a  little  room. — I  pray  you,  sir,  lend  me 
your  hand  to  help  up  my  wife  :   I  thank  you,  sir. — So. 

[  Wife  comes  on  the  starje. 

Wife.  By  your  leave,  gentlemen  all ;  I'm  sometliing  trouble- 
some :  I'm  a  stranger  here  ;  I  was  ne'er  at  one  of  these  plays, 
as  they  say,  before ;  but  I  should  have  seen  Jane  Shore  "  once  ; 

'  Lei  him  kill  a  lion  ivith  a  pestle']  In  Hey  wood's  Four  Prentices  of  London, 
(see  p.  1 2b.)  Charles  says, — 

"  Since  first  I  bore  this  shield,  I  quarter'd  it 
With  this  Red  Lion,  whom  1  singly  once 
Slew  in  the  forest." 

Dodsley's  Old  Plays,  vi.  4fi4.  last  ed. 

In  a  ballad  entitled  The  Honour  of  a  London  Prentice,  &c.,  the  said  prentice 
kills  two  lions,  which  by  order  of  the  "  king  of  Turkey  "  were  "  prepai'ed  "  to 
devour  him, — tearing  out  their  hearts,  and  throwing  them  at  the  king  !  Ballads, 
Brit.  Mtis.  fi43,  m. 

"  Jane  Shore]  Probably,  says  Reed,  The  First  and  Second  Parts  of  King 
Edward  the  Fourth  hy  Heywood  :  and  Weber  mentions  The  Tragedie  of 
Richard  the  Third,  in  which  also  she  is  introduced.  But  "  Jane  Shore  "  un- 
doubtedly means  some  drama,  which  bore  that  title  ;  and  which  is  not  extant. 
In  January  1601-2,  Chettle  and  Day  were  paid  forty  shillings  l)y  lleuslowe   in 


134  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE. 

and  my  husband  hath  promised  me,  any  time  this  twelvemonth, 
to  cgj-ry  me  to  The  Bold  Beauchamps '',  but  in  truth  he  did 
not.     I  pray  you,  bear  with  me. 

Cit.  Boy,  let  my  wife  and  I  have  a  couple  of  stools ;  and 
then  begin  ;  and  let  the  grocer  do  rare  things. 

\^Stools  are  brought. 
S.  ofProl.  But,    sir,  we  have  never  a  boy  to  play  him ; 
every  one  hath  a  part  already. 

Wife.  Husband,  husband,  for  God's  sake,  let  Ralph  play 
him !  beshrew  me,  if  I  do  not  think  he  will  o;o  bevond  them 
all. 

Cit.  Well  remembered,  wife.— Come  up,  Ralph. — I'll  tell 
you,  gentlemen;  let  tliem  but  lend  him  a  suit  of  reparel  and 
necessaries,  and,  by  gad,  if  any  of  them  all  blow  wind  in  the 
tail  on  him,  I'll  be  hanged.  [Ralph  comes  on  the  stage. 

Wife.  I  pray  you,  youth,  let  him  have  a  suit  of  reparel. 
— I'll  be  sw^orn,  gentlemen,  my  huslxand  tells  you  true  :  he 
will  act  you  sometimes  at  our  house,  that  all  the  neighbours 
cry  out  on  him  ;  he  will  fetch  you  up  a  couraging  part  so  in 
the  garret,  that  we  are  all  as  feared,  I  warrant  you,  that  we 
quake  again  :  we'll  fear  our  children  with  him ;  if  they  be 
never  so  unruly,  do  but  cry,  "  Ralph  comes,  Ralph  comes ! "  to 
them,  and  they'll  be  as  quiet  as  lambs. — Hold  up  thy  head, 
Ralph ;  shew  the  gentlemen  what  thou  canst  do  ;  speak  a 
huffing  part ;  I  warrant  you,  the  gentlemen  will  accept  of  it. 
Cit.  Do,  Ralph,  do. 

order  that  the  "  booke  [play]  of  Shoare  "  might  be  "  newly  written  " ;  see 
Collier's  Hist,  of  Engl.  Dram.  Poet.  iii.  91 :  and  the  play  of  Shore  is  mentioned 
in  a  metrical  tract  entitled  Pimlyco,  or  Runne  Red-cup,  1609,  (to  wliich  Weber 
on  very  doubtful  authority  gives  the  date  of  1596). 

"  The  Bold  Beaucha7nps]  Was  a  drama,  produced  before  1600,  which  is 
repeatedly  noticed  by  our  early  writers.  It  is  not  extant.  According  to  the 
author  of  the  false  Second  Part  of  Hudibras,  1663,  canto  1,  it  was  the  work  of 
Heywood. — "  As  bold  as  Beauchanip  "  is  a  proverbial  expression,  said  to  have 
originated  in  the  valour  of  Thomas,  first  Earl  of  Warwick  of  that  name, 
"  who  (Ray  tells  us,  after  Fuller),  in  the  year  13-46,  with  one  squire  and  six 
archers,  fought  in  hostile  manner  with  an  hundred  armed  men,  at  Hogges  in 
Normandy,  and  overthrew  them,  slaying  sixty  Normans,  and  giving  the  whole 
Heet  means  to  land."     Proverbs,  p.  'J18.  ed.  17(J8. 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  13.') 

Ralph,   By  heaven,  methinhs,  "■'■'  it  icerc  an  easy  leap. 
To  pluck  bright  honour  from  the  jiale-fac'd  moon  ; 
Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
Where  never  fathom-line  touch'd  any  ground. 
And  pluck  up  droicned  lionour  from  the  lake  of  hell. 

Cit.  How  say  you,  gentlemen  ?  is  it  not  as  I  told  you  I 

Wife.  Nay,  gentlemen,  he  hath  played  before  ^,  ray  husband 
says,  Mucedorus  -,  before  the  wardens  of  our  company. 

Cit.  Ay,  and  he  should  have  played  Jeronimo  with  a  shoe- 
maker for  a  waijer  '^. 

S.  of  Prol.  He  shall  have  a  suit  of  apparel,  if  he  will  go  in, 

Cit.   In,  Ralph,  in,  Ralph  ;  and  set  out  the  grocery  in  their 
kind,  if  thou  lovest  me.  \_Exit  Ralph. 

Wife.  I  warrant,   our  Ralph   will   look   finely    when   he's 
dressed, 

S.  of  Prol.  But  what  will  you  have  it  called  \ 

Cit.   The  Grocers'  Honour. 

S.  of  Prol.  IMethinks  The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  were 
better. 

"■  Bi/  heaven,  methinks,  &c.]  "  This  speech  (with  very  little  variation)  is  taken 
from  Shakespeare's  First  Part  of  Henry  IV.  [Act  1.  sc.  3]."     Ed.  1778. 

^  before'^  Perhaps  crept  into  the  text  by  a  mistake  of  the  original  compositor. 

y  Mucedorus'^  A  character  in  a  very  popular  and  foolish  drama,  first  printed 
in  1598.  The  title  of  the  earliest  ed.  which  I  have  seen  is  as  follows  :  A  Most 
pleasant  Coinedie  of  Mucedorus  the  Kings  sonne  of  Valentia,  and  Amadine  the 
Kinges  daughter  of  Arragon,  with  the  merrie  conceiles  of  Mouse.  Newly  set 
foorth,  as  it  hath  bin  sundry  times  playde  in  the  honorable  Cittie  of  London. 
Very  delectable,  and  full  of  mirth.  1606. 

^  played  Jeronimo  with  a  shoemaker  for  a  wager]  Jeronimo  is  a  character  in 
two  plays  by  Kyd, —  The  First  Part  of  Jeronimo,  not  printed  till  1G05,  and 
The  Spaiiiih  Tragedie,  or  Ilieronimo  is  mad  againe,  of  which  the  earliest 
extant  edition  is  dated  1599,  the  later  impressions  of  it  containing  additional 
scenes  and  speeches  fi-om  the  pen  of  Jonson :  both  pieces  may  l)e  found  in 
Dodsley's  Old  Plays,  vol.  iii.  last  ed.  Here,  howevei",  the  Citizen  alludes  to  The 
Spanish  Tragedy,  which  was  often  called  Jeronimo  :  it  was  by  far  the  more 
celebrated  of  the  two,  and,  thougli  unmercifully  ridiculed  by  our  early  dramatists, 
it  evinces  that  Kyd,  with  all  his  extravagance,  was  a  writer  of  no  ordinary  power. 

To  play  a  part  for  a  wager  was  not  uncommon.  See,  for  instance,  a 
letter  concerning  a  wager  that  Alleyn  would  equal  his  predecessors  Knell  and 
Bentley  in  some  character  which  they  had  performed  ;  Malone's  Shakespeare 
(by  BoswcU),  iii.  335. 


136  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE. 

Wife.  I'll  be  sworn,  husband,  that's  as  good  a  name  as 
can  be. 

Cit.  Let  it  be  so. — Begin,  begin  ;  my  wife  and  T  will  sit 
down. 

S.  of  Prol.  I  pray  you,  do. 

Cit.  What  stately  music  have  you  ?  you  have  shawms  *  ? 

S.  of  Prol.  Shawms  !  no. 

Cit.  No  !  I'm  a  thief,  if  my  mind  did  not  give  me  so.  Ralph 
plays  a  stately  part,  and  he  must  needs  have  shawms  :  V\\  be 
at  the  charge  of  them  myself,  rather  than  we'll  be  without 
them. 

S.  of  Prol.  So  you  are  like  to  be. 

Cit.  Why,  and  so  I  will  be  :  there's  two  shillings  [^gives 
monei/]  ;  let's  have  the  waits  of  Southwark  ;  they  are  as  rare 
fellows  as  any  are  in  England ;  and  that  will  fetch  t4iem  all 
o'er  the  water  with  a  vengeance,  as  if  they  were  mad. 

S.  of  Prol.  You  shall  have  them.    Will  you  sit  dow' n,  then  ? 

Cit.  Ay. — Come,  wife. 

Wife.  Sit  you  merry  all,  gentlemen ;  I'm  bold  to  sit 
amongst  you  for  my  ease.  [Citizen  and  Wife  sit  down. 

S.  of  Prol.  From  all  thafs  near  the  court,  from  all  thafs  great 
Within  the  compass  of  the  city-walL% 
We  now  have  hrought  our  scene.     Fly  far  from  hence"' 
All  private  taxes  ^,  immodest  "^  phrases, 
Whatever  may  but  shew  like  vicious  ! 
For  tvicked  mirth  never  true  pleasure  brings. 
But  honest  minds  are  pleas' d  ivith  honest  things. — 

Thus  much  for  thaf^  we  do;  but  for  Ralph's  part  you 
must  answer  for  yourself. 

Cit.  Take  you  no  care  for  Ralph  ;  he'll  discharge  himself, 
I  warrant  you.  [Exit  Speaker  of  Prologue. 

Wife.  I'faith,  gentlemen,  I'll  give  my  word  for  Ralph. 

"  shaivms]  The  shawm,  oi-  shalm,  was  a  sort  of  pipe,  resembling  a  hautboy, 
with  a  swelling  protuberance  in  the  middle  :  see  the  woodcut  in  Singer's  note 
on  Cavendish's  Life  of  Wolsey,  p.  178,  ed.  1827. 

''  private  taxes'\  i.  e.  charges,  censures  on  individuals. 

"=  immodeKl]  The  modern  editors,  for  the  metre,  print  "  all  immodest." 

•i  that]  Altered  by  Weber  to  «  what." 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  137 


ACT    I. 

Scene  I. — A  room  in  the  house  o/"  Venturewell. 


Enter  Venturewell  and  Jasper. 

Ve7iL  Sirrah,  I'll  make  you  know  you  are  my  prentice. 
And  whom  my  charitable  love  redeeniM 
Even  from  the  fall  of  fortune  ;  gave  thee  heat 
And  growth,  to  be  what  now  thou  art,  new-cast  thee ; 
Adding  the  trust  of  all  I  have,  at  home. 
In  foreign  staples,  or  upon  the  sea. 
To  thy  direction ;  tied  the  good  opinions 
Both  of  myself  and  friends  to  thy  endeavours  ; 
So  fair  were  thy  beginnings.     But  \nth  these, 
As  I  remember,  you  had  never  charge 
To  love  your  master's  daughter,  and  even  then 
When  I  had  found  a  wealthy  husband  for  her ; 
I  take  it,  sir,  you  had  not ;  but,  however, 
ril  break  the  neck  of  that  commission, 
And  make  you  know  you  are  but  a  merchant's  factor. 

Ja.y).  Sir,   I  do  liberally  confess  I  am  yours. 
Bound  both  by  love  and  duty  to  your  service, 
In  which  my  labour  hath  been  all  my  profit : 
I  have  not  lost  in  bargain,  nor  delighted 
To  wear  your  honest  gains  upon  my  back  ; 
Nor  have  I  given  a  pension  to  my  blood. 
Or  lavishly  in  play  consumVl  your  stock  ; 
These,  and  the  miseries  that  do  attend  them, 
I  dare  with  innocence  proclaim  are  strangers 
To  all  my  temperate  actions.     For  your  daughter, 
If  there  be  any  love  to  my  deservings 
Borne  by  her  virtuous  self,  I  cannot  stop  it ; 


138  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  i. 

Nor  am  I  able  to  refrain  her  wishes, 

She's  private  to  herself,  and  best  of  knowledge 

Whom  she  will  make  so  happy  as  to  sigh  for  : 

Besides,  I  cannot  think  you  mean  to  match  her 

Unto  a  fellow  of  so  lame  a  presence, 

One  that  hath  little  left  of  nature  in  him. 

Vent.  'Tis  very  well,  sir  :   I  can  tell  your  wisdom 
How  all  this  shall  be  curd. 

Jasp.  Your  care  becomes  you. 

Vent.  And  thus  it  shall  ^'  be,  sir :   I  here  discharge  you 
My  house  and  service  ;  take  your  liberty  ; 
And  when  I  want  a  son,  I'll  send  for  you.  [^Exit. 

Jasp.  These  be  the  fair  rewards  of  them  that  love  ! 
Oh,  you  that  live  in  freedom,  never  prove 
The  travail  of  a  mind  led  by  desire  ! 

Enter  Luce. 

Luce.  Why,    how   now,   friend?    struck   with  my  father's 
thunder ! 

Jasp.  Struck,  and  struck  dead,  unless  the  remedy 
Be  full  of  speed  and  virtue  ;  I  am  now, 
What  I  expected  long,  no  more  your  father's. 

Luce.  But  mine. 

Jasp.  But  yours,  and  only  yours.  I  am ; 
That's  all  I  have  to  keep  me  from  the  statute. 
You  dare  be  constant  still  ? 

Luce.  Oh,  fear  me  not ! 
In  this  I  dare  be  better  than  a  woman  : 
Nor  shall  his  anger  nor  his  offers  move  me, 
Were  they  both  equal  to  a  prince's  power. 

Jasp.  You  know  my  rival ! 

Luce.  Yes,  and  love  him  dearly  ; 
Even  as  I  love  an  ague  or  foul  weather  : 
I  prithee,  Jasper,  fear  him  not. 

Jasp.  Oh,  no  ! 
I  do  not  mean  to  do  him  so  much  kindness. 

■=  shall]  Webei'  gave  with  the  first  4to.  "  must." 


SCENE  I.J         THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  139 

But  to  our  own  desires  ^ :  you  know  the  plot 
We  both  agreed  on  I 

Luce.  Yes,  and  will  perform 
My  part  exactly. 

Jasp.  I  desire  no  more. 
Farewell,  and  keep  my  heart ;  'tis  yours. 

Luce.  I  take  it ; 
He  must  do  miracles  makes  me  forsake  it.    [Exeunt  severaUi/. 

Cit.  Fie  upon  ''em,  little  infidels  !  loJiat  a  matter^ s  here  noio  ! 
Well,  ril  he  hanged  for  a  half -penny.,  if  there  be  not  some  abomi- 
nation knavery  in  this  play.  Well,  let  'em  look  tot ;  Ralph 
must  come,  and  if  there  he  any  tricks  a-hreiobuj — 

Wife.  Let  ''em  brew  and  hake  too,  husband,  a'  God''s  name ; 
Ralph  icill  find  all  out,  I  warrant  you,  an  they  loere  older  than 
they  are. — /  p^oy,  my  pretty  youth,  is  Ralph  ready  ? 

Boy.  He  will  he  presently. 

Wife.  Noiv,  I  pray  you,  make  my  commendations  unto  him, 
and  icithal  carry  him  this  stick  of  liquorice  :  tell  him  his  mistress 
sent  it  him,  and  hid  him  bite  a  piece  ;  "'twill  open  his  pipes  the 
better,  say.  [_Exit  Boy. 

SCENE  II. — Another  room  in  the  house  of  Venturewell. 
Enter  Ventorewell  and  Humphrey. 

Ve?it.  Come,  sir,  she''8  yours ;  upon  my  faith,  8he''s  yours ; 
You  have  my  hand  :  for  other  idle  lets  " 
Between  your  hopes  and'  her,  thus  with  a  wind 
They  are  scatter'd  and  no  more.     My  wanton  prentice, 
That  like  a  bladder  blew  himself  witii  love, 
I  have  let  out,  and  sent  him  to  discover 
New  masters  yet  unknown.^. 

Hum.  I  thank  you,  sir, 
Indeed,  I  thank  you,  sir  ;  and,  ere  I  stir, 
It  shall  be  known,  however  you  do  deem, 
I  am  of  gentle  blood,  and  gentle  seem. 

'  desires}  "Probably  dcxit/iis.'"  Ed.  1778.  "  Tlic  text  is  perfectly  right, 
being  accordant  with  the  language  of  the  age,  and  meaning,  *  what  we  our.^elves 
desire  to  consummate.' "     Weber. 

s  lets]  "i.  e.  hindrances."     Webeh. 


140  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [aci  i. 

Vent.  Oh,  sir,  I  know  it  certain. 

Hum,  Sir,  my  friend. 
Although,  as  writers  say,  all  things  have  end, 
And  that  we  call  a  pudding  hath  his  two, 
Oh,  let  it  not  seem  strange,  I  pray,  to  you, 
If  in  this  bloody  simile  I  put 
My  love,  more  endless  than  frail  things  or  gut ! 

Wife.  Husband,  I -prithee^  sweet  lamb,  tell  me  one  thing  ;  but 
tell  me  truly.— Stay,  youths,  I  beseech  you,  till  I  question  my 
husband. 

Cit.   IVIiat  is  it,  mouse  ? 

Wife.  Sirrah,  didst  thou  ever  see  a  prettier  child  ?  hoio  it 
behaves  itself,  I  toarrant  ye,  and  speaks  and  looks,  and  perts  up 
the  head! — I  pray  you,  brother,  icith  your  favour,  were  you 
never  none  of  Master  Moncasters"  scholars  ? 

Cit.  Chicken,  I  prithee  heartily,  contain ''  thyself:  the  childer 
are  pretty  childer  ;  but  when  Ralph  comes,  lamb 

Wife.  Jy,  ivhen  Ralph  comes,  cony  f — JVell,  my  youth,  you 
may  proceed. 

Vent.  Well,  sir,  you  know  my  love,  and  rest,  I  hope, 
Assur'd  of  my  consent ;  get  but  my  daughter's, 
And  wed  her  when  you  please.     You  must  be  bold, 
And  clap  in  close  unto  her  :  come,  I  know 
You  have  language  good  enough  to  win  a  wench. 

Wife.  A  whoreson  tyrant!  h'as  been  an  old  stringer'"^  ins 
days,  I  warrant  him. 

Hum.  I  take  your  gentle  offer,  and  withal 
Yield  love  again  for  love  reciprocal. 

Ve7it.  What,  Luce  !   within  there  ! 

Enter  Luce. 
Luce.  Caird  you,  sir  I 
Vent.  I  did  : 

8  Moncaster'sl  So  one  of  the  4tos.  of  1035,  and  folio  1679.  Other  eds, 
"  Monkesters  ".  Richard  Mulcaster  was  the  first  head-master  of  Mercliaut- 
Taylors'  School  from  15()1  to  1586.  Some  notices  of  dramas  performed  at  court 
by  a  company  of  boys  under  him  may  be  seen  in  Collier's  Hist,  of  Engl.  Dram. 
Poet.,  i.  205-8-9, — where  his  name  is  written  Munkcster. 

''  co7itain'\  i.  c.  restrain. 

'  stringer^   "Similar  to  s^riArer,  denoting  a  wenchcr."     Weber. 


scKNE  I.]  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  141 

Give  entertainment  to  this  gentleman  ; 

And  see  you  be  not  froward. — To  her,  sir  : 

My  presence  will  but  be  an  eye-sore  to  you.  [Exit.. 

Hum.  Fair  mistress  Luce,  how  do  you  ?  are  you  well  I 
Give  me  your  hand,  and  then  I  pray  you  tell 
How  doth  your  little  sister  and  your  brother ; 
And  whether  you  love  me  or  any  other. 

Luce.  Sir,  these  are  quickly  answcrM. 

Ham.  So  they  are, 
Where  women  are  not  cruel.     But  how  far 
Is  it  now  distant  from  the  place  we  are  in, 
Unto  that  blessed  place,  your  father's  warren  ? 

Luce.  What  makes  you  think  of  that,  sir  I 

Hum.  Even  that  face  ; 
For,  stealing  rabbits  whilom  in  that  place, 
God  Cupid,  or  the  keeper,  I  know  not  whether. 
Unto  my  cost  and  charges  brought  you  thither. 
And  there  began 

Luce.  Your  game,  sir. 

Hum.  Let  no  game, 
Or  any  thing  that  tendeth  to  the  same, 
Be  ever  more  rememberM,  thou  fair  killer, 
For  whom  I  sate  me  down,  and  brake  my  tiller  J. 

Wife.  There'' s  a  kind  gentleman,  I  xcarrant  you  :  ichen  icill 
you  do  as  much  for  me.  George  ? 

Luce.  Bcshrew  me,  sir,  I  am  sorry  for  your  losses. 
But,  as  the  proverb  says,  I  cannot  cry  : 
I  would  you  had  not  seen  me  ! 

Hum.  So  would  I, 
Unless  you  had  more  maw  to  do  me  good. 

Luce.  Why,  cannot  this  strange  passion  ^  be  withstood  l 
Send  for  a  constable,  and  raise  the  town. 

Hmn.  Oh,  no  !  my  valiant  love  will  batter  down 

J   tiller]  i.  e.  steel  bow,  or  cross  bow  ;  see  note,  vol.  1.  234. 

''  strange  passion]  "  Synipson  siiys,  '  To  send  for  a  constable  and  raise  a 
town,  to  withstand  a  sxRANor;  passion,  borders  seemingly  near  upon  nonsense  ;' 
he  would  thertlore  read,  strong  passion :  but  we  see  no  reason  why  slie  may 
not  go  from  one  metaphor  to  another."     Ed.  1  778. 


142  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  i. 

Millions  of  constables,  and  put  to  flight 

Even  that  great  watch  of  Midsummer-day  at  night '. 

Luce.  Beshrew  me,  sir,  "'twere  good  I  yielded,  then ; 
Weak  women  cannot  hope,  where  valiant  men 
Have  no  resistance. 

Hum.  Yield,  then ;   I  am  full 
Of  pity,  though  I  say  it,  and  can  pull 
Out  of  my  pocket  thus  a  pair  of  gloves. 
Look,  Lucy,  look ;  the  dog's  tooth  nor  the  doves 
Are  not  so  white  as  these  ;  and  sweet  they  be. 
And  whipt  about  with  silk,  as  you  may  see. 
If  you  desire  the  price,  shoot  from  your  eye 
A  beam  to  this  place,  and  you  shall  espy 
F  S,  which  is  to  say,  my  sweetest  honey, 
They  cost  me  three  and  twopence,  or  no  money. 

Luce.  Well,  sir,  I  take  them  kindly,  and  I  thank  you  : 
What  would  you  more  ? 

Hum.  Nothing. 

Luce.  Why,  then,  farewell. 

Hum.  Nor  so,  nor  so  ;  for,  lady,  I  must  tell. 
Before  we  part,  for  what  we  met  together : 
God  grant  me  time  and  patience  and  fair  weather  ! 

'  tJiat  great  zvatch  of  Midsummer-day  at  night]  "  The  setting  out  of  what 
was  called  '  the  Midsummer  watch  ',  we  should  have  noticed  earlier,  as  properly 
belonging  to  the  moi-e  ancient  class  of  the  companies'  shows  already  mentioned, 
but  shall  describe  it  here.  This  was,  as  we  have  seen  '  in  the  Order  of  the 
companies  for  the  iMarching  Watch,'  a  ceremony  of  established  use  in  the 
6th  of  Edward  IV.,  and  similar  directions  appear  to  have  been  regularly  given 
every  succeeding  reign.  Stow  gives  a  splendid  account  of  this  pageant  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  which  monarch  came  purposely  with  his  queen  into  the 
city  to  view  it.  We  shall  not  again  repeat  his  account,  which  has  been  often 
copied,  but  merely  observe,  that  the  Marching  Watch  was  a  grand  sort  of 
annual  military  muster  of  the  citizens,  embodying  all  the  companies,  for  the 
purpose  of  forming  a  regular  guard  for  the  city  during  the  ensuing  year.  The 
emulation  for  magnificence  on  this  occasion  created  an  expense  so  great 
and  detrimental  that  Henry  VIII.  prohibited  the  show,  and  confined  the 
citizens  to  the  merely  serviceable  and  efficient  object  of  the  assembling.  It 
was  afterwards  revived  on  a  more  economical  plan,  and  continued  under  the 
name  of  the  '  Standing  Watch,'  till  the  force  was  finally  superseded  by  the  City 
Trained  Bands,  now  the  Artillery  Company."  Herbert's  Hist,  of  the  Ticelve 
Great  Livery  Companies  of  London,  i.  196. 


SCENE  I.]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  143 

Luce.  Speak,  and  declare  your  mind  in  terras  so  brief. 

Hum.  I  shall :  then,  first  and  foremost,  for  relief 
I  call  to  you,  if  that  you  can  afford  it ; 
I  care  not  at  what  price,  for,  on  my  word,  it 
Shall  be  repaid  again,  although  it  cost  me 
More  than  Til  speak  of  now ;  for  love  hath  tost  me 
In  furious  blanket  like  a  tennis-ball, 
And  now  I  rise  aloft,  and  now  I  fall. 

Luce.  Alas,  good  gentleman,  alas  the  day  ! 

Hum.  I  thank  you  heartily  ;  and,  as  I  say, 
Thus  do  I  still  continue  without  rest, 
I'  the  morning  like  a  man,  at  night  a  beast, 
Roaring  and  bellowing  mine  own  disquiet, 
That  much  I  fear,  forsaking  of  my  diet 
Will  bring  me  presently  to  that  quandary, 
I  shall  bid  all  adieu. 

Luce.  Now,  by  St.  Mary, 
That  were  great  pity  ! 

Hum.  So  it  were,  beshrew  me ; 
Then,  ease  me,  lusty  Luce,  and  pity  shew  me. 

Luce.  Why,  sir,  you  know  my  will  is  nothing  worth 
Without  my  father's  grant ;  get  his  consent, 
And  then  you  may  with '"  assurance  try  me. 

Hum.  The  worshipful  your  sire  will  not  deny  me ; 
For  I  have  askVl  him,  and  he  hath  replied, 
"  Sweet  master  Humphrey,  Luce  shall  be  thy  bride." 

Luce.  Sweet  master  Humphrey,  then  I  am  content. 

Hum.  And  so  am  I,  in  truth. 

Luce.  Yet  take  me  with  you  " ; 
There  is  another  clause  must  be  anncxM, 
And  this  it  is  :   I  swore,  and  will  perform  it, 
No  man  shall  ever  joy  me  as  his  wife 
But  he  that  stole  me  hence.     If  you  dare  venture, 
I  am  yours  (you  need  not  fear ;  my  father  loves  you) ; 
If  not,  farewell  for  ever  ! 

'"  with^   Sympson,  for  the  metre,  printed  "  ivith  full  "  ;  and  so  his   suc- 
cessors. 

°  take  me  with  you'\  i.  e.  hear  me  out,  understand  mo  fully. 


144  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  i. 

Hum.  Stay,  nymph,  stay : 
I  have  a  double  gelding,  colourM  bay, 
Sprung  by  his  father  from  Barbarian  kind  ; 
Another  for  myself,  though  somewhat  blind, 
Yet  true  as  trusty  tree. 

Luce.  I  am  satisfied  ; 
And  so  I  give  my  hand.     Our  course  must  lie 
Through  Waltham-forest,  where  I  have  a  friend 
Will  entertain  us.     So,  farewell,  Sir  Humphrey, 
And  think  upon  your  business.  \Exit. 

Hum.  Though  I  die, 
I  am  resolv'd  to  venture  life  and  limb 
For  one  so  young,  so  fair,  so  kind,  so  trim.  \^Exif.. 

Wife.  By  my  faith  and  troth,  George.^  and  as  J  am  virtuous, 
it  is  e^en  the  Jdndest  young  man  that  ever  trod  on  shoe-leather. — 
?F(?/Z,  go  thy  ways  ;  if  thou  hast  her  not,  'tis  not  thy  fault,  i  faith. 

Cit.  /  prithee,  mouse,  be  patient :  'a  shall  have  her,  or  Fll 
make  some  of  'em  smoke  for''t. 

Wife.  Thafs  my  good  land),  George. — Fie,  this  stinking 
tobacco  °  kills  me  p  .'  would  there  loere  none  in  England  ! — Now, 
I  pray,  gentlemen,  what  good  does  this  stinking  tobacco  do  you  ? 
nothing,  I  warrant  you  :  make  chimneys  6*  your  faces  ! 


SCENE   III. — A  grocer  s  shop. 

Enter   Ralph,  as  a  grocer,  reading  Palmerin  of  England  'i,  icith 
Tim  and  George. 

Oh,  liushand,  husband,  now,  now  !  there''s  Ralph,  there's  Ralph. 
Cit.  Peace,  fool !    let  Ralph  alone. — Hark  you,   Ralph  ;    do 

0  tobacco']  Was  smoked  in  all  parts  of  our  early  theatres  ;  but  the  Citizen's 
Wife  is  here  speaking  of  that  smoked  by  the  gallants,  who  sat  on  stools  upon  the 
stage,  and  who  used  to  have  pipes  and  tobacco  brought  to  them  by  their  pages. 

P  me~\  So  Sympsou  rightly  printed  "  from  the  conjecture  of  an  unknown 
friend."     Old  eds.  "men  "  ;  which  the  later  editors  absurdly  gave. 

1  Palmerin  of  England.']  "  From  the  next  note  it  will  be  seen  that  this  is  a 
mistake,  as  Ralph  reads  out  of  Palmerin  de  Oliva  ;  but  this  must  either  be  an 
inadvertence  of  the  author,  or  an  intentional  mistake,  as  Palmerin  of  England 
is  again  mentioned  on  the  next  page  but  one."     Webkr. 


SCENE  m.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  145 

not  strain  yourself  too  much  at  the  first. — Peace !  —  Begin, 
Ralph. 

Ralph,  {i-eads.}  "  Then  Palmerin  and  Trineus ',  snatching 
"  their  lances  from  their  dwarfs,  and  clasping  their  helmets, 
"  galloped  amain  after  the  giant ;  and  Palmerin,  having  gotten 
"  a  sight  of  him,  came  posting  amain,  saying,  '  Stay,  traitorons 
"  thief !  for  thou  mayst  not  so  carry  away  her,  that  is  worth 
"  the  greatest  lord  in  the  world  ; '  and,  with  these  words, 
"  gave  him  a  blow  on  the  shoulder,  that  he  struck  him  besides 
"  his  elephant.  And  Trineus,  coming  to  the  knight  that  had 
"  Agricola  behind  him,  set  him  soon  besides  his  horse,  with 
"  his  neck  broken  in  the  fall ;  so  that  the  princess,  getting  out 
"  of  the  throng,  between  joy  and  grief,  said,  '  All  happy 
"  knight,  the  mirror  of  all  such  as  follow  arms,  now  may  I  be 
"  well  assured  of  the  love  thou  bearest  me.'"  I  wonder  why 
the  kings  do  not  raise  an  army  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  hundred 
thousand  men,  as  big  as  the  army  that  the  prince  of  Portigo 
brought  against  Rosicleer  %  and  destroy  these  giants ;  they  do 
much  hurt  to  wandering  damsels,  that  go  in  quest  of  their 
knights. 

Wife.  Faith,  husband,  and  Ralph  soys  true  ;  for  they  say  the 
king  of  Portugal  cannot  sit  at  his  meat,  hut  the  giants  and  the 
ettiiis  *■  will  come  and  snatch  it  from  him. 

'  Then  Palmerin  and  Trineus,  6iC.]  "This  passage  is  taken,  with  some 
slight  variations,  from  '  Pahucrin  D'Oliva,  the  Mirrour  of  Nobilitie,  Mappe  of 
Honor,  Anatomic  of  Rare  Fortunes,  Heroycall  President  of  Love,  Wonder  of 
Ciiivalrie,  and  most  accomplished  Knight  in  all  Perfections  '  4to.  ir)88.  B.  L. 
p.  \M."  Reed.  The  English  version  of  this  popular  romance  was  by 
Anthony  Munday,  who  also  translated  Palmerin  of  England. 

'  (he  army  tfiut  the  prince  of  Portigo  brought  against  Rosicleer. "[  "These 
were  characters  in  the  celelirated  Espeio  de  Cabullerias,  one  of  the  romances 
condemned  by  the  cui*atc  in  Don  Quixote  to  the  flames.  The  first  part,  consisting 
of  two  books,  and  written  by  Diego  Ortunez,  was  printed  in  1562.  A  second  part, 
also  divided  into  two  books,  by  Pedro  de  la  Sierra,  was  published  in  1580.  The 
third  and  fourth  parts,  each  consisting  of  two  books,  were  written  by  Marcos 
Martinez.  The  whole  work  was  translated  into  English  in  nine  pai'ts,  the  last 
printed  in  1G<I2,  with  the  title  of  the  Mirrour  of  Knighthood."  Webek.  See 
note,  vol.  i.  299. 

'  ettins'\  "  The  good  woman,"   Siiys  Sympson,  "  is   here   a  little  tautological 

for  '  giants  and  ettins '  ai'e  giants  and  giants,  eten  in  Saxon  signifying  so  "  : 

l)iit,  observes  Narcs,  "  as  eltin,  from  its  etymology,  [A.  S.  elan,  to  eat]  implies 
vol..  II.  L 


146  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  i. 

Cit.  Hold  thy  tongue. — On,  Ralph. 

Ralph.  And  certainly  those  knights  are  much  to  be  com- 
mended, who,  neglecting  their  possessions,  wander  with  a 
squire  and  a  dwarf  through  the  deserts  to  relieve  poor  ladies. 

Wife.  Ay.,  by  my  failh^  are  they.,  Ralph  ;  let  ""em  say  what 
they  will.,  they  are  indeed.  Our  knights  neglect  their  possessions 
well  e.nouglu  but  they  do  not  the  rest. 

Ralph.  There  are  no  such  courteous  and  fair  well-spoken 
knights  in  this  age  :  they  will  call  one  "  the  son  of  a  whore," 
that  Palmerin  of  England  would  have  called  "  fair  sir  "  ;  and 
one  that  Rosicleer  would  have  called  "right  beauteous  damsel,"" 
they  will  call  "  damned  bitch." 

Wife,  ril  he  sioorn  icill  they.,  Ralph  ;  they  have  called  me  so 
an  hundred  times  about  a  scurvy  pipe  of  tobacco. 

Ralph.  But  what  brave  spirit  could  be  content  to  sit  in  his 
shop,  with  a  flappet  of  wood,  and  a  blue  apron  before  him, 
selling  mithridatum  and  dragonV water  to  visited  houses", 
that  might  pursue  feats  of  arms,  and,  through  his  noble 
achievements,  procure  such  a  famous  history  to  be  written  of 
his  heroic  prowess  ? 

Cit.      Well  said,  Ralph  ;  some  more  of  those  words.,  Ralph  ! 

Wife.    They  go  finely.,  by  my  troth. 

Ralph.  Why  should  not  I,  then,  pursue  this  course,  both 
for  the  credit  of  myself  and  our  company  ?  for  amongst  all 

cannibalism,  every  giant  might  not  desei've  the  name."     Gloss,  in  v.,  where  he 
cites  the  present  passage,  and  one  from  Cotton's  Scoffer  Scoft, — 

"  Nay,  with  a  gyant  or  an  ettin." 
Weber,  after  remarking  that  "  ihe  terra  ettin  for  a  giant  was  very  common," 
informs  us  that  "  in  The  Complaynt  of  Scotland,  among  other  stories  told  by  the 
shepherds,  we  have  The  Red  Ettin  of  Ireland  " :  he  ought  to  have  said  "  the 
reyde  eyltyn  vitht  the  thre  heydis  "  (p.  98,  ed.  Leyden), — there  being  no  mention 
in  that  work  of  any  such  Irish  monster. 

"  selling  mithridatum  and  dragon' s-water  to  visited  houses']  "  That  is,  to 
houses  visited  by  the  plague.  Mithridate  is  well  known  to  have  been  a  com- 
position of  a  vast  variety  of  herbs,  supposed  to  be  a  preservative  against  poison 
and  the  plague  :  the  receipt  for  making  it  may  be  found  in  the  old  dispensatories. 
Dragon' s-u-ater  is  a  ludici'ous  mistake  for  dragon\i-blood,  which,  as  Cotgrave 
informs  us, '  is  not,  as  the  ignorant  imagine,  the  blond  of  a  dragon  crushed  to 
death  by  an  elephant,  but  the  gumme  of  the  dragon-tree,  opened  or  bruised  in 
the  dog-daies.'  "     Weher. 


SCENE  MI.]      THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  147 

the  worthy  books  of  atchievements,  I  do  not  call  to  mind  that 
I  yet  read  of  a  grocer-errant :  I  will  be  the  said  knight. 
Have  you  heard  of  any  that  hath  wandered  unfurnished  of  his 
squire  and  dwarf  ?  My  elder  prentice  Tim  shall  be  my  trusty 
squire,  and  little  George  my  dwarf.  Hence,  my  blue  apron  ! 
Yet,  in  remembrance  of  my  former  trade,  upon  my  shield 
shall  be  portrayed  a  Burning  Pestle^',  and  I  will  be  called 
the  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle. 

Wife.  A^ay,  /  dare  sivear  thou  tcilt  not  forcfet  tliy  old  trade ; 
thou  icert  ever  meeh. 

Ralph.  Tim! 

Tim.  Anon. 

Ralph.  j\Iy  beloved  squire,  and  George  my  dwarf,  I  charge 
you  that  from  henceforth  you  never  call  me  by  any  other 
name  but  "  the  right  courteous  and  valiant  Knight  of  the 
Burning  Pestle  ; "  and  that  you  never  call  any  female  by  the 
name  of  a  woman  or  wench,  but  "  fair  lady,"  if  she  have  her 
desires,  if  not,  "  distressed  damsel ;  "  that  you  call  all  forests 
and  heaths  "  deserts,'"'  and  all  horses  "  palfreys." 

AV^ife.  This  is  very  Jine^  faith. — Do  the  gentlemen  like  Ralph, 
think  you.,  husband? 

Cit.  Ay,  I  icarrant  thee  ;  the  players  would  give  all  the  shoes 
in  their  shop  for  him. 

Ralph.  iNIy  beloved  squire  Tim,  stand  out.  Admit  this 
were  a  desert,  and  over  it  a  knight-errant  pricking"',  and  I 
should  bid  you  inquire  of  his  intents,  what  would  you  say  ? 

Tim.  "  Sir,  my  master  sent  me  to  know  whither  you  are 
riding  ?" 

Ralph.  No,  thus :  "  Fair  sir,  the  right  courteous  and 
valiant  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  commanded  me  to 
in<juirc  upon  what  adventure  you  are  bound,  whether  to 
relieve  some  distressed  damsel",  or  otherwise." 

Cit.    Jllioreson  blockhead,  cannot  remember  ! 

"  Yet,  in  remembrance  of  my  former  trade, upon  my  shield  shall  he  pour  tray  ed 
a  Burning  Pestle]  "  This  is  in  ridicule  of  Eustace,  in  Heywood's  Four  Pren- 
tices of  London, hearing  the  Grocers' arms  upon  his  shield."  Weber.  Seep.  125. 

"■  pricking'\  i.  c.  spurring,  riding  briskly. 

"  damsel']  So  folio  167J).  Other  eds.  "damsels  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors, 
Sympson  excepted. 

L  2 


148  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  i. 

Wife.  /'  faith,  and  Ralph  told  him  ont  before :  all  the  gen- 
tlemen heard  him. — Did  he  not,  gentlemen  ?  did  not  Ralph  tell 
him  ont ? 

George.  Right  courteous  and  valiant  Knight  of  the  Burning 
Pestle,  here  is  a  distressed  damsel  to  have  a  halfpenny-worth 
of  pepper. 

Wife.  Thafs  a  good  hoy!  see,  the  little  hoy  can  hit  it;  hy 
my  troth,  ifs  a  fine  child. 

Ralph.  Relieve  her,  with  all  courteous  language.  Now  shut 
up  shop  ;  no  more  my  prentice[s],  but  my  trusty  squire  and 
dwarf.     I  must  bespeak  my  shield  and  arming  pestle. 

{^Exeunt  Tim  and  George. 

Cit.  Go  thy  ways,  Ralph  !  As  Fm  a  true  man "",  thou  art 
the  best  on  ''em  all. 

Wife.  Ralph,  Ralph  ! 

Ralph.   What  say  you,  mistress  ? 

Wife.  I  prithee,  come  again  quickly,  sweet  Ralph. 

Ralph.  By  and  by.  [Exit. 


SCENE  IV. — A  room  in  Merrythought's  house. 

Enter  Mistress  JMerrythought  and  Jasper. 

.  Mist.  Mer.  Give  thee  my  blessing  !  no,  Til  ne'er  give  thee 
my  blessing ;  I'll  see  thee  hanged  first ;  it  shall  ne'er  be  said 
I  gave  thee  my  blessing.  Thou  art  thy  father's  own  son,  of 
the  right  blood  of  the  Merrythoughts  :  I  may  curse  the  time 
that  e'er  I  knew  thy  father  ;  he  hath  spent  all  his  own  and 
mine  too;  and  when  I  tell  him  of  it,  he  laughs,  and  dances,  and 
sings,  and  cries  "  A  merry  heart  lives  long-a^."  And  thou 
art  a  wastethrift,  and  art  run  away  from  thy  master  that  loved 
thee  well,  and  art  come  to  me ;  and  I  have  laid  up  a  little 
for  my  younger  son   Michael,   and  thou  thinkest  to  bezzle 

•''  a  true  man'\  "  That  is,  an  houest  man,  generally  used  in  opposition  to 
thief."     Weber. 

y  A  merry  heart  lives  long-u]  Resembles  a  line  in  the  first  verse  of  "  Jog 
on,  jog  on  the  foot-path  way,"  &c.,  a  song  pi-inted  in  An  Antidote  against 
Melancholy,  &c.,  1661,  p.  73  :  the  first  verse  of  it  is  sung  by  Autolycus  in 
Shakespeare's  Winter's  Tale,  act  iv.  se.  2. 


SCENE  IV.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  149 

that  ^  but  thou  shalt  never  be  able  to  do  it. — Come  hither, 
Michael  ! 

Enter  Michael. 

Come,  Michael,  down  on   thy  knees  ;    thou  shalt  have  my 
blessino:. 

Mich.  [ltneels.'\  I  pray  you,  mother,  pray  to  God  to  bless  me. 

Mist.  Mer.  God  bless  thee  !  but  Jasper  shall  never  have 
my  blessin<( ;  he  shall  be  hanged  first :  shall  he  not,  Michael  I 
how  sayst  thou  ? 

Mich.  Yes,  forsooth,  mother,  and  grace  of  God. 

Mist.  Mer.  That's  a  good  boy  ! 

Wife,  rfaith,  it's  afine-spohen  child. 

Jasp.  Mother,  though  you  forget  a  parent's  love, 
I  must  preserve  the  duty  of  a  child. 
I  ran  not  from  my  master,  nor  return 
To  have  your  stock  maintain  ray  idleness. 

Wife.  Uiiyracious  child,  I  icarrant  him  ;  hark^  how  he  chops 
logic  with  his  mother  ! — Thou  hadst  best  tell  her  she  lies  ;  do,  tell 
her  she  lies. 

Cit.  If  he  icere  my  son,  I  icould  hawj  him  up  by  the  heels,  and 
jiay  him,  and  salt  him,  xchoreson  halter-sack  '^. 

Jasp.  My  coming  only  is  to  beg  your  love, 
Which  I  must  ever,  though  I  never  gain  it ; 
And,  howsoever  you  esteem  of  me, 
There  is  no  drop  of  blood  hid  in  these  veins 
But,  I  remember  well,  belongs  to  you 
That  brought  me  forth,  and  woidd  be  glad  for  you 
To  rip  them  all  again,  and  let  it  out. 

Mist.  Mer.  Ffaith,  I  had  sorrow  enough  for  thee,  God 
knows ;  but  Til  hamper  thee  well  enough.  Get  thee  in, 
thou  vagabond,  get  thee  in,  and  learn  of  thy  brother  Michael. 

\_Exeunt  Jasper  and  Michael. 

»  to  bezzle  thaQ  i.  e.  to  squander  that  riotously  ;  properly,  in  guzzling  or 
drinkine  :   see  Richardson's  Did.  in  v. 

*  halter-sack'\  "  A  term  equivalent  to  gallows-bird."  Webeii.  Meaning, 
Nares  supposes,  "  that  the  person  so  called  was  doomed  to  hang  ui)on  a  halter, 
like  a  sack."     Gloss,  in  v. 


150  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  i. 

Mer.  [singing  within.li^ 

Nose,  nose,  jolly  red  nose  •*, 

And  who  gave  thee  this  jolly  red  nose  ? 

Mist.  Mer.  Hark,  my  husband  !  he's  singing  and  hoiting ; 
and  I'm  fain  to  cark  and  care ",  and  all  little  enough. — Hus- 
band !  Charles  !  Charles  Merrythought  ! 

Enter  MERRYxnouGnx. 
Mer.  [^sings.^ 

Nutmegs  and  ginger,  cinnamon  and  cloves  ; 
And  they  gave  me  this  jolly  red  nose. 

Mist.  Mer.  If  you  would  consider  your  state,  you  would 
have  little  list  "^  to  sing,  i-wis  ^. 

Mer.  It  should  never  be  considered,  while  it  were  an  estate, 
if  I  thought  it  would  spoil  my  singing. 

Mist.  Mer.  But  how  wilt  thou  do,  Charles  l  thou  art  an  old 
man,  and  thou  canst  not  work,  and  thou  hast  not  forty  shillings 
left,  and  thou  eatest  good  meat,  and  drinkest  good  drink,  and 
laughest. 

Mer.  And  will  do. 

Mist.  Mer.  But  how  wilt  thou  come  by  it,  Charles  ? 

Mer.  How  !  why,  how  have  I  done  hitherto  these  forty 
years  ?    I  never  came  into  ray  dining-room,  but,  at  eleven  and 

^Nose,  7iose,  jolly  red  rose,  &c.]  These  and  the  next  two  Imes  sung  by  Merry- 
thought are  taken  from  a  song  (No.  7.)  in  Ravenscroft's  Deuteromelia,  1609, 
hegiuning, 

"  Of  all  the  birds  that  euer  I  see, 
the  Owle  is  the  fayrest,"  &c. 

where  they  stand  thus  ; 

"  Nose,  nose,  nose,  nose, 
and  who  gaue  thee  that  iolly  red  nose  ? 


"  Sinamont  and  Ginger,  Nutmegs  and  Clones, 
and  that  gaue  me  my  iolly  red  nose." 

■=  cark  and  care]  "  These  words,  the  former  of  which  is  now  obsolete,  are 
nearly  synonymous."  Weber, — who  might  have  added  that  this  somewhat 
pleonastic  expression  was  formerly  a  common  one. 

•I  list]  Altered  by  Weber  to  "  lust." 

•^^  i-wis]  i.  c.  truly,  certainly. 


SCENE  IV.]      THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  151 

six  o'clock  ^,  I  found  excellent  meat  and  drink  o'  the  table ; 
ray  clothes  were  never  worn  out,  but  next  morning  a  tailor 
brought  me  a  new  suit  :  and  without  question  it  will  be  so 
ever;  use  makes  perfectness.  If  all  should  fail,  it  is  but  a  little 
straining  myself  extraordinary,  and  laugh  myself  to  death. 

Wife.  It''s  afoolislt  old  man  this  ;  is  not  he,  George  ? 

Cit.    Yes,  cony. 

Wife.   Give  me  a  penny  €  the  purse  ichile  I  live,  George. 

Cit.  Ay,  by  lady ",  cony,  hold  tliee-there. 

Mist.  Mer.  Well,  Charles  ;  you  promised  to  provide  for 
Jasper,  and  I  have  laid  up  for  ISIichael.  I  pray  you,  pay 
Jasper  his  portion  :  he's  come  home,  and  he  shall  not  consume 
MichaeFs  stock ;  he  says  his  master  turned  him  away,  but,  I 
promise  you  truly,  I  think  he  ran  away. 

AV^ife.  No,  indeed.  Mistress  Merrythought ;  though  he  he  a 
notable  galloivs,  yet  Fll  assure  you  his  master  did  turn  him  away, 
even  in  this  place  ;  ""ticas,  i  faith,  within  this  half-hour,  about  his 
daughter  ;  my  liusband  loas  by. 

Cit.  Hang  him,  rogue !  he  served  him  well  enough  ;  love  his 
master's  daughter  !  By  my  troth,  cony,  if  there  were  a  thousand 
boys,  thou  icouldsi  spjoil  them  all  with  taking  their  parts  ;  let  his 
mother  alone  ivith  him. 

Wife.  Ay,  George  ;  but  yet  truth  is  truth. 

Mer.  Where  is  Jasper  ?  he's  welcome,  however.  Call  him 
in  ;  he  shall  have  his  portion.     Is  he  merry  ? 

Mist.  Mer.  Ay,  foul  chive  him  '',  he  is  too  merry  ! — Jasper  ! 
Michael ! 

Re-enter  Jasper  and  Michael. 

Mer.  Welcome,  Jasper !  though  thou  runnest  away,  wel- 
come !  God  bless  thee  !  'Tis  thy  mother's  mind  thou  shouldst 
receive  thy  portion  ;  thou  hast  been  abroad,  and  I  hope  hast 

'  at  eleven  and  six  o^clock]  "  These  were  the  dinner  and  supper  hours  of  our 
ancestors,  when  this  play  was  written."     Weisek. 

K  bi/  lady']  i.  e.  by  our  ^Lady, — a  common  form.  Altered  by  the  modern 
editors  to  "  by'r  lady." 

^  foul  chive  himi  i.  e.  may  it  end  or  turn  out  ill  with  him, — evil  .success 
attend  him,  ill  luck  to  him.  Fr.  chever.  ("  Chive  him"  says  Weber,  "  may  be 
a  Somei-setshire  contraction  for  shall  have  hitn"  !  &.c  ) 


152  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  i. 

learned  experience  enough  to  govern  it ;  thou  art  of  sufficient 
years  ;  hold  thy  hand — one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven, 
eight,  nine,  there  is  ten  shillings  for  thee.  [Gives  money.'] 
Thrust  thyself  into  the  world  with  that,  and  take  some 
settled  course :  if  fortune  cross  thee,  thou  liast  a  retiring 
place ;  come  home  to  me ;  I  have  twenty  shillings  left.  Be 
a  good  husband ;  that  is,  wear  ordinary  clothes,  eat  the  best 
meat,  and  drink  the  best  drink  ;  be  merry,  and  give  to  the 
poor,  and,  believe  me,  thou  hast  no  end  of  thy  goods. 

Jasp.  Long  may  you  live  free  from  all  thought  of  ill, 
And  long  have  cause  to  be  thus  merry  still ! 
But,  father — — 

Mer.  No  more  words,  Jasper ;  get  thee  gone.  Thou  hast 
my  blessing;  thy  father's  spirit  upon  thee  !    Farewell,  Jasper  ! 

[Sings. 

But  yet,  or  ere  you  part '  (oh,  cruel !), 

Kiss  me,  kiss  me,  sweetiug,  mine  own  dear  jewel ! 

So,  now  begone  ;  no  words.  [Exit  Jasper. 

Mist.  Mer.  So,  Michael,  now  get  thee  gone  too. 

Mich.  Yes,  forsooth,  mother  ;  but  Til  have  my  father's 
blessing  first. 

Mist.  Mer.  No,  Michael ;  'tis  no  matter  for  his  blessing ; 
thou  hast  my  blessing :  begone,  I'll  fetch  my  money  and 
jewels,  and  follow  thee;  I'll  stay  no  longer  witli  him,  I  warrant 
thee.  [_Exit  Michael.] — Truly,  Charles,  I'll  be  gone  too. 

Mer.  What !  you  will  not  ? 

Mist.  Mer.  Yes,  indeed  will  I. 

Mer.  [sings. 1^ 

Heigh-ho,  farewell,  Nan  ! 

I'll  never  trust  wench  more  again,  if  I  can. 

i  But  yet,  or  ere  you  part,  &c.]  Varied  fx*om  part  of  the  first  verse  of  a  song 
(No.  15)  printed  in  The  first  Booke  of  Songes  or  Ayres  of  four e  parts  ivith 
Tableture  for  the  Ltite,  &c.  1597,  by  Dowland  : 

"  Wilt  thou,  unkind,  thus  reaue  me  of  my  heart 
and  so  Icaue  me  ? 
Farewell  ;  but  yet  or  ere  I  part  (0  crucll), 
Kisse  me  sweete,  my  Jewell." 


SCENE  IV.]      THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  153 

Mist.  Mer.  You  shall  not  think,  when  all  your  own  is  gone, 
to  spend  that  I  have  been  scraping  up  for  Michael. 

Mer.  Farewell,  good  wife ;  I  expect  it  not ;  all  I  have  to 
do  in  this  world,  is  to  be  merry  ;  which  I  shall,  if  the  ground 
be  not  taken  from  me  ;  and  if  it  be,  [sinr/s. 

When  earth  and  seas  from  me  are  reft, 

The  skies  aloft  for  me  are  left.  [Exeunt  severally. 

Wife,  ril  be  sicorn  he^s  a  merry  old  gentleman  for  all  that. 
[Music]  Hark,  hark,  Imshand,  hark!  fiddles,  fiddles!  now 
surely  they  go  finely.  They  say  "'tis  present  death  for  these 
fiddlers  to  tune  their  rebecks '  before  the  great  Turlis  grace  ;  is't 
not,  George  ?  [Enter  a  boy  and  dances.]  But,  look,  look  !  here''s 
a  youth  dances ''  I — l^ow,  good  youth,  do  a  turn  o''  the  toe. — 
Sweetheart,  ifaith,  Pll  have  Ralph  come  and  do  some  of  his 
gambols. — He'll  ride  the  wild  mare ',  gentlemen,  ^tivoidd  do  your 
hearts  good  to  see  him. — /  thank  you,  kind  youth  ;  pray,  bid 
Ralph  come. 

Cit.  Peace,  cony. — Sirrah,  you  scurvy  hoy,  bid  the  players 

send  Ralph  ;  or,  by  God's  ™,  a?!  they  do  not,  Fll  tear  some 

of  their  periwigs  beside  their  heads  :  this  is  all  riff-raff. 

[Exit  Boy. 

i  rebecks']  i.  e.  stringed  instruments,  played  with  a  bow, — a  sort  of  fiddles. 

^  a  youth  dances]  "  This  appears  to  have  been  a  frequent  practice  in  the 
ancient  theatres  to  amuse  the  audience  between  the  acts.  The  same  practice 
prevailed  on  the  Spanish  stage  of  the  seventeenth  century."     Weuer. 

'  ride  the  wild  mare]  "  A  game  which  seems  to  have  been  popular  at  the 
time."  Webek.  "  Is,"  says  Douce,  "  another  name  for  the  childish  sport  of 
see-saw,  or  what  the  French  call  bascule  and  balanqoire.^'  Illust.  of  Shake- 
speare, i.  458. 

"'  God's ]  The  editors  of  1778  and  Weber  printed  "  God's  wounds," 

without  informing  their  readers  that  the  latter  word  is  not  in  the  old  eds. 


154  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  ii. 


ACT    II. 

Scene  I. — A  room  in  the  house  o/'Venturewell. 


Enter  Venturewell  mid  Humphrey. 

Vent.  And  how,  faith",  how  goes  it  now,  son  Humpluey  i 

Hum.  Kight  worshipful,  and  my  beloved  friend 
And  father  dear,  this  matter  ""s  at  an  end.' 

Vejit.  'Tis  well ;  it  should  be  so  :   I'm  glad  the  girl 
Is  found  so  tractable. 

Hum.  Nay,  she  must  whirl 
From  hence  (and  you  must  wink ;  for  so,  1  say. 
The  story  tells,)  to-morrow  before  day. 

Wife.  George,  dost  thou  think  in  thy  conscience  noio  'twill  be 
a  match  ?  tell  me  but  xohat  thou  thinkest,  sweet  rogue.  Thou 
seest  the  poor  gentleman,  dear  hearty  how  it  labours  and  throbs,  I 
warrant  you,  to  be  at  rest !     I'll  go  move  the  father  for  t. 

Cit.  A^o,  no  ;  I  prithee,  sit  still,  honeysuckle  ;  thou  It  spoil  all. 
If  he  deny  him.  III  bring  half-a-dozen  good  felloios  myself,  and 
in  the  shutting  of  an  evening  knock  ""t  up,  and  there's  an  end. 

Wife.  I'll  buss  thee  for  that,  ifaith,  boy.  Well^  George,  ivell, 
you  have  been  a  wag  in  your  days,  I  warrant  you  ;  but  God 
forgive  you,  and  I  do  with  all  my  heart. 

Vent.  How  was  it,  son?  you  told  me  that  to-morrow, 
Before  day-break,  you  must  convey  her  heitce. 

Hum.  I  must,  I  must ;  and  thus  it  is  agreed  : 
Your  daughter  rides  upon  a  brown-bay  steed, 
I  on  a  sorrel,  which  I  bought  of  Brian, 
The  honest  host  of  the  Red  roaring  Lion, 
In  Waltham  situate.     Then,  if  you  may, 
Consent  in  seemly  sort ;  lest,  by  delay, 

"  faith']   Weber,  for  the  metre,  printed  "  V faith." 


SCE.NE  I.]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  155 

The  Fatal  Sisters  come,  and  do  the  office, 
And  then  you'll  sing  another  song. 

Vent.  Alas, 
Why  should  you  be  thus  full  of  grief  to  me, 
That  do  as  willinof  as  yourself  asrree 
To  any  thing,  so  it  be  good  and  fair  ? 
Then,  steal  her  when  you  .will,  if  such  a  pleasure 
Content  you  both ;   Til  sleep  and  never  see  it. 
To  make  your  joys  more  full.     But  tell  me  why 
You  may  not  here  perform  your  marriage  ? 

Wife.  GodCs  hlesshu/  o'  thy  soul,  old  man !  i' faith,  thou  art 
loath  to  -part  true  hearts.  I  see  'a  has  her,  George  ;  and  I'm  as 
glad  ont ! — Well,  go  thy  ways,  Humphrey,  for  a  fair-spoken 
man;  I  believe  thou  hast  not  thy  fellow  icithin  the  xcalls  of 
London  ;  an  I  should  say  the  suburbs  too,  I  should  7iot  lie. —  Ji  hy 
dost  not  rejoice  with  me,  George  ? 

Cit.  If  I  could  but  see  Ralph  again,  I  were  as  merry  as  mine 
host,  r faith. 

Hum.  The  cause  you  seem  to  ask,  I  thus  declare — 
Help  me,  O  Muses  nine  I     Your  daughter  sware 
A  foolish  oath,  the  more  it  was  the  pity  ; 
Yet  no  one  "  but  myself  within  this  city 
Shall  dare  to  say  so,  but  a  bold  defiance 
Shall  meet  him,  were  he  of  the  noble  science  °  : 
And  yet  she  sware,  and  yet  why  did  she  swear  i 
Truly,  I  cannot  tell,  unless  it  were 
For  her  own  ease  ;  for,  sure,  sometimes  an  oath, 
Being  sworn  thereafter,  is  like  cordial  broth ; 
And  this  it  was  she  swore,  never  to  marry 
But  such  a  one  whose  mighty  arm  could  carry 
(As  meaning  me,  for  1  am  such  a  one) 
Her  bodily  away,  through  stick  and  stone, 
Till  both  of  us  arrive,  at  her  request, 
Some  ten  miles  off,  in  the  wild  \Valtham-forcst. 

Vent.  If  this  be  all,  you  shall  not  need  to  fear 

"  no  one]  Old  eds.  "none." 

"  the  noble  science']  "  Meaning  tlie  noble  science  of  defence  ;  a  master  of 
fencing."     Mason. 


156  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  ii. 

Any  denial  in  your  love  :  proceed  ; 
I'll  neither  follow,  nor  repent  the  deed. 

Hum.  Good  night,  twenty  good  nights,  and  twenty  more, 
And  twenty  more  good  nights, — that  makes  threescore  ! 

\JPjxeunt  severally. 


SCENE   ll.—  Waitham-forest. 

Enter  Mistress  Merrythought  and  Michael.' 

Mist.  Mer.  Come,  Michael ;  art  thou  not  weary,  boy  ? 

Mich.  No,  forsooth,  mother,  not  I. 

Mist.  Mer.  Where  be  we  now,  child  ? 

Mich.  Indeed,  forsooth,  mother,  I  cannot  tell,  unless  we 
be  at  Mile-End.     Is  not  all  the  world  Mile-End,  mother  l 

Mist.  Mer.  No,  INIichael,  not  all  the  world,  boy ;  but  I  can 
assure  thee,  Michael,  Mile-End  is  a  goodly  matter:  there 
has  been  a  pitchfield  p,  my  child,  between  the  naughty 
Spaniels  and  the  Englishmen ;  and  the  Spaniels  ran  away, 
Michael,  and  the  Englishmen  followed  :  my  neighbour  Cox- 
stone  was  there,  boy,  and  killed  them  all  with  a  birding-piece. 

Mich.  Mother,  forsooth — 

Mist.  Mer.  What  says  my  white  boy  "•  ? 

Mich.  Shall  not  my  father  go  with  us  too  ? 

Mist.  Mer.  No,  Michael,  let  thy  father  go  snick-up  ^ ;  he 

P  Mile-End  is  a  goodly  matter  :  there  has  been  a  pitchfield,  &c.]  "  This 
must  relate  to  some  mock-fight  which  was  fouglit  at  ]\Iile-Eud,  where  the 
train-bands  of  the  city  were  often  exercised.  One  of  the  ballads  mentioned  by 
the  fiddler  in  Monsieur  Thomas,  act  iii.  sc.  3,  is  '  The  Landing  of  the  Spaniards 
at  Bow,  with  the  Bloody  Battle  at  Mile-End.'  Again  in  the  epilogue  to  A  Wife 
for  a  Month,  '  the  action  at  Mile-End  '  alludes  to  the  same  or  a  similar  mock- 
fight."     Weber. 

"i  ivhite  hoy']  "  This  was  a  usual  term  of  endearment  at  the  time."     Weber. 
■■  go  snick-tip\  "  Tliis  phrase,  which  occurs  again  in  act  iii.  sc.  2,  is  equivalent 
to  '  go  hang,'  as  will  appear  from  the  following  lines  in  Taylor's  Praise  of 
Hempseed : 

'  A  Tiburne  hempen-caudell  well  will  cui'e  you. 
It  can  cure  traytors,  but  I  hold  it  fit 
T'  ajjply  't  ere  they  the  treason  doe  commit : 
Whei'efore  in  Sparta  it  yclcped  was 
Snickiip,  which  is  in  English,  gallow-gi-asse.'  " 

[p.GG—1Vorkcs,lG20.]  Weber. 


SCENE  II.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  157 

shall  never  come  between  a  pair  of  sheets  with  me  again 
while  he  lives  ;  let  him  stay  at  home,  and  sing  for  his  supper, 
boy.  Come,  child,  sit  down,  and  Til  shew  my  boy  fine 
knacks,  indeed.  \^They  sit  doirn  :  and  she  fakes  out  a  casket.^ 
Look  here,  Michael ;  here''s  a  ring,  and  here's  a  brooch,  and 
here's  a  bracelet,  and  here's  two  rings  more,  and  here's  money 
and  gold  by  th'  eye,  my  boy. 

Mich.  Shall  I  have  all  this,  mother  I 

Mist.  Mer.  Ay,  Michael,  thou  shalt  have  all,  Michael. 

Cit.  How  likest  thou  this,  wench  ? 

Wife.  I  cannot  tell^ ;  1  would  have  Ralph,  George',  I'll  see 
no  more  else,  indeed,  la  ;  and  I  pray  you^  let  the  youths  understand 
so  much  by  word  of  mouth;  for,  I  tell  you  truly,  I'm  afraid  o' 
my  hoy.  Come,  come,  George,  let''s  he  merry  and  wise  :  the 
child  ""s  a  fatherless  child ;  and  say  they  shoidd  put  him  into  a 
strait  pair  of  gaskins  \  "'twere  worse  than  knot-grass  "  ;  he  would 
never  grow  after  it. 

Enter  Ralph,  Tim,  and  George. 

Cit.  Here's  Ralph,  here''s  Ralph  ! 

Wife.  Hoio  do  you,  Ralph  ?  you  are  icelcome,  Ralph,  as  I 
may  say  :  it's  a  good  boy,  hold  up  thy  head,  and  be  not  afraid  ; 
we  are  thy  friends,  Ralph  ;  the  gentlemen  icill  praise  thee^ 
Ralph,  if  thou  playest  thy  part  icith  audacity.  Begin,  Ralph, 
a'  God's  name  ! 

Ralph.  My  trusty  squire,  unlace  my  helm ;  give  me  my  hat. 
Where  are  we,  or  what  desert  may  this  be  ? 

Nares  {Gloss,  in  r.)  observes  that  Weber  was  here  more  fortunate  tlian  usual 
in  his  annotation  ;  and  conjectures  "  that  neck-up  or  his  neck-up  was  the 
original  notion."  Richardson  {Diet,  in  v.  Sneck)  says  "  q.  d.  Snick-u^,  catch- 
up,  latch-xii\t,  the  noose  or  cord." 

*  /  cannot  tell]  i.  e.   1  know  not  what  to  say  or  think  of  it. 

'  gaskins]  i.  e.  hose,  breeches. 

"  knot-grass]  Was  supposed,  if  taken  in  an  infusion,  to  prevent  the  growth  of 
any  animal  :  hence  Shakespeare  ; 

"  You  minimus,  of  hindering  knot-grass  made." 

Alidsummer- NighCs  Dream,  act  iii. 
sc.  2, — where  Steevens  quotes  the  present  passage,  and  another  from  The 
Coxcomb,  act  ii.,  sc.  2. 


158  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  ii. 

George.  Mirror  of  knighthood ',  this  is,  as  1  take  it,  the 
perilous  Walthara-down ;  in  whose  bottom  stands  the 
enchanted  valley. 

Mist.  Mer.  Oh,  Michael,  we  are  betrayed,  we  are  betrayed  ! 
here  be  giants  !     Fly,  boy  !   fly,  boy,  fly  ! 

\^Exit  with  Michael,  leaving  the  casket. 

Ralph.  Lace  on  my  helm  again.     What  noise  is  this  ? 
A  gentle  lady,  flying  the  embrace 
Of  some  uncourteous  knight  !     I  will  relieve  her. 
Go,  squire,  and  say,  the  Knight,  that  wears  this  Pestle 
In  honour  of  all  ladies,  swears  revenge 
Upon  that  recreant  coward  that  pursues  her ; 
Go  comfort  her,  and  that  same  gentle  squire 
That  bears  her  company. 

Tim.  I  go,  brave  knight.  \^Exit. 

Ralph.  My  trusty  dwarf  and  friend,  reach  me  my  shield  ; 
And  hold  it  while  I  swear.     First,  by  my  knighthood  ; 
Then  by  the  soul  of  Amadis  de  Gaul, 
My  famous  ancestor  ;  then  by  my  sword 
The  beauteous  Brionella  girt  about  me ; 
By  this  bright  burning  Pestle,  of  mine  honour 
The  living  trophy  ;  and  by  all  respect 
Due  to  distressed  damsels  ;  here  I  vow 
Never  to  end  the  quest  of  this  fair  lady 
And  that  forsaken  squire  till  by  my  valour 
I  gain  their  liberty  ! 

George.  Heaven  bless  the  knight 
That  thus  relieves  poor  errant  gentlewomen  !  [^Exeiint. 

Wife.  Ay,  marry,  llaljih,  this  has  some  savour  in't ;  1  would 
see  the  proudest  of  them  all  offer  to  carry  his  hooks  after  him. 
But,  George,  I  ivill  not  have  him  go  away  so  soon  ;  I  shall  he 
sick  if  he  go  away,  that  I  shall :  call  Ralph  again,  George,  call 
Ralph  again;  I  prithee,  siveetheart,  let  him  come  fight  before  me, 
and  lefs  ha'  some  drums  and  some  trumpets,  and  let  him  kill  all 
that  comes  near  him,  an  thou  lovest  7ne,  George  ! 

Cit.  Peace  a  little,  bird:  he  .<ih all  kill  them  all,  an  they  were 
twenty  more  on  ''em  than  there  are. 

"  Mirror  of  knighthood]   See  note  p.  14.'). 


PCF.XE  IT.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  159 


Enter  Jasper. 

Jasp.  Now,  Fortune,  if  thou  be'st  not  only  ill. 
Shew  me  thy  better  face,  and  bring  about 
Thy  desperate  wheel,  that  I  may  climb  at  length, 
And  stand".     This  is  our  place  of  meeting, 
Tf  love  have  any  constancy.     Oh,  age, 
Where  only  wealthy  men  are  counted  happy  ! 
How  shall  I  please  thee,  how  deserve  thy  smiles. 
When  I  am  only  rich  in  misery  I 
My  father's  blessing  and  this  little  coin 
Is  my  inheritance  ;  a  strong  revenue  ! 
From  earth  thou  art,  and  to  the  earth  I  give  thee  : 

\_Throtvs  away  the  money. 
There  grow  and  multiply,  whilst  fresher  air 
Breeds  me  a  fresher  fortune, — How  !  illusion  ?    \S)ees  the  casket. 
What,  hath  the  devil  coin'd  himself  before  me  1 
'Tis  metal  good,  it  rings  well ;   I  am  waking, 
And  taking  too,  I  hope.     Now,  God's  dear  blessing 
Upon  his  heart  that  left  it  here !  'tis  mine ; 
These  pearls,  I  take  it,  were  not  left  for  swine. 

\^F,.rit  ivith  the  casket. 

Wife.  /  do  not  like  that  this  unthrifty  youth  should  embezzle " 
aicay  the  money  ;  the  poor  gentlewoman  his  mother  will  have  a 
heavy  heart  for  it.,  God  knows. 

Cit.  And  reason  good,  sweetheart. 

Wife.  Rut  let  him  go;  I'll  tell  Jialph  a  tale  in''s  ear  shall 
fetch  him  again  with  a  wanion  ^,  I  warrant  him,  if  he  he  above 
ground ;  and  besides,  George,  here  are  a  number  of  sufficient 
gentlemen  can  witness,  and  myself,  and  yourself  and  the  musicians, 
if  ice  be  called  in  question. 

"'  stand'\   A  word  seems  to  have  dropt  out :  qy.  "  stand  secure"  ? 

"  embezzle]   Used  here  probably  in  the  same  sense  as  bezzle  in  p.  148. 

"  with  a  wanion'\  Equivalent  to  —  with  a  vengeance,  with  a  plague. 
Wanion,  written  also  uuinnion,  comes,  according  to  Gilford,  "  from  wan, 
{vnande,  Dutch,  a  rod  or  wand)  of  which  wannie  and  wafinion  are  familiar  di- 
minutives." Introd.  to  Ford's  Works,  p.  cxlvi.  See  also  Richardson's  Did.  rn 
V.  IVanion. 


160  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  it. 


SCENE  \\\.— Another  part  of  the  forest. 

Enter  Ralph  and  George. 

But  here  comes  Ralph,  George  ;  thou  shalt  hear  him  speak  as^  he 
icere  an  emperal. 

Ralph.  Comes  not  sir  squire  again  ? 

George.  Right  courteous  knight, 
Your  squire  doth  come,  and  with  him  comes  the  lady, 
For  and  the  Squire  of  Damsels,  as  I  take  it  ^. 

^  as]  Weber  printed,  with  the  first  4to,  "  an"  ! 

*  Your  squire  doth  come,  and  with  him  comes  the  lady. 
For  and  the  Squire  of  Damsels,  as  I  take  it]  Here  Sympson  appealed 
to  the  reader, — "  could  such  nonsense  ever  flow  from  such  standard  writers  as 
ours  were  ?"  declared  that  the  first  word  of  the  second  line  was  "the  most 
unlucky  for  that  e'er  was  wrote  ;"  and,  as  "the  only  way  to  retrieve   our 
authors'  credit,"  gave  the  lines  with  the  following  emendation  ; 
"  Your  squire  doth  come,  and  icith  him  comes  the  lady 
Fair,  and  the  Squire  of  Damsels,  as  I  take  it." 

The  Editors  of  1778  thought  it  necessary  to  "go  further  before  this  passage  is 
cleared  of  corruption  ;"  and  they  accordingly  printed, — 

"  I^OMT  squire  doth  come,  and  with  him  comes  the  lady. 
Ralph.  Fair  !  ajid  the  Squire  of  Damsels,  as  I  take  it ! 
Madam,  if  any  service,"  &c. 

Ralph,  they  tell  us,  "  first  addresses  himself  both  to  Mrs.  Merrjlhought  and 
Michael :  her  he  calls  Fair  !  "  &c.  Weber,  finding  perhaps  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  "go  further  "  than  the  Editors  of  1778,  contented  himself  with  their 
alteration  of  the  passage. 

Now,  the  old  eds.  are  perfectly  right,  and  the  modern  editors  utterly  wrong. 
The  expression  "for  and  "  is  not  unfx-equently  used  by  our  early  writers  : 

"  SjT  Gy,  SjT  Gawen,  Syr  Cayus,/or  and  Syr  Olyuere." 

Skelton's  second  poem  Against  Garnrsche, —  Works,  i.  119.  ed.  Dyce. 
"  A  hippocrene,  a  tweak,  for  and  a  fucus." 

Middleton's  Fair  Quarrel,  act  v.,  sc.  1.  —  Works,  iii.  544.  ed.  Dj'ce, 

"  A  pick-axe,  and  a  spade,  a  spade, 
For  and  a  shrouding  sheet." 

Hamlet,  act  v.  sc.  i.  (where  Shake- 
speare's recent  editors  separate  the  words  thus,  "  For — and.") 

"Squire  of  Damsels,"  as  Mason  observes,  is  an  allusion  to  Spenser's  Squire 
of  Dames  ;  see  F.  Queene,  B.  iii.  C.  vii.,  st.  .51,  &c. 


SCENE  III.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  IGl 

Enter  Tim,  Mistress  Merrythought,  and  Michael. 

Ralph.  Madam,  if  any  service  or  devoir 
Of  a  poor  errant  knight  may  right  your  wrongs, 
Command  it ;   I  am  prest  "^  to  give  you  succour  ; 
For  to  that  holy  end  I  bear  my  armour. 

Mist.  Mer.  Alas,  sir,  I  am  a  poor  gentlewoman,  and  I  have 
lost  my  money  in  this  forest  ! 

lialph.  Desert,  you  would  say,  lady  ;  and  not  lost 
Whilst  I  have  sword  and  lance.     Dry  up  your  tears. 
Which  ill  befit '^  the  beauty  of  that  face, 
And  tell  the  story,  if  I  may  request  it, 
Of  your  disastrous  fortune. 

Mist.  Mer.  Out,  alas  !  I  left  a  thousand  pound,  a  thousand 
pound,  e'en  all  the  money  I  had  laid  up  for  this  youth,  upon 
the  sight  of  your  mastership,  you  looked  so  grim,  and,  as  I 
may  say  it,  saving  your  presence,  more  like  a  giant  than  a 
mortal  man. 

Ralph.  I  am  as  you  are,  lady ;  so  are  they  ; 
All  mortal.     But  why  weeps  this  gentle  squire  I 

Mist.  Mer.  Has  he  not  cause  to  weep,  do  you  think,  when 
he  hath  lost  his  inheritance  ? 

Ralph.  Young  hope  of  valour,  weep  not ;  I  am  here 
That  will  confound  thy  foe,  and  pay  it  dear 
Upon  his  coward  head,  that  dares  deny 
Distressed  squires  and  ladies  equity. 
I  have  but  one  horse,  on  "^  which  shall  ride 
This  lady  fair  behind  me,  and  before 
This  courteous  squire  :  fortune  will  give  us  more 
Upon  our  next  adventure.     Fairly  speed 
Beside  us,  squire  and  dwarf,  to  do  us  need  I  [Exeimt. 

Cit.  Did  not  I  tell  you,  Nell,  what  your  man  would  do  ?  hj 
the  faith  of  my  body,  wench,  for  clean  action  and  good  delivery, 
they  may  all  cast  their  caps  at  him. 

Wife.  And  so  they  may.,  i  faith  ;  for  I  dare  speak  it  boldly., 
the  tioelve  Companies  of  London  cannot  match  him,  timber  for 

•  prest]  "  i.  e.  ready."     Weber.  ^  befit]  Old  cds.  "  befits." 

<^  on]  Sympson  pi-intcd,  for  the  metre, "  upon  ;"  and  so  his  successors. 
vol..  II.  M 


162  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  ii. 

timber.      Well,  George,  an  he  he  not   inveigled  by  some  of  these 
paltry  players,  I  ha    much  marvel :  but,  George,  we  ha  done  our 
parts,  if  the  boy  have  any  grace  to  be  thankful 
Cit.    Yes,  I  warrant  thee,  duckling. 


SCENE  IV. — Another  part  of  the  forest. 

Enter  Humphrey  and  Luce. 

Hum.  Good  mistress  Luce,  however  I  in  fault  am 
For  your  lame  horse,  youVe  welcome  unto  Waltham  ; 
But  which  way  now  to  go,  or  what  to  say, 
I  know  not  truly,  till  it  be  broad  day. 

Luce.  Oh,  fear  not,  master  Humphrey  ;   I  am  guide 
For  this  place  good  enough. 

Hum.  Then,  up  and  ride  ; 
Or,  if  it  please  you,  walk,  for  your  repose 
Or  sit,  or,  if  you  will,  go  pluck  a  rose  ; 
Either  of  which  shall  bo  indifferent 
To  your  good  friend  and  Humphrey,  whose  consent 
Is  so  entangled  ever  to  your  will. 
As  the  poor  harmless  horse  is  to  the  mill. 

Luce.  Faith,  an  you  say  the  word,  we'll  e'en  sit  down, 
And  take  a  nap. 

Hum.  'Tis  better  in  the  town. 
Where  we  may  nap  together ;  for,  believe  me. 
To  sleep  without  a  snatch  would  mickle  grieve  me. 

Luce.  You*'re  merry,  master  Humphrey. 

Hum.  So  I  am. 
And  have  been  ever  merry  from  my  dam. 

Luce.  Your  nurse  had  the  less  labour. 

Hum.  Faith,  it  may  be. 
Unless  it  were  by  chance  I  did  beray  me"^". 

Enter  Jasper. 
Jasp.  Luce  !  dear  friend  Luce  ! 
Ltice.  Here,  Jasper. 
Jasp.  You  are  mine. 

'  beray  me]  i.  c.  befoul  myself. 


SCENE  IV.]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  1G3 

Hum.  If  it  be  so,  my  friend,  you  use  me  fine  : 
What  do  you  think  I  am  i 

Jasp.  An  arrant  noddy. 

Hum.  A  word  of  obloquy  !     Now,  by  God's  body, 
ril  tell  thy  master  ;  for  I  know  thee  well. 

Jasp.  Nay,  an  you  be  so  forward  for  to  tell, 
Take  that,  and  that ;  and  toll  him,  sir,  I  gave  it ; 
And  say,  I  paid  you  well.  [Beats  him. 

Himi.  Oh,  sir,  I  have  it, 
And  do  confess  the  payment !     Pray,  be  quiet. 

Jasp.  Go,  get  you  to  your  night-cap  and  the  diet. 
To  cure  your  beaten  bones. 

Luce.  Alas,  poor  Humphrey  ! 
Get  thee  some  wholesome  broth,  with  sage  and  comfrey ; 
A  little  oil  of  roses  and  a  feather 
To  'noint  thy  back  withal. 

Hum.  When  I  came  hither, 
^Vould  I  had  gone  to  Paris  with  John  Dory  ^  ! 

Lxice.  Farewell,  my  pretty  nump  ;   I  am  very  sorry 
I  cannot  bear  thee  company. 

Hum.  Farewell ; 
The  devil's  dam  was  ne"'er  so  bang'd  in  hell. 

\_Exeunt  Luce  and  Jasper. 

Wife.  Tliis  young  Jasper  ivill  prove  me  another  things.,  o'  7?/?/ 
conscience,  an  he  may  he  suffered.  George.,  dost  not  see,  George, 
how  '«  swaggers,  andfiies  at  the  very  heads  o''  folks,  as  he  loere  a 
dragon  ?  Well,  if  I  do  not  do  his  lesson  for  icronging  the  poor 
gentleman,  I  am  no  true  woman.    His  friends  thathrought  him  up 

^  JohnDory]  ''Sir  John Hawkins,in  hisllisiory  of  Music,[\v.38l.]  says,  'The 
song  of  John  Dory,  with  the  tunc  to  it,  is  printed  in  the  Deuteromclia,  or  the 
Second  Part  of  Mustek's  Melodic,  1G09  [by  Ravenscroft] .  The  legend  of  this 
person  is,  that  being  a  sea-captain,  or  perhaps  a  pirate,  he  engaged  to  the  king  of 
France  to  I)riiig  tlie  crew  of  an  English  ship  bound  as  captives  to  Paris,  and  that 
accordingly  he  attempted  to  make  ju'izoof  an  English  vessel,  but  was  himself  taken 
prisoner.  Tlie  song  (^i  Joint  Dory,  and  the  tune  to  it,  were  a  long  time  popular 
in  England  :  in  the  comedy  of  T]ie  Cha7ices,  written  by  Beaumont  anil  Fletclier, 
Antonio,  a  humorous  old  man,  receives  a  wound,  which  he  will  not  suffer  to  be 
dressed'  but  upon  condition  that  the  song  of  John  Dory  be  .sung  tlie  while." 
Ed.  1778.     See  the  song  itself  in  a  note  on  The  Chances,  act  iii.,  so.  2. 

M  2 


164  THE  KNTGIIT  OF  THE  BURNTNG  PESTLE.  [act  ii. 

might  have  been  better  occypied^  i-wis'^,  than  have  taught  him  these 
fegaries  :  he's  een  in  the  high  tcay  to  the  gallows^  God  bless  him  ! 

Cit.  You  re  too  bitter^  cony  ;  the  young  man  may  do  well  enough 
for  all  this. 

Wife.  Come  hither.,  master  Humphrey  ;  has  he  hurt  you  ? 
nolo,  beshreio  his  fingers  forH  !  Here,  sweetheart,  heres  some  green 
ginger  for  thee.  Now,  beshrew  my  heart,  but  'a  has  peppernel 
in''s  head,  as  big  as  a  pidlefs  egg  !  Alas,  sioeet  lamb,  lioic  thy 
temples  beat  !  Take  the  peace  on  him,  sweetheart,  take  the  peace 
on  him. 

Cit.  No,  no  ;  you  talk  like  a  foolish  tooman :  Til  ha''  Ralph 
fight  ivith  him,  and  sivinge  him  up  wellfavouredly. — Sirrah 
boy,  come  hither.  [Enter  Boy.]  Let  Ralph  come  in  and  fight 
with  Jasper. 

Wife.  Ay,  and  beat  him  well ;  he''s  an  unhappy  ^  boy. 

Boy.  Sir,  you  must  pardon  us  ;  the  plot  of  our  play  lies  con- 
trary, and  "'twill  hazard  the  spoiling  of  our  play. 

Cit.  Plot  me  no  plots  !  Til  ha*  Ralph  come  out ;  Til  make 
your  house  too  hot  for  you  else. 

Boy.  Why,  sir,  he  .shall ;  but  if  any  thing  fall  out  of  order, 
the  gentlemen  must  j)ardon  us. 

Cit.  Go  your  ways,  goodmanboy!  [Exit  Boy.]  Til  hold 
him  a  penny,  he  shall  have  his  bellyful  of  fighting  noiv.  Ho, 
here  comes  Ralph  !  no  more. 


SCENE  V^ — Another  part  of  the  forest. 

Enter  Ralph,    Mistress   Merrythought,    Michael,  Tibi,  and 

George. 

Ralph.  What  knight  is  that,  squire  l  ask  him,  if  he  keep 

•'  »-'(/'w.]  i.  e.  truly,  certainly. 

^  unhappy']  "  Was  formerly  used  in  the  sense  of  wicked,  mischievous." 
Weber.     As  we  still  say  unlucky. 

'  Scene  V.]  Though  Humphrey  had  not  quitted  the  stage,  having  been 
detained  by  the  Citizen's  Wife,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  audience  were 
to  imagine  a  change  of  scene  on  the  entrance  of  Ralph  :  I  have  already  noticed 
more  than  once  that  our  early  theatres  were  not  furnished  with  moveable 
painted  scenery. 


SCENE  v.]         THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  165 

The  passage,  bound  by  love  of  lady  fair, 
Or  else  but  prickant  ^. 

Hum.  Sir,  T  am  no  knight, 
But  a  poor  gentleman,  that  this  same  night 
Had  stolen  from  me,  on  ''  yondtr  green. 
My  lovely  wife,  and  suffer'd  (to  be  seen 
Yet  extant  on  my  shoulders)  such  a  greeting. 
That  whilst  I  live  I  shall  think  of  that  meeting. 

Wife.  Ay^  Halph,  he  beat  him  wimercifidly,  llalpli ;  an  thou 
sparest  him^  Ralphs  I  would  tho7i  icert  hanged. 

Cit.   A^o  moi'e,  icife.,  no  more. 

Ralph.  Where  is  the  caitiff-wretch  hath  done  this  deed  I 
Lady,  your  pardon  ;  that  I  may  proceed 
Upon  the  quest  of  this  injurious  knight. — 
And  thou,  fair  squire,  repute  me  not  the  worse, 
In  leaving  the  great  venture  of  the  purse 
And  the  rich  casket,  till  some  better  leisure. 

Hum.  Here  comes  the  broker  hath  purloin'd  my  treasure. 

Enter  Jasper  and  Lcce. 

Ralph.   Go,  squire,  and  tell  him  I  am  here. 
An  errant  knight-at-arms,  to  crave  delivery 
Of  that  fair  lady  to  her  own  knight's  arms. 
If  he  deny,  bid  him  take  choice  of  ground. 
And  so  defy  him. 

Tim.  From  the  Knight  that  bears 
The  Golden  Pestle,  I  defy  thee,  knight, 
Unless  thou  make  fair  restitution 
Of  that  bright  lady. 

Jasp.  Tell  the  knight  that  sent  thee, 
He  is  an  ass  ;  and  I  will  keep  the  wench, 
And  knock  his  head-piece. 

Ralph.  Knight,  thou  art  but  dead. 
If  thou  recall  not  thy  uncourteous  terms. 

W  ife.   Brealis  p)ate.^  Ralph  ;  hrealis  pale.,  Raljih.,  soiuuUi/  ! 

Jasp.  Come,  knight;  lam  ready  for  you.     Now  your  Pestle 

[Siiatches  away  li is  pestle. 

K  prickant'\  "  i.  o.  prickiug  or  spurring  along,  bound  on  a  journi-y."   Weber. 
''  on]  Sympson  printed  for  the  metre,  "  upon  "  ;  and  so  his  successoi's. 


166  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  ii. 

Shall  try  what  temper,  sir,  your  mortar  's  of. 
With  that  he  stood  upright  ^  in  his  stirrups,  and  gave  the 
Knight  of  the  calf-skin  such  a  knock  [knocks  Ralph  doivn], 
that  he  forsook  his  horse,  and  down  he  fell ;  and   then  he 
leaped  upon  him,  and  plucking  off  his  helmet 

Hum.  Nay,  an  my  noble  knight  be  down  so  soon, 
Though  I  can  scarcely  go,  I  needs  must  run.  [Exit. 

Wife.  Bun,  Ralph,  run,  Ralph  ;  run  for  thy  life,  boy  ;  Jasper 
comes,  Jasper  comes  !  [Exit  Ralph. 

Jasp.  Come,  Luce,  we  must  have  other  arms  for  you  : 
Humphrey,  and  Golden  Pestle,  both  adieu  !  Exeunt. 

Wife.  Sure  the  devil  ( God  bless  us  !)  is  in  this  springald  •  / 
Why,  George,  didst  ever  see  such  a  fire-drake  ^?  I  am  afraid 
my  boy  's  miscarried :  if  he  be,  though  he  ivere  master  Merry- 
thought's son  a  thousand  times,  if  there  be  any  law  in  England, 
ril  make  some  of  them  smart  for' t. 

Cit.  No,  no  ;  I  have  found  out  the  matter,  sweetheart ;  Jasper 
is  enchanted  ;  as  sure  as  we  are  here,  he  is  enchanted :  he  could 
no  more  have  stood  in  Ralph's  hands  than  I  can  stand  in  my 
lord  mayor's.  Fll  have  a  ring  to  discover  all  enchantments, 
and  Ralph  shall  beat  him  yet :  be  no  more  vexed,  for  it  shall  be  so. 


SCENE  Yl.— Before  the  Bell-Inn,  Waltham. 

Enter  Ralph,  Mistress   Merrythought,    Michael,  Tim,    and 

George. 

Wife.  Oh,  husband,  here's  Ralph  again  ! — Stay,  Ralph,  let 
me  speak  toith  thee.  Hoio  dost  thou,  Ralph  ?  art  thou  not 
shrewdly  hurt  ?  the  foul  great  lungies  ^  laid  unmercifully  on  thee : 
there's  some  sugar- candy  for  thee.  Proceed ;  thou  shalt  have 
another  bout  with  him. 

Cit.  If  Ralph  had  him  at  the  fencing-school,  if  he  did  not  make 
a  puppy  of  him,  and  drive  him  up  and  down  the  school,  he  should 
ne'er  come  in  my  shop  more. 

^   With   that   he   stood  upright,   &c.]     Quoted,  or  parodied,   from    some 
romance. 
'  spririf/ald]  "i.  c.  youth."     Weber.  J  ftre-drake]  i.  e.  fiery  di'agon. 

^  lungies']   i.  e.  long,  awkward  fellow. 


SCENE  VI. J       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  1G7 

Mist.  Mer.  Truly,  master  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  I 
am  weary. 

Mich.  Indeed,  la,  mother,  and  I  am  very  hungry. 

Raljjh.  Take  comfort,  gentle  dame,  and  your '  fair  squire  ; 
For  in  this  desert  there  must  needs  be  plac'd 
Many  strong  castles,  held  by  courteous  knights  ; 
And  till  1  bring  you  safe  to  one  of  those, 
I  swear  by  this  my  order  ne''er  to  leave  you. 

Wife.  Well  said,  Ralph  ! — George,  Ralph  was  ever  comfortable., 
was  he  not  ? 

Cit.    Yes,  duck. 

Wife.  I  shall  ne'er  forget  him.  When  we  had  lost  our  child, 
{you  know  it  was  strayed  almost  alone  to  Puddle- Wharf,  and 
the  criers  icere  abroad  for  it,  and  there  it  had  drowned  itself  but 
for  a  sculler,)  Ralph  loas  the  most  comfortablest  to  vie  :  '•  Peace, 
mistress,''''  says  he,  '"'' let  it  go  ;  F II get  you""  another  as  good.''"' 
Did  he  not,  George  ?  did  he  not  say  so  ? 

Cit.    Yes,  indeed  did  he,  mouse. 

George.  I  would  we  had  a  mess  of  pottage  and  a  pot  of 
drink,  squire,  and  were  going  to  bed  ! 

Tim.  Why,  we  are  at  Waltham-town's  end,  and  thafs  the 
Bell-Inn. 

George.  Take  courage,  valiant  knight,  damsel,  and  squire  ! 
I  have  discover'd,  not  a  stone's  cast  off, 
An  ancient  castle,  held  by  the  old  knight 
Of  the  most  holy  order  of  the  Bell, 
Who  gives  to  all  knights-errant  entertain  : 
There  plenty  is  of  food,  and  all  prcpai'\l 
By  the  white  hands  of  his  own  lady  dear. 
He  hath  three  squires  that  welcome  all  his  guests ; 
The  first,  liight "  Chamberlino,  who  will  see 
Our  beds  preparM,  and  bring  us  snowy  sheets, 
Where  never  footman  stretch'd  his  butter'd  hams  ^ ; 

'  yourl  Weber  gave  witli  tlie  first  4to.  "you  "  :  but  compare  a  subsequent 
passage,  p.  182,  where  all  the  oldeds.  have  "fair  lady,  and  your  tender  squii'c." 

'"  yoti]  Omitted  by  Weber  ! 

n  hif/htl  i.  e.  called. 

°  IVhere  never  foolman  stretched  his  butter'd  ham s'\  An  allusion,  as  Weber 
observes,  to  running  footmen,  who  used  to  have  their  legs  greased. 


168  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  ii. 

The  second,  hight  Tapstero,  who  will  see 
Our  pots  full  filled,  and  no  froth  therein ; 
The  third,  a  gentle  squire,  Ostlero  hight. 
Who  will  our  palfreys  slick  with  wisps  of  straw, 
And  in  the  manger  put  them  oats  enough, 
And  never  grease  their  teeth  with  candle-snuff '\ 

Wife.     That  same  dwarf  \<i  a  pretty  boy,  but  the  squire  '5  a 
groutnol  p. 

Ralph.  Knock  at  the  gates,  my  squire,  with  stately  lance. 

{^Tim  knocks  at  the  door. 

Enter  Tapster. 

Tap.  Who's  there  I — You're  welcome,  gentlemen  :  will  you 
see  a  room  ? 

Georye.  Right  courteous  and  valiant  Knight  of  the  Burning 
Pestle,  this  is  the  squire  Tapstero. 

Ralph.  Fair  squire  Tapstero,  I  a  wandering  knight, 
Hight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  in  the  quest 
Of  this  fair  lady's  casket  and  wrought  purse, 
Losing  myself  in  this  vast  wilderness, 
Am  to  this  castle  well  by  fortune  brought ; 
Where,  hearing  of  the  goodly  entertain 
Your  knight  of  holy  order  of  the  Bell 
Gives  to  all  damsels  and  all  errant  knights, 
I  thought  to  knock,  and  now  am  bold  to  enter. 

Tap.  An't  please  you  see  a  chamber,  you  are  very  welcome. 

\_Exeunt. 

Wife.  Georye^  I  would  have  something  done,  and  I  cannot  tell 
what  it  is. 

Cit.   miat  is  it,  Nell  ? 

Wife.  Why^  Georye,  shall  Ralph  beat  nobody  ayain  ?  prithee, 
sweetheart,  let  him. 

Cit.  So  he  shall,  Nell;  and  if  I  join  with  him,  icell  knock 
them  all. 

°  And  never  grease  their  teeth  with  candle-snuff.']  "  A  common  trick  of  the 
Obtlers  at  the  tune  to  prevent  the  horses  from  eating  the  hay."    Webeu. 

P  groutnol]  i.  e.  thick-head,  blockhead.  Sympsou  and  the  Editors  of  17;8 
gave  "  grout-nold  "  ;— the  reading  of  one  of  the  4tos.  of  1635,  and  of  folio  1679, 
and  a  not  uncommon  form  of  the  word. 


SCENE  VII.]      THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  169 


SCENE  VII. — A  room  in  the  house  o/'Venturewell. 

Enter  Humphrey  atid  Venturewell. 

Wife.  Oh,  George,  here's  master  Humphrey  again  noic  that 
lost  mistress  Luce,  and  mistress  Luces  fatJier.  Master  Humphrey 
loill  do  somebody's  errand,  I  xcarrant  him. 

Hum.  Father,  it's  true  in  arms  I  ne'er  shall  clasp  her  ; 
For  she  is  stoln  away  by  your  man  Jasper, 

Wife.  /  thought  he  iconld  tell  him. 

Vent.  Unhappy  that  I  am,  to  lose  my  child  ! 
Now  I  begin  to  think  on  Jasper's  words, 
\V^ho  oft  hath  urg'd  to  me  thy  foolishness  : 
Why  didst  thou  let  her  go  i  thou  lov'st  her  not, 
That  wouldst  bring  home  thy  life,  and  not  bring  her. 

Hum.  Father,  forgive  me.     Shall  I  tell  you  true  I 
Look  on  my  shoulders,  they  are  black  and  blue  : 
AV^hilst  to  and  fro  fair  Luce  and  I  were  winding. 
He  came  and  basted  me  with  a  hedge-binding. 

Vent.  Get  men  and  horses  straight :  we  will  be  there 
Within  this  hour.     You  know  the  place  again  ? 

Hum.  I  know  the  place  where  he  my  loins  did  swaddle : 
ril  get  six  horses,  and  to  each  a  saddle. 

Vent.  Mean  time  I  will  go  talk  with  Jasper's  father. 

\^Exeunt  severally. 

Wife.  George,  what  ivilt  thou  lay  icith  vie  now,  that  master 
Humphrey  has  not  mistress  Luce  yet  ?  speak,  George,  xvliat  icilt 
thou  lay  with  me  ? 

Cit.  No,  Nell ;  I  warrant  thee,  Jasper  is  at  Puckeridge  icith 
Iter  by  this. 

Wife.  Nay,  George,  you  must  consider,  mistress  Luce's  feet 
are  tender  ;  and  besides  "'tis  dark;  and,  I  promise  you  truly,  I  do 
not  see  hoio  he  should  get  out  of  Wait! Lam-forest  with  her  yet. 

Cit.  Nay,  cony^  ivhat  wilt  thou  lay  with  me,  that  Ralph  has 
her  not  yet  ? 

Wife.  /  tvill  not  lay  against  Ralph,  honey,  because  I  have  not 
spoken  icith  him. 


170  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  ii. 


SCENE  VIII. — A  room  in  Merrythought's  house. 

Enter  Merrythought. 

But^  look,  George.,  peace  !  here  comes  the  merry  old  gentleman 
again. 

Mer.  Ysings^ 

When  it  was  grown  i  to  dark  midnight, 

And  all  were  fast  asleep, 
In  came  Margaret's  grimly  ghost. 

And  stood  at  William's  feet. 

I  have  money,  and  meat,  and  drink  beforehand,  till  to-morrow 

at  noon  ;  why  should  I  be  sad  ?  methinks  I  have  half-a-dozen 

jovial  spirits  within  me  ;  [^Sings. 

I  am  three  merry  men  ■■,  and  tliree  merry  men  ! 

To  what  end  should  any  man  be  sad  in  this  world  ?  give  me  a 
man  that  when  he  goes  to  hanging  cries,  \^Sings. 

Troul  the  black  bowl  to  me  ^ ! 

1  When  it  was  grown,  &c.]  "  This  stanza  is  from  the  ballad  of  Fair  ]Mai'- 
garet  and  Sweet  William,  ReUques  of  Antieut  Poetry,  vol.  III.  p.  121.  ed.  1794, 
where  it  is  thus  given  [from  "  a  modern  printed  copy"]  : 

'  When  day  was  gone,  and  night  was  come, 
And  all  men  fast  asleep, 
Then  came  the  spu-it  of  fair  Marg'ret 
And  stood  at  William's  feet.' 

The  quotation  in  the  text,  and  another  at  the  end  of  the  third  act,  gave  rise  to 
Mallet's  Margaret's  Ghost."  Weber,  Mallet  mentions  only  the  present 
stanza  as  the  origin  of  his  ballad. 

■■  /  am  three  merry  men,  &c.]  In  Ticelflh-Night,  act  ii.  sc.  3.,  "  Three  merry 
men  be  we  "  occurs  as  the  fragment  of  a  song  ;  and  the  commentators  have 
cited  various  passages  from  plays  and  ballads,  whicli  contain  the  same  ex- 
pression, and  wliich  need  not  be  repeated  here  :  see  Malone's  Shakespeare  (by 
Boswell,)  xi.  393. 

'  Troul  the  black  bowl  to  me]  Is  probably,  Weber  says,  the  catch  wliich  is 
quoted  by  Hawkins  (Hist,  of  Music,  iii.  22.)  from  Ravenscroft's  Pammelia, 

1609  ; 

"  Trole,  trole  the  bowl  to  me. 
And  I  will  trole  the  same  again  to  thee,"  &c. 


SCENE  VIII.]    THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  171 

and  a  woman  that  will  sing  a  catch  in  her  travail !  I  have  seen 
a  man  come  by  my  door  with  a  serious  face,  in  a  black  cloak, 
without  a  hatband,  carrying  his  head  as  if  he  looked  for  pins 
in  the  street ;  I  have  looked  out  of  my  window  half  a  year 
after,  and  have  spied  that  man"'s  head  upon  London-bridge. 
'Tis  vile :  never  trust  a  tailor  that  does  not  sing  at  his  work  ; 
his  mind  is  of*  nothing  but  filching. 

^Vife.  Mark  this,  George ;  ^tis  worth  noting ;  Godfrey  my 
tailor,  you  knoic,  never  sings,  and  he  had  fourteen  yards  to  make 
this  goicn  :  and  Pll  be  sicorn,  mistress  Penistone  the  draper  s 
wife  had  one  made  with  twelve. 

Mer.  [_sings^ 

'Tis  mirth  that  fills  the  veins  with  blood, 

More  than  wine,  or  sleep,  or  food  ; 

Let  each  man  keep  his  heart  at  ease  ; 

No  man  dies  of  that  disease. 

He  that  would  his  body  keep 

From  diseases,  must  not  weep  ; 

But  whoever  laughs  and  sings, 

Never  he  his  body  brings 

Into  fevers,  gouts,  or  rheums. 

Or  lingeringly  his  lungs  consumes, 

Or  meets  with  aches  "  in  the  bone. 

Or  catan'hs  or  griping  stone  ; 

But  contented  lives  for  aye  ; 

The  more  he  laughs,  the  more  he  may. 

Wife.  Look,  George ;  how  sayst  thou  by  this,  George  ? 
isH  not  a  fine  old  man  ? — Now,  God's  blessing  6'  thy  sweet 
lips! — When  loilt  thou  be  so  merry,  George?  faith,  thou 
art  the  frowningest  little  thing,  when  thou  art  angry,  in  a 
country. 

Cit.  Peace,  cony  ;  thou  shalt  see  him  taken  down  too,  Iicarrant 
thee. 

Enter  Venturewell. 
Here's  Luce* s  father  come  noic. 

'  of]  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  to  "on"  ;  and  so  Weber:  but  they 
ought  to  have  recollected  that  of  in  the  sense  of  on  was  formerly  very  commou, 
"  aches]  A  dissyllable. 


172  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  ii. 

Mer.   l^sinffs] 

As  you  came  "  from  Walsingham, 

Fi'om  that "  holy  hmd, 
There  met  you  not  with  my  true  love 

By  the  way  as  you  came  ? 

Vent  Oh,  master  Merrythought,  my  daughter  's  gone  ! 

This  mirth  becomes  you  not ;  my  daughter  's  gone  ! 

Mer.   [si7iffs] 

Why,  an  if  she  be,  what  care  I  ? 
Or  let  her  come,  or  go,  or  tarry. 

Vent.  Mock  not  my  misery ;  it  is  your  son 
(Whom  I  have  made  my  own,  when  all  forsook  him) 
Has  stoln  my  only  joy,  my  child,  away. 

Mer.  [^sings] 

He  set  her  ^^  on  a  milk-white  steed, 

And  himself  upon  a  grey  ; 
He  never  turn'd  his  face  again, 

But  he  bore  her  quite  away. 

Vent.  Unworthy  of  the  kindness  I  have  shewn 

"  As  yoti  came,  &c.]  "  From  a  ballad  printed  in  Percy's  Reliques  of  Antient 
Poetry,  vol.  II.  p.  94,  ed.  1794,  where  the  stanza  runs  thus : 
'  As  ye  came  from  the  holy  land 
Of  blessed  Walsingham, 
0,  met  you  not  with  my  true  love 

As  by  the  way  ye  came  ? '  "     Weber. 
'  thaf\  So  the  fii-st  4 to.     Latter  eds.  "  the  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors.    It 
may  be  necessary  to  remind  the  reader  that  at  Walsingham,  in  Norfolk,  there 
was  a  famous  image  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 

'■"  He  set  her,  &c.]  "  A  similar  verse  occurs  in  the  ballad  called  The  Douglas 
Tragedy,  printed  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  vol.  II.  p.  217  [ed. 
1810]:— 

'  He's  mounted  her  on  a  milk-white  steed. 

And  himself  on  a  dapple  grey. 
With  a  bugelet  horn  hung  down  by  his  side, 
And  lightly  they  rode  away.' "     Weber. 
And  in  The  Kniyht  and  Shepherd's  Datiyhter  .* 

He  sett  her  on  a  milk-white  stcede, 

And  himself  upon  a  graye  ; 
He  hung  a  bugle  about  his  necke, 
And  soe  they  rode  awaye." 

Percy's  Reliques,  &c.  iii.  76.  ed.  1701. 
Perhaps  the  verse,  as  given  by  Mei-rythought,  may  exist  in  some  ballad  with 
which  I  am  unacquainted. 


SCENE  VIII.]    THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  173 

To  thee  and  thine  !  too  late  I  well  perceive 
Thou  art  consenting  to  ni}-  claughter''s  loss. 

Mer.  Your  daughter!  what  a  stir 's  here  wi'  your  daughter! 
Let  her  go,  think  no  more  on  her,  but  sing  loud.  If  botli 
my  sons  were  on  the  gallows,  I  would  sing,  [Sings. 

Down,  down,  down  they  fall ; 
Down,  and  arise  they  never  shall. 

Vent.  Oh,  might  I  behold "  her  once  again, 
And  she  once  more  embrace  her  aged  sire  ! 

Mer.  Fie,  how  scurvily  this  goes  !  "  And  she  once  more 
embrace  her  aged  sire  !"  You'll  make  a  dog  on  her,  will  ye^? 
she  cares  much  for  her  aged  sire,  I  warrant  you.  [Si?i(/.<t. 

She  cares  not  for  her  daddy,  nor 

She  cares  not  for  her  mammy, 
For  she  is,  she  is,  she  is,  she  is 

My  lord  of  Lowgave's  lassy. 

Vejit.  For  this  thy  scorn  I  will  pursue  that  son 
Of  thine  to  death. 

Mer.  Do ;  and  when  you  ha'  killed  him,  iSin^s. 

Give  him  flowers  enow,  palmer,  give  him  flowers  enow  ; 
Give  him  red,  and  white,  and  blue,  green,  and  yellow. 

Vent,  ril  fetch  my  daughter 

Mer.  ril  hear  no  more  o'  your  daughter ;  it  spoils  my  mirth. 
l^eni.  I  say,  FU  fetch  my  daughter. 

Mer.  [sinffs^ 

Was  never  man  ^  for  lady's  sake, 

Down,  down, 
Tormented  as  I  poor  Sir  Guy, 
De  derry  down, 

*  I  behold]  Sympson,  for  the  metre,  printed  "hut  /  behold",  and  Weber 
"  /but  behold". 

y  You'll  make  a  dog  on  her,  tvill  ye  ?]  "  We  usually  talk  of  a  dog's  sire  and 
dam."     Weber. 

^   fVas  never  man,  &c.]  "  A  stanza  from  The  Legend  of  Sir  Guy  ;  Percy's 
Reliques  of  Antient  Poetry,  vol.  III.  p.  102,  ed.  1794  : — 
'  Was  ever  knight  for  ladycs  sake 
Soe  tost  in  love,  as  I  sir  Guy 
For  Phelis  fayre,  that  lady  bright 
As  ever  man  behold  with  eye.' 
The  ballad  is  again  quoted   iu  The  Little  French  Lawyer.     [Act  ii.  sc.  3.]  " 
Weber. 


174  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  it. 

For  Lucy's  sake,  that  lady  bright, 

Down,  down, 
As  ever  men  beheld  with  eye, 

De  derry  down. 

Vent.  I'll  be  reveng'd,  by  heaven  !  [Exeunt  severally. 

Wife.  Hoio  dost  thou  like  this,  George  ? 

Cit.  IVJiy,  this  is  well,  cony  ;  but  if  Ralph  were  hot  once, 
thou  shouldst  see  more.  [Music. 

Wife.   The  fiddlers  go  again,  husband. 

Cit.  Ay,  Nell ;  but  this  is  scurvy  music.  I  gave  the  whoreson 
gallows  money  %  and  I  think  he  has  not  got  me  the  zcaits  of  Soutli- 
wark  :  if  I  hear  ''em  '^  not  anan,  Fll  twinge  him  by  the  ears. — 
You  musicians,  play  Baloo  *^ .' 

Wife.  No,  good  George  ;  lefs  ha''  LachrymcB"^ . 

Cit.    Why,  this  is  it,  cony. 

Wife.  It''s  all  the  better,  George.  Noiv,  siceet  lamb,  what 
story  is  that  painted  upon  the  cloth  ^  ?  the  Confutation  of  St.  Paul? 

*  /  gave  the  tvhoreson  gallows  money]  Gallows  is  a  common  tenn  of  reproach, 
meaning,  one  who  deserves  the  gallows  ;  yet  Weber  printed  "  T  gave  the 
whoreson  gallows-money."  ! 

b  'em']  Old  eds.  "  him  "  ; — a  frequent  misprint. 

■=  Baloo]  "See  Percy's  Reliques  of  Antient  Poetry,  vol.  ii.  p.  196  [197  ed. 
1794],  Lady  Anne  Bothwell's  Lamentation  ;  in  which  the  concluding  lines  of 
each  stanza  are  these  ; 

*  Balotv,  my  babe,  lie  stil  and  sleipe  ! 
It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  thee  weepe.'  " 

Ed.  1778. 

"  There  are  several  other  popular  songs  which  have  a  similar  burden,  but  tlie 
text  alludes  to  the  tune,  which  was  still  popular  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II." 
Weber. 

•^  Lachrymis]  "  This  tune  is  frequently  mentioned  in  these  volumes."  Weber. 
GifTord  (note  on  Massingea-'s  1Vo7-ks,  iii.  232,  ed.  1813)  cites  the  present  passage 
as  if  it  alluded  to  a  celebrated  woi'k  by  Dowland,  entitled  Lachrymce,  or  Seven 
Teares  figured  in  seaven  passionate  Pavans,  &c. ;  and  Weber  elsewhere,  Nares 
(Gloss,  in  v.),  and  I  myself  in  a  former  publication,  have  fallen  into  the  same 
error, — mistakuig  the  tune  called  Lachryma;  for  the  musical  volume  which 
bears  that  title.  Mr.  Chappell  obligingly  informs  me  that  "  the  tune  called 
Luchrymce,  composed  by  Dowland,  is  often  to  be  met  with  :  it  is  in  two  MSS. 
of  Dowland's  (consisting  of  lute-music)  in  the  Public  Library  at  Cambridge, 
in  Queen  Elizabeth's  Vii-ginal  Book,"  &c. 

'^  the  cloth]  Weber  is  pi'obably  right  in  explaining  this  to  mean  the  curtains 
in  frout  of  the  stage,  what  we  now  call  the  drop-scene  :  there  were,  however, 


SCENE  I.]         THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  175 

Cit.  No,  lamb  ;  that  ''s  Ralph  and  Lucrece. 
Wife.  Ralph  and  Lucrece  !  tvhich  Ralph  ?  our  Ralph  ? 
Cit.  No,  mouse  ;  that  ivas  a  Tartarian '. 
Wife.  A  Tartarian  !      Well,  I   xcoidd  the  fiddlers  had  done, 
that  tve  might  see  our  Ralph  again  ! 


ACT    III. 

Scene  I. —  Waltham-forest. 


Enter  Jasper  and  Luce. 

Jasp.  Come,  my  dear  dear " ;  though  we  have  lost  our  way, 
We  have  not  lost  ourselves.     Are  you  not  weary 
With  this  night's  wandering,  broken  from  your  rest, 
And  frighted  with  the  terror  that  attends 
The  darkness  of  this  wild  unpeopled  place  ? 

Luce.  No,  my  best  friend  ;  I  cannot  either  fear, 
Or  entertain  a  weary  thought,  wliilst  you 
(The  end  of  all  my  full  desires)  stand  by  me  : 
Let  them  that  lose  their  hopes,  and  live  to  languish 

other  curtains  in  the  rear  of  the  stage,  called  traverses.  Jonson  in  liis  address 
"  To  the  Reader  "  before  liLs  New  Jnn  mentions  "  the  faces  in  the  hangings" 
of  the  stage. 

'  That  was  a  Tartarian]  "  The  citizen's  mistake  and  his  wife's  consequent 
surprise  will  not  be  understood  without  recollecting  that  Tartarian  was  a  cant 
term  for  a  thief.  So  in  The  Men-y  Devil  of  Edmonton,  the  Host  says — '  There's 
not  a  Tartarian  nor  a  carrier  shall  breathe  upon  your  geldings  ;  they  have 
villainous  rank  feet,  the  rogues,  and  they  shall  not  sweat  in  my  linen.'  And  in 
The  Wandering  Jew,  lfi40,  as  quoted  by  Mr.  Reed,  the  Hangman  says — '  I 
pray,  master  Jew,  bestow  a  cast  of  your  office  upon  me,  a  poor  member  of  the 
law,  by  telling  me  my  fortune,  whether  I  shall  die  in  my  bed  or  no,  or  what 
else  shall  happen  to  mo  ;  and  if  any  thieving  Tartarian  shaW  break  in  upon  you, 
I  will  with  both  hands  nimbly  lend  a  cast  of  my  office  to  him.'  "  Weber, — 
who  was  indebted  to  the  Index  of  Dodsley's  Old  Plays  for  these  examples  of  a 
word,  not  of  common  occurrence,  and  the  meaning  of  which  they  leave  somewhat 
indefinite.  s  dear  dear]  Weber  printed  "  rfear  deer  "  ! 


176  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  m. 

Amongst  the  number  of  forsaken  lovers, 
Tell  the  long  weary  steps,  and  number  time, 
Start  at  a  shadow,  and  shrink  up  their  blood. 
Whilst  I  (possess''d  with  all  content  and  quiet) 
Thus  take  my  pretty  love,  and  thus  embrace  him. 

Jasp.  You  have  caught  me,  Luce,  so  fast,  that,  whilst  I  live, 
I  shall  become  your  faithful  prisoner. 
And  wear  these  chains  for  ever.     Come,  sit  down, 
And  rest  your  body,  too,  too  delicate 

For  these  disturbances.    \_They  sit  down.']  So  :  will  you  sleep  ? 
Come,  do  not  be  more  able  than  you  are  ; 
I  know  you  are  not  skilful  in  these  watches. 
For  women  are  no  soldiers :  be  not  nice, 
But  take  it ;  sleep,  I  say. 

Luce.  I  cannot  sleep  ; 
Indeed,  I  cannot,  friend. 

Jasp.  Why,  then,  we''ll  sing. 
And  try  how  that  will  work  upon  our  senses. 

Luce.  I'll  sing,  or  say,  or  any  thing  but  sleep. 

Jasp.  Come,  little  mermaid,  rob  me  of  my  heart 
With  that  enchanting  voice. 

Luce.  You  mock  me,  Jasper.  [  ITiei/  sing. 

Jasp.  Tell  me,  dearest,  what  is  love''  ? 
Luce.  'Tis  a  lightning  from  above ; 
'Tis  an  an'ow,  'tis  a  fii-e, 
'Tis  a  boy  they  call  Desire  ; 
'Tis  a  smile 
Doth  beguile 
Jasp.  The  poor  hearts  of  men  that  prove. 

Tell  me  more,  are  women  true  ? 
Luce.  Some  love  change,  and  so  do  you. 
Jasp.       Are  they  fail-,  and  never  kind  ? 
Luce.       Yes,  when  men  turn  with  the  wind. 
Jasp.  Are  they  froward  ? 

Luce.  Ever  toward 

Those  that  love,  to  love  anew. 

Jasp.  Dissemble  it  no  more  ;  I  see  the  god 

•■   Tell  me,  dearest,  what  is  love,  &c.]     This  song,  with  vai-iations,  and  the 
addition  of  a  third  stanza,  occurs  in  The  Captain,  act.  ii.  sc.  2. 


SCENE  i.l        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  177 

Of  heavy  sleep  lay  on  his  heavy  mace 
Upon  your  eyelids. 

Luce.  I  am  very  heavy.  ^Sleeps. 

Jasp.  Sleep,  sleep;  and  quiet  rest  crown  thy  sweet  thoughts ! 
Keep  from  her  fair  blood  distempers ',  startings, 
Horrors,  and  fearful  shapes  I  let  all  her  dreams 
Be  joys,  and  chaste  delights,  embraces,  wishes, 
And  such  new  pleasures  as  the  ravish'd  soul 
Gives  to  the  senses  ! — So ;  my  charms  have  took. — 
Keep  her,  you  powers  divine,  whilst  I  contemplate 
Upon  the  wealth  and  beauty  of  her  mind  ! 
She  is  only  fair  and  constant,  only  kind, 
And  only  to  thee,  Jasper.     Oh,  my  joys  ! 
AVhither  will  you  transport  me?  let  not  fullness 
Of  my  poor  buried  hopes  come  up  together, 
And  overcharge  my  spirits  !   I  am  weak. 
Some  say  (however  ill)  the  sea  and  women 
Are  governM  by  the  moon  ;  both  ebb  and  flow, 
Both  full  of  changes  ;  yet  to  them  that  know, 
And  truly  judge,  these  but  opinions  are 
And  heresies,  to  bring  on  pleasing  war 
Between  our  tempers,  that  without  these  were 
Both  void  of  after-love  and  present  fear  ; 
Which  are  the  best  of  Cupid.     Oh,  thou  child 
Bred  from  despair,  I  dare  not  entertain  thee, 
Having  a  love  without  the  faults  of  women. 
And  greater  in  her  perfect  goods  than  men  ! 
Which  to  make  good,  and  please  myself  the  stronger. 
Though  certainly  I  am  certain  of  her  love, 
ril  try  her,  that  the  world  and  memory 

May  sing  to  after-times  her  constancy. —      [^Draics  his  m-ord. 
Luce  !  Luce  !  awake  ! 

Luce.  Why  do  you  fright  mo,  friend, 
With  those  distemperM  looks  ?  what  makes  your  sword 

'  distempers']  Sympson,  for  the  metre,  printed  "  all  distempers  "  ;  and  so  his 
successors.  Something  perhaps  may  have  dropt  out  from  the  line  :  it  is 
nevertheless  certain  that  our  early  poets  very  frequently  used /air  as  a  dis- 
syllable. 

VOL.  II.  \ 


17-3  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.         [act  iii. 

Drawn  in  your  hand  ?  wlio  hath  offended  you  ? 

I  prithee,  Jasper,  sleep  ;  thou  art  wild  with  watching. 

Jasp.  Come,  make  your  way  to  heaven,  and  bid  the  woi'ld, 
With  all  the  villainies  that  stick  upon  it, 
Farewell ;  you're  for  another  life. 

Luce.  Oh,  Jasper, 
How  have  my  tender  years  committed  evil, 
Especially  against  the  man  I  love, 
Thus  to  be  croppM  untimely  ? 

Jasp.  Foolish  girl. 
Canst  thou  imagine  I  could  love  his  daughter 
That  flung  me  from  my  fortune  into  nothing  ? 
Discharged  me  his  service,  shut  the  doors 
Upon  my  poverty,  and  scorn'd  my  prayers. 
Sending  me,  like  a  boat  without  a  mast, 
To  sink  or  swim  \     Come ;  by  this  hand  you  die  ; 
I  must  have  life  and  blood,  to  satisfy 
Your  father's  wrongs. 

Wife.  Aioay,  George.,  away  !  raise  the  xoatcli  at  Ludgate,  and 
bring  a  mittimus  from  the  justice  for  this  desperate  villain  ! — Now, 
I  charge  you,  gentlemen,  see  the  hinges  peace  kept ! — Oh,  my 
heart,  lohat  a.  varlet  ""s  this,  to  offer  manslaughter  upon  the  harm- 
less gentlewoman  ! 
■  Cit.  /  warrant  thee,  siceetheart,  we^l  have  him  hampered. 

Luce.  Oh,  Jasper,  be  not  cruel  ! 
If  thou  wilt  kill  me,  smile,  and  do  it  quickly, 
And  let  not  many  deaths  appear  before  me ; 
I  am  a  woman,  made  of  fear  and  love, 
A  weak,  weak  woman  ;  kill  not  with  thy  eyes, 
They  shoot  me  through  and  through  :  strike,  I  am  ready ; 
And,  dying,  still  I  love  thee. 

Enter  Venturewell,  Humphrey,  and  Attendants. 

Vent.  Whereabouts  .'* 

Jasp.  No  more  of  this ;  now  to  myself  again.  [_ Aside. 

Hum.  There,  there  he  stands,  with  sword,    like   martial 
knight, 
Drawn  in  his  hand  ;  therefore  beware  the  fight. 


SCENE  1.]         THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  179 

You  that  be  wise  ;  for,  were  I  good  Sir  Bevis^, 
I  would  not  stay  his  coming,  by  your  leaves- 
Fen^.  Sirrah,  restore  my  daughter  ! 

Jasp.  Sirrah,  no. 

Vent.  Upon  him,  then  ! 

[  Theij  attack  Jasper,  and  force  Luce /rom  liim. 

Wife.  So  ;  doicn  icith  him,  down  loith  him,  down  ivith  him  ! 
cut  him  I  the  leg,  hoys,  cut  him  i   the  leg  ! 

Vent.  Come  your  ways,  minion  :   Til  provide  a  cage 
For  you,  you're  grown  so  tame. — Horse  her  away. 

Hum.  Truly,  Fm  glad  your  forces  have  the  day. 

\^Exeiint  all  except  Jasper. 

Jasp.  They  are  gone,  and  I  am  hurt ;  my  love  is  lost. 
Never  to  get  again.     Oh,  me  unhappy  ! 
Bleed,  bleed  and  die  !     I  cannot.     Oh,  ray  folly, 
Thou  hast  betray'd  me  !     Hope,  where  art  thou  fled  I 
Tell  me,  if  thou  be'st  any  where  remaining, 
Shall  I  but  see  my  love  again  ?     Oh,  no  ! 
She  will  not  deign  to  look  upon  her  butcher, 
Nor  is  it  fit  she  should ;  yet  I  must  venture. 
Oh,  Chance,  or  Fortune,  or  whate"'er  thou  art, 
That  men  adore  for  powerful,  hear  my  cry, 
And  lot  me  loving  ''  live,  or  losing  die  !  \^Exit. 

Wife.  Is  'a  gone,  George  ? 

Cit.  Ag,  cony. 

^Vife.  Marry,  and  let  liim  go,  sweetheart.  By  the  faith  o"" 
my  body,  'a  has  put  me  into  such  a  fright,  that  1  tremble  (as  they 
say)  as  "'twere  an  aspen-leaf;  look  o'  yny  little  finger,  George^ 
how  it  shakes.  Note,  in  truth,  every  member  of  my  body  is  the 
worse  for  V. 

Cit.  Come^  hug   in  mine  arms,    siceet   mouse ;    he   shall  not 
fright  thee  any  more.  Alas,  mine  own  dear  heart,  ho2c  it  quivers! 

i  Sir  Bevis]  Sir  Bovis  of  Hampton,  a  celebrated  hero  of  romauce. 
^  loving]  "  Means  here,  possessing  her  I  love."     Mason, 


N  2 


180  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  ui. 


SCENE   II. — A  room  in  the  Bell-Inn^  Waltham. 

Enter  Mistress  Merrythought,  Ralph,  Michael,  Tim,  George, 
Host,  and  Tapster. 

Wife.  Oh,  Ralph  !  hoiv  dost  thou,  Ralph  ?  how  hast  thou 
slept  to-night  ?  lias  the  knight  used  thee  well  ? 

Cit.  Peace,  Nell ;  let  Ralph  alone. 

Tap.  Master,  the  reckoning  is  not  paid, 

Ralph.  Right  courteous  knight,  who,  for  the  order''s  sake 
Which  thou  hast  ta'en,  hang'st  out  the  holy  Bell, 
As  I  this  flaming  Pestle  bear  about. 
We  render  thanks  to  your  puissant  self, 
Your  beauteous  lady,  and  your  gentle  squires, 
For  thus  refreshing  of  our  wearied  limbs. 
Stiffened  with  hard  achievements  in  wild  desert. 

Tap.  Sir,  there  is  twelve  shillings  to  pay. 

Ralph.  Thou  merry  squire  Tapstero,  thanks  to  thee 
For  comforting  our  souls  with  double  jug  ^ : 
And,  if  adventurous  fortune  prick  thee  forth. 
Thou  jovial  squire,  to  follow  feats  of  arms, 
Take  heed  thou  tender  every  lady''s  cause, 
Every  true  knight,  and  every  damsel  fair ; 
But  spill  the  blood  of  treacherous  Saracens, 
And  false  enchanters  that  with  magic  spells 
Have  done  to  death  full  many  a  noble  knight. 

Host.  Thou  valiant  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  give  ear 
to  me ;  there  is  twelve  shillings  to  pay,  and,  as  I  am  a  true 
knight,  I  will  not  bate  a  penny. 

Wife.  George,  I  prithee,  tell  me,  must  Ralph  pay  tioelve 
shillirigs  now  ? 

Cit.  No,  Nell,  no  ;  nothing  but  the  old  knight  is  merry  icith 
Ralph. 

Wife.   Oh,  ist  nothing  else  ?     Ralph  will  he  as  merry  as  he. 

Ralph.  Sir  knight,  this  mirth  of  yours  becomes  you  well ; 
But,  to  requite  this  liberal  courtesy, 

■'  double  jug]   Mentioned  by  Cleveland  in  The  Rebel  Scot ; 
"  Or  which  of  the  Dutch  States  a  double  Jug 
Resembles  most  in  Belly  or  in  Beard." 

Works,  p.  41,  ed.  1687. 


SCENE  II.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  181 

If  any  of  your  squires  will  follow  arms, 

He  shall  receive  from  my  heroic  hand 

A  knighthood,  by  the  virtue  of  this  Pestle. 

Host.  Fair  knight,  I  thank  you ""  for  your  noble  offer  : 
Therefore,  gentle  knight, 
Twelve  shillings  you  must  pay,  or  I  must  cap "  you  . 

Wife.  Look,  George !  did  not  I  tell  (hee  as  much  ?  the  Knight 
of  the  Bell  is  in  earnest.  Ralph  shall  not  he  heltolding^  to  him  : 
(jive  him  his  moneg,  George,  and  let  him  go  s)iick-np^\ 

Cit.  Cap  Ralph  !  no.- — Hold  your  hand,  sir  Knight  of  the 
Bell;  there  ""s  your  money  [gives  money]:  have  you  any  thing 
to  say  to  Balph  nmc  ? — Cap  Ralph  ! 

Wife.  /  icoidd  you  should  knoiv  it,  Ralph  has  friends  flint  loill 
not  suffer  him  to  be  captfor  ten  times  so  much,  and  ten  times  to 
the  end  of  that. — Now  take  thy  course,  Ralph. 

Mist.  Mer.  Come,  Michael  ;  thou  and  I  will  go  home  to 
thy  father  ;  he  hath  enough  left  to  keep  us  a  day  or  two,  and 
we'll  set  fellows  abroad  to  cry  our  purse  and  our  casket :  shall 
we,  Michael  ? 

Mich.  Ay,  I  pray,  mother ;  in  truth  my  feet  are  full  of 
chilblains  with  travelling. 

Wife.  Faith,  and  those  chilblains  are  a  foid  trouble.  Mistress 
Merrythought,  when  your  youth  comes  home,  let  him  rub  all  the 
soles  of  his  feet,  and  his  heels,  and  his  alleles,  with  a  mouse- skin  ; 
or,  if  none  of  your  people  can  catch  a  mouse,  xchen  he  goes  to  bed, 
let  him  roll  his  feet  in  the  warm  embers,  and,  I  warrant  you,  he 
shall  be  well ;  and  you  may  make  him  put  his  fingers  between  his 
toes,  and  smell  to  them  ;  ifs  very  sovereign  for  his  head,  if  he  be 
costive. 

"  Fair  knight,  I  thank  you,  &c.]  So  this  speech  is  aiTangcd  iu  all  the  old 
eds.,  and  was  evidently  intended  for  verse,  (in  which  the  Host  afterwards 
speaks,)  though  Weber  printed  it  as  prose.  The  incomplete  sense  shows  that 
some  words  which  pi'eceded  "Therefore  "  have  droi)t  out  from  the  second  line. 

"  cap]  "  With  the  nature  of  this  punishment,"  says  Weber,  "  I  am  not 
acquainted.  That  it  continued  in  use  till  the  eighteenth  century  will  be  seen 
by  the  following  quotation,"  &c.  Had  he  never  heard  of  a  capias?  to  cap  is 
to  arrest. 

"  beholding"}  i.  e.  beholden, — a  form  common  in  our  old  writers. 

p  go  snick-up]  See  note,  p.  15(>. 


182  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  hi. 

Mist.  Mer.  Master  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  my  son 
Michael  and  I  bid  you  farewell:  I  thank  your  worship  heartily 
for  your  kindness. 

Balpli.  Farewell,  fair  lady,  and  your  tender  squire. 
If  pricking  through  these  deserts,  I  do  hear 
Of  any  traitorous  knight,  who  through  his  guile 
Hath  light  '^  upon  your  casket  and  your  purse, 
I  will  despoil  him  of  them,  and  restore  them. 

Mist.  Mer.  I  thank  your  worship.  [_Exit  xdtli  Michael, 

Ralph.  Dwarf,  bear  my  shield  ;  squire,  elevate  my  lance  : — 
And  now  farewell,  you  Knight  of  holy  Bell. 

Cit.  At/^  ay,  Ralphs  all  is  paid. 

Ralph.  But  yet,  before  I  go,  speak,  worthy  knight, 
If  aught  you  do  of  sad  adventures  know, 
Where  errant  knight  "^  may  through  his  prowess  win 
Eternal  fame,  and  free  some  gentle  souls 
From  endless  bonds  of  steel  and  lingering  pain. 

Host.  Sirrah,  go  to  Nick  the  barber,  and  bid  him  prepare 
himself,  as  I  told  you  before,  quickly. 

Tap.  I  am  gone,  sir.  [Exit. 

Host.  Sir  knio-ht,  this  wilderness  affordeth  none 
But  the  great  venture,  where  full  many  a  knight 
Hath  tried  his  prowess,  and  come  off  with  shame ; 
And  where  I  would  not  have  you  lose  your  life 
Against  no  man,  but  furious  fiend  of  hell. 

Ralph.  Speak  on,  sir  knight ;  tell  what  he  is  and  where : 
For  here  I  vow,  upon  my  blazing  badge, 
Never  to  blaze  ^  a  day  in  quietness, 
But  bread  and  water  will  I  only  eat, 
And  the  green  herb  and  rock  shall  be  my  couch. 
Till  I  have  quelFd  that  man,  or  beast,  or  fiend. 
That  works  such  damage  to  all  errant  knights. 

q  lighq  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  to  « lit." 

'  kniffhl]  Old  eds.  "  knights." 

*  blase]  This  reading  has  not  been  questioned  by  any  of  the  editors  f 
but  is  it  not  a  misprint, — occasioned  perhaps  by  the  eye  of  the  original  com- 
positor having  caught  the  word  "  blazing  "  in  the  preceding  line  ?  The  sense 
seems  to  require  "  lose  "  or  "  pass." 


SCENE  II.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  183 

Host.  Not  far  from  hence,  near  to  a  craggy  cliff, 
At  tlie  north  end  of  this  distressed  town. 
There  doth  stand  a  lowly  house ', 
Ruggedly  builded,  and  in  it  a  cave 
In  which  an  ugly  giant  now  doth  won ", 
Yclcped  Barbarossa "' :  in  his  hand 
He  shakes  a  naked  lance  of  purest  steel, 
With  sleeves  turned  up  ;  and  him  before  he  wears 
A  motley  garment,  to  preserve  his  clothes 
From  blood  of  those  knights  which  he  massacres 
And  ladies  gent :  without  his  door  doth  hang 
A  copper  basin  on  a  prickant  spear  ; 
At  which  no  sooner  gentle  knights  can  knock, 
But  the  shrill  sound  fierce  Barbarossa  hears, 
And  rushing  forth,  brings  in  the  errant  knight. 
And  sets  him  down  in  an  enchanted  chair  ; 
Then  with  an  engine,  which  he  hath  prepared, 
With  forty  teeth,  he  claws  his  courtly  crown  ; 
Next  makes  him  wink,  and  underneath  his  chin 
He  plants  a  brazen  piece  of  mighty  bord  " , 

'  There  doth  stand  a  loicly  house'\  Sometbing  seerus  to  have  dropt  out  liere. 
Sympson's  "  anonymous  friend  "  proposed, — 

"  A  mansion  there  doth  stand,  a  lonely  house," — 
observing  that  afterwards  "  'tis  called  a  inansion."^ 

"  wow]  "  i.  e.  dwell."     Simpson. 

^  Barbarossa^  So  tbe  old  eds.  in  the  first  speech  of  the  Barbei",  sc.  1  ;  in 
all  the  other  passages  where  the  name  occurs,  they  have  "  Barbaroso." 
Sympson  followed  them  exactly  in  giving  the  word  "  with  a  difference."  His 
successors  printed  "  Barbaroso  "  passim. 

"  ofmiyhty  lord]  "  I  conjecture  the  poets  intended  to  say  Iwre  ;  so  the  cavity 
of  a  gun,  cannon,  &c.  is  commonly  called."  Svmpson, — (who,  it  may  be  men- 
tioned as  a  remarkable  instance  of  obtuseness, — did  not  perceive  that  the 
utensil  here  spoken  of  is  the  barber's  basin,  but  supposed  it  to  be  a  piece 
of  ordnance) :  —  he  accordingly  printed  "  bore "  in  the  text ;  and  was 
followed  by  the  Editors  of  177't.  ^' Bord,''''  says  Mason,  "means  rim  or 
circumference.  The  word  is  used  in  this  sense  by  Spenser."  After  all,  it  is 
only  a  corrupt  form  of  bore :  compare  witli  the  present  passage  Drayton's 
Noah's  Floud ; 

"  beside  th'  Artillery 
Uf  fourescorc  pieces  of  a  viighty  BoareP 

p.  103.  ed.  1630. 


184  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  iii. 

And  knocks  his  bullets  round  about  his  cheeks ; 
Whilst  with  his  fingers,  and  an  instrument 
With  which  he  snaps  his  hair  off'',  he  doth  fill 
The  wretch's  ears  with  a  most  hideous  noise : 
Thus  every  knight-adventurer  he  doth  trim, 
And  now  no  creature  dares  encounter  him. 

Ralph.  In  God's  name,  I  will  fight  with  him.     Kind  sir, 
Go  but  before  me  to  this  dismal  cave, 
Where  this  huge  giant  Barbarossa  dwells, 
And,  by  that  virtue  that  brave  Rosicleer 
That  damned  brood  of  ugly  giants  slew, 
And  Palmerin  Frannarco  overthrew  ^, 
I  doubt  not  but  to  curb  this  traitor  foul, 
And  to  the  devil  send  his  guilty  soul. 

Host.  Brave-sprighted  knight,  thus  far  I  will  perform 
This  your  request ;  I'll  bring  you  within  sight 
Of  this  most  loathsome  place,  inhabited 
By  a  more  loathsome  man  ;  but  dare  not  stay, 
For  his  ^  main  force  swoops  all  he  sees  away. 

Ralph.  Saint   George,  set    on    before  !  march  squire  and 
page !  \^Exeunt. 

Wife,   George^  dost  think  Ralph  icill  confound  the  giant? 

."  Whilst  with  his  fingers,  and  an  instrument 
With  which  he  snaps  his  hair  off,  &c.]  The  barber's  "  knack  with  his  sheers 
or  his  fingers"  is  mentioned  in  Jonson's  Silent  Woman,  act  i.  sc.  1,  Works, 
vol.  iii.  355,  ed.  Gifford,  and  in  many  other  passages  of  our  early  writer*.  In 
Shadwell's  Translation  of  the  tenth  satire  of  Juvenal,  1G87  (to  which  Drydeu 
is  not  without  obligations), 

"  Quo  tondente  gravis  juveni  mihi  barba  sonabat  " 
is  rendered, — 

"  Who  snnpt  his  Fingers  at  my  youthful  Chin." 

>^         by  that  virtue  that  brave  Rosicleer 
That  damned  brood  of  ugly  giants  slew. 

And  Palmerin  Frannarco  overthrew]  "  Rosicleer's  adventures  with  the  giants 
which  infested  the  kingdom  of  Lira  occur  in  The  Mirrour  of  Knighthood  (see 
note  p.  145),  and  the  combat  of  Palmerin  and  Frannarco  is  related  in 
Palmerin  d'Oliva  (see  ibid.)."  Wedeu, — whose  strange  references  to  the 
French  version  of  the  former  romance  and  to  the  Dutch  translation  of  the 
latter,  I  have  omitted. 

'  his']   Weber  printed  "  this,"  ! 


SCENE  11.]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  185 

Cit.  /  hold  my  cap  to  a  farthing  he  does :  why ,  Nell,  I  saio 
him  wrestle  icith  the  great  Dutchman^,  and  hurl  him. 

Wife.  Faith^  and  that  Dutchman  was  a  goodly  man,  if  all 
things  were  answerable  to  his  bigness.  And  yet  they  say  there 
was  a  Scotchman  higher  than  he,  and  that  they  tico  and  a  knight 
met '',  and  saw  one  another  for  nothing.  Bat  of  all  the  sights  that 
ever  were  in  London,  since  I  was  married,  methinks  the  little 
child '^  that  was  so  fair  grown  about  the  members  was  the  prettiest ; 
that  and  the  hermaphrodite  ^. 

Cit.  Nay,  by  your  leave,  Nell,  Ninivie  ^  was  better. 

Wife.  Ninivie!  oh,  that  loas  the  story  of  Jone  and  the  xcall^, 
was  it  not,  George  ? 

Cit.    Yes,  lamb. 

»  the  great  Dutchman']  Was  possibly,  Weber  says,  the  same  person  who  is 
mentioned  as  "the  German  fencei',"  in  S.  Rowley's  Noble  Spanish  Soldier,  as 
"  the  high  German  "  in  Middleton  and  Dekker's  Roaring  Girl,  &.c.  I  think 
not.  "  The  great  Dutchman  "  of  our  text  seems  to  be  described  in  the  follow- 
ing passage  of  Stow.  "  Thisyeare  [1581]wei'etobe  scene  in  London  2  Dutchmen 
of  strange  statures,  the  one  in  height  seuen  foote  and  seueu  inches,  m  breadth 
betwixt  the  shoulders  3  quarters  of  a  yard  and  an  inch,  the  compasse  of  his 
breast  one  yard  and  halfe  and  two  mches,  and  about  the  wast  one  yard  quarter 
and  one  inch,  the  length  of  liis  arme  to  the  hand  a  full  yard  ;  a  comely  man  of 
person,  but  lame  of  his  legges  (for  he  had  broken  them  with  lifting  of  a  barrell 
of  beere)."  Annales,  p.  G94.  ed.  1615.     The  other  Dutchman  was  a  dwarf. 

*>  and  a  knight  met]  Altered  to  "  on  a  night  met  "  by  Sympsoii,  who  hopes  the 
correction  "will  be  allowed  by  every  candid  and  judicious  reader  :  7iight  being 
the  time  when  these  men-monsters  remove  from  place  to  jilace,  thereby  to 
prevent  spoiling  their  market  by  exposing  to  common  view  what  they  would 
have  the  world  pay  dearly  for  the  sight  of."  And  so  the  Editors  of  1778. 
Weber  gave  the  reading  of  the  old  eds.,  observing  that  "  perhaps  the  authors 
alluded  to  some  known  anecdote." — Qy.  have  the  words  "  and  a  knight  "  been 
shuffled  out  of  their  right  place  in  the  sentence  ?  and  ought  we  to  read, — "  and 
yet  they  say  there  was  a  Scotchman  and  a  knight  higher  than  he,  and  tliat  they 
two  met,  and  saw  one  another  for  nothing."  ? 

''■  the  little  child,  Sec]  Is  mentioned  in  Jensen's  Alchemist,  act  v.  sc.  I. — 
Works,  iv.  161.  ed.  Gifferd. 

"I  the  hermaphrodite]  "  Perhaps,"  says  Weber  very  foolishly, "  the  redoubted 
Moll  Cut-purse,  or  Mary  Frith,  who  was  commonly  reputed  to  be  a  herma- 
phrodite" &c.  Poor  Moll  was  assuredly  a  very  notorious  personage,  but  she 
was  never  one  of  "  the  sights  "  of  London. 

<^  Ninivie]  i.  e.  the  motion  or  puppet-show  of  Nineveh,  which  appoare  to  have 
been  the  most  popular  exhibition  of  the  kind  ;  the  notices  of  it  in  our  eai'ly 
writers,  if  collected,  would  occupy  several  pages. 

'  Jone  and  the  tvali]  Meaning,  as  Theobald  ([)erhaps  unnecessarily)  observes, 
Jonah  and  the  whale. 


]86  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.         [act  iii. 

SCENE    III. — Street  before  Merrythought's  house. 

Enter  Mistress  Merrythought. 

Wife.  Look,  George,  here  comes  mistress  Merrythought 
again  !  and  I  ivould  have  Ralph  come  arid  fight  loith  the  giant ; 
I  tell  you  true,  I  long  to  seet. 

Cit.  Good  mistress  Merry tliought,  begone,  1  pray  you,  for  my 
sake  ;  I  pray  you,  forbear  a  little  ;  you  shall  have  audience  pre- 
sently ;  I  have  a  little  business. 

Wife.  Mistress  Merrythought,  if  it  jAease  you  to  refrain  your 
passion  a  little,  till  Ralph  have  despatched  the  giant  out  of  the 
roay,  loe  shall  think  ourselves  much  bound  to  you".  [Exit 
Mistress  Merrythought.]  /  thank  you,  good  mistress  Merj-y- 
thought. 

Cit.  Boy,  come  hither.  [Enter  Boy.]  Send  away  Ralph  and 
this  ivhoreson  giant  quickly. 

Boy.  In  good  faith,  sir,  ice  cannot ;  yoiCll  utterly  spoil  our 
play,  and  make  it  to  be  hissed ;  and  it  cost  money  ;  you  will  not 
suffer  us  to  go  on  with  our  plot. — I  pray,  gentlemen,  rule  him. 

Cit.  Let  him  come  now  and  despatch  this,  and  Til  trouble  you 
no  more. 

Boy.    Will  you  give  me  your  hand  of  that  ? 

Wife.  Give  him  thy  hand,  George,  do;  and  I^ II kiss  him.  I 
warrant  thee,  the  youth  means  plainly. 

Boy.  /7Z  send  him  to  you  presently. 

Wife,  [kissing  him.]  I  thank  you,  little  youth.  [Exit  Boy,] 
Faith,  the  child  hath  a  sweet  breath,  George  ;  but  I  think  it  be 
troubled  ivith  the  worms ;  carduus  henedictus  and  mare''s  milk 
loere  the  only  thing  in  the  world  for  V. 

SCENE  IV. — Before  a  barber  s  shop,  Waltham. 

Enter  Ralph,  Host,  Tim,  and  George. 
Oh,  Ralph  ''s  here,  George  ! — God  send  thee  good  luck,  Ralph  ! 

K  bound  to  you]  So  the  first  4to.  Later  eds.  (the  compositor's  eye  having 
eauglit  what  immediately  follows)  "  hound  to  thank  you  "  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 


SCENE  IV.]      THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  187 

Host.  Puissant  knight,  yonder  his  mansion  is. 
Lo,  where  the  spear  and  copper  basin  are  ! 
Behold  that  string,  on  which  hangs  many  a  tooth '', 
Drawn  from  the  gentle  jaw  of  wandering  knights  ! 
I  dare  not  stay  to  sound  ;  he  will  appear.  \^Exit. 

Ralph.  Oh,  faint  not,  heart !    Susan,  my  lady  dear. 
The  cobblei-'s  maid  in  Milk-street,  for  whose  sake 
I  take  these  arms,  oh,  let  the  thought  of  thee 
Carry  thy  knight  through  all  adventurous  deeds ; 
And,  in  the  honour  of  thy  beauteous  self, 
JMay  I  destroy  this  monster  Barbarossa  ! — 
Knock,  squire,  upon  the  basin,  till  it  break 
AVith  the  shrill  strokes,  or  till  the  giant  speak. 

[Tim  knocks  upon  the  hasin. 

Enter  Barber. 

Wife.  0/«,  George,  the  giant,  the  giant ! — Noic,  Ralph,  for 
thy  life  ! 

Bar.  What  fond '  unknowing  wight  is  this,  that  dares 
So  rudely  knock  at  Barbarossa''s  cell, 
Where  no  man  comes  but  leaves  his  fleece  behind  ? 

**  Behold  that  string  on  ii'hich  hangs  many  a  tooth.']  "  The  barbers  anciently 
displayed  the  teeth  which  they  had  drawn  on  a  string  or  chain,  which  they 
sometimes  wore  about  their  persons.    In  the  romance  of  Otuel,  that  champion 
having  laid  bare  his  advei'sary's  jaw  by  a  stroke  of  his  faulchion,  thus  gibes 
him,  V.  1311  ; 

—  '  Clai'cl,  so  mote  thou  the, 
Why  sheuwestou  tin  teth  to  me  ? 
I  n'  am  no  loth  drawere  ; 

Thou  ne  sest  me  no  cheine  here.'  [p.  71.  of  theed.  printed 
for  the  Abbotsford  Club,  where  in  the  second  line,  "  schcuwcstou  the  teth."] 
-------         and  Cleveland,  in  his  celebrated  satire, 

entitled  '  The  Rebel  Scot,'  speaking  of  their  national  disposition  to  be  nuT- 
cenary  soldiers,  says, 

*  Nature  with  Scots  as  tooth-drawers  hath  dealt, 
Who  use  to  string  their  teeth  upon  their  belt.'  [Weber's  inac- 
curate citation  of  this  couplet  is  now  rectified.] 

See  also  Lazarillo's   lan»entation    in    the  Woman-Hater,   vol.  i.  58.      From 
Southey's  Lettci-s  from  Spain,  it  seems  that  the  practice  is  still  prevalent  in 
that  country."     Weder. 
'  fond]  i.  e.  foolish. 


188  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  in. 

Ralph.  I,  traitorous  caitiff,  who  am  sent  by  fate 
To  punish  all  the  sad  enormities 
Thou  hast  committed  a^^ainst  ladies  gent 
And  errant  knights.     Traitor  to  God  and  men, 
Prepare  thyself ;  this  is  the  dismal  hour 
Appointed  for  thee  to  give  strict  account 
Of  all  thy  beastly  treacherous  villanies. 

Bar,  Fool-hardy  knight,  full  soon  thou  shalt  aby 
This  fond  reproach  :  thy  body  will  I  bang ; 

[  Takes  doicn  his  pole. 
And,  lo,  upon  that  string  thy  teeth  shall  hang  ! 
Prepare  thyself,  for  dead  soon  shalt  thou  be. 

Ralph.  Saint  George  for  me  ! 

Bar.  Gargantua  ^  for  me  !  [^They Jight. 

Wife.    To  him,  Ralphs  to  him  !  hold  up  the  giant ;  set  out  thy 
leg  before,  Ralph  ! 

Cit.  Falsify  a  bloio,  Ralph,  falsify  a  bloio  !  the  giant  lies  open 
on  the  left  side. 

Wife.  Bear't  off,  bear''t  off  still !  there,  boy! — Oh,  Ralph''s 
almost  down,  Ralph's  almost  down  ! 

Ralph.  Susan,  inspire  me  !  now  have  up  again. 

Wife.    Uj),  up,  up,  up,  up  !  so,  Ralph  !  down  with  him,  down 
with  Mm,  Ralph  ! 

Cit.  Fetch  him  o''er  the  hip,  boy  ! 

[Ralph  knocks  down  the  Barber. 

Wife.    There,  boy  I  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill,  Ralph ! 

Cit.  No,  Ralph  ;  get  all  out  of  him  first. 

Ralph.  Presumptuous  man,  see  to  what  desperate  end 
Thy  treachery  hath  brought  thee  !    The  just  gods, 
Who  never  prosper  those  that  do  despise  them. 
For  all  the  villanies  which  thou  hast  done 
To  knights  and  ladies,  now  have  paid  thee  home 
By  my  stiff  arm,  a  knight  adventurous. 
But  say,  vile  wretch,  before  I  send  thy  soul 
To  sad  Avernus,  (whither  it  must  go,) 
What  captives  holdst  thou  in  thy  sable  cave  ? 

•'  Gargantiui]   It  is  perhaps  hardly  necessary  to  renihul  the  reader  here  of 
Rabelais. 


SCENE  IV.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  189 

Bar.  Go  in,  and  free  them  all ;  thou  hast  the  day. 

Ralph.  Go,  squii'e  and  dwarf,  search  in  this  dreadful  cave, 
And  free  the  wretched  prisoners  from  their  bonds. 

[_Exeunt  Tim  and  George. 

Bar.  I  crave  for  mercy,  as  thou  art  a  knight, 
And  scorn'st  to  spill  the  blood  of  those  that  beg. 

Ralph.  Thou  shevv"'d''st  no  mercy,  nor  shalt  thou  have  any; 
Prepare  thyself,  for  thou  shalt  surely  die. 

Re-enter  Tim  leading  a  Man  winkinj.,  with  a  basin  under  his  chin^ . 

Tim.  Behold,  brave  knight,  here  is  one  prisoner, 
Whom  this  vild '  man  hath  used  as  you  see. 

AV^ife.    Tins  is  thejirst  ivise  icord  I  heard  the  squire  speak. 

Ralph.  Speak  what  thou  art,  and  how  thou  hast  been  usM, 
That  I  may  give  him  condign  punishment. 

Man.  I  am  a  knight  that  took  my  journey  post 
Northward  from  London  ;   and  in  courteous  wise 
This  giant  train'd  me  to  his  loathsome  den, 
Under  pretence  of  killing  of  the  itch  ; 
And  all  my  body  with  a  powder  strewM, 
That  smarts  and  stings  ;  and  cut  away  my  beard, 
And  my  curl'd  locks  wherein  were  ribands  tied  '" ; 
And  with  a  water  wash'd  my  tender  eyes, 
(Whilst  up  and  down  about  me  still  he  skipt,) 
Whose  virtue  is,  that,  till  my  eyes  be  wip\l 
With  a  dry  cloth,  for  this  my  foul  disgrace, 
I  shall  not  dare  to  look  a  dog  i'  the  face. 

Wife.  Alas.,  poor  hiicjht ! — Relieve  him,  Ralph  ;  relieve  poor 
knights,  whilst  you  live. 

Ralph.  My  trusty  squire,  convey  liim  to  the  town. 
Whore  he  may  find  relief. — Adieu,  fair  knight. 

\^Exit  Man  icith  Ti.\i,  icho  presently  re-enters. 

^  under  his  chin']  To  this  stago-dircction  of  the  old  cds.,  Weber  adds,  rather 
unnecessarily,  "  as  prepared  for  shaving." 

'  vild]  i.  c.  vile.  Old  eds.  "  wilde  "  and  "wild";  which  Sympson  gave  ; 
his  successors  printed  "  vile."     See  note  p.  93  of  this  vol. 

■"  And  my  curl'd  locks  wherein  were  ribands  lied]  "  In  this  fantastical  man- 
ner the  gallants  of  the  time  attired  their  hair,  and  the  practice  was  strongly 
inveighed  against  by  the  puritans."     Weuer. 


190 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  hi. 


Re-enter  George,  leading  a  second  Man,  with  a  patch  over  his  nose. 

Georf/e.  Puissant  Knight,  of  the  Burning  Pestle  hight  °, 
See  here  another  wretch,  whom  this  foul  beast 
Hath  scotch'd  °  and  scor'd  in  this  inhuman  wise  ! 

Ralph.  Speak  me  thy  name,  and  eke  thy  place  of  birth, 
And  what  hath  been  thy  usage  in  this  cave. 

Sec.  Man.  I  am  a  knight,  Sir  Pockhole  is  my  name, 
And  by  my  birth  I  am  a  Londoner, 
Free  by  my  copy,  but  my  ancestors 
Were  Frenchmen  all  p  ;  and  riding  hard  this  way 
Upon  a  trotting  horse,  my  bones  did  ache  ; 
And  I,  faint  knight,  to  ease  my  weary  limbs. 
Light  1  at  this  cave  ;  when  straight  this  furious  fiend, 
With  sharpest  instrument  of  purest  steel. 
Did  cut  the  gristle  of  my  nose  away, 
And  in  the  place  this  velvet  plaster  stands : 
Relieve  me,  gentle  knight,  out  of  his  hands  ! 

Wife.   Good  Ralph,  relieve  Sir  Pockhole,  and  send  him  a^cay  ; 
for  in  truth  his  breath  stinks. 

Ralph.  Convey  him  straight  after  the  other  knight. — 
Sir  Pockhole,  fare  you  well. 

Sec.  Man.  Kind  sir,  good  night. 

[Exit  with  George,  icho  presently  re-enters. 

Third  Man.  [withiii.']  Deliver  us  ! 

Woman.  \jvithin.^  Deliver  us  ! 

AVife,  Hark,    Georrje,  what  a  looful  cry  there  is  !     I  think 
some  icoman  lies-in  there. 

Third  Man.  [ivithin.'^  Deliver  us  ! 

Woman.  \within.'\  Deliver  us  ! 

Ralph.  What  ghastly  noise  is  this  ?     Speak,  Barbarossa, 
Or,  by  this  blazing  steel,  thy  head  goes  off ! 

"  hiffht]  i.  e.  called. 

°  scotch'd]  i.  e.  cut, — nearly  sj-nonymous  with  "scor'd."     The  correction  of 
Theobald  and  Sj-mpson.     Old  eds,  "  scorcht." 

p         my  ancestors 

Were  Frenchmen  all]  "  Alluding  to  the  name  of  the  knight.  It  should 
be  remembered,  that  the  occupation  of  a  surgeon  was  at  the  time  jomed  to  that 
of  a  barber.''     Weber. 

1  Light]  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  to  "  Lit." 


SCENE  IV.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  191 

Bar.   Prisoners  of  mine,  whom  I  in  diet  keep. 
Send  lower  down  into  the  cave "", 
And  in  a  tub  that's  heated  smoking  hot% 
There  may  they'  find  them,  and  dehver  them, 

Ralph.  Run,  squire  and  dwarf ;  deliver  them  with  speed. 

\_Exeunt  Tim  and  George. 

Wife.  J^ut  will  not  Ralph  kill  this  giant  ?  Surely  I  am 
afrai-ri"^,  if  he  let  him  go,  he  will  do  as  much  hurt  as  ever  he  did. 

Cit.  Not  so,  mouse,  neither,  if  he  could  convert  him. 

Wife.  Ay,  George,  if  he  could  convert  him  ;  but  a  giant  is  not 
so  soon  converted  as  one  of  us  ordinary  people.  There  ""s  a  pretty 
tale  of  a  icitch,  that  had  the  deviVs  mark  about  her,  (God  bless 
tis .')  that  had  a  giant  to  her  son,  that  rvas  called  Lob-lie-by-the- 
fire  ^;  didst  never  hear  it,  George  ? 

Cit.  Peace,  Nell ;  here  comes  the  prisoners. 

Ee-enterTni,  leading  a  third  'Man,witk  aglass  of  lotion  in  his  hand,  and 
George  leading  a  Woman,  tcith  diet-bread  and  drink  in  her  hand. 

George.  Here  be  these  pined  wretches,  manful  knight, 
That  for  this  six  weeks  have  not  seen  a  wight. 

Ralph.  Deliver  what  you  are,  and  how  you  came 
To  this  sad  cave,  and  what  your  usage  was  ? 

Third  Man.  I  am  an  errant  knight  that  follow'd  arms, 
^Vith  spear  and  shield  ;  and  in  my  tender  years 

'  cflDc]  Some  epithet  belonging  to  this  word  seems  to  have  tlropt  out. 

'  a  tub  that 's  healed  smokinff  hoi'\  Was  formerly  used  for  the  cure  of  the 
venereal  disease  ;  see  what  presently  follows.  The  process  of  sweating  patients 
so  afflicted  is  often  mentioned  in  our  old  plays,  and  with  a  variety  of  jocular 
allusions. 

'  may  they']  Altered  by  Weber  to  "  they  may." 

"  I  am  afraid]  I  may  just  notice  that  here  the  4tos.  read  "  /  am  afeard  "  ; 
but  in  an  eai'lier  speech  of  the  Citizen's  Wife  (p.  1 60)  they  have  "  /  ajn  afraid." 

"■'  Lob-lie-hy-the-fire]  "  Z,o&,  as  Dr.  Johnson  observes  \^ote  on  Midsuminer- 
Night's  Dream,  act  ii.  sc.  1.],  as  well  as  lubber,  looby,  lobcock,  denotes  inactivity 
of  body,  and  dullness  of  mind.  [The  etymology  of  the  word  is  uncertain.]  It 
wa.s  commonly  used  as  a  term  of  contempt."  Weber, — who  proceeds  to  <juote 
Warton's  erroneous  remark  that  Milton  in  U  Allegro  confounded  "  the  lubber- 
fiend  "  with  the  sleepy  giant  mentioned  in  The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  ; 
and  afterwards  cites  some  lines  from  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  IJodk  iii.  Canto 
vii.  stanzas  fi,  12,  which  he  conjectures  "  that  both  Fletcher  and  Milton  had  in 
view,"  but  which  there  can  be  very  little  doubt  tliat  they  never  thought  of. 


192  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  hi. 

I  (Stricken  was  with  Cupid's  fiery  shaft, 

And  fell  in  love  with  this  my  lady  dear, 

And  stole  her  from  her  friends  in  Turnbull-street  '\ 

And  bore  her  up  and  down  fi'om  town  to  town, 

Where  we  did  eat  and  drink,  and  music  hear  ; 

Till  at  the  length  at  this  unhappy  town 

We  did  arrive,  and  coming  to  this  cave, 

This  beast  us  caught,  and  put  us  in  a  tub. 

Where  we  this  two  months  sweat,  and  should  have  done 

Another  month,  if  you  had  not  reliev'd  us. 

Woman.  This  bread  and  water  hath  our  diet  been, 
Together  with  a  rib  cut  from  a  neck 
Of  burned  mutton  ;  hard  hath  been  our  fare  : 
Release  us  from  this  ugly  giant's  snare  ! 

Third  Man.  This  hath  been  all  the  food  we  have  receiv'd  ; 
But  only  twice  a-day,  for  novelty, 
He  gave  a  spoonful  of  this  hearty  broth 
To  each  of  us,  through  this  same  slender  quill. 

\_Pulls  out  a  syringe. 

Ralph.  From  this  infernal  monster  you  shall  go, 
That  useth  knights  and  gentle  ladies  so. — 
Convey  them  hence.      [Third  Man  and  Woman  are  led  offhy 
Tim  and  George,  xcho  presently  re-enter. 

Cit.  Cony,  I  can  tell  thee.,  the  gentlemen  like  Ralph. 

Wife.  Ay.,  George,  I  see  it  well  enough. — Gentlemen,  I  thank 
you  all  heartily  for  gracing  my  man  Ralph  ;  and  I  promise  you, 
you  shall  see  him  oftener. 

Bar.  Mercy,  great  knight !  I  do  recant  my  ill. 
And  henceforth  never  gentle  blood  will  spill. 

Ralph.  I  give  thee  mercy  ;  but  yet  shalt  thou  swear 
Upon  my  Burning  Pestle,  to  perform 
Thy  promise  uttered. 

Bar.  I  swear  and  kiss.  [^Kisses  the  Pestle. 

Ralph.  Depart,  then,  and  amend.- —  [^Exit  Barber. 

Come,  squire  and  dwarf ;  the  sun  grows  towards  his  set, 
And  we  have  many  more  adventures  yet.  [Exeunt. 

*  Turnbiill-street']  "  A  street  very  notorious  for  its  brothels  at  the  time,  and 
often  alluded  to  in  old  plays."  Weber.  A  corruption  of  Turnmill-street,  near 
Clerkenwell. 


SCENE  v.]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  1!)^ 

Cit.  Now  Ralph  is  in  this  humour,  I  know  he  would  ha 
beaten  all  the  hoi/s  in  the  house^  {ft^^^y  ^*^^  ^^^^  -^^^  ^^  him. 

Wife.  Ay^  George,  hut  it  is  tcell  as  it  is  :  I  warrant  you,  the 
gentlemen  do  consider  tchat  it  is  to  overthrow  a  giant. 


SCENE  V. — Street  before  Merrythought''s  house. 

Enter  Mistress  Merrythought  and  Michael. 

But,  look,  George  ;  here  comes  mistress  Merrythought,  and  her 
son  Michael. — Note  you  are  welcome,  mistress  Merrythought  ; 
7101V  Ralph  has  done,  you  may  go  on. 

Mist.  Mer.  Mick,  my  boy — 

Mich.  Ay,  forsooth,  mother. 

Mist.  Mer.  Be  merry,  Mick ;  we  are  at  home  now ;  where, 
I  warrant  you,  you  shall  find  the  house  flung  out  of  the 
windows.  [Music  tvithin.']  Hark  !  hey,  dogs,  hey!  this  is  the 
old  world,  i'  faith,  with  my  husband.  If  I  get  J'  in  among  them, 
I'll  play  them  such  a  lesson,  that  they  shall  have  little  list  to 
come  scraping  hither  again. — Why,  master  Merrythought ! 
husband  !   Charles  Merrythought ! 

Mer.   [appearing  above,  and  singing.^ 

If  you  will  sing,  and  dance,  and  laugh, 

And  hollow,  and  laugh  again, 
And  then  cry,  "there,  boys,  there  !"  why,  then. 

One,  two,  three,  and  four, 

We  shall  be  merry  within  this  hour. 

Mist.  Mer.  Why,  Charles,  do  you  not  know  your  own 
natural  wife  ?  I  say,  open  the  door,  and  turn  me  out  those 
mangy  companions  ;  'tis  more  than  time  that  they  were  fellow 
and  follow-like  with  you.  You  are  a  gentleman,  Charles,  and 
an  old  man,  and  father  of  two  children  ;  and  I  myself,  (though 
I  say  it)  by  my  mother's  side  niece  to  a  worshipful  gentleman 
and  a  conductor ;  he  has  been  three  times  in  his  majesty's 

^  If  I  get]  So  the  first  4to.  and  one  of  the  4tos.  of  1635.  Other  eds.  "  1 
get,"  and  "  I'll  get.'^ 

VOL.  n.  o 


194  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  hi. 

service  at  Chester,  and  is  now  the  fourth  time,  God  bless 
him  and  his  charge,  upon  his  journey. 
Mer.  [sinr/s.] 

Go  from  my  window  ^,  love,  go  ; 
Go  from  my  window,  my  dear  ! 

The  wind  and  the  rain 

Will  drive  you  back  again  ; 
You  cannot  be  lodged  here. 

Hark  you,  mistress  Merrythought,  you  that  walk  upon  ad- 
ventures, and  forsake  your  husband,  because  he  sings  with 
never  a  penny  in  his  purse  ;  what,  shall  I  think  myself  the 
worse  ?  Faith,  no.  Til  be  merry.  You  come  not  here'';  here's 
none  but  lads  of  mettle,  lives  of  a  hundred  years  and  upwards ; 
care  never  drunk  their  bloods,  nor  want  made  them  warble 
"  Heigh-ho,  my  heart  is  heavy  !  " 

Mist.  Mer.  Why,  master  Merrythought,  what  am  I,  that 
you  should  laugh  me  to  scorn  thus  abruptly  1  am  I  not  your 
fellow-feeler,  as  we  may  say,  in  all  our  miseries  ?  your  com- 
forter   in  health   and    sickness  ?    have    I    not  brought   you 

'  Go  from  my  window,  &c.]  "  A  fragment  of  an  old  song  very  popular  at  the 
time,  being  again  quoted  in  The  Woman's  Prize  [Act  1,  sc.  3]  and  Monsieur 
Thomas  [Act  iii.  sc.  3]."     Weber.     The  next  fragment  sung  by  Merrythought 
belongs,  it  would  seem,  to  the  same  piece,  and  is  found  with  the  following  slight 
.variation  in  a  song  which  begins,  "  Arise,  arise,  my  Juggie,  my  Puggie,  &c.," 
printed  at  the  end  of  Heywood's  Rape  of  Lucrece  ; 
"  Begone,  begone,  my  willie,  my  billie, 
begone,  begone,  my  deere, 
The  weather  is  warme,  'twill  doe  thee  no  harme, 
thou  canst  not  be  lodged  heere." 
Durfey  inserted  the  song  from  Heywood's  play  with  some  alterations  in  Pills  to 
Purge  Melancholy,  iv.  44.      Mr.   Chappell   {Nat.  Engl.  Airs,  ii.    150)  is  of 
opinion  that  the  song  given  by  Heywood  and  that  cited  here  by  Merrythought 
are  distinct  ballads. 

a  Vou  come  not  here,  &c.]  With  this  speech  of  Merrythought  some  scraps  of 
ballads  seem  to  be  interwoven  ;  but  I  am  unable  to  distinguish  them  exactly. 
The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  printed  the  whole  of  the  present  passage 
thus, — as  part  of  a  song  ! 

"  You  come  not  here,  here's  none  but  lads  of  mettle. 
Lives  of  a  hundred  years,  and  upwards. 
Care  never  drunk  their  bloods,  nor  want  made  them  wai'ble 
Hey-ho,  my  heart  is  heavy." 


SCENE  v.]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  195 

children  ?   are  they  not  Hke  you,  Charles  ?  look  upon  thine 
own  image,  hard-hearted  man  !  and  yet  for  all  this — 
Mer.   \^sin(/s.\ 

Begone,  begone,  my  juggy,  ray  puggy, 
Begone,  my  love,  my  dear  ! 

The  weather  is  warm, 

'Twill  do  thee  no  harm  ; 
Thou  canst  not  be  lodged  here. — 

Be  merry,  boys !  some  light  music,  and  more  wine !  [Exit  above. 

Wife.   He's  not  in  earnest,  I  hope,  George,  is  he  ? 

Cit.    What  if  he  be,  sweetheart  ? 

Wife.  Marry,  if  he  be,  George,  Fll  make  bold  to  tell  him  he's 
an  ingrant^  old  man  to  use  his  bedfellow  so  scurvily. 

Cit.    llliat !  how  does  he  use  her,  honey  ? 

Wife.  Marry,  come  up,  sir  saucebox  !  I  think  yoiUll  take  his 
part,  loill you  not?  Lord,  how  hot  you  are  groion!  you  are  a 
fine  man,  an  you  had  a  fine  dog  ;  it  becomes  you  sweetly  ! 

Cit.  Nay,  prithee,  Nell,  chide  not ;  for,  as  I  am  an  honest  man 
and  a  true  Christian  grocer,  I  do  not  like  his  doings. 

Wife.  I  cry  you  mercy,  then,  George !  you  know  2ve  are  all 
frail  and  full  of  infirmities. — D''ye  hear,  master  Merrythought? 
may  I  crave  a  word  ioith  you  ? 

Mer.  [appearing  above.]   Strike  up  lively,  lads  ! 

Wife.  I  had  not  thought,  in  truth,  master  Merrythought,  that 
a  man  of  your  age  and  discretion,  as  I  may  say,  being  a  gentleman, 
and  therefore  knoion  by  your  gentle  conditions  '^,  coidd  have  used 
so  little  resj)ect  to  the  toeakncss  of  his  tvife;  for  your  ivifc  is  your 
own  flesh,  the  staff  of  your  age,  your  yokefellow,  with  whose  help 
you  draio  through  the  mire  of  this  transitory  ivoi'ld  ;  nay,  she^s 
your  01071  rib  :   and  again — 

Mer.  lsiugs.'\ 

I  come  not  hither  for  thee  to  teach, 
I  have  no  pulpit  fur  thee  to  preach  ; 
I  would  thou  hadst  kiss'd  me  under  the  breech, 
As  thou  art  a  lady  gay. 


''  ingrant.']  "  Is  the  reading  of  all  the  copies  but  that  of  1711,  which  exhibits 
ignorant ;  of  which  word  it  may  be  a  vitiation,  as  ingrum  is  in  Wit  without 
Money,  [Act  v.  sc.  1 .]  Ingrant  hero  seems  to  stand  for  ingratefid  [or  ingrate]." 
Ed.  177!!.  '■  condilions]   i.  c.  qualities,  dispositions,  haljits. 

O  2 


196  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  hi. 

Wife.  Marry^  tvith  a  vengeance  !  I  am  heartily  sorry  for  the 
poor  gentlewoman  :  but  if  I  were  thy  tvife^  V faith,  greybeard, 
i  faith 

Cit.  I  prithee,  sweet  honeysuckle,  be  content. 

Wife.  Give  me  such  words,  that  am  a  gentlewoman  born !  hang 
him,  hoary  rascal !  Get  me  some  drink,  George  ;  I  am  almost 
molten  with  fretting :  now,  beshrew  his  knave's  heart  for  it! 

[Exit  Citizen. 

Mer.  Play  me  a  light  lavolta*^.  Come,  be  frolic.  Fill  the 
good  fellows  wine. 

Mist.  Mer.  Why,  master  Merrythought,  are  you  disposed 
to  make  me  wait  here  ?  you"*!!  open,  1  hope  ;  Fll  fetch  them 
that  shall  open  else. 

Mer.  Good  woman,  if  you  will  sing,  Til  give  you  something ; 

if  not,  [Sijigs. 

You  are  no  love  ^  for  me,  Margaret ; 
I  am  no  love  for  you. — 

Come  aloft,  boys,  aloft  ^ !  [Exit  above. 

Mist.  Mer.  Now,  a  churFs  fart  in  your  teeth,  sir  !  —  Come, 
Mick,  we*'ll  not  trouble  him ;  'a  shall  not  ding  us  i'  the  teeth 
with  his  bread  and  his  broth,  that  he  shall  not.  Come,  boy ; 
I'll  provide  for  thee,  I  warrant  thee.  We'll  go  to  master 
Venturewell's,  the  merchant ;  I'll  get  his  letter  to  mine  host 
of  the  Bell  in  Waltham  ;  there  Fll  place  thee  with  the  tapster : 
will  not  that  do  well  for  thee,  Mick  \  and  let  me  alone  for 
that  old  CLickoldly  knave  your  father  ;  I'll  use  him  in  his  kind, 
I  warrant  ye.  [Exeunt. 

^  lavolta]  "  Was  the  name  of  a  lively  dance,  somewhat  resembling  a  German 
waltz."     Weber. 

Sir  John  Davies,  in  a  passage  which  has  been  often  quoted,  describes  it  as 
"  A  loftie  lumping,  or  a  leaping  round, 
Where  arme  in  arme  two  dauncers  are  entwiud, 

And  whirle  themselues,  with  strict  embraccments  bound." 

Orchestra,  st.  70. 
«  Vou  are  no  lope,  &c.]   The  Editors  of  1778  erroneously  state  that  these 
lines  are  to  be  found  in  the  ballad  of  Fair  Margaret  and  Sweet  William, 
reprinted  by  Percy  :  see  note  p.  170. 

'  Come  aloft]  "To  come  aloft  means  to  tumble."  Mason.  The  expression 
is  generally  found  applied  to  apes  that  were  taught  to  vault  :  here  it  is  used 
merely  as  an  incitement  to  mirth. 


SCENE  v.]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNINGF  PESTLE.  197 

Re-enter  Citizen  with  heer. 

Wife.   Come,  George,  Where's  the  heer  ? 

Cit.  Here,  love. 

Wife.  This  old  fornicating  felloio  will  not  out  of  my  mind  yet. 
— Gentlemen,  I'll  begin  to  yon  all ;  and  I  desire  more  of  your 
acquaintance  tvith  all  my  heart.  [Drinks.] — Fill  the  gentlemen 
some  beer,  George.  [Enter  Boy.]  Look,  George,  the  little  boy  '5 
come  again :  methinks  he  looks  something  like  the  Prince  of 
Orange  in  his  long  stocking,  if  he  had  a  little  harness  ^  about  his 
neck.  George,  I  icill  have  him  dance  fading. — Fading  is  a 
fine  jig^i  Fll  assure  you,  gentlemen. — Begin,  brother.  [Boy 
dances.] — Noiv  'a  capers,  siceethcart! — Now  a  turn  0'  the  toe,  and 
then  tumble  !  cannot  you  tumble,  youth  ? 

Boy.  No,  indeed,  forsooth. 

Wife.  Nor  eat  fire  ? 

Boy.  Neither. 

Wife.  Jl^iy,  then,  1  thank  you  heartily ;  there''s  twopence  to 
buy  you  points '  witlial. 

e  harness]  "  i.  e.  armour."     Mason. 

^  fading. — Fading  is  a  fine  jig]  "  This  dance  is  mentioned  by  Ben  Jonson, 
in  the  Irish  Masque  at  Court :  '  Daunsh  a  fading  at  te  vedding '  ;  and  again, 
*  Show  tee  how  teye  can  foot  te  fading  and  te  fadow'.  [  Works,  vii.  240,  ed. 
Gifford.]"  Ed.  1778.  The  dance  took  its  name  from  the  burden  of  an  Irish 
song;  and  both  seem  to  have  been  of  a  licentious  description.  "Hence," 
observes  Weber,  "  the  word  jig  in  the  text,  which  should  be  understood  iu  its 
ancient  sense,  viz.  [merry]  song,  or  ballad." 

'  points]  i.  e.  tagged  laces  used  m  the  dress, — to  attach  the  hose  or  breeches 
to  the  doublet,  &c. 


198  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  iv. 


ACT  IV  \ 

Scene  I. — A  Street. 


Enter  Jasper  and  Boy. 

Jasp.  There,  boy,  deliver  this ;  but  do  it  well. 
Hast  thou  provided  me  four  lusty  fellows,  [  Gives  a  letter. 

Able  to  carry  me  ?  and  art  thou  perfect 
In  all  thy  business  ? 

Boy.  Sir,  you  need  not  fear ; 
I  have  my  lesson  here,  and  cannot  miss  it : 
The  men  are  ready  for  you,  and  what  else 
Pertains  to  this  employment. 

Jasp.  There,  my  boy  ; 
Take  it,  but  buy  no  land.  [^Gives  money. 

Boy.  Faith,  sir,  'twere  rare 
To  see  so  young  a  purchaser.     I  fly, 
And  on  my  wings  carry  your  destiny. 

Jasp.  Go,  and  be  happy !  \_Exit  Boy.~|  Now,  my  latest  hope, 
Forsake  me  not,  but  fling  thy  anchor  out, 
And  let  it  hold  !     Stand  fix'd,  thou  rolling  stone. 
Till  I  enjoy  my  dearest  !     Hear  me,  all 
You  powers,  that  rule  in  men,  celestial !  [Ezit. 

Wife.  Go  thy  ways  ;  thou  art  as  crooked  a  sprig  as  ever  greio 
in  London.  I  inarrant  him.,  he'll  come  to  some  naughty  end  or 
other  ;  for  his  looks  say  no  less :  besides.,  his  father  {jjou  knou\ 
George)  is  none  of  the  best ;  you  heard  him  take  me  up  like  a 
flirt-gill  ^,  and  sing  bawdy  songs  upon  me  ;  but.,  ifaith,  if  I  live., 
George 

J  Act  IV.]  "  All  the  copies  concur  in  making  tins  act  begin  with  the  Bot/'s 
dmicing  ;  but  as  the  dance  was  certainly  introduced  by  way  of  interlude,  here 
as  well  as  at  the  end  of  the  first  act,  we  have  made  this  act  begin  with  a  part 
of  the  real  play,  as  all  the  others  do."     Ed.  1778. 

^  fliri-gill]  So  the  first  4to.,  and  one  of  the  4tos.  of  1635.  Other  eds.  "gill 
flirt." 


SCENE  I.]         THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  199 

Cit.  Let  me  alone,  siceetheart :  I  have  a  trick  in  my  head  shall 
lodge  him  in  the  Arches  for  one  year ',  and  make  Idm  siny  peccavi 
ere  I  leave  him  ;  and  yet  he  shall  never  know  who  hurt  him  neither. 

Wife.  Do,  my  yood  George,  do  ! 

Cit.    What  shall  we  have  Ralph  do  noxc,  hoy  ? 

Boy.    Yon  shall  have  what  you  will,  sir. 

Cit.  JMiy,  so,  sir  ;  go  and  fetch  me  him  thai,  and  let  the  Sophy 
of  Persia  come  and  christen  him  a  child '". 

Boy.  Believe  me,  sir,  that  will  not  do  so  well ;  His  stale ;  it 
has  been  had  before  at  the  Red  Bull^. 

'  /  have  a  trick  in  my  head  shall  lodge  Mm  in  the  Arches  for  one  year,  &c.] 
"  Information  in  the  prerogative  court."  Weber.  Nares,  citing  the  present 
passage,  says  "  It  seems  there  was  a  prison  belonging  to  this  court."  Gloss- 
in  V.  Arches,  Court  of. 

"  lei  the  Sophy  of  Persia  come  and  christen  him  a  child]  In  a  note  by 
Wartou  on  the  next  speech  but  two  of  the  Citizen,  it  is  erroneously  stated  that 
"the  Sophy  of  Persia  christening  a  child  "is  a  circumstance  in  Hey  wood's 
Four  Prentices  of  London  ;  and  Weber  as  erroneously  adds  that  "  there  is  no 
doubt  a  Sophy  of  Persia  in  Heywood's  play,  btit  his  christening  a  child  is  merely 
a  ludicrous  confusion  of  the  foolish  Citizen."  The  fact  is,  the  Citizen  is  not 
thinking  of  Heywood's  play,  but  of  a  drama  written  by  Day,  W.  Rowley,  and 
Wilkins,  entitled  The  Travailes  of  The  three  English  Brothers,  Sir  Thomas, 
Sir  Anthony,  Mr.  Robert  Shirley,  which  was  printed  in  1G07,  and  which  (as 
appears  from  the  Boy's  reply  to  the  Citizen)  had  been  acted  at  the  Red  Bull. 
In  the  last  scene  of  it,  the  following  dialogue  takes  place  between  the  Sophy 
and  Robert  Shirley,  who  has  married  the  Sophy's  niece  : 
"  Soph.   If  yet  vnsatisfied  thy  gricfes  reraaine, 

Aske  yet  to  please  thy  selfe,  it  shall  be  granted. 
Rob.     I  feare  to  be  too  bold. 
Soph.  Aske  and  obtaine. 
Rob.    My  child  may  be  baptis'd  in  Christian  faith, 

And  know  the  same  God  that  the  father  hath. 
Soph.  Baptize  thy  Child  :  our  selfe  will  ayd  in  it, 
Our  selfe  will  answer  for 't,  a  Godfather  ; 
In  our  owne  armes  weele  beare  it  to  the  place, 
Where  it  shall  receiue  the  compleat  Ceremonie. 

Now  for  the  Temple,  where  our  royall  hand 
Shall  make^thy  Child  fii-st  Christian  in  our  land.  [Exeunt. 

A  show  of  the  Christning." 
"  the  Red  Bull]  "  Was  one  of  the  playhouses  in  the  reigns  of  James  I.  and 
Charles  I.  It  was  situated  in  St.  John's  Street."  Reed.  Mr.  J.  P.  Collier 
supposes  that  it  was  origuially  an  inn-yard,  and  that  it  was  constructed,  or 
converted  into  a  regular  theatre,  late  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  :  see  Hist,  of 
Engl.  Dram.  Poet.  iii.  32-1. 


200  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  iv. 

Wife.  George,  let  Ralph  travel  over  great  hills,  and  let  him 
be  very  iceary,  and  come  to  the  king  of  Cracovia's  house,  covered 
with  \hlacK\^  velvet;  and  there  let  the  king''s  daughter  stand  in 
her  window,  all  in  beaten  gold,  combing  her  golden  lochs  laith  a 
comb  of  ivory  ;  and  let  her  spy  Ralph,  and  fall  in  love  icith  liim^ 
and  come  down  to  him,  and  carry  him  into  her  father's  house  ;  and 
then  let  Ralph  talk  tvith  her. 

Cit.  Well  said,  Nell;  it  shall  be  so. — Boy,  let's  ha't  done 
quickly. 

Boy.  Sir,  if  you  icill  imagine  all  this  to  be  done  already,  you 
shall  hear  them   talk  together ;  but  we  cannot  present  a  house 
covered  with  black  velvet,  and  a  lady  in  beaten  gold. 
Cit.  Sir  boy,  let  ''s  ha  ''t  as  you  can,  then. 

Boy.  Besides,  it  zcill  sheiv  ill-favouredly  to  have  a  grocer  s 
jnentice  to  court  a  king''s  daughter. 

Cit.  JVill  it  so,  sir?  you  are  ivellread  in  histories  !  I  pray 
you,  ichat  was  .sir  Dagonet  ?  was  not  he  prentice  to  a  grocer  in 
London  ?  Read  the  play  of  The  Four  Prentices  of  London, 
ivhere  they  toss  their  pikes  so  p.  /  pray  you,  fetch  him  in,  sir, 
fetch  him  in. 

Boy.  It  shall  he  done. — It  is  not  our  fault,  gentlemen.    [[Exit. 
AVife.  JSJoiv  ice  shall  see  fine  doings,  I  warrant  ye,  George. 

°  \hlack'\  "  I  have  inserted  the  colour  of  the  velvet,  which  was  liere  wanting, 
from  what  the  Boy  says  in  the  second  speech  below,  as  to  the  impossibility  of 
their  complying  with  this  request  of  the  Citizen's  Wife."  Stmpson.  "  The  text 
probably  refers  to  some  contemporary  romance  of  the  Amadis  school."  Weber. 

P  it  ?cill  sheiv  ill-favouredly  to  have  a  grocer's  prentice  to  court  a  king's 
daughter. 

Cit.  Will  it  so,  sir?  you  are  well  read  in  histories  .'  /  pray  you,  what  was 
sir  Dagonet  ?  was  not  he  prentice  to  a  grocer  in  London  ?  Read  the  play  of 
The  Four  Prentices  of  London,  where  they  toss  their  pikes  so]  Sir  Dagonet, 
whom  the  Citizen  mistakes  for  a  grocer's  prentice,  is  a  character  in  the  cele- 
brated romance,  the  Morte  d' Arthur,  where  he  is  described  as  "  Kynge 
Arthurs  foole,"  and  we  are  told  that  "  Kynge  Arthur  loued  hj-m  passj-nge  wel, 
and  made  hym  knyght  [with]  his  owne  handes.  And  att  euery  turnemcnt  he 
beganne  to  make  Kynge  Arthur  to  laughe."  B.  x.  cap.  12.  vol.  ii.  21,  ed. 
Southey.  On  all  occasions  sir  Dagonet  meets  with  very  rough  treatment  :  see, 
for  instance,  B.  ix.  cap.  3.  vol.  i.  314,  where  sir  La-coto-male-tayle  smites  him 
over  his  horse's  croup  ;  and  cap.  lii  of  the  same  B.  p.  339,  where  sir  Tristram 
"  souses  "  him  in  a  well,  and  afterwards  takes  him  by  the  head  and  dashes  him 
to  the  ground. 

In  particularly  noticing  The  Four  Prentices  of  London,  at  p.  125,  f  neglected 


SCENE  ii.J        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  201 

SCENE  II. — A  Hall  in  the  King  of  Moldavia's  court. 

Enter  Pompiona,  Ralph,  Tim,  and  George. 

Oh,    here   they  come !  hoic   prettily   the   king    of  Cracovia's 
daughter  is  dressed  ! 

Cit.  Ay,  Nell,  it  is  the  fashion  of  that  country,  I  warrant  ye. 

Pomp.  Welcome,  sir  knight,  unto  my  father's  court, 
King  of  Moldavia '' ;  unto  me,  Pompiona  ^, 
His  daughter  dear  !     But,  sure,  you  do  not  like 
Your  entertainment,  that  will  stay  with  us 
No  longer  but  a  night. 

Ralph.  Damsel  right  fair, 

to  mention  that  Gilchrist  (Dodsley's  Old  Plays,  vi.  402)  concludes  from  the 
Citizen's  expression  in  this  speech,  "Read  the  play''  &c.,  that  Heywood's 
di'ama  must  have  been  printed  before  l(il5,  the  date  of  the  earliest  extant 
edition, —  The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  having  been  produced  in  1611. 
His  conclusion  may  be  right :  but  it  ought  to  be  observed  that  the  Citizen  is 
made  to  blunder  in  the  rest  of  the  speech  ;  and  that  the  words,  "  where  they 
toss  their  pikes  so,"  will  apply  as  well  to  the  acted  as  to  the  printed  play. 
On  the  present  passage  Warton  remarks,  "  In  Heywood's  comedy,  Eustace, 
the  grocer's  prentice,  is  inti'oduccd  courting  the  daughter  of  the  king  of  France  ; 
and  in  the  frontispiece  the  four  prentices  are  represented  in  armour  tilting  with 
javelins."  Here  Warton,  as  usual,  is  very  careless  and  inaccurate.  In  Hey- 
wood's play,  Eustace  does  not  court  the  French  king's  daughter  :  that  lady 
courts  Guy,  the  goldsmith's  prp.ntice,  who  at  first  rejects  her  because  he  can 
"  love  no  woman  iu  tiie  world,  save  war,"  but  afterwards  marries  her,  when  lie 
has  become  king  of  Jerusalem.  Again,  the  original  wood-cut  ( — the  copy  of  it 
in  Dodsley's  Old  Plays  is  a  sad  misrepresentation — )  exhibits  two  of  the 
prentices  bearing  bills  or  battle-axes,  and  two  with  spears  in  their  hands. 

'I  King  of  Moldavia'\  Weber  ventures  to  conjecture  that  the  present  scene 
was  founded  on  one  of  the  romances  in  Don  Quixote's  library  ;  and  he  adds 
still  more  rashly  that  in  the  following  passage  of  Jonson's  Silent  Woman 
"  there  Is  a  similar  allusion,  perhaps  refen-ing  to  the  same  romance  ;  " 

"  Cler.  How,  maps  of  pereons  ! 

La-F.  Yes,  sii",  of  Nomeutack,  when  he  was  here,  and  of  tiie  prince  of  Mol- 
davia, and  of  his  mistress,  mistress  Epicaine."  Act  v.  sc.  1. 
Gifford  must  certainly  have  overlooked  Weber's  unfortunate  remark,  else  he 
would  have  mentioned  it  with  one  of  his  bitterest  sneei-s.  "  Nomeutack  "  was 
an  Indian  chief,  brought  from  Virginia  to  England  ;  but  concerning  "  the 
prince  of  Moldavia,'' — real  or  pretended, — nothing,  I  believe,  is  known. 

■■  Pompiona'\  So  the  old  eds.  here  ;  but  in  Rulidi's  speech  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  play,  they  have  "  Pompiana," — rightly,  pei-haps. 


202  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  iv, 

I  am  on  many  sad  adventures  bound, 
That  call  me  forth  into  the  wilderness ; 
Besides,  my  horse's  back  is  something  gallM, 
Which  will  enforce  me  ride  a  sober  pace. 
But  many  thanks,  fair  lady,  be  to  you 
For  using  errant  knight  with  courtesy  ! 

Pomp.  But  say,  brave  knight,  what  is  your  name  and  birth  I 

Ralph.  My  name  is  Ralph ;  I  am  an  Englishman, 
(As  true  as  steel,  a  hearty  Englishman,) 
And  prentice  to  a  grocer  in  the  Strand  *■ 
By  deed  indent,  of  wliich  I  have  one  part : 
But  fortune  calling  me  to  follow  arms, 
On  me  this  holy  order  I  did  take 
Of  Burning  Pestle,  which  in  all  men's  eyes 
I  bear,  confounding  ladies'  enemies. 

Pomp.  Oft  have  I  heard  of  your  brave  countrymen, 
And  fertile  soil  and  store  of  wholesome  food  ; 
My  father  oft  will  tell  me  of  a  drink 
In  England  found,  and  nipitato  call'd. 
Which  driveth  all  the  sorrow  from  your  hearts. 

Ralph.  Lady,  'tis  true  ;  you  need  not  lay  your  lips 
To  better  nipitato^  than  there  is. 

Pomp.  And  of  a  wild-fowl  he  will  often  speak, 
Which  powder'd-beef-and-mustard  called  is  : 
For  there  have  been  great  wars  'twixt  us  and  you  ; 
But  truly,  Ralph,  it  was  not  'long  of  me. 
Tell  me  then,  Ralph,  could  you  contented  be 
To  wear  a  lady's  favour  in  your  shield  ? 

Ralph.  I  am  a  knight  of  [a]  religious  order, 
And  will  not  wear  a  favour  of  a  lady* 
That  trusts  in  Antichrist  and  false  ti-aditions. 

'  Strand]  Here  the  first  4to.  reads  "Strond  "  (which  Weber  gave) ;  but  m 
other  passages  of  the  play  it  has  "  Strand." 

'  nipitato]  A  word  which  frequently  occurs  in  our  early  wrriters,  and  with 
various  spelling, — means  here,  I  apprehend,  strong  ale.  The  last  editor  of 
Dodsley's  Old  Plays  (xii.  397)  says  that  "  Nipitaty  seems  to  have  been  a  cant 
terra  for  a  certain  wine  ;"  but  he  is  evidently  mistaken.  The  term,  whatever 
liquor  was  spoken  of,  only  implied  its  strength  and  excellence  :  see  the  various 
passages  cited  in  Nares's  Gloss.  '  lady]  Old  eds.  "  Ladies." 


SCENE  n.]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  203 

Cit.    Well  said,  Ralj^h!  convert  her,  if  thou  canst. 

Ralph.  Besides,  I  have  a  lady  of  my  own 
In  merry  England,  for  whose  virtuous  sake 
I  took  these  arms ;  and  Susan  is  her  name, 
A  cobbler's  maid  in  Milk-street ;  whom  I  vow 
Ne'er  to  forsake  whilst  life  and  Pestle  last. 

Pomp.  Happy  that  cobbling  dame,  whoe'er  she  be, 
That  for  her  own,  dear  Ralph,  hath  gotten  thee  ! 
Unhappy  I,  that  ne'er  shall  see  the  day 
To  see  thee  more,  that  bear'st  my  heart  away  ! 

Ralph.  Lady,  farewell ;  I  needs  must  take  my  leave. 

Pomp.  Hard-hearted  Ralph,  that  ladies  dost  deceive  ! 

Cit.  Hark  thee,  Ralph:  there's  money  for  thee  [gives  money]  ; 
give  something  in  the  king  of  Cracovids  house  ;  be  not  beholding  " 
to  him. 

Ralph.  Lady,  before  I  go,  I  must  remember 
Your  father's  officers,  who,  truth  to  tell. 
Have  been  about  me  very  diligent : 
Hold  up  thy  snowy  hand,  thou  princely  maid  ! 
There 's  twelve-pence  for  your  father's  chamberlain  ; 
And  another '  shilling  for  his  cook, 
For,  by  my  troth,  the  goose  was  roasted  well ; 
And  twelve-pence  for  your  father's  horse-keeper, 
For  'nointing  my  horse- back,  and  for  his  butter"^ 
There  is  another  shilling  ;  to  the  maid 
That  wasli'd  my  boot-hose  there  's  an  English  groat ; 
And  two-pence  to  the  boy  that  wip'd  my  boots  ; 
And  last,  fair  lady,  there  is  for  yourself 
Three-pence,  to  buy  you  pins  at  Burabo-fair. 

Pomp.  Full  many  thanks ;  and  I  will  keep  them  safe 
Till  all  the  heads  be  off,  for  thy  sake,  Ralph. 

»  beholding]  Sec  note,  p.  181. 

^  and  anotlier]  The  modern  editors  print,  for  the  metre,  "And  there's 
another"  without  mentioning  the  insertion. 

'^  butter]  "  Mason  says  we  should  read  butler, '  as  Seward  does. '  But  the 
edition  of  1750,  and  every  other,  reads  as  in  the  text,  and  there  is  no  occasion 
to  alter  it.  Ilalph  gives  an  additional  shilling  for  the  butter  used  for  his 
horse's  back."     Weber. 


204  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  iv. 

Ralph.  Advance,  my  squire  and  dwarf !  I  cannot  stay. 

Pomp.  Thou  kill'st  my  heart  in  parting  thus  away.  [^Exeunt. 

Wife.  /  commend  Ralph  yet,  that  he  loill  not  stoop  to  a  Cra- 
covian  ;  there's  properer  ^  women  in  London  than  any  are  there, 
i-ivis. 


SCENE  III. — A  room  in  the  house  of  Venturewei.l. 

Enter  Venturewell,  Humphrey,  Luce,  and  Boy. 

But  here   comes   master  Humphrey  and  his  love  again  noiv, 
George"^. 

Cit.  Ay,  cony  ;  peace. 

Vent.  Go,  get  you  up  ;   I  will  not  be  entreated  ; 
And,  gossip  mine,  I'll  keep  you  sure  hereafter 
From  gadding  out  again  with  boys  and  unthrifts  : 
Come,  they  are  women's  tears  ;   I  know  your  fashion. — ■ 
Go,  sirrah,  lock  her  in,  and  keep  the  key 
Safe  as  you  love  your  life.  [^Exeunt  Luce  and  Boy. 

Now,  my  son  Humphrey, 
You  may  both  rest  assured  of  my  love 
In  this,  and  reap  your  own  desire. 

Hum.  I  see  this  love  you  speak  of,  througli  your  daughter, 
Although  the  hole  be  little ;  and  hereafter 
Will  yield  the  like  in  all  I  may  or  can, 
Fitting  a  Christian  and  a  gentleman. 

Vent.  I  do  believe  you,  my  good  son,  and  thank  you ; 
For  'twere  an  impudence  to  think  you  flatterVl. 

Hum.  It  were,  indeed  ;  but  shall  I  tell  you  why  ? 
I  have  been  beaten  twice  about  the  lie. 

Vent.  Well,  son,  no  more  of  compliment.     My  daughter 
Is  yours  again  :  appoint  the  time  and  take  her  ; 
We'll  have  no  stealing  for  it ;   I  myself 
And  some  few  of  our  friends  will  see  you  married. 

"  properer^  i.  e.  handsomer. 

^  again  now,  George']   The  editors  of  1778  and  Weber  point  these  words 
thus, — "again  ;  now,  George  !  "  but  compare  p.  169,  first  line. 


SCENE  III.]      THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  205 

Hum.  I  would  you  would,  Tfaith  !  for,  be  it  known, 
I  ever  was  afraid  to  lie  alone. 

Vent.  Some  three  days  hence,  then. 

Hum.  Three  days  !  let  me  see  : 
"'TIS  somewhat  of  the  most ;  yet  I  agree, 
Because  I  mean  against  the  appointed  day 
To  visit  all  my  friends  in  new  array. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Sir,  there's  a  gentlewoman  without  would  speak  with 
your  worship. 

Vent.   What  is  she  ? 

Serv.  Sir,  I  asked  her  not. 

Vent.  Bid  her  come  in.  \^Exit  Servant. 

Enter  Mistress  ]\Ierrythought  and  Michael. 

Mist.  Mer.  Peace  be  to  your  worship  !  I  come  as  a  poor 
suitor  to  you,  sir,  in  the  behalf  of  this  child. 

Vent.  Are  you  not  wife  to  Merrythought  ? 

Mist.  Me?:  Yes,  truly.  AVould  I  had  ne'er  seen  his  eyes  ! 
he  has  undone  me  and  himself  and  his  children ;  and  there 
he  lives  at  home,  and  sings  and  hoits  and  revels  among  his 
drunken  companions  !  but,  I  warrant  you,  where  to  get  a 
penny  to  put  bread  in  his  mouth  he  knows  not :  and  there- 
fore, if  it  like  your  worship,  I  w^ould  entreat  your  letter  to  the 
honest  host  of  the  Bell  in  Waltham,  that  I  may  place  my 
child  under  the  protection  of  his  tapster,  in  some  settled 
course  of  life. 

Vent.  Tm  glad  the  heavens  have  heard  my  prayers.     Thy 
husband, 
When  I  was  ripe  in  sorrows,  laugh'd  at  me  ; 
Thy  son,  like  an  unthankful  wTetch,  I  having 
Redeem'd  him  from  his  fall,  and  made  him  mine. 
To  shew  his  love  again,  first  stole  my  daughter. 
Then  wrong'd  this  gentleman,  and,  last  of  all. 
Gave  me  that  grief  had  almost  brought  me  down 
Unto  my  grave,  had  not  a  stronger  hand 
Reliev'd  my  sorrows.     Go,  and  weep  as  I  did. 


206  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  iv. 

And  be  unpitied ;  for  I  here  profess 
An  everlasting  hate  to  all  thy  name. 

Mist.  Mer.  Will  you  so,  sir  ?  how  say  you  by  that  ?— Come, 
Mick ;  let  him  keep  his  wind  to  cool  his  pottage  \  We'll 
go  to  thy  nurse's,  Mick  :  she  knits  silk  stockings,  boy  ;  and 
we'll  knit  too,  boy,  and  be  beholding  to  none  of  them  all. 

\^Exit  with  Michael. 

Enter  Boy. 

Boy.  Sir,  I  take  it  you  are  the  master  of  this  house. 

Vent.  How  then,  boy  ? 

Boy.  Then  to  yourself,  sir,  comes  this  letter,    [Gives  letter. 

Vent.  From  whom,  my  pretty  boy  ? 

Boy.  From  him  that  was  your  servant ;  but  no  more 
Shall  that  name  ever  be,  for  he  is  dead  : 
Grief  of  your  purchas'd  anger  broke  his  heart. 
I  saw  him  die,  and  from  his  hand  receiv'd 
This  paper,  with  a  charge  to  bring  it  hither : 
Read  it,  and  satisfy  yourself  in  all. 

Vent,  [reads.]  Sir,  that  I  have  wronged  your  love  I  must 
confess;  in  which  I  have  purchased  to  myself.,  besides  mine  oicn 
undoing.,  the  ill  opinion  of  my  friends.  Let  not  your  anger,  good 
sir,  outlive  me,  hut  suffer  me  to  rest  in  peace  with  your  forgiveness : 
let  my  body  (if  a  dying  man  may  so  much  prevail  tvith  you)  be 
brought  to  your  daughter,  that  she  may  truly  know  my  hot  flames 
are  now  buried,  and  withal  receive  a,  testimony  of  the  zeal  I  bore 
her  virtue.     Farewell  for  ever,  and  be  ever  happy  !  Jasper. 

God's  hand  is  great  in  this  :   I  do  forgive  him ; 
Yet  I  am  glad  he's  quiet,  where  I  hope 
He  will  not  bite  again. — Boy,  bring  the  body, 
And  let  him  have  his  will,  if  that  be  all. 

Boy.  'Tis  here  without,  sir. 

Vent.  So,  sir  ;  if  you  please. 
You  may  conduct  it  in ;  I  do  not  fear  it. 

Hum.  I'll  be  your  usher,  boy  ;  for,  though  I  say  it. 
He  ow'd  me  something  once,  and  well  did  pay  it.        [Exeunt. 

5'  pottage']  Here  the  first  4to.  and  one  of  the  4tos.  of  1635  read  "porrage  "; 
but  in  an  earher  part  of  the  play  (p.  167.)  they  have  "  pottage." 


SCENE  IV.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  207 


SCENE  IV. — Another  room  in  the  house  o/'Venturewell. 

Enter  Luce. 
Luce.  If  there  be  any  punishment  inflicted 
Upon  the  miserable,  more  than  yet  I  feel, 
Let  it  toi^ethcr  seize  me,  and  at  once 
Press  down  my  soul !     I  cannot  bear  the  pain 
Of  these  delavino:  tortures. — Thou  that  art 
The  end  of  all,  and  the  sweet  rest  of  all, 
Come,  come,  oh.  Death !  bring  ^  me  to  thy  peace. 
And  blot  out  all  the  memory  I  nourish 
Both  of  my  father  and  my  cruel  friend  ! — 
Oh,  wretched  maid,  still  living  to  be  wretched. 
To  be  a  say^  to  Fortune  in  her  changes. 
And  grow  to  number  times  and  woes  together  ! 
How  happy  had  I  been,  if,  being  born, 
My  grave  had  been  my  cradle  ! 

Enter  Servant. 
Serv.  By  your  leave, 
Young  mistress  ;  here''s  a  boy  hath  brought  a  coffin  : 
What  'a  would  say,  I  know  not ;  but  your  father 
Charged  me  to  give  you  notice.     Here  they  come.  \_Exit. 

Enter  Boy,  and  ttco  Men  bearing  a  coj/in. 

Luce.  For  me  I  hope  "'tis  come,  and  'tis  most  welcome. 

Bot/.  Fair  mistress,  let  me  not  add  greater  grief 
To  that  great  store  you  have  already.     Jasper 
(That  whilst  he  livVl  was  yours,  now  ^  dead 
And  here  enclos'd)  commanded  me  to  bring 
His  body  hither,  and  to  crave  a  tear 
From  those  fair  eyes,  (though  he  deservVl  not  pity,) 

'•  bring]  Sympson, for  the  metre,  printed  "and  hring.'^ 

•  a  say'\  "  Means  a  sample  or  example."  Mason.     It  evidently  means,  (as 
Nares  obser\-es,  Gloss,  in  v.,)  a  subject  for  expei'iments. 

b  now]  Altered  by  Sympson  to  "  now's  ". — Something  seems  to  have  dropt 
out  from  the  line  :  qy. 

"That  whilst  he  liv'd  was  onli/  youi-s,  now  dead  "? 


208  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  iv. 

To  deck  his  funeral ;  for  so  he  bid  me 
Tell  her  for  whom  he  died. 

Luce.  He  shall  have  many. — 
Good  friends,  depart  a  little,  whilst  I  take 
My  leave  of  this  dead  man,  that  once  I  lov'd. 

\^Exeunt  Boy  and  Men. 
Hold  yet  a  little,  life  !  and  then  I  give  thee 
To  thy  first  heavenly  being.     Oh,  my  friend  I 
Hast  thou  deceiv'd  me  thus,  and  got  before  me  I 
I  shall  not  long  be  after.     But,  believe  me. 
Thou  wert  too  cruel,  Jasper,  'gainst  thyself, 
In  punishing  the  fault  I  could  have  pardon'd, 
With  so  untimely  death  :  thou  didst  not  wrong  me, 
But  ever  wert  most  kind,  most  true,  most  loving  ; 
And  I  the  most  unkind,  most  false,  most  cruel  ! 
Didst  thou  but  ask  a  tear  \     Fll  give  thee  all, 
Even  all  my  eyes  can  pour  down,  all  my  sighs, 
And  all  myself,  before  thou  goest  from  me  : 
These  ^^  are  but  sparing  rites  ;  but  if  thy  soul 
Be  yet  about  this  place,  and  can  behold 
And  see  what  I  prepare  to  deck  thee  with, 
It  shall  go  up,  borne  on  the  wings  of  peace. 
And  satisfied.     First  will  I  sing  thy  dirge, 
Then  kiss  thy  pale  lips,  and  then  die  myself, 
And  fill  one  coffin  and  one  grave  together.  [Sings. 

Come,  you  whose  loves  are  dead, 

And,  whiles  I  sing, 

Weep,  and  wring 
Every  hand,  and  every  head 
Bind  with  cypress  and  sad  yew  ; 
Ribands  black  and  candles  blue 
For  him  that  was  of  men  most  true  ! 

Come  with  heavy  moaning  <■, 

And  on  his  grave 

Let  him  have 
Sacrifice  of  sighs  and  groaning ; 
Let  him  have  fair  flowers  enow. 
White  and  purple,  gi'een  and  yellow, 
For  him  that  was  of  men  most  true  ! 

^   These]  Old  eds.  "  There. "  ^moaning]  Old  eds.  "  mourning." 


SCENE  v.]        THE  KNTGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  209 

Thou  sable  cloth,  sad  cover  of  my  joys, 
I  lift  thee  up,  and  thus  I  meet  with  death. 

[Removes  the  cloth,  and  Jasper  rises  out  of  the  coffin. 

Jasp.  And  thus  you  meet  the  living. 

Luce.  Save  me,  Heaven  ! 

Jasp.  Nay,  do  not  fly  me,  fair ;  I  am  no  spirit : 
Look  better  on  me  ;  do  you  know  me  yet  ? 

Liice.  Oh,  thou  dear  shadow  of  my  friend  ! 

Jasp.  Dear  substance, 
I  swear  I  am  no  shadow  ;  feel  my  hand. 
It  is  the  same  it  was  ;  I  am  your  Jasper, 
Your  Jasper  that's  yet  living  and  yet  loving. 
Pardon  my  rash  attempt,  my  foolish  proof 
I  put  in  practice  of  your  constancy  ; 
For  sooner  should  my  sword  have  drunk  my  blood, 
And  set  my  soul  at  liberty,  than  drawn 
The  least  drop  from  that  body  :   for  which  boldness 
Doom  me  to  any  thing  ;  if  death,  I  take  it, 
And  willingly. 

Luce.  This  death  I'll  give  you  for  it ;  [Kisses  him. 

So,  now  I  am  satisfied  you  are  no  spirit, 
But  my  owTi  truest,  truest,  truest  friend : 
Why  do  you  come  thus  to  me  ? 

Jasp.  First,  to  see  you  ; 
Then  to  convey  you  hence. 

Luce.  It  cannot  be  ; 
For  I  am  lock\l  up  here,  and  watch'd  at  all  hours. 
That  'tis  impossible  for  me  to  scape. 

Jasp.  Nothing  more  possible.    Within  this  coffin 
Do  you  convey  yourself :  let  me  alone, 
I  have  the  wits  of  twenty  men  about  me  ; 
Only  I  crave  the  shelter  of  your  closet 
A  little,  and  then  fear  me  not  ^.     Creep  in. 
That  they  may  presently  convey  you  hence  : 
Fear  nothing,  dearest  love  ;  I'll  be  your  second  ; 

[Luce  lies  doicn  in  the  coffin^  and  Jasper  covers 
her  with  the  cloth. 
Lie  close  ;  so ;  all  goes  well  yet. — Boy  ! 

*  fear  me  noQ  i.  e.  fear  not  for  me.     So  in  vol.  i.  291, — 

"  Fearing  the  lord  Philaster." 
VOL.  II.  P 


210  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  iv. 

Re-enter  Boy  and  Men. 
Boy.  At  hand,  sir. 

Jasp.  Convey  away  the  coffin,  and  be  wary. 
Boy.  'Tis  done  already.  \^Exeunt  Men  with  the  coffin. 

Jasp.  Now  must  I  go  conjure.  \_Exit  into  a  closet. 

Enter  Venturewell. 

Vent.  Boy,  boy  ! 

Boy.  Your  servant,  sir. 

Vent.  Do  me  this  kindness,  boy ;  (hold,  here's  a  crown  ;) 
Before  thou  bury  the  body  of  this  fellow. 
Carry  it  to  his  old  merry  father,  and  salute  him 
From  me,  and  bid  him  sing  ;  he  hath  cause. 

Boy.  I  will,  sir. 

Vent.  And  then  bring  me  word  what  tune  he  is  in, 
And  have  another  crown  ;  but  do  it  truly. 
I  have  fitted  him  a  bargain  now  will  vex  him. 

Boy.  God  bless  your  worship's  health,  sir  ! 

Vent.  Farewell,  boy.  [^Exeunt  severally. 


SCENE  V. — Street  before  Merrythought''s  house. 

Enter  Merrythought. 
Wife.  Ah^  old  Merrythought,  art  thou  there  again?    let's 
hear  some  of  thy  songs. 
Mer.  \sings^ 

Who  can  sing  a  merrier  note 

Than  he  that  cannot  change  a  groat  *•  ? 

Not  a  denier  left,  and  yet  my  heart  leaps  :  I  do  wonder  yet, 

''   Who  can  sing  a  merrier  note 
Than  he  that  cannot  change  a  groat]  The  last  piece  in  Ravenscroft's 
Pammelia,  1609,  is  A  Round  or  Catch  for  ten  or  eleuen  voices  ; — 
"  Sing  we  now  merily,  our  purses  be  empty,  hey  lio. 
Let  them  take  care 
That  list  to  spare, 
For  I  will  not  doe  soc  : 
Who  can  sing  so  merry  a  note 
As  he  that  cannot  change  a  groat  ? 

Hey  hoe,  trolly,  lolly  loe,  trolly  lolly  lo." 


SCENE  v.]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  211 

as  old  as  I  am,  that  any  man  will  follow  a  trade,  or  serve, 
that  may  sing  and  laugh,  and  walk  the  streets.  My  wife  and 
both  my  sons  are  I  know  not  where  ;  I  have  nothing  left,  nor 
know  I  how  to  come  by  meat  to  supper ;  yet  am  I  merry 
still,  for  I  know  I  shall  find  it  upon  the  table  at  six  o'clock  ; 
therefore,  hang  thought !  '[Sin^js. 

I  would  not  be  a  serving-m.in 

To  carry  the  cloak-bag  still, 
Nor  would  I  be  a  falconer 

The  greedy  hawks  to  fill  ; 
But  I  would  be  in  a  good  house, 

And  have  a  good  master  too  ; 
But  I  would  eat  and  drink  of  the  best. 

And  no  work  would  I  do. 

This  is  it  that  keeps  life  and  soul  together,  mirth  ;  this  is  the 
philosopher's  stone  that  they  write  so  much  on,  that  keeps  a 
man  ever  young. 

Enter  Boy. 

Bo?/.  Sir,  they  say  they  know  all  your  money  is  gone,  and 
they  will  trust  you  for  no  more  drink. 

Mer.  Will  they  not  ?  let  'em  choose.  The  best  is,  I  have 
mirth  at  home,  and  need  not  send  abroad  for  that ;  let  them 
keep  their  drink  to  themselves.  [^Sinf/s. 

For  .Jillian  of  Berry,''  she  dwells  on  a  hill, 
And  she  hath  good  beer  and  ale  to  sell. 
And  of  good  fellows  she  thinks  no  ill  ; 
And  thither  will  wc  go  now,  now,  now,  now, 
And  thither  will  we  go  now. 

And  when  you  have  made  a  little  stay. 
You  need  not  ask  what  is  to  pay. 
But  kiss  your  hostess,  and  go  your  way  ; 
And  thither  will  we  go  now,  now,  now,  now, 
And  thither  will  we  go  now. 

Enter  another  Boy. 
Sec.  Boy.  Sir,  I  can  get  no  bread  for  supper. 

*  Jillian  of  Berry']  "  This  is,  perhaps,  an  error  for  Gillian  of  Brentford,  a 
noted  character  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Among  the  Selden  collection  of 
black-letter  Romances,  there  is  one  entitled — '  .Jyl  of  Brentford's  Testament.'  " 
So  writes  Wcbcr,  and  very  absurdly.  lierry  is,  of  course,  Bury.  Jyl  of 
Brainlfords  Testament,  instead  of  being  a  romance,  is  a  facetious  pooni. 

P  2 


212  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  iv. 

Mer.  Hang  bread  and  supper  !  let 's  preserve  our  mirth, 

and  we  shall  never  feel  hunger,  I'll  warrant  you.     Let's  have 

a  catch,  boy[s]  ;  follow  me,  comef.  {.They  sing. 

Ho,  ho,  nobody  at  home  e  ! 
Meat,  nor  drink,  nor  money  ha'  we  none. 
Fill  the  pot,  Eedy, 
Never  more  need  I. 

Mer.  So,  boys  ;  enough.  Follow  me  :  let's  change  our 
place,  and  we  shall  laugh  afresh.  {Exeunt. 

Wife.  Let  him  go,  George  ;  'a  shall  not  have  any  conntenance 
from  7is,  nor  a  good  icord  from  any  V  the  company^  if  1  may 
strike  stroke  int. 

Cit.  jVb  more ''a  sha''not,  love.  But,  Nell,  I  icill  have  Ralph 
do  a  very  notable  matter  now,  to  the  eternal  honour  and  glory  of 
all  grocers. — Sirrah  !  you  there,  boy  !  Can  none  of  you  hear  ? 

Enter  Boy. 

Boy.  Sir,  your  pleasure  ? 

Cit.  Let  Ralph  come  out  on  May-day  in  the  morning,  and 
speak  upon  a  conduit,  with  all  his  scarfs  about  him,  and  his 
feathers.^  and  his  rings,  and  his  knacks  ^\ 

'  cotnel  The  modern  editors  give,  "  come,  sing  this  catch  :"  but  in  the  first 
4to.  and  one  of  the  4tos.  of  1635,  the  words,  "  sing  this  Catch,"  are  distinctly  a 
stage-direction. 

s  Ho,  ho,  nobody  at  home,  &c.]  In  Ravenscroft's  Pammelia,  1609,  this  catch 
(No.  85)  stands  as  follows  : 

"  Ey  ho  no  body  at  home, 
Meate  nor  drinke  nor  money  haue  I  none, 
Fill  the  pot  Eadie.     Hey  ut  supra." 
^  Let  Ralph  come  out  on  May-day  in  the  morning,  and  speak  upon  a  conduit, 
with  all  his  scarfs  about  him,  and  his  feathers,  and  his  rings,  and  his  knacks.] 
"  This  incident  was  probably  suggested  by  Eustace  the  grocer's  apprentice,  in 
Heywood's  Four  Prentices  of  London,  the  undoubted  prototj-pe  of  Ralph,  who 
says — 

'  He  will  not  let  me  see  a  mustering. 
Nor  in  a  May-day  morning  fetch  in  May.' 
We  are  informed  by  Stow,  '  that,  in  the  mouth  of  May,  the  citizens  of  Lon- 
don, (of  all  estates,)  lightly  in  every  parish,  or  sometime  two  or  three  parishes 
joining  together,  had  their  several  Mayings,  and  did  fetch  in  May-poles,  with 
divers  warlike  shews,  with  good  archers,  morrice-dancers,  and  other  devices 
for  pastime,  all  the  day  long  ;  and  towards  the  evening  they  had  stage-plays 
and  bonfires  in  the  streets.'  [Survey,  B.  i.  252,  cd.  1720.]  In  some  parts  of 
England,  May-lords  are  still  elected,  and  decked  out  with  ribands,  scarfs,  and 


scE.Nii  v.j        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  213 

Boy.  Why,  sh\  you  do  not  think  of  our  plot;  tvhat  tvill  be- 
come of  that,  then  ? 

Cit.  Why^  sb\  I  care  not  ichat  become  ouH :  I'll  have  him 
come  out,  or  III  fetch  him  out  myself;  Fll  have  something  done 
in  honour  of  the  city  :  besides,  he  hath  been  long  enough  upon 
adventures.  Bring  him  out  quickly  ;  or,  if  I  come  in  amongst 
you 

Boy.  Well,  sir,  he  shall  come  out;  but  if  our  play  miscarry, 
sir,  you  are  like  to  pay  for'' t. 

Cit.  Bring  him  away,  then.  \^Exit  Boy. 

Wife.  This  will  be  brave,  tl  faith  !  George,  shall  not  lie  dance 
the  morris  too,  for  the  credit  of  the  Strand? 

Cit.  No,  sweetheart,  it  ivill  be  too  much  for  the  boy. 

Enter  Ralph,  dressed  as  a  May-lord. 
Oh,   there  he  is,   Nell !  he's  reasonable  well  in  reparel ;  but  he 
has  not  rings  enough. 

Ralph.  London,  to  thee  I  do  present  the  merrymonthof  May ; 
Let  each  true  subject  be  content  to  hear  me  what  I  say  : 
For  from  the  top  of  conduit-head,  as  phiinly  may  appear, 
I  will  both  tell  my  name  to  you,  and  wherefore  I  cauiu  here. 
My  name  is  Ralph,  by  due  descent  though  not  ignoble  I, 
Yet  far  inferior  to  the  stock  '  of  gracious  grocery  ; 
And  by  the  common  counsel  of  my  fellows  in  the  Strand, 
With  gilded  staff  and  crossed  scarf,  the  ^Lay-lord  hero  I  stand. 
Rejoice,  oh,  English  hearts,  rt^joice  !  rejoice,  oh,  lovers  dear  ! 
Rejoice,  oh,  city,  town,  and  country !  rejoice,  eke  every  shire' ! 
For  now  the  fragrant  flowers  do  spring  and  sprout  in  seemly 
sort, 

rings.  The  last  of  these  articles  of  ornament  seems  to  have  been  peculiarly 
essential,  as  the  citizen  complains  that  Ralph  '  has  not  rings  enough.'  "  Weukr. 
I  greatly  doubt  if  the  introduction  of  Ralph  as  a  May-lord  was  suggested  by 
the  passage  in  Heywood's  Four  Prentices  of  London.  The  Lord  and  Lady  of 
the  May  are  characters  of  very  high  antiquity.  See  Brand's  Pop.  Anlif/.  i. 
212,  ed.  ISl.'i.  Compare  also  Women  Pleased,  act  iv.  sc.  1,  and  Tfie  Two 
Noble  Kinsmen,  act  iii.  sc.  a. 

'  stock]  Old  ods.  "flockc"  (and  "flock  ") ;  and  so  the  modern  editoi-s. 

'  shire]  Is  of  course  to  be  read  here,  as  if  it  were  written  "  sherc  ;"  and  so, 
1  romenil)er,  John  Koinble  invarialjly  i)ronounce<l  the  word.  Weber  unneces- 
sarily printed  ''  shere." 


214  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  !v. 

The  little  birds  do  sit  and  sing,  the  lambs  do  make  fine  sport ; 
And  now  the  birchen  tree  doth  bud,  that  makes  the  schoolboy 

cry; 
The  morris  rings,  while  hobby-horse  J  doth  foot  it  feateously  k  ; 
The  lords  and  ladies  now  abroad,  for  their  disport  and  play, 
Do  kiss  sometimes  upon  the  grass,  and  sometimes  in  the  hay; 
Now  butter  with  a  leaf  of  sage  is  good  to  purge  the  blood  ; 
Fly  Venus  and  phlebotomy,  for  they  are  neither  good  ; 
Now  little  fish  on  tender  stone  begin  to  cast  their  bellies, 
And  sluggish  snails,  that  erst  were  mew'd ',  do  creep  out  of 

their  shellies ; 
The  rumbling  rivers  now  do  warm,  for  little  boys  to  paddle  ; 
The  sturdy  steed  now  goes  to  grass,  and  up  they  hang  his 

saddle ; 
The  heavy  hart,  the  bellowing  buck '",  the  rascal ",  and  the 

pricket  °, 
Are  now  among  the  yeoman's  pease,  and  leave  the  fearful 

thicket : 
And  be  like  them,  oh,  you,  I  say,  of  this  same  noble  town. 
And  lift  aloft  your  velvet  heads  p,  and  slipping  off  your  go^^^l, 
With  bells  on  legs,  and  napkins  clean  unto  your  shoulders 

tied  '\ 
With  scarfs  and  garters  as  you  please,  and  "  Hey  for  our 
town  ! '' "  cried, 

J  hohby-horse'\  Was  a  prominent  person  in  the  morris-dance  :  see  Women 
Pleased,  act  iv.  sc.  i.  and  note. 

''  feateousli/]  The  modern  editors  give,  with  folio  1679,  "  featuously." 

'  mew'd]  Old  eds.  «  mute."—"  I  have  ventured  to  alter  mute  into  the  old 
word  mew'd,  i.  e.  shut  up,  confined."     Sympson. 

■"  bellowing']  So  the  first  4to.  Other  eds.  "  blowing  ;"  and  so  the  modern 
editors,  Weber  excepted.  The  worthy  prioress  of  Sopwell,  describing  the  various 
cries  of  beasts  of  chase,  says, 

"  An  harte  belowijth  and  a  bucke  groynyth   I   fyude." 

Bnok  of  Saint  Albans,  sig.  d.  ii. 
"  the  rascal]  i.  e.  a  deer  lean  and  out  of  season. 
"  the  pricket]  i.  e.  a  buck  in  his  second  year. 

P  velvet  heads]  A  sly  allusion  to  the  horns  of  the  citizens :  see  note,  vol.  i.  2G7. 
1   With  bells  on  legs,  and  napkins  clean  unto  your  shoulders  tied]  Accoutre- 
ments of  the  morris-dancers  :  see  Women  Pleased,  act  iv.  sc.  i.  and  note. 
'  Ileyfor  our  toivn]  "  A  very  usual  exclamation  at  processions  similar  to  the 


SCENE  v.]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  215 

March  out,  and  shew  your  willing  minds,  by  twenty  and  by 
twenty, 

To  Hogsdon  or  to  Newington,  where  ale  and  cakes  are  plenty ; 

And  let  it  ne'er  be  said  for  shame,  that  we  the  youths  of  London 

Lay  thrumming  of  our  caps  at  home,  and  left  our  custom  un- 
done. 

Up,  then,  I  say,  both  young  and  old,  both  man  and  maid  a- 
maying, 

With  drums,  and  guns  that  bounce  aloud,  and  merry  tabor 
playing  ! 

Which  to  prolong,  God  save  our  king,  and  send  his  country 
peace, 

And  root  out  treason  from  the  land  !  and  so,  my  friends,  I 
cease.  \_Exit. 


ACT    V. 

Scene  I. — A  room  in  the  house  o/"  Ventureweli, 


Enter  Venturewell. 
Vent.  I  will  have  no  great  store  of  company  at  the  wedding ; 
a  couple  of  neighbours  and  their  wives ;  and  we  will  have   a 
capon  in  stewed  broth,  with  marrow,  and  a  good  piece  of  beef 
stuck  with  rosemary  ^ 

Enter  Jasper  tclth  his  face  mealed. 
Jasp.  Forbear  thy  pains,  fond '  man  !  it  is  too  late. 

present.     Butler  uses  the  same  expression  in  a  passage  whci-e  lie  probably 
recollected  the  text : 

'  Followed  with  a  world  of  tail  lads, 

Tliat  merry  ditties  troulM  and  ballads, 
Did  ride  with  many  a  good-morrow, 

Crying,  hey  for  our  town,  through  the  borough.'  "     Weder. 
'  rosemari/]  This  herb  was  used  as  an  emblem  [of  remembrance]  at  wed- 
dings as  well  dn  funerals.     Weber. 
'  fond]  i.  c.  foolish. 


216  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  v. 

Vent.  Heaven  bless  me  !  Jasper  I 

Jasp.  Ay,  I  am  his  ghost, 
Whom  thou  hast  injur''d  for  his  constant  love ; 
Fond  worldly  wretch  !   who  dost  not  understand 
In  death  that  true  hearts  cannot  parted  be. 
First  know,  thy  daughter  is  quite  borne  away 
On  wings  of  angels,  through  the  liquid  air, 
To "  far  out  of  thy  reach,  and  never  more 
Shalt  thou  behold  her  face  :  but  she  and  I 
Will  in  another  world  enjoy  our  loves  ; 
Where  neither  father's  anger,  poverty, 
Nor  any  cross  that  troubles  earthly  men. 
Shall  make  us  sever  our  united  hearts. 
And  never  shalt  thou  sit  or  be  alone 
In  any  place,  but  I  will  visit  thee 
With  ghastly  looks,  and  put  into  thy  mind 
The  great  offences  which  thou  didst  to  me  : 
When  thou  art  at  thy  table  with  thy  friends, 
Merry  in  heart,  and  fill'd  with  swelling  wine, 
ril  come  in  midst  of  all  thy  pride  and  mirth. 
Invisible  to  all  men  but  thyself', 
And  whisper  such  a  sad  tale  in  thine  ear 
Shall  make  thee  let  the  cup  fall  from  thy  hand. 
And  stand  as  mute  and  pale  as  death  itself. 

Vent.  Forgive  me,  Jasper  !   Oh,  what  might  I  do, 
Tell  me,  to  satisfy  thy  troubled  ghost  ? 

Jasp.  There  is  no  means  ;  too  late  thou  think'st  of  this. 

Vent.  But  tell  me  what  were  best  for  me  to  do  I 

Jasp.  Repent  thy  deed,  and  satisfy  my  father, 
And  beat  fond  Humphrey  out  of  thy  doors.  [Exit. 

Wife.  Look,  Georc/e  ;  his  very  ghost  tvonld  have  folks  beaten. 

Enter  Humphrey. 
Hum.  Father,  my  bride  is  gone,  fair  mistress  Luce  : 
My  soul's  the  fount  of  vengeance,  mischief's  sluice. 

"  To']  So  the  first  4to.     Later  eds.  "  Too  ;"  and  so  the  modern  editors  ! 
"  Invisible  to  all  men  but  thyself.']     In  this  passage  our  author  evidently  has 
an  eye  to  the  ghost  of  Banquo  in  Macbeth. 


scENK  I]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE,  217 

Vent.  Hence,  fool,  out  of  ray  sight  with  thy  fond  passion  ! 
Thou  hcast  undone  me.  \^Beats  him. 

Hum.  Hold,  my  father  dear, 
For  Luce  thy  daughter's  sake,  that  had  no  peer  ! 

Vent.  Thy  father,  fool !  there 's  some  blows  more ;  begone. — 

\^Beats  him. 
Jasper,  I  hope  thy  ghost  be  well  appeas'd 
To  see  thy  will  perform'd.     Now  will  I  go 
To  satisfy  thy  father  for  thy  wrongs.  [Aside  and  exit. 

Hum.  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  have  been  beaten  twice, 
And  mistress  Luce  is  gone.     Help  me,  device  ! 
Since  my  true-love  is  gone,  I  never  more, 
Whilst  I  do  live,  upon  the  sky  will  pore ; 
But  in  the  dark  will  wear  out  my  shoe-soles 
In  passion  ^'  in  Saint  Faith's  church  under  Paul's ".         [_Exit. 

Wife.  George,  call  Ralph  hither;  if  you  love  ?ne,  call  Ralph 
hither  :  I  have  the  bravest  thine/ for  him  to  do,  George  ;  prithee, 
call  him  quickly. 

Cit.  Ralph  !  why,  Ralph,  hoy  ! 

Enter  Ralph. 

Ralph.  Here,  sir. 

Cit.   Cane  hither,  Ralph  ;  come  to  thy  mistress,  boy. 

Wife.  Ralph,  I  ivould  have  thee  call  all  the  youths  together  in 
battle-ray,  icith  drums,  and  guns,  and  Jiags,  and  marcli  to  Mile- 
End  y  in  pompous  fashion,  and  there  exhort  your  soldiers  to  be 
merry  and  icise,  and  to  keep  their  beards  from  burning,  R<dph  ; 
and  then  skirmish,  and  let  your  flags  fly,  and  cry,  "  A7//,  kill, 
kill .'"  My  husband  shall  lend  you  his  jerkin,  Ralph,  and  there's 
a  scarf;  for  the  rest,  the  house  shall  furnish  you,  and  ive''ll  pay 
for't.  Do  it  bravely,  Ralph  ;  and  think  before  ichom  you  per- 
form, and  what  person  yon  represent. 

'•"  passion]  i.  e.  sorrowing,  sorrowful  exclamation. 

*  Saint  Faith's  church  under  Paul's]  "  At  the  west  end  of  this  .Jesus 
Chappel,  under  the  Quire  of  Pauls,  also  w.as,  and  is,  a  Parish  Church  of  St.  Faith, 
commonly  called  St.  Faith  under  Pauls."  Stow's  Survey,  B.iii.  145,  cd.  I  720 

y  Mile-End]  '*  It  has  been  before  observed,  that  this  was  the  place  for 
training  the  citizens,  who  sometimes  assembled  in  large  bodies.  Stow  informs 
us,  that  in  1585,  four  thousand,  and  in  1590,  thirty  thousand  citizens  were 
trauied  there."     Weber. 


218  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  v. 

Ralph.  /  n  arrant  you,  mistress  ;  if  I  do  it  not,  for  the  honour 
of  the  city  and  the  credit  of  my  master,  let  me  never  hope  for 
freedom  ! 

Wife.  "Tis  icell  spoken,  i faith.  Go  thy  ways;  thou  art  a 
spark  indeed. 

Cit.  Ralph,  Ralph,  double  your  files  bravely,  Ralph  ^  ! 

Ralph.  I  ic arrant  you,  sir.  [^Exit. 

Cit.  Let  him  look  narrowly  to  his  service;  I  shall  take  him 
else.  I  was  there  myself  a  pikeman  once,  in  the  hottest  of  the  day, 
ivencli  ;  had  my  feather  shot  sheer ''  away,  the  fringe  of  my  pike 
burnt  off  with  powder,  my  pate  broken  with  a  scouring-stick,  and 
yet,  1  thank  God,  I  am  here.  \^Drums  within. 

Wife.  Hark^  George,  the  drums  ! 

Cit.  Ran,  tan,  tan,  tan,  ran,  tan  !  Oh,  wench,  an  thou  hadst 
but  seen  little  Ned  of  Aldgate,  Drum-Ned,  hoio  he  made  it  roar 
again,  and  laid  on  like  a  tyrant,  and  then  struck  softly  till  the 
icard  came  up,  and  then  thundered  again,  and  together  we  go  !  Sa, 
sa,  sa,  bounce!  quoth  the  giins ;  "  Courage,  my  hearts  r''  quoth  the 
captains;  "-^  Saint  George!''''  quoth  the pikemen  ;  and icithal,  here 
they  lay,  and  there  they  lay  :  and  yet  for  all  this  I  am  here,  loench. 

Wife.  Be  thankful  for  it,  George ;  for  indeed  'tis  loonderfid. 

SCENE  II. — A  street  {and  afterwards  Mile-End). 

Enter  Ralph  and  company  of  soldiers  {among  whom  are  "William 
Hammerton  and  George  Greengoose),  with  drums  and  colours. 

Ralph.  March  fair,  my  hearts  ! — Lieutenant,  beat  the  rear 
up. — Ancient,  let  your  colours  fly ;  but  have  a  great  care  of 
the  butchers'  hooks  at  \Vhitecliapel ;  they  have  been  the 
death  of  many  a  fair  ancient  ^\ —  Open  your  files,  that  I  may 
take  a  view  both  of  your  persons  and  munition. — Sergeant,  call 
a  muster. 

Serg.  A  stand  ! — William  Hammerton,  pewterer  ! 

Ham.  Here,  captain  ! 

^  Ralph,  Ralph,  double  your  files  bravely,  Ralph  .']  "  Foote  had  probably 
this  scene  in  view  when  he  wi-ote  his  Mayor  of  Garrat."     Mason. 

*  sheer]  "Beaum.  and  Fletch.  write  it  shaer,"  says  Richardson  in  his  Diet., 
citing  the  present  passage  :  amistake,  for  thatspelling  is  found  only  in  foho  1679. 

''  Ancient,  let  your  colours  Jly  -  -  -  -  many  a  fair  ancient]  ^wcJe/i^  (said  to 
be  a  corruption  of  ensign)  meant  botii  a  standard  or  Hag,  and  the  bearer  of  it. 


scENK  II.]        THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  219 

Ralph.  A  corselet  and  a  Spanish  pike ;  'tis  well :  can  you 
shake  it  with  a  terror  ? 

Ham.  I  hope  so,  captain. 

Ralph.  Charge  upon  me.  \^He  charges  on  Ralph.] — 'Tis  with 
the  weakest :  put  more  strength,  William  Hammerton,  more 
strength.     As  you  were  again  ! — Proceed,  Sergeant. 

Serg.  George  Greengoose,  poulterer  ! 

Green.  Here  ! 

Ralph.  Let  mc  see  your  piece,  neighbour  Greengoose  :  when 
was  she  shot  in  ? 

Green.  An'f  hke  you,  master  captain,  I  made  a  shot  even 
now,  partly  to  scour  her,  and  partly  for  audacity. 

Ralph.  It  should  seem  so  certainly,  for  her  breath  is  yet 
inflamed ;  besides,  there  is  a  main  fault  in  the  touch-hole,  it 
runs  and  stinketh  ;  and  I  tell  you  moreover,  and  believe  it, 
ten  such  touch-holes  would  breed  the  pox  in  the  army.  Get 
you  a  feather,  neighbour,  get  you  a  feather,  sweet  oil,  and 
paper,  and  your  piece  may  do  well  enough  yet.  Where's  your 
powder  I 

Green.  Here. 

Ralph.  What,  in  a  paper  !  as  I  am  a  soldier  and  a  gentle- 
man, it  craves  a  martial  court !  you  ought  to  die  for't.  Where's 
your  horn  ?  answer  me  to  that. 

Green.  An't  like  you,  sir,  I  was  oblivious. 

Ralph.  It  likes  me  not  you  should  be  so ;  'tis  a  shame  for 
you,  and  a  scandal  to  all  our  neighbours,  being  a  man  of 
worth  and  estimation,  to  leave  your  horn  behind  you :  I  am 
afraid  'twill  breed  example.  But  let  me  tell  you  no  more 
on 't. — Stand,  till  I  view  you  all. — What's  become  o'  the  nose 
of  your  flask  ? 

First  Sold.  Indeed,  la,  captain,  'twas  blown  away  with  powder. 

Ralph.  Put  on  a  new  one  at  the  city's  charge. — Where's 
the  stone  of  this  piece  ? 

Sec.  Sold.  The  drummer  took  it  out  to  light  tobacco. 

Ralph.  'Tis  a  fault,  my  friend  ;  put  it  in  again. — You  want 
a  nose, — and  you  a  stone. — Sergeant,  take  a  note  on't,  for  I 
mean  to  stop  it  in   the  pay. — Remove,  and   march  I    [  They 

■"  An''l'\  Here  the  old  cds.  liavu  "  and  :"  but  see  fourth  spcecli  after  this. 


220  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE,  [act  v. 

march.']     Soft    and  fair,  gentlemen,  soft    and  fair  !    double 
your  files  !  as  you  were  !  faces  about '' !     Now,  you  with  the 
sodden  face,  keep  in  there  !    Look  to  your  match,  sirrah,  it 
will  be  in  your  fellow's  flask  anon.    So  ;  make  a  crescent  now ; 
advance  your  pikes  ;  stand  and  give  ear' ! — Gentlemen,  coun- 
trymen, friends,  and  my  fellow-soldiers,  I  have  brought  you 
this  day,  from  the  shops  of  security  and  the  counters  of  con- 
tent, to  measure  out  in  these  furious  fields  honour  by  the  ell, 
and  prowess  by  the  pound.     Let  it  not,  oh,  let  it  not,  I  say, 
be  told  hereafter,  the  noble  issue  of  this  city  fainted;  but  bear 
yourselves  in  this  fair  action  like  men,  valiant  men,  and  free 
men  !     Fear  not  the  face  of  the  enemy,  nor  the  noise  of  the 
guns,  for,  believe  me,  brethren,  the  rude  rumbling  of  a  brewer's 
car'l  is  far  more  terrible,  of  which  you  have  a  daily  experience ; 
neither  let  the  stink  of  powder  offend   you,    since  a  more 
valiant  stink  is  nightly  with  you. 
To  a  resolved  mind  his  home  is  every  where : 
I  speak  not  this  to  take  away 
The  hope  of  your  return ;  for  you  shall  see 
(I  do  not  doubt  it)  and  that  very  shortly 
Your  loving  wives  again  and  your  sweet  children. 
Whose  care  doth  bear  you  company  in  baskets. 
Remember,  then,  whose  cause  you  have  in  hand, 
And,  like  a  sort ''  of  true-born  scavengers, 
Scour  me  this  famous  realm  of  enemies. 

I  have  no  more  to  say  but  this :  stand  to  your  tacklings^ 
lads,  and  shew  to  the  world  you  can  as  well  brandish  a  sword 
as  shake  an  apron.     Saint  George,  and  on,  my  hearts  ! 

All.  Saint  George,  Saint  George  !  \^ExeuntK 

^  faces  about.']  "  A  common  phrase,  equivalent  to  the  modern  expression — 
face  about."    Weber.    And  see  Gifford's  note  on  Jonson's  fVorks,  i.  ()3. 

•^  stand  and  give  ear'\    The  audience   were  to  suppose  that  Ralph  and  his 
soldiers  had  now  arrived  at  Mile-End.     See  note,  p.  164. 

^  car'\  Altered  hy  Weber  to  "  cart." 

"  sort]  i.  e.  company,  band.     The  Editors  of  1778  gave  the  whole  of  this 
speech  as  verse.     Weber  very  properly  threw  it  back  into  prose,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  present  passage,  wliich  seems  to  be  a  X'ecollection  of  Shakespeai-e : — 
"  Remember  wliom  you  are  to  cope  withal,"  &c. 

Richard  III.  act.  v.  sc.  3. 

'  Ej-eunt.]  "  While  we  smile  at  this  humorous  account  of  the  discipline 
practised  by  the  citizens  of  Loudon,  it  may  not  be  unnecessary  to  recollect  the 


SCENE  III.]      THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  221 

Wife.  '  Ticas  well  done,  Ralph  !  I'll  send  thee  a  cold  capon  a- 
field  and  a  bottle  of  March  beer  ;  and,  it  may  be^  come  myself  to 
see  thee. 

Cit.  'Nell,  the  boy  hath  deceived  me  much  ;  I  did  not  think  it 
had  been  in  him.  He  has  performed  such  a  matter,  ivench,  that, 
if  I  live,  next  year  Fll  have  him  captain  of  the  y  alley-foist^,  or 
I  'II  leant  my  will. 


SCENE  III. — A  room  in  Merrythought''s  house. 

Enter  Merrythought. 

Mer.  Yet,  I  thank  God,  I  break  not  a  wrinkle  more  than  I 

had.     Not  a  stoop  '',  boys  ?   Care,  live  with  cats  :  I  defy  thee  ! 

My  heart  is  as  sound  as  an  oak  ;  and  though  I  want  drink  to 

wet  my  whistle,  I  can  sing  ;  [^Sinys. 

Come  no  more  there,  boys,  come  no  more  there  ; 

For  we  shall  never  whilst  we  live  come  any  more  there. 

Enter  Boy,  and  two  m^n  hearing  a  coffin. 
Boy.  God  save  you,  sir  ! 
Mer.  It's  a  brave  boy.     Canst  thou  sing  i 

behaviour  of  these  same  train-bauds  in  the  civil  wars  which  ensued  shortly 
afterwards,  and  especially  at  the  battle  of  Newbury  :  *  The  London  tmined  bands, 
and  auxiliary  regiments,'  says  Lord  Clarendon,  'of  whose  inexperience  of  danger, 
or  any  kind  of  service  beyond  the  easy  practice  of  their  postures  in  the  Artillery- 
Gai'dcn,  men  had  till  then  too  cheap  an  estimation,  behaved  themselves  to  won- 
der, and  were  in  truth  the  preservation  of  that  army  that  day.  For  they  .stood 
as  a  bulwark  and  i-ampirc  to  defend  the  rest  ;  and  when  tlieir  wiugs  of  horse 
were  scattered  and  dispersed,  kept  their  ground  so  steadily,  that  though  Prince 
Rupert  himself  led  up  tlie  choice  hoi'se  to  chai'ge  them,  and  endui-ed  their 
storm  of  small  shot,  he  could  make  no  impression  upon  thcii'  stand  of  pikes,  but 
was  forced  to  wheel  about ;  of  so  sovereign  benefit  and  use  is  that  readiness, 
order,  and  dexterity,  in  the  use  of  their  arms,  which  hath  been  so  much  neg- 
lected.' History  of  the  Rebellion,  Book  II."  [Book  vii.  vol.  iv.  235,  ed. 
1826.]    Weber,      [qy.   Sir  Walter  Scott  ?] 

8  galley-foist]  "  Was  the  old  name  for  the  Lord  Mayor's  barge."  Mason. 
See  note  vol.  i.  296. 

^  a  stoop]  "  A  vessel  for  drinking,  deep  and  narrow.  In  Scotland  and  the 
north  of  England  the  word  is  .still  common."  Weber.  Stoop  or  stoup  is  ap- 
l)lied  to  drinking-vesseLs  of  various  kinds  and  sizes. 


222  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  v. 

Boy.  Yes,  sir,  I  can  sing  ;  but  'tis  not  so  necessary  at  this 
time. 

Mer.   [^sinrjs] 

Sing  we,  and  chant  iti, 
Whilst  love  doth  grant  it. 

Boy.  Sir,  sir,  if  you  knew  what  I  have  brought  you,  you 
would  have  little  list  to  sing. 
Mer.  \_sings~] 

Oh,  the  Mimon  round, 
Full  long  I  have  thee  sought. 

And  now  I  have  thee  found, 
And  what  hast  thou  here  brought  ? 

Boy.  A  coffin,  sir,  and  your  dead  son  Jasper  in  it. 

\_Exit  with  Men. 

Mer.  Dead  !   [sm^s] 

Why,  farewell  he  ! 
Thou  wast  a  bonny  boy, 
And  I  did  love  thee. 

Enter  Jasper. 

Jasp.  Then,  I  pray  you,  sir,  do  so  still. 

Mer.  Jasper's  ghost !  \Sings. 

Thou  art  welcome  from  Stygian  lake  so  soon  : 

Declare  to  me  what  wondx'ous  things  in  Pluto's  court  are  done. 

Jasp.  By  my  troth,  sir,  I  ne'er  came  there  ;  'tis  too  hot  for 
me,  sir. 

Mer.  A  merry  ghost,  a  very  merry  ghost  !  [Sings. 

And  where  is  your  true  love  ?     Oh,  where  is  yours  ? 

Jasp.  Marry,  look  you,  sir  ! 

[^Removes  the  cloth,  and  Luce  rises  out  of  the  coffin. 
Mer.  Ah,  ha  !   art  thou  good  at  that,  i'faith  ?  [Sijigs. 

With  hey,  trixy,  terlery-whiskin, 

The  world  it  runs  on  wheels  : 
When  the  young  man's , 

Up  goes  the  maiden's  heels. 

'  Sing  we,  and  chant   it,  &c.]   The  commencement  of  the  fourth  song  in 
Morley's  First  Booke  of  Balletts,  &c.  1600. 


SCENE  III.]      THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  223 

Mist.  Mer.  [withi?!.]    What,  master  Merrythought  !    will 
you  not  let's  in  I  what  do  you  think  shall  become  of  us  I 
Mer.  [sm^i] 

Wliat  voice  is  that  that  calleth  at  our  door .' 

Mist.  Mer.  [ivithin.^   You   know  me  well  enough  ;   I   am 
sure  I  have  not  been  such  a  stranger  to  you. 
Mer.  [sinffs] 

And  some  they  whistled'',  and  some  they  sung, 
Hey,  down,  down  ! 

And  some  did  loudly  say. 
Ever  as  the  lord  Barnet's  horn  blew, 

Away,  Musgrave,  away  ! 

Mist.  Mer.  [jvithiii.]  You  will  not  have  us  starve  here,  will 
you,  master  Merrythought  I 

Jasp.  Nay,  good  sir,  be  persuaded  ;  she  is  my  mother  : 
If  her  offences  have  been  great  against  you. 
Let  your  own  love  remember  she  is  yours, 
And  so  forgive  her '. 

Luce.  Good  master  Merrythought, 
Let  me  entreat  you  ;   I  will  not  be  denied. 

Mist.  Mer.  \xoitliini\  Why,  master  Merrythought,  will  you 
be  a  vexed  thing  still  \ 

Mer.  Woman,  I  take  you  to  my  love  again  ;  but  you  shall 
sing  before  you  enter ;  therefore  despatch  your  song,  and  so 
come  in. 

^  And  some  they  whistled,  &c.]  "  This  stanza  is  taken  from  the  ballad  of 
Little  Musgrave  and  Lady  Barnard,  printed  in  Percy'  s  Reliques  of  Ancient 
Poetry,  vol.  iii.  p.  64,  cd.  1794,  where  it  runs  thus  : 

'  Then  some  they  whistled,  and  some  they  sang, 
And  some  did  loudlye  saye, 
Whenever  lord  Barnardcs  home  it  blewe, 

Awaye,  Musgrave,  away.'     [p.  fi?.]"     Weber. 

'  Let  your  own  love  remember  she  is  yours. 
And  so  forgive  her^  "  This  may  mean.  Let  your  self-love  tell  you  that  she  is  a 
part  of  yourself,  and  so  forgive  her.  Yet  I  think  it  probable  that  we  ought  to 
read — '  Let  your  old  love  ' — that  is,  your  former  affection."  Mason.  The 
meaning  seems  to  be, — besides  the  considci'ation  that  she  is  my  mother,  let 
your  own  love  as  a  husband.  &c. 


224  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  v. 

Mist.  Mer.  [icithin.^  Well,  you  must  have  your  will,  when 
all 's  done. — Mick,  what  song  canst  thou  sing,  boy  ? 

Miclu  [within.']  I  can  sing  none,  forsooth,  but  A  ladijs 
daughter,  of  Paris  jnojyerhj .  \^ings  within. 

It  was  a  lady's  daughter,  &c'". 

Merrythought  opens  the  door :  enter  Mistress  Merrythought 
and  Michael. 
Mer.  Come,  youVe  welcome  home  again.  [Siiigs. 

If  sucli  danger  be  in  playing, 

And  jest  must  to  earnest  tui-n, 
You  shall  go  no  more  a-maying 


Vent,  [within.']  Are  you  within,  sir?  master  Merrythought! 

Jasp.  It  is  my  master's  voice :  good  sir,  go  hold  him 
In  talk,  whilst  we  convey  ourselves  into 
Some  inward  room.  [Exit  with  Luce. 

Mer.  What  are  you  ?  are  you  merry  ? 
You  must  be  very  merry,  if  you  enter. 

Vent,  [xcithin.^  I  am,  sir. 

Mer.  Sing,  then. 

Vent,  [icithin.^  Nay,  good  sir,  open  to  me. 

™  Jtivas  a  lady's  daughter,  &e.]  "A  rare  example  of  a  virtuous  maid  in 
Paris,  who  was  by  her  own  mother  procured  to  be  put  in  prison,  thinking  thereby 
to  compel  her  to  Popery  :  but  she  continued  to  the  end,  and  finished  her  life 
in  the  fire. 

"  Tune  is — 0  man  in  desperation. 

It  was  a  lady's  daughter, 

Of  Paris  properly, 
Her  mother  her  commanded 

To  mass  that  she  should  hie  : 
O  pardon  me,  dear  mother, 

Her  daughter  dear  did  say, 
Unto  that  filthy  idol 

I  never  can  obey." 

The  remaining  eleven  stanzas  (of  eight  lines)  may  be  found  in  Evans's  Old 
Ballads,  i.  ISf),  ed.  1810.  How  much  of  this  ditty  (as  well  as  of  Fortune,  my 
foe)  was  sung  during  the  present  scene,  I  cannot  pretend  to  determine.  In 
The  Chances,  act  iii.  sc.  2,  where  the  old  cds.  have  only  the  stage-direction 
"  Song  of  John  Dorrie,"  it  is  certain  that  the  whole  of  that  ballad  was  sung. 


SCENE  III.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  225 

Mer.  Sing,  I  say, 
Or,  by  the  merry  heart,  you  come  not  in  ! 

Vent.  [icithin.~\  Well,  sir,  Fll  sing.  [_Sings. 

Fortune,  my  foe,  &c". 

Merrythought  opens  the  door :  enter  Ventdrewell. 

Mer.  You  are  welcome,  sir,  you  are  welcome  :  you  see 
your  entertainment ;  pray  you,  be  merry. 

J^ent.  Oh,  master  Merrythought,  I  am  come  to  ask  you 
Forgiveness  for  the  wrongs  I  offer'd  you, 
And  your  most  virtuous  son  !  they^re  infinite  ; 
Yet  my  contrition  shall  be  more  than  they : 
I  do  confess  my  hardness  broke  his  heart, 
For  which  just  Heaven  hath  given  me  punishment 
More  than  my  age  can  carry ;  his  wandering  spirit, 
Not  yet  at  rest,  pursues  me  every  where, 
Crying,  "  Fll  haunt  thee  for  thy  cruelty." 
My  daughter,  she  is  gone,  I  know  not  how, 

"  Fortune,  my  foe,  &c.]  "  Was,"  says  Theobald,  "  the  beginning  of  an  old 
ballad  in  which  were  enumerated  all  the  misfortunes  that  fall  upon  mankind 
through  the  caprice  of  fortune."  Note  on  The  Custom  of  the  Country,  act  i. 
80.  1,  where  Fortune,  my  foe  is  again  mentioned.  That  Theobald  derived  this 
description  merely  from  his  own  imagination,  I  have  little  doubt.  In  the  col- 
lection of  Ballads,  &c.,  British  Museum,  643.  m.  is  a  broadside  entitled  A  sioeet 
Sonnet,  wherein  the  Lover  exclaimelh  against  Fortune  for  the  loss  of  his 
Ladies  Favour  almost  past  hope  to  get  it  again,  and  in  the  end  receives  a  com- 
fortable answer,  and  attains  his  desire,  as  may  here  appear.  The  Tune  is, 
Fortune,  my  Foe.  It  extends  to  twenty-two  stanzas  of  four  lines  ;  the  first  is  as 
follows  :  — 

"  Fortune  my  foe,  why  dost  thou  frown  on  me  I 

And  will  thy  favours  never  better  be  ? 

Wilt  thou,  I  say,  for  ever  breed  my  pain  ? 

And  wilt  thou  not  restore  my  joys  again  ? '' 
Malone,  who  cites  these  verses  with  a  slight  variation,  and  without  mentioning 
where  he  found  them,  (note  on  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  act  iii.  so.  3.), 
as  also  Mr.  Chappell  {National  English  Airs,  ii.  63),  consider  the  "  Sweet 
Sonnet"  in  question  to  be  the  original  ballad  of  Fortune  my  foe,  to  which  our 
old  writers  so  frequently  allude.  With  respect  to  the  words  of  the  title,  The 
tune  is,  Fortune  my  foe,  Mr.  Chappell  observes  to  me  that  "  nothing  is  more 
common  in  reprints  of  ballads  than  to  put  the  name  of  the  tune  the  same  as  the 
ballad  itself  ;  as  The  Carman's  ff'histle,  to  the  tunc  of  the  Carman's  Whistle, 
Sic." 

VOL.  II.  a 


226  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  v. 

Taken  invisible,  and  whether  living 

Or  in  [the]  grave,  'tis  yet  uncertain  to  me. 

Oh,  master  INIerrythought,  these  are  the  weights 

Will  sink  me  to  my  grave  !  forgive  me,  sir. 

Mer.  Why,  sir,  I  do  forgive  you  ;  and  be  merry  : 
And  if  the  wag  in's  lifetime  play'd  the  knave, 
Can  you  forgive  him  too  ? 

Ve7it.  With  all  my  heart,  sir. 

Mer.  Speak  it  again,  and  heartily. 

Vent.   I  do,  sir  ; 
Now,  by  my  soul,  I  do. 

Re-enter  Luce  and  Jasper. 

Me)',   [siriffs^ 

With  that  came  out  his  paramour  ; 
She  was  as  white  as  the  lily -flower  : 

Hey,  troul,  troly,  loly  ! 
With  that  came  out  her  own  dear  knight ; 
He  was  as  true  as  ever  did  fight,  &c. 

Sir,  if  you  will  forgive  ""em,  clap  their  hands  together ;  there's 
no  more  to  be  said  i'  the  matter. 

Vent.  I  do,  I  do. 

Cit.  /  do  not  like  this.  Peace,  hoys  !  Hear  me,  one  of  you  : 
every  body's  part  is  coine  to  an  end  but  Ralpli's,  and  he's 
left  out. 

Boy.  '  7^*5  'lony  of  yourself,  sir  ;  ice  have  nothing  to  do  with 
his  part. 

Cit.  Ralph,  come  away ! — Make  [an  end]  °  on  him,  as  you 
have  done  of  the  rest,  boys  ;  come. 

Wife.   Nolo,  good  husband,  let  him  come  07it  and  die. 

Cit.  He  shall,  Nell. — Ralph,  come  atoay  quickly,  and  die,  boy  ! 

Boy.  '  Twill  be  very  unfit  he  shoidd  die,  sir,  upon  no  occasion — 
and  in  a  comedy  too. 

Cit.  Take  you  no  care  of  that,  sir  boy  ;  is  not  his  part  at  an 
end,  think  you,  ichen  he''s  dead? — Come  away,  Ralph/ 

°  \_aii  end'\  "  The  two  words  which  we  have  added  seem  absolutely  necessary 
to  the  completion  of  the  sense."  Ed.  1778.  Compare  the  preceding  speech  of 
the  Citizen. 


SCENE  III.]       THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  227 

Enter  Ralph,  with  a  forked  arrow  through  his  head. 
Ralph.  When  I  was  mortal p,  this  my  costive  corps 
Did  lap  up  figs  and  raisins  in  the  Strand ; 
Where  sitting,  I  espied  a  lovely  dame, 
Whose  master  wrought  with  lingel ''  and  with  awl, 
And  underground  he  vamped  many  a  boot. 
Straight  did  her  love  prick  forth  me,  tender  sprig. 
To  follow  feats  of  arms  in  warlike  wise 
Through  AValtham- desert ;  where  I  did  perform 
Many  achievements,  and  did  lay  on  ground 
Huge  Barbarossa,  that  insulting  giant, 
And  all  his  captives  soon ""  set  at  liberty. 
Then  honour  prick'd  me  from  my  native  soil 
Into  ^loldavia,  where  I  gain'd  the  love 
Of  Pompiona',  his  beloved  daughter; 
But  yet  prov'd  constant  to  the  black-thumb'd  maid 
Susan,  and  scorned  Pompiona"'s  love  ; 
Yet  liberal  I  was,  and  gave  her  pins. 
And  money  for  her  father's  officers. 
I  then  returned  home,  and  thrust  myself 
In  action,  and  by  all  men  chosen  was 
Lord  of  the  May,  where  I  did  flourish  it. 
With  scarfs  and  rings,  and  posy*  in  my  hand. 
After  this  action  I  prefen-ed  was, 
And  chosen  city-captain  at  Mile-End, 
With  hat  and  feather,  and  with  leading-staif. 
And  trained  my  men,  and  brought  them  all  off  clear. 
Save  one  man  that  beray'd  him  "  with  the  noise. 

p  When  I  was  mortal,  &c.]  "  This  speech  is  a  parody  on  that  of  the  Ghost  of 
Andx-ea,  at  the  beginning  of  the  famous  play  of  Jeronimo  : 
*  When  this  etei'nal  substance  of  my  soul 
Did  live  iraprison'd  in  my  wanton  flesh,'  &c."     Reed, — who  by  "  Jero- 
niino"  means  The  Spanish  Trapedy  :  see  note,  p.  135. 

1  lingel]  or  lingle,  i.  c.  a  thread  or  thong  used  by  shoemakei's  and  cobblers. 
'  soonl  Seems  to  have  crept  into  the  text  by  mistake. 

'  Pompiona]  Old  eds.  here  "  Pompana  "  and  "  Pompiana  :  "  see  note,  p.  201. 
'  posy]  "  Refers,"  says  Weber,  "  to  the  rhymes  which  Ralph  reads  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  fourth  act," — a  very  doubtful  explanation. 
"  beray'd  him]  i.  e.  befouled  himself. 

Q2 


228  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  [act  v. 

But  all  these  things  I  Ralph  did  undertake 

Only  for  my  beloved  Susan's  sake. 

Then  coming  home,  and  sitting  in  my  shop 

With  apron  blue,  Death  came  into  my  stall 

To  cheapen  aquavita  ;  but  ere  I 

Could  take  the  bottle  down  and  fill  a  taste, 

Death  caught  a  pound  of  pepper  in  his  hand, 

And  sprinkled  all  my  face  and  body  o'er, 

And  in  an  instant  vanished  away. 

Cit.  '' Tis  a  pretty  fiction,  i" faith. 

Ralph.  Then  took  I  up  my  bow  and  shaft  in  hand, 
And  walk'd  into  Moorfields  to  cool  myself : 
But  there  grim  cruel  Death  met  me  again, 
And  shot  this  forked  arrow  through  my  head  ; 
And  now  I  faint ;  therefore  be  warn'd  by  me, 
My  fellows  every  one,  of  forked  heads  ! 
Farewell,  all  you  good  boys  in  merry  London  ! 
Ne'er  shall  we  more  upon  Shrove-Tuesday  meet, 
And  pluck  down  houses  of  iniquity  "■' ; — 
My  pain  increaseth  ; — I  shall  never  more 
Hold  open,  whilst  another  pumps  both  legs, 
Nor  daub  a  satin  gown  with  rotten  eggs  ; 
Set  up  a  stake,  oh,  never  more  I  shall ! 
I  die  !  fly,  fly,  my  soul,  to  Grocers'  Hall ! 
Oh,  oh,  oh,  &c.  [Dies. 

Wife.    Well  said,  Ralph  !  do  your  obeisance  to  the  gentlemen, 
and  go  your  ways  :  well  said,  Ralph  ! 

[Ralph  rises,  makes  obeisance,  and  exit. 

Mer.  Methinks  aU  we,  thus  kindly  and  unexpectedly  recon- 
ciled, should  not  depart ''  without  a  song. 

■*■  Ne'er  shall  ive  more  upon  Shrove-Tuesday  meet, 
And  pluck  down  houses  of  iniquiii/]  "  They  presently  (like  Prentises  \'pon 
Shroue-tuesday)  take  the  lawe  into  their  owne  liandes,  and  doe  what  they  list." 
Dekker's  Seuen  Deadly  Sinnes  of  London,  IGOG,  sig.  F  2.  That  cue  of  the 
favourite  amusements  of  the  prentices  on  that  day  consisted  in  attacking  "  houses 
of  iniquity  "  might  be  shewn  from  various  passages  of  early  writers  :  see  for 
instance  Northward  Ho,  act  iv.  sc.  3,  and  my  note, — Webster's  Works,  iii.  225. 

"■"  depart]  i.  e.  part  (as  in  our  old  marriage-service, — "  till  death  us  depart"). 
So  the  first  4  to.  Other  eds.  "  part  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors,  Weber  excepted. 


SCENE  III.]      THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  PESTLE.  229 

Vent.  A  good  motion. 
Mer.   Strike  up,  then  ! 

SONG. 
Better  music  ne'er  was  known 
Than  a  quire  of  hearts  in  one. 
Let  each  other,  that  hath  been 
Troubled  with  the  gall  or  spleen, 
Learn  of  us  to  keep  his  brow 
Smooth  and  plain,  as  ours  are  now  : 
Sing,  though  before  the  hour  of  djing  ; 
He  shall  rise,  and  then  be  crying, 
"  Hey,  ho,  'tis  nought  but  mirth 
That  keeps  the  body  from  the  earth  ! 

[^Exeiait. 

Cit.   Come,  NeU\  shall  we  go  ?  the  plays  done. 

Wife.  Nay,  hy  my  faith,  George,  I  have  more  manners  than  so  ; 
I'll  speak  to  these  gentlemen  first. — I  thank  you  all,  gentlemen,  for 
your  patience  and  countenance  to  Ralph,  a  poor  fatherless  child  ; 
and  if  I  might  see  you  at  my  house,  it  should  go  hard  but  I  icould 
have  a  pottle  ofxcine  and  a  pipe  of  tobacco  for  you  :  for,  truly,  I 
hope  you  do  like  the  youth,  but  I  would  be  glad  to  knojo  the 
truth  ;  I  refer  it  to  your  own  discretions,  whether  you  will  applaud 
him  or  no  ;  for  I  icill  wink,  and  xchilst  you  shall  do  what  you 
icill.  I  thank  you  icith  all  my  heart.  God  give  you  good  night ! 
— Come,  George.  [Exeunt. 

*  Cit.   Come,  Nell,  &c.]  Before  this  speech  in  the  old  eds.  is  "  Epilogus." 


I  ought  to  have  noticed  in  the  prefatory  matter  to  this  play, — that  in  Kirk- 
man's  collection  of  drolls.  The  lVils,or  Sport  upon  Sport,  Part  First,  1()72, 
(see  vol.  i.  200  of  the  present  work),  is  a  droll  entitled  The  Encounter,  p.  93., 
which  consists  of  Ralph's  adventure  with  the  Barber,  though  in  the  Catalogue 
at  the  end  of  the  volume  it  is  said  to  be  taken  from  The  Humorous  Lieutenant. 


A   KING  AND   NO   KING. 


A  King  and  no  King.  Acted  at  the  Globe,  by  his  Maiesties  Seruants.  W7-itten  by 
Francis  Beamount,  and  John  Flecher.  At  London  Printed  for  Thomas  Walkley,  and  are 
to  bee  sold  at  hisshoppe  at  the  Eagle  and  Childc  in  Brittans-Bursse.  1619.  4to.  On  the  title- 
page  is  a  wood-cut,  which  represents  Arbaces  standing,  with  a  crown  held  in  a  slanting 
position  over  his  head  by  an  arm  projected  from  a  cloud. 

A  King  and  no  King.  Acted  at  the  Blacke-Fryars,  by  his  Maiesties  Seruants.  And 
now  the  second  time  Pritited,  according  to  the  trite  Copie.  Written  by  Francis  Beamovnt 
and  lohn  Flecher.  London,  Printed  for  Thomas  Walkley,  and  are  to  be  sold  at  his  shop  at 
the  Eagle  and  Childe  in  Brittans-Burse.    1625.  4to. 

A  King  and  no  King.  Acted  at  the  Blacke-Fryars,  by  his  Maiesties  Seruants.  And 
now  the  third  time  Printed,  according  to  the  true  Copie. 

{Francis  Beamont     "1 
<?  >  Gent, 

lohn  Fletcher  I 

The  Stationer  to  Dramatophilvs. 
A  Play  and  no  Play,  who  this  Booke  shall  read, 
Will  iudge,  and  weepe,  as  if 'twere  done  indeed. 
London,  Printed  by  A.  M.  for  Richard  Hawkins,  and  are  to  bee  sold  at  his  Shop  in 
Chanceric  Lane,  neere  Serjeants  Inne.    1631.  4to. 

A  King  and  no  King,  S[C.  And  now  the  fourth  time  printed,  according  to  the  true 
Copie,  &c.  (Couplet  as  before.)  London,  Printed  by  E.  G.  for  William  Leake,  and  are  to  be 
sold  at  his  shop  in  Chancery-lane,  neere  unto  the  Rowles.    1639.  4to. 

A  King  and  No  King,  ^c.  And  now  the  fifth  time  Printed,  according  to  the  true  Copie 
4c.  (Couplet  as  before.)  London,  Printed  for  William  Leak,  and  are  to  be  sold  at  his  shop 
at  the  signe  of  the  Crown  in  Fleet-street,  between  the  two  temple  Gates.    1655.  4to. 

A  King  and  no  King,  &c.  And  now  the  fourth  [sic]  time  Printed,  according  to  the  true 
Copie,  &c.  (Couplet  as  before.)  London,  Printed  in  the  Year,  1661.  4to. 

Weber  (who  doubts  the  existence  of  4to.  1625)  mentions  a  4to.  dated  1628,  which  I  have 
never  seen,  nor  found  noticed  by  any  other  writer. 

In  the  folio  of  1679. 


A  King  and  No  King  was  "  allowed  to  be  acted  in  IGll  "  by  Sir  George 
Buck  :  see  Malone's  Shakespeare  (by  Boswell),  iii.  263.  That  it  was 
written  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  in  conjunction  is  not  to  be  doubted. 
"  If,"  says  Weber,  "  we  can  put  any  faith  in  commendatory  verses,  we 
might  suppose  that  the  plot  was  the  work  of  Fletcher,  and  that  the 
inimitable  character  of  Bessus  was  produced  by  his  younger  friend, 
Beaumont."  Herrick%  indeed,  in  his  lines  Upon  Master  Fletcher's 
incomparable  plays,  speaks  of, — 

"  that  high  design 
Of  King  and  No  King,  and  the  rare  plot  thine  " ; 

but  I  suspect  that  he  meant  nothing  more  than  that  the  authors  had  in- 
vented the  plot  of  their  piece.  As  to  Earle's''  expression  in  his  verses  On 
Master  Beaumont, — 

"Where's  such  an  humour  as  thy  Bessus,  pray  ?" 
it  carries  no  weight  whatever ;  for  he  has  just  before  mentioned 
"  — thy  Philaster  and  Maid's  Tragedy  ;  " 

in  the  composition  of  which  two  plays  Fletcher  assuredly  had  a  share. 
Weber  thinks  it  probable  "  that  the  greater  part  of  the  scenes  written 
in  verse  were  produced  by  Beaumont." 

This  drama  continued  to  be  very  popular  both  before  and  after  the 
Restoration  *■ :  it  "  has  always,"  says  Langbaine  (whose  work  is  dated 
1G91),  "  been  acted  with  Applause,  and  has  lately  been  reviv'd  on  our 
present  Theatre  with  so  great  success,  that  we  may  justly  say  with 
Horace, 

Hsec  placuit  semel,  hsEC  decies  repetita  placebit." 

Account  of  Engl.  Dram.  Poets,  i>.  210. 

■  Sec  the  Commendatory  Poems  prefixed  to  the  first  vol.  of  the  present  edition. 

''  In  Kirkman'a  collection  of  drolls,  The  Wits,  or  Sport  upon  Sport,  Part  First,  1672,  (see 
vol.  i.  200  of  the  present  work,)  is  one  entitled  Forc'd  Valour,  p.  R7,  made  up  from  The 
Humorous  Lieutenant,  but  which  is  wrongly  stated  in  the  C'ataloguc  at  the  end  of  tlic  volume 
to  be  taken  from  A  King  and  No  King. 


234 

The  Editors  of  1778  observe,  "  Notwithstanding  its  prodigious  merit,  it 
has  not  been  performed  for  many  years  past ;  nor  do  we  find  that  it  ever 
received  any  alterations."  Davies  informs  us  that  Garrick  had  prepared 
for  the  stage  an  alteration  of  A  King  and  N'o  King^  and  had  distributed 
the  vai-ious  parts  among  the  performers,  retaining  Arbaces  for  liimself; 
but  that  it  was  withdrawn,  most  probably  because  the  manager  feared 
that  the  audience  would  be  offended,  both  at  the  king's  ardent  passion 
for  a  lad}'-  whom  lie  supposes  to  be  his  sister,  and  at  the  baseness  of 
Bessus,  who  is  not  only  a  beaten  coward,  but  a  voluntary  pandar :  see 
Dram.  Miseell.  ii.  41.  Garrick  seems  to  have  judged  wisely  in  with- 
drawing it :  when  Harris,  having  made  an  alteration  of  the  play,  produced 
it  at  Covent-Garden  Theatre  in  1788,  it  was  coldly  received. 

"  Tate,"  says  Weber,  "  is  supposed  to  have  intended  his  farce  of  Duke 
and  No  Duke  as  a  parody  upon  the  present  play," — a  remark  which  he 
borrowed  from  the  Editors  of  1778,  and  which  shews  that  they  had  never 
looked  into  the  former  piece.  The  title  of  A  Duke  and  No  Duke  was 
doubtless  suggested  by  that  of  the  present  drama  ;  but  the  farce  itself  is 
merely  a  rifacimento  of  Sir  Aston  Cockain's  comedy,  Trappolin  siippos'd 
a  Prince.  Weber  adds  that "  Dryden  appears  to  have  partly  taken  from  A 
King  and  No  King  the  plot  of  his  last  and  unsuccessful  comedy, '  Love 
Triumphant"  —  an  observation  which  he  found  in  the  Biographia 
D7-amatica.  The  resemblance,  however,  between  the  two  plays  is  so 
slight,  that  Dryden's  assertion  in  the  prologue  to  his  wretched  tragi- 
comedy may  be  allowed  to  pass  unquestioned, 

"  hei'e's  a  story  which  no  l30oks  relate, 


Coin'd  from  our  own  old  poet's  addle-pate." 


TO  THi;  RIGHT  WORSHIPFUL'^  AND  WORTHY  KMGHT, 

SIR  HENRY  NEVILL. 


Worthy  Sir, 

I  present,  or  rather  return  unto  your  view,  that 
which  formerly  hath  been  received  from  you,  hereby  effecting 
what  you  did  desire.  To  commend  the  work  in  my  unlearned 
method,  were  rather  to  detract  from  it  than  to  give  it  any 
lustre.  It  sufficeth  it  hath  your  worship's  approbation  and 
patronage,  to  the  commendation  of  the  authors,  and  encourage- 
ment of  their  further  labours  :  and  thus  wholly  committing 
myself  and  it  to  your  worship's  dispose,  I  rest,  ever  ready  to 
do  you  service,  not  only  in  the  like,  but  in  what  I  may, 

Thomas  Walkley. 


'  To  the  riyht  tvorshipful,  &ic.]  Prefixed  to  the  first  4to.  If  this  Dedicatiou 
was  written  in  1619,  the  mention  of  "  the  authors,  and  Iheir  further  labours  " 
is  somewhat  remarkable,  Beaumont  having  died  in  1615.  The  manuscript,  it 
would  seem,  came  into  Walkley"s  hands  without  the  knowledge  of  Fletcher. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 


Arbaces,  king  of  Iberia. 
TiGRANES,  king  of  Armenia. 
GoBRiAS,  lord-protector,  father  to  Ar- 

BACES. 

Bacurius,  a  lord. 

Mardonius.  -j 

/■    captains. 
Bessus.  ) 

Lygones,  father  to  Spaconia. 

Two  Sword-men. 


Three  Shop-men. 

Philip. 

Gentlemen,  Attendants,  &c. 


Arane,  the  queen-mother. 
Panthea,  her  daughter. 
Spaconia,  daughter  to  Lygones. 
Citizens'  Wives,  &c.  ^ 


Scene,  During  the  first  act  the  frontiers  of  Armenia ;  afterwards  the 
metropolis  of  Iberia. 


*>  The  old  eds.  at  the  commencement  of  act  ii.  mark  the  entrance  of  a  waiting-woman 
named  Mandane  ;  but  no  mention  of  her  occurs  elsewliere ;  and  in  my  copy  of  4to.  1619  the 
name  is  struck  through  with  a  pen  by  a  very  early  possessor. 


A    KING  AND    NO   KING. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. —  The  camp  o/'Arbaces,  on  the  frontiers  of  Armenia. 


Enter  Mardonius  and  Bessds. 

Mar.  Bessus,  the  king  has  made  a  fair  Hand  on"'t ;  he  has 
ended  the  wars  at  a  blow.  Would  my  sword  had  a  close 
basket-hilt,  to  hold  wine,  and  the  blade  would  make  knives  ! 
for  we  shall  have  nothing  but  eating  and  drinking. 

lies.  We  that  are  commanders  shall  do  well  enough. 

Mar.  Faith,  Bessus,  such  commanders  as  thou  may  :  I  had 
as  lieve  set  thee  perdu  '^  for  a  pudding  i'  the  dark  as  Alex- 
ander the  Great. 

Bes.  I  love  these  jests  exceedingly. 

Mar.  I  think  thou  lovest  ""em  better  than  quarrelling, 
Bessus ;  Fll  say  so  much  i'  thy  behalf :  and  yet  thou  art 
valiant  enough  upon  a  retreat ;  I  think  thou  wouldst  kill  any 
man  that  stopt  thee,  an  thou  couldst. 

Bes.  But  was  not  this  a  brave  combat,  Mardonius  ? 

Mar.  Why,  didst  thou  see't  ? 

Bes.  You  stood  with  me. 

Mar.  I  did  so  ;  but  methought  thou  winkedst  every  blow 
they  strake. 

'^^  perdu']  "  From  the  French  enfuns  perdus,  equivalent  to  the  forloi-n  hope  of 
the  present  day."     Weber.     It  means  here — hi  ambush. 


238  A  KING  AND  NO  KlNCx.  [acti. 

Bes.  Well,  I  believe  there  are  better  soldiers  than  I,  that 
never  saw  two  princes  fight  in  lists. 

Mar.  By  my  troth,  I  think  so  too,  Bessus, — many  a  thou- 
sand ;  but,  certainly,  all  that  are  worse  than  thou  have  seen 
as  much. 

Bes.  'Twas  bravely  done  of  our  king. 

Mar.  Yes,  if  he  had  not  ended  the  wars.  Fm  glad  thou 
darest  talk  of  such  dangerous  businesses. 

Bes.  To  take  a  prince  prisoner,  in  the  heart  of  his  own 
country,  in  single  combat ! 

Mar.  See  how  thy  blood  cruddles ''  at  this  !  I  think  thou 
couldst  be  contented  to  be  beaten  i'  this  passion. 

Bes.  Shall  I  tell  you  truly  ? 

Mar.  Ay. 

Bes.  I  could  willingly  venture  for't. 

Mar.  Hum  ;  no  venture  neither,  good  Bessus. 

Bes.  Let  me  not  live,  if  I  do  not  think  'tis  a  braver  piece 
of  service  than  that  Fm  so  famed  for. 

Mar.  Why,  art  thou  famed  for  any  valour  ? 

Bes.  Famed  M  ay,  I  warrant  you. 

Mar.  Fm  e'en  heartily  glad  on't :  I  have  been  with  thee 
ever  since  thou  camest  to  the  wars,  and  this  is  the  first  word 
that  ever  I  heard  on't.     Prithee,  who  fames  thee  ? 

Bes.  The  Christian  world. 

Mar.  'Tis  heathenishly  done  of  'em  ;  in  my  conscience, 
thou  deservest  it  not. 

Bes.  Yes,  I  ha'  done  good  service. 

Mar.  I  do  not  know  how  thou  majst  wait  of*  a  man  in's 
chamber,  or  thy  agility  in  shifting  a  trencher " ;  but  otherwise 
no  service,  good  Bessus. 

Bes.  You  saw  me  do  the  service  yourself. 

Mar.  Not  so  hasty,  sweet  Bessus :  where  was  it  ?  is  the 
place  vanished  ? 

■*  cruddles]  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.     Latter  eds.  "curdles";  and  so  the 
modern  editors,  Weber  excepted. 

<=  Famed]  Theobald  and  Weber  gave  with  the  first  4to.  "  I  famed." 

'  of]  i.  e.  on. 

^'  a  trencher]  i.  e.  a  wooden  platter. 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  iSO 

Bes.  At  Bessus'  Desperate  Redemption. 

Mar.  Bessus' ''  Desperate  Redemption  !  where's  that  ? 

Bes.  There,  where  I  redeemed  the  day ;  the  place  bears 
my  name. 

3Iar.  Prithee,  who  christened  it  ? 

Bes.  The  soldier '. 

Mar.  If  I  were  not  a  very  merrily  disposed  man,  what 
would  become  of  thee ;  One  that  had  but  a  grain  of  choler 
in  the  whole  composition  of  his  body  would  send  thee  of  an 
errand  to  the  worms  for  putting  thy  name  upon  that  field  : 
did  not  I  beat  thee  there,  i'  th"'  head  o""  the  troops,  with  a 
truncheon,  because  thou  wouldst  needs  run  away  with  thy 
company,  when  we  should  charge  the  enemy  ? 

Bes.  True  ;  but  I  did  not  run. 

Mar.  Right,  Bessus ;   I  beat  thee  out  on't. 

Bes.  But  came  not  I  up  when  the  day  was  gone,  and 
redeemed  all  ? 

Alar.  Thou  knowest,  and  so  do  I,  thou  meanedst  to  fly,  and 
thy  fear  making  thee  mistake,  thou  rannest  upon  the  enemy  ; 
and  a  hot  charge  thou  gavest ;  as,  I'll  do  thee  right,  thou  art 
furious  in  running  away  ;  and  I  think  we  owe  thy  fear  for 
our  victory.  If  I  were  the  king,  and  were  sure  thou  wouldst 
mistake  always,  and  run  away  upon  the  enemy,  thou  shouldst 
be  general,  by  this  light. 

Bes.  You'll  never  leave  this  till  I  fall  foul. 

Mar.  No  more  such  words,  dear  Bessus  ;  for  though  I  have 
ever  known  thee  a  coward,  and  therefore  durst  never  strike 
thee,  yet  if  thou  proceedest,  I  will  allow  thee  valiant,  and 
beat  thee. 

Bes.  Come,  comoJ,  our  king's  a  brave  fellow. 

Mar.  He  is  so,  Bessus ;  I  wonder  how  thou  earnest  to 
know  it.  But,  if  thou  wert  a  man  of  understanding,  I  would 
tell  thee,  he  is   vain-glorious   and   humble,   and  angry  and 

I"  Bessus]  So  the  first  4to.  Later  eiis.  "  At  BessJts  "  .•  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 

'  The  soldier]  i.  e.  The  soldiery.  So  the  two  first  4tos.  Other  eds.  "  The 
souldiers"  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors,  Weber  excepted. 

>  Come,  come]  So  the  first  4to.  Other  eds.  "Come";  and  so  tlic  modern 
editoi"s,  Theobald  excepted. 


240  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  i. 

patient,  and  merry  and  dull,  and  joyful  and  sorrowful,  in 
extremities,  in  an  hour.  Do  not  think  me  thy  friend  for 
this ;  for  if  I  cared  who  knew  it,  thou  shouldst  not  hear  it, 
Bessus.     Here  he  is,  with  the  prey  in  his  foot. 

Enter  Arbaces,  Tigranes,  two  Gentlemen,  and  Attendants. 

Arb.  Thy  sadness,  brave  Tigranes,  takes  away 
From  my  full  victory  :  am  I  become 
Of  so  small  fame,  that  any  man  should  grieve 
When  I  overcome  him  ?     They  that  plac'd  me  here 
Intended  it  an  honour,  large  enough 
For  the  most  valiant  living,  but  to  dare 
Oppose  me  single,  though  he  lost  the  day. 
What  should  afflict  you  I  you  are  free^  as  I; 
To  be  my  prisoner,  is  to  be  more  free 
Than  you  were  formerly :  and  never  think, 
The  man  I  held  worthy  to  combat  me 
Shall  be  usM  servilely.     Thy  ransom  is. 
To  take  my  only  sister  to  thy  wife  ; 
A  heavy  one,  Tigranes  ;  for  she  is 
A  lady  that  the  neighbour-princes  send 
Blanks  to  fetch  home ''.     I  have  been  too  unkind 
To  her,  Tigranes :  she  but  nine  years  old, 
I  left  her,  and  ne'er  saw  her  since  ;  your  wars 
Have  held  me  long,  and  taught  me,  though  a  youth, 
The  way  to  victory  ;  she  was  a  pretty  child  ; 
Then  I  was  little  better  ;  but  now  fame 
Cries  loudly  on  her,  and  my  messengers 
Make  me  believe  she  is  a  miracle. 
She'll  make  you  shrink,  as  I  did,  with  a  stroke 
But  of  her  eye,  Tigranes. 

Ti/^r.  Is't  the  course  of 

J  t/ou  are  free}  So  all  the  4tos.     Folio  of  1679  "you  are  as  free";  which 
Weber  gave,  the  other  modern  editors  printing,  "  you'' re  ViS  free." 

^  A  lady  that  the  neighbour-princes  send 
Blanks  to  fetch  home.]    "  That  is,  she  is  of  such  supreme  beauty,  that 
neighbour  princes,  in  oi-der  to  obtain   her  for  a  wife,  send   blank  bonds  to 
Arbaces  to  be  filled  up  with  whatever  conditions  he  shall  please  to  insert." 
Weber. 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  241 

Iberia  to  use  their '  prisoners  thus  ? 

Had  fortune  thrown  my  name  above  Arbaces\ 

I  should  not  thus  have  talkM  ;  for  '"  in  Armenia 

We  hold  it  base.     You  should  have  kept  your  temper 

Till  you  saw  home  again,  where  'tis  the  fashion, 

Perhaps,  to  brag. 

Arb.  Be  you  my  witness,  earth, 
Need  I  to  brag  l     Doth  not  this  captive  prince 
Speak  me  sufficiently,  and  all  the  acts 
That  I  have  wrought  upon  his  suffering  land  I 
Should  I,  then,  boast  I     Wliere  lies  that  foot  of  ground 
Within  his  whole  realm,  that  I  have  not  pass'd. 
Fighting  and  conquering  I     Far,  then,  from  me 
Be  ostentation.     I  could  tell  the  world. 
How  I  have  laid  his  kingdom  desolate 
By  this  sole  arm,  propt  by  divinity  ; 
Stript  hira  out  of  his  glories  ;  and  have  sent 
The  pride  of  all  his  youth  to  people  graves ; 
And  made  his  virojins  languish  for  their  loves  ; 
If  I  would  brag.     Should  I,  that  have  the  power 
To  teach  the  neighbour-world  humility. 
Mix  with  vain-glory  ? 

Mar.  Indeed,  this  is  none  !  ^Asidc. 

Arb.  Tigranes,  no  ;  did  I  but  take  delight 
To  stretch  my  deeds,  as  others  do,  on  words, 
I  could  amaze  my  hearers. 

3Iar.  So  you  do.  [Aside. 

Arb.  But  ho  shall  wrong  his  and  my  modesty, 
That  thinks  me  apt  to  boast :  after  an  act 
Fit  for  a  god  to  do  upon  his  foe, 
A  little  glory  in  a  soldier's  mouth 
Is  well-becoming  ;  be  it  far  from  vain. 

Mar.  Tis  pity  that  valour  should  be  thus  drunk.      [Aside. 

Arb.  I  offer  you  my  sister ;  and  you  answer, 

'  their]    Altered  unnecessarily  to  "her"   by  the    Editoi's  of  1778;    and 
80  Weber. 

""  talk\l ;  for]   So  the  first  4to.    Other  eds.  "  lalk'd,  sir  "  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors,  Weber  excepted. 

VOL.  If.  R 


242  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  i. 

I  do  insult ;  a  lady  that  no  suit, 

Nor  treasure,  nor  thy  crown,  could  purchase  thee, 

But  that  thou  fought'st  with  me. 

Tigr.  Though  this  be  worse 
Than  that  you  spake  before,  it  strikes  me  not  °  ; 
But  that  you  think  to  over-grace  me  with 
The  marriage  of  your  sister  troubles  me. 
I  would  give  worlds  for  ransoms,  were  they  mine. 
Rather  than  have  her. 

Arb.  See,  if  I  insult. 
That  am  the  conqueror,  and  for  a  ransom 
Offer  rich  treasure  to  the  conquered. 
Which  he  refuses,  and  I  bear  his  scorn  ! 
It  cannot  be  self-flattery  to  say, 
The  daughters  of  your  country,  set  by  her. 
Would  see  their  shame,  run  home,  and  blush  to  death 
At  their  own  foulness*'.     Yet  she  is  not  fair, 
Nor  beautiful ;  those  words  express  her  not : 
They  say,  her  looks  have  something  excellent, 
That  wants  a  name.     Yet  were  she  odious  p, 
Her  birth  deserves  the  empire  of  the  world ; 
Sister  to  such  a  brother,  that  hath  ta''en 
Victory  prisoner,  and  throughout  the  earth 
Carries  her  bound,  and  should  he  let  her  loose, 
She  durst  not  leave  him.     Nature  did  her  wrong. 
To  print  continual  conquest  on  her  cheeks. 
And  make  no  man  worthy  for  her  to  take  *!, 
But  me,  that  am  too  near  her ;  and  as  strangely 
She  did  for  me.     But  you  will  think  I  brag. 

Mar.  I  do,  Fll  be  sworn.     Thy  valour  and  thy  passions 
severed  would  have  made  two  excellent  fellows  in  their  kinds. 

"  me.  nof]  Weber  gave  with  the  first  4to,  ^' not  me." 

"  foulness]  i.  e.  ugliness. 

V   That  wants  a  name.     Yet  were  she  odious]    Weber  followed  the  pointing 
of  the  fix'st  4to, — 

"  That  wants  a  name  yet.     Were  she  odious,' ' 
which,  he  says,  "  is  much  better  "  than  that  of  the  other  eds.     I  think  not. 

1  take]  Though  Theobald  had  rightly  given  this  reading  from  the  two  earUest 
4tos,  the  Editors  of  1778  preferred  the  corrupt  lection  "  taste  "  ! 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  243 

I  know  not  whether  I  should  be  sorry  thou  art  so  vaHant,  or 
so  passionate  :  would  one  of 'em  were  away  !  [Aside. 

Tigr.  Do  I  refuse  her,  that  I  doubt  her  worth  'i 
Were  she  as  virtuous  as  she  would  be  thought ; 
So  perfect,  that  no  one  of  her  own  sex 
Could  find  a  want ;  had  she  so  tempting  fair. 
That  she  could  wish  it  oif,  for  damning  souls  "■ ; 
I  would  pay  any  ransom,  twenty  lives, 
Rather  than  meet  her  married  in  my  bed. 
Perhaps  I  have  a  love,  where  I  have  fixM 
Mine  eyes,  not  to  be  movM,  and  she  on  rae  ; 
I  am  not  fickle. 

Arb.  Is  that  all  the  cause  ! 
Think  you,  you  can  so  knit  yourself  in  love 
To  any  other,  that  her  searching  sight 
Cannot  dissolve  it  ?     So,  before  you  tried, 
You  thought  yourself  a  match  for  me  in  fight. 
Trust  me,  Tigranes,  she  can  do  as  much 
In  peace  as  I  in  war ;  she'll  conquer  too  : 
You  shall  see,  if  you  have  the  power  to  stand 
The  force  of  her  swift  looks.     If  you  dislike, 
ril  send  you  home  with  love,  and  name  your  ransom 
Some  other  way ;  but  if  she  be  your  choice. 
She  frees  you.     To  Iberia  you  must. 

Tigr.  Sir,  I  have  learnM  a  prisoner's  sufferance, 
And  will  obey.     But  give  me  leave  to  talk 
In  private  with  some  friends  before  I  go. 

*■   Could  find  a  want  ;  had  she  so  tempting  fair, 

That  she  cortld  icish  it  off,  for  damning  souls]      So  all  the  old  eds. ;  except 
the  first  4to,  in  which  the  lines  are  slightly  corrupted.     Theobald  printed, — 

"  Could  find  a  want ;  were  she  so  templing  fair,"  &c. 
The  Editors  of  1778  gave,— 

"  Could  find  a  want  she  had  ;  so  templing  fair,"  &c. 
and  Weber  adopted  their  alteration  !  The  word  /air,  as  a  substantive,  in  the 
sense  of — beauty,  is  very  common  in  our  early  writers  (c.  g.  "  Demetrius  loves 
your /air,"  Shakespeare's  Midsummer-Night's  Z)rc«m,  act  i.  sc.  1.),  and  the 
meaning  of  the  passage  is, — Had  she  so  tempting  a  beauty  that  she  could  wish  it 
away,  for  fear  of  damning  souls. 

1.    '> 


244  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [aci  u 

A7'b.  Some  two  ^  await  him  forth,  and  see  him  safe  ; 
But  let  him  freely  send  for  whom  he  please, 
And  none  dare  to  disturb  his  conference  ; 
I  will  not  have  him  know  what  bondage  is, 
Till  he  be  free  from  me.  [Exit  Tigranes,  tcith  two  Attendants. 

This  prince,  Mardonius, 
Is  full  of  wisdom,  valour,  all  the  graces 
Man  can  receive. 

Mar.  And  yet  you  conquerM  him. 

Arb.  And  yet  I  conquer'd  him,  and  could  have  done't 
Hadst  thou  joined  with  him,  though  thy  name  in  arms 
Be  great.     Must  all  men  that  are  virtuous 
Think  suddenly  to  match  themselves  with  me  ? 
I  conquered  him,  and  bravely ;  did  I  not  I 

Bes.  An  please  your  majesty,  I  was  afraid  at  first — 

Mar.  When  wert  thou  other  I 

Arb.  Of  what? 

Bes.  That  you  would  not  have  spied  your  best  advantages  ; 
for  your  majesty,  in  my  opinion,  lay  too  high  ;  methinks, 
under  favour,  you  should  have  lain  thus. 

Mar.  Like  a  tailor  at  a  wake. 

Bes.  And  then,  if't  please  your  majesty  to  remember,  at 
one  time — — by  my  troth,  I  wished  myself  wi""  you. 

Mar.  By  my  troth,  thou  wouldst  ha'  stunk  'em  both  out  o' 
the  lists. 

Arb.  What  to  do  ? 

Bes.  To  put  your  majesty  in  mind  of  an  occasion  :  you  lay 
thus,  and  Tigranes  falsified  a  blow  at  your  leg,  which  you,  by 
doing  thus,  avoided  ;  but,  if  you  had  whipped  up  your  leg 
thus,  and  reached  him  on  the  ear,  you  had  made  the  blood- 
royal  run  about  his  head. 

Mar.  What  country  fence-school  didst  thou  learn  that  at  I 

Arb.  Puff'  !  did  not  I  take  him  nobly  I 

Mar.  Why,  you  did,  and  you  have  talkM  enough  on't. 

«  tivo]  So  the  fii-st  4to.    Other  eds.  "  to."     The  modern  editors  print  "do" ! 
'  P^'ff]    First  4to  "  Puft."    Other  eds.  "  Pish  ";  and  so  the  modern  editors, 
— Weber  excepted,  who  printed  "  Puff."     See  p.  247,  and  note. 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  245 

Arl.  TalkM "  enough  I 
Will  you  confine  my  words  ?     By  heaven  and  earth, 
I  were  much  bettei"  be  a  king  of  beasts 
Than  such  a  people  !     If  I  had  not  patience 
Above  a  god,  I  should  be  calPd  a  tyrant 
Throughout  the  world  :  they  will  offend  to  death 
Each  minute.     Let  me  hoar  thee  speak  again, 
And  thou  art  earth  again.     Why,  this  is  like 
Tigranes'  speech,  that  needs  would  say  I  braggM. 
Bessus,  he  said,  I  bragg'd. 

Bes.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Arh.  Why  dost  thou  laugh  ? 
By  all  the  world,  Tra  grown  ridiculous 
To  my  own  subjects.     Tie  me  to  a  chair, 
And  jest  at  me  !  but  I  shall  make  a  start, 
And  punish  some,  that  others  may  take  heed 
How  they  are  haughty.    Who  will  answer  me  ? 
He  said,  I  boasted.     Speak,  Mardonius, 
Did  I  ?  He  will  not  answer.     Oh,  my  temper  ! 
I  give  you  thanks  above,  that  taught  my  heart 
Patience  ;  I  can  endure  his  silence.     What,  will  none 
Vouchsafe  to  give  me  answer  ^'  I  am  I  grown 
To  such  a  poor  respect  ?  or  do  you  mean 
To  break  my  wind  'i     Speak,  speak,  some  one  of  you, 
Or  else,  by  heaven 

First  Gent.  So  please  your 

Arh.  Monstrous  ! 
I  cannot  be  heard  out ;  they  cut  me  off, 
As  if  I  were  too  saucy.     I  will  live 
In  woods,  and  talk  to  trees ;  they  will  allow  me 
To  end  what  I  begin.     The  meanest  subject 
Can  find  a  freedom  to  discharge  his  soul. 
And  not  I.     Now  it  is  a  time  to  speak  ; 
I  hearken. 

"   Talk'd]  So  the  folio  of  1679.     Weber  gave,  with  the  4tos,  "  Talk." 

"  answer'\  The  first  4to.  has  "  audience  "  ;   which  Weber  gave,  obser>'ing 

that  the  other  eds.  "  unnecessarilt/"  read  "  answer."   Unnecessarily  !  Arbaces  is 

urging  them,  not  to  listen,  but  to  speak  to  hun. 


246  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [^cx  i. 

First  Gent.  May  it  please 

Arb.  I  mean  not  you  ; 
Did  not  I  stop  you  once  I  but  I  am  grown 
To  talk  but  idly  :  let  another  speak '' . 

Sec.  Gent.  I  hope  your  majesty 

Arb.  Thou  drawl'st ""  thy  words, 
That  1  must  wait  an  hour,  where  other  men 
Can  hear  in  instants  :  throw  your  words  away 
Quick  and  to  purpose  ;   I  have  told  you  this. 

Bes.  An't  please  your  majesty 

Arb.  Wilt  thou  devour  me  I     This  is  such  a  rudeness 
As  yet  you  never  shew'd  me  :  and  I  want 
Power  to  command  too  >' ;  else  JNIardonius 
Would  speak  at  my  request.     Were  you  my  king, 
I  would  have  answered  at  your  word,  Mardonius  : 
I  pray  you,  speak,  and  truly  ;  did  I  boast  I 

Mar.  Truth  will  offend  you. 

Arb.  You  take  all  great  care 
What  will  offend  me,  when  you  dare  to  utter 
Such  things  as  these. 

Mar.  You  told  Tigranes,  you  had  won  his  land 

«•  but  I  am  groivn 

■    To  talk  but  idly  :  let  another  speak]  The  first  4to, — 

"  but  I  am  growne 
To  balke,  but  I  desire,  let  another  speake." 
Other  eds.  (with  a  very  trifling  variety  of  spelling),— 

"  but  I  am  growne 
To  balke,  but  I  defie,  let  another  speake." 
Theobald  gave,  from  Seward's  conjecture,  «  To  talk  but  idly,"— (i.  e.  in  vain, 
ineffectually,  without  bemg  heeded),  an  emendation  which  is  also  found  tn  a 
very  old  hand  on  the  margin  of  a  copy  of  the  first  Ato,  noic  in  my  possession, 
and  which  is  undoubtedly  the  genuine  text.     The  Editors  of  1778  printed,— 

"  But  I  am  grown 

To  talk  !     But  I  defy Let  another  speak  "  ;— 

and  Weber  adopted  the  lection  of  the  first  4to  !— their  notes  on  the  passage 
being  of  the  most  extravagant  absurdity. 

"  drawVsf]  Three  of  the  4tos.  and  the  foho  of  1679  have  by  a  misprint 
'•  drawest  "  ;  which  Weber  gave  ! 

y  too]  So  all  the  old  eds.,  except  the  first  4to,  which  has  "  mee."      Weber 
fliose  to  print  ''  ye." 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  247 

With  that  sole  arm,  propt  by  divinity  : 
Was  not  that  bragging,  and  a  wrong  to  us. 
That  daily  ventured  lives  1 

Arb.  Oh,  that  thy  name 
Were  great  as  mine  !   would  I  had  paid  ray  wealth, 
It  were  as  great,  as  I  might  combat  thee  ! 
I  would  through  all  the  regions  habitable 
Search  thee,  and,  having  found  thee,  with  my  sword 
Drive  thee  about  the  world,  till  I  had  met 
Some  place  that  yet  man's  curiosity 
Hath  missM  of;   there,  there  would  I  strike  thee  dead: 
Forgotten  of  mankind,  such  funeral  rites 
As  beasts  would  give  thee,  thou  shouldst  have. 

Bes.  The  king 
Rages  extremely  :  shall  we  slink  away  ? 
He'll  strike  us. 

Sec.  Gent.  Content. 

Arb.  There  I  would  make  you  know,  'twas  this  sole  arm. 
I  grant,  you  were  my  instruments,  and  did 
As  I  commanded  you  ;  but  'twas  this  arm 
Mov'd  you  like  wheels ;  it  mov'd  you  as  it  pleas'd. 
Whither  slip  you  now  ?  what,  are  you  too  good 
To  wait  on  me  ?     Puff''  !  I  had  need  have  temper, 
That  rule  such  people  ;  I  have  nothing  left 
At  my  own  choice  :     I  would  I  might  be  private  ! 
Mean  men  enjoy  themselves  ;  but  'tis  our  curse 
To  have  a  tumult,  that,  out  of  their  loves. 
Will  wait  on  us,  whether  we  will  or  no. 
Go,  get  you  gone  !     Why,  here  they  stand  like  death  ; 
My  words  move  nothing. 

First  Gent.  Must  we  go  ? 

Bes.  I  know  not. 

'  I'^ff^  So  all  the  old  eds.,  except  the  first  4to,  which  omits  it.  The 
Editors  of  1778  placed  it  between  brackets  (as  it  is  given  in  all  the  old 
eds.  after  the  second  4to),  pronouncing  it  to  be  a  stage-direction.  Weber 
also  considered  it  to  be  such,  and  omitted  it, — having  forgotten  that  in  a  pre- 
ceding passage  (see  p.  244,  and  note)  he  had  printed  "  Puff  "  as  a  portion  of 
the  text ! 


248  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  i. 

Arh.  I  pray  you,  leave  me,  sirs.     I'm  proud  of  this, 
That  you  will  be  intreated  from  my  si^ht. 

\^Exeunt  two  Gentlemen,  Bessus,  and  Attendants. 
Mardonius  is  going  out. 
Why,  now  they  leave  me  all ! — Mardonius  ! 

Mar.  Sir? 

Arb.  Will  you  leave  me  quite  alone  ?  methinks, 
Civility  should  teach  you  more  than  this, 
If  I  were  but  your  friend.     Stay  here,  and  wait. 

Mar.  Sir,  shall  I  speak  I 

Arh.  Why,  you  would  now  think  much 
To  be  denied ;  but  I  can  scarce  intreat 
What  I  would  have.     Do,  speak. 

Mar.  But  will  you  hear  me  out  ? 

Arh.   With  me  you  article  ^,  to  talk  thus.     Well, 
I  will  hear  you  out. 

Mar.  [kneels.']  Sir,  that  I  have  ever  lovM  you, 
My  sword  hath  spoken  for  me ;  that  I  do. 
If  it  be  doubted,  I  dare  call  an  oath, 
A  great  one,  to  my  witness  ;  and  were 
You  not  my  king,  from  amongst  men  I  should 
Have  chose  you  out,  to  love  above  the  rest : 
Nor  can  this  challenge  thanks  ;  for  my  own  sake 
I  should  have  done  if^,  because  I  would  have  lovM 
The  most  deserving  man,  for  so  you  are. 

Arh.  [raising  liim.]  Alas,  Mardonius,  rise!  you  shall  not  kneel: 
We  all  are  soldiers,  and  all  venture  lives ; 
And  where  there  is  no  difference  in  men's  worths, 
Titles  are  jests.     Who  can  outvalue  thee  ? 
Mardonius,  thou  hast  lov"'d  me,  and  hast  wrong ; 
Thy  love  is  not  rewarded  ;  but  believe 
It  shall  be  better :   more  than  friend  in  arms, 
My  father  and  my  tutor,  good  ^lardonius  ! 

Mar.  Sir,  you  did  promise  you  would  hear  me  out. 

*  With  me  you  article'^  Tlieobald  printed  (for  the  better  doubtless,  but 
without  any  authority),  "  You  article  with  me." 

>•  done  it]  So  the  folio  of  lG7b).  The  first  4to.  "doted"  ;  which  Weber 
adopted.     The  other  Itos.  "  done." 


SCENE  I]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  249 

Arb.  And  so  I  will :  speak  freely,  for  from  thee 
Nothing  can  come  but  worthy  things  and  true. 

Mar.  Though   you   have   all   this   worth,  you  hold    some 
qualities 
That  do  eclipse  your  virtues. 
.    Arb.  Eclipse  my  virtues  ! 

Mar.  Yes,  your  passions,  which  are  so  manifold,  that  they 
appear  even  in  this  :  when  I  commend  you,  you  hug  me  for 
that  truth  ;  when  I  speak  your  faults,  you  make  a  start,  and 
Hy  the  hearing.     But '^ 

Arb.  ^Vhen  you  commend  me  !     Oh,  that  I  should  live 
To  need  such  commendations  !     If  my  deeds 
Blew  not  my  praise  themselves  about  the  earth, 
I  were  most  wretched.     Spare  your  idle  praise  : 
If  thou  didst  mean  to  flatter,  and  shouldst  utter 
Words  in  ray  praise  that  thou  thought'st  impudence, 
My  deeds  should  make  "'em  modest.     When  you  praise, 
I  hug  you  !  'tis  so  false,  that,  wert  thou  worthy, 
Thou  shouldst  receive  a  death,  a  glorious  death, 
From  me.     But  thou  shalt  understand  thy  lies  ; 
For,  shouldst  thou  praise  me  into  heaven,  and  there 
Leave  me  inthronM,  I  would  despise  thee  though '' 
As  much  as  now,  which  is  as  much  as  dust, 
Because  I  see  thy  envy. 

Mar.  However  you  will  use  me  after,  yet, 
For  your  own  promise-sake,  hear  me  the  rest. 

Arb.  I  will  ;  and  after  call  unto  the  winds. 
For  they  shall  lend  as  large  an  ear  as  I 
To  what  you  utter.     Speak. 

Mar.  Would  you  but  leave 
These  hasty  tempers,  which  I  do  not  say 

'  when  I  speak  your  faults,  you  make  a  start,  and  fly  the  hearing.  But — ] 
The  first  4to.  has  "  when  I  speak  of  your  faults"  &c.  Other  eds.  "  but  when  I 
speak  your  faults,"  &c. ;  and  so  the  modern  editors,  Weber  excepted.  Theobald 
printed  "  and  fly  the  hearing  out." 

"^  though]  "  This,"  says  Weber,  "  is  the  text  of  the  oldest  quarto."  It  happens 
to  be  the  reading  of  every  one  of  the  old  eds.  Theobald  and  tlie  editors  of  1778 
printed  "  then," — rightly,  I  suspect  ;  for  in  my  copy  of  the  first  4to.  "  though  "  is 
struck  through  with  a  pen,  and  "  then  "  written  on  the  margin  in  a  very  old  hand. 


250  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  i. 

Take  from  you  all  your  worth,  but  darken  'em  ^, 
Then  you  would^  shine  indeed. 

Arb.  Well. 

Mar.  Yet  I  would  have  you  keep  some  passions,  lest  men 
should  take  you  for  a  god,  your  virtues  are  such. 

Arb.  Why,  now  you  flatter. 

Mar.  I  never  understood  the  word.  Were  you  no  king, 
and  free  from  these  wild  moods,  should  I  choose  a  companion 
for  wit  and  pleasure,  it  should  be  you  ;  or  for  honesty  to 
interchange  my  bosom  with,  it  should  be  you ;  or  wisdom  to 
give  me  counsel,  I  would  pick  out  you  ;  or  valour  to  defend 
my  reputation,  still  I  would  find  out  you,  for  you  are  fit  to 
fight  for  all  the  world,  if  it  could  come  in  question.  Now  I 
have  spoke  :  consider  to  yourself,  find  out  a  use  ;  if  so,  then 
what  shall  fall  to  me  is  not  material. 

Arb.  Is  not  material !  more  than  ten  such  lives 
As  mine,  Mardonius.      It  was  nobly  said  ; 
Thou  hast  spoke  truth,  and  boldly  such  a  truth 
As  might  offend  another.     I  have  been 
Too  passionate  and  idle  ;  thou  shalt  see 
A  swift  amendment.     But  I  want  those  parts 
You  praise  me  for  :   I  fight  for  all  the  world  !    . 
Give  thee  a  sword,  and  thou  wilt  go  as  far 
Beyond  me  as  thou  art  beyond  in  years  ; 
I  know  thou  dar''st  and  wilt.     It  troubles  me 
That  I  should  use  so  rough  a  phrase  to  thee ; 
Impute  it  to  my  folly,  what  thou  wilt, 
So  thou  wilt  pardon  me.     That  thou  and  I 
Should  differ  thus  ! 

*  worth 'c»?i]  Theobald  (at  Sympson's  suggestion)  gave  "  ivorth  -  -  -  it  "  ; 

and  so  the  Editors  of  1778.     Weber  printed  "  worths 'em."     But  compare 

Philaster  ; 

"  And  taste  the  waters  of  the  springs  as  sweet 
As  ^twas  before." — vol.  i.  252. 

Similar  ungrammatical  passages  occur  in  various  early  writers.  Let 
it  be  observed  too,  that  in  the  preceding  page  Mardonius  says  to  Arbaces, 
"  Though  you  have  all  this  worth,'''  &c. 

f  woulW]  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.  Other  eds.  "  will  "  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  251 

Mar.  Why,  'tis  no  matter,  sir. 

Arb.  Faith,  but  it  is :  but  thou  dost  ever  take 
All  things  I  do  thus  patiently  ;  for  which 
I  never  can  requite  thee  but  with  love, 
And  that  thou  slialt  be  sure  of.     Thou  and  I 
Have  not  been  merry  lately  :  pray  thee,  tell  me. 
Where  hadst  thou  that  same  jewel  in  thine  ear  °. 

Mar.  Why,  at  the  taking  of  a  town. 

Arb.  A  wench, 
Upon  my  life,  a  wench,  Mardonius, 
Gave  thee  that  jewel. 

Mar.  Wench  !  they  respect  not  me  ;  Fm  old  and  rough, 
and  every  limb  about  me,  but  that  which  should,  grows  stiffer, 
F  those  businesses  I  may  swear  I  am  truly  honest ;  for  I  pay 
justly  for  what  I  take,  and  would  be  glad  to  be  at  a  certainty. 

Arb.  Why,  do  the  wenches  encroach  upon  thee  ? 

3Iar.  Ay,  by  this  light,  do  they. 

Arb.  Didst  thou  sit  at  an  old  rent  with  'em  ? 

Mar.  Yes,  faith. 

Arb.  And  do  they  improve  themselves  ? 

Mar.  Ay,  ten  shillings  to  mci  every  new  young  fellow  they 
come  acquainted  with. 

Arb.  How  canst  live  on't  ? 

Mar.  Why,  I  think  I  must  petition  to  you. 

Arb.  Thou  shalt  take  'em  up  at  my  price. 

Re-enter  tico  Gentlemen  and  Bessus. 
Mar.  Your  price  ! 
Arb.  Ay,  at  the  king's  price. 
Mar.  That  may  be  more  than  Fm  worth. 
First  Gent.  Is  he  not  merry  now? 
Sec.  Gent.  I  think  not. 
Bes.  Ho  is,  he  is  :  we'll  shew  ourselves. 

E  that  same  jewel  in  thine  ear]  VVlion  this  play  was  written,  it  was  customary 
for  men  to  wear  ear-rings.  The  fashion  indeed  prevailed  long  after :  in 
Wycherlcy's  Plain  Dealer,  act  ii.  sc.  2,  Manly  says  to  Olivia,  "  Was  it 
the  gunpowder  spot  ou  his  hand,  or  the  jewel  in.  his  ear,  that  purchased  your 
heart?" 


252  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  i. 

Arb.  Bessus  !  I  thought  you  had  been  in  Iberia  by  this  ;  I 
bade  you  haste ;  Gobrias  will  want  entertainment  for  me. 

Bes.  An't  please  your  majesty,  I  have  a  suit. 

Arb.  Is't  not  lousy,  Bessus  1  what  is't  I 

Bes.  I  am  to  carry  a  lady  with  me — 

Arb.  Then  thou  hast  two  suits. 

Bes.  And  if  I  can  prefer  her  to  the  lady  Panthea,  your 
majesty's  sister,  to  learn  fashions,  as  her  friends  term  it,  it 
will  be  worth  something  to  me. 

Arb.  So  many  nights'  lodgings  as  'tis  thither  ;  will 't  not  I 

Bes.  I  know  not  that,  sir  ;  but  gold  I  shall  be  sure  of. 

Arb.  Why,  thou  shalt  bid  her  entertain  her  from  me,  so 
thou  wilt  resolve  me  one  thing. 

Bes.  If  I  can. 

Arb.  Faith,  'tis  a  very  disputable  question  ;  and  yet  I 
think  thou  canst  decide  it. 

Bes.  Your  majesty  has  a  good  opinion  of  my  understanding. 

Arb.  I  have  so  good  an  opinion  of  it :  'tis,  whether  thou  be 
valiant. 

Bes.  Somebody  has  traduced  me  to  you.  Do  you  see  this 
sword,  sir  ?  [^Draws. 

Arb.  Yes. 

Bes.  If  I  do  not  make  my  back-biters  eat  it  to  a  knife 
within  this  week,  say  I  am  not  valiant. 

Enter  Messenger. 

Mes.  Health  to  your  majesty !  {^Delivers  a  letter. 

Arb.  From  Gobrias  I 

Mes.  Yes,  sir. 

Arb.  How  does  he  ?  is  he  well  ? 

Mes.  In  perfect  health. 

Arb.  Take  that  for  thy  good  news. —  [Gives  money. 

A  trustier  servant  to  his  prince  there  lives  not 
Than  is  good  Gobrias.  [_Reads. 

First  Gent.  The  king  starts  back. 

Mar.  His  blood  goes  back  as  fast. 

Sec.  Gent.  And  now  it  comes  again. 

Mar.  He  alters  strangely. 


SCENE  I.]  A  KI^'G  AND  NO  KING.  253 

Arb.  The  hand  of  Heaven  is  on  nie  :  be  it  far 
From  me  to  struggle  !     If  my  secret  sins 
Have  pull'd  this  curse  upon  me,  lend  me  tears 
Enow  to  wash  me  white,  that  1  may  feel 
A  child-like  innocence  within  my  breast : 
AVliich  once  performM,  oh,  give  me  leave  to  stand 
As  fixM  as  Constancy  herself ;  my  eyes 
Set  here  unmov\l,  regardless  of  the  world, 
Though  thousand  miseries  encompass  me  ! 

Mar.  This  is  strange. — Sir,  how  do  you  ? 

Arb.  Mardonius,  my  mother 

Mar.  Is  she  dead  I 

Arb.  Alas,  she's  not  so  happy  !     Thou  dost  know 
How  she  hath  labourM,  since  my  father  died. 
To  take  by  treason  hence  this  loathed  life, 
That  would  but  be  to  serve  her.     I  have  pardonM, 
And  pardon'd,  and  by  that  have  made  her  fit 
To  practise  new  sins,  not  repent  the  old. 
She  now  had  hir'd  a  slave  to  come  from  thence, 
And  strike  me  here  ;  whom  Gobrias,  sifting  out, 
Took,  and  condemned,  and  executed  there, 
The  carefull'st  servant  !     Heaven,  let  me  but  live 
To  pay  that  man  !     Nature  is  poor  to  me, 
That  will  not  let  me  have  as  many  deaths 
As  are  the  times  that  he  hath  sav'd  my  life, 
That  I  might  die  'era  over  all  for  him. 

Mar.  Sir,  let  her  bear  her  sins  on  her  own  head  ; 
Vex  not  yourself. 

Arb.  AVhat  will  the  world 
Conceive  of  me  ?  with  wliat  unnatural  sins 
Will  they  suppose  me  laden,  when  my  life 
Is  sought  by  her  that  gave  it  to  the  world  I 
But  yet  he  writes  me  comfort  here  :  my  sister. 
He  says,  is  grown  in  beauty  and  in  grace. 
In  all  the  innocent  virtues  that  become 
A  tender  spotless  maid  ;  she  stains  her  cheeks 
With  niourning  tears,  to  purge  her  mother's  ill ; 
And  'mongst  that  sacred  dew  she  mingles  prayers, 


254  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  i. 

Her  pure  oblations,  for  my  safe  return, — 
If  I  have  lost  the  duty  of  a  son, 
If  any  pomp  or  vanity  of  state 
Made  me  forget  my  natural  offices, 
Nay,  farther,  if  I  have  not  every  night 
Expostulated  with  my  wandering  thoughts. 
If  aught  unto  my  parent  they  have  err'd, 
And  eallM  'em  back ;  do  you  direct ''  her  arm 
Unto  this  foul  dissembling  heart  of  mine  : 
But  if  I  have  been  just  to  her,  send  out 
Your  power  to  compass  me,  and  hold  me  safe 
From  searching  treason  !   I  will  use  no  means 
But  prayer :  for,  rather  suffer  me  to  see 
From  mine  own  veins  issue  a  deadly  flood, 
Than  wash  my  danger  off*  with  mother's  blood. 

Mar.  I  ne'er  saw  such  sudden  extremities.  \^Ex€unt. 


SCENE  II. — Another  part  of  the  camp. 

Enter  Tigranes  and  Spaconia. 

Tigr.  Why,  wilt  thou  have  me  fly  ',  Spaconia  ? 
What  should  I  do  ? 

Spa.  Nay,  let  me  stay  alone  ; 
And  when  you  see  Armenia  again, 
You  shall  behold  a  tomb  more  worth  than  I  : 
Some  friend,  that  either  loves  J  me  or  my  cause, 
Will  build  me  something  to  distinguish  me 
From  other  women ;  many  a  weeping  verse 

''  do  you  direct,  &c.]  "  An  address  to  the  gods  of  a  similar  nature,  without 
naming  them,  occurs  in  act  iii.  sc.  1,  where  Arbaces  says, 

'  Why  should  you  that  have  made  me  stand  in  war,'  &c."    Mason. 

'  fly'\     Old   eds.   "  die  ". — "  VVe    should  certainly  i-ead  fly  instead   of  die. 
Spaconia's  I'eply  shews  that  she  had  been  exhorting  him  to  flight."     Mason. 

J  either  loves']  So  the  two  first  4tos  ;  which  Theobald  rightly  followed.     Other 
eds.  "  ever  lov'd  " ;  and  so  the  Editors  of  1 778 .    Weber  printed  "  ever  loves " ! 


SCENE  II.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  255 

He  will  lay  on,  and  much  lament  those  maids 
That  place "^  their  loves  unfortunately  high', 
As  I  have  done,  where  they  can  never  reach. 
But  why  should  you  go  to  Iberia  ? 

Tigr.  Alas,  that  thou  wilt  ask  me  !     Ask  the  man 
That  rages  in  a  fever,  why  he  lies 
Distemper'd  there,  when  all  the  other  youths 
Are  coursing;  o'er  the  meadows  with  their  loves  : 
Can  I  resist  it  I  am  I  not  a  slave 
To  him  that  conquer*'d  me  ? 

Spa.  That  conquer'd  thee  ! 
Tigranes,  he  has  won  but  half  of  thee 
Thy  body ;  but  thy  mind  may  be  as  free 
As  his  ;  his  will  did  never  combat  thine, 
And  take  it  prisoner. 

Tigr.  But  if  he  by  force 
Convey  my  body  hence,  what  helps  it  me, 
Or  thee,  to  be  unwilling  \ 

Spa.  Oh,  Tigranes  ! 
I  know  you  are  to  see  a  lady  there  ; 
To  see,  and  like,  I  fear  :  perhaps  the  hope 
Of  her  makes  you  forget  me  ere  we  part. 
Be  happier  than  you  know  to  wish  !  fiirowell. 

Tigr.  Spaconia,  stay,  and  hear  me  what  I  say. 
In  short,  destruction  meet  me,  that  I  may 
See  it,  and  not  avoid  it,  when  I  leave 
To  be  thy  faithful  lover !     Part  with  me 
Thou  shalt  not ;  there  are  none  that  know  our  love ; 
And  I  have  given  gold  unto  a  captain, 
That  goes  unto  Iberia  from  the  king. 
That  he  would  place  a  lady  of  our  land 
With  the  king's  sister  that  is  offerM  me  ; 
Thither  shall  you,  and,  being  once  got  in, 
Persuade  her,  by  what  subtle  means  you  can. 
To  be  as  backward  in  her  love  as  I. 

''  jilace]  So  all  the  4tos.  Folio  of  1G79  "  plac'd  ";  and  so  the  modern  editors. 
'  unfortunately  high]  So  all  the  old  eds.,  except  the  first  4to,  which  lias 
"  vnfortunately  too  hght."     Weber  chose  to  print  "  unfortunately  too  high." 


256  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  i. 

Spa.  Can  you  imagine  that  a  longing  maid, 
When  she  beholds  you,  can  be  pulFd  away 
With  words  from  loving  you  ? 

Tigr.  Dispraise  my  health, 
My  honesty,  and  tell  her  I  am  jealous. 

Spa.  Whjs  I  had  rather  lose  you.     Can  my  heart 
Consent  to  let  my  tongue  throw  out  such  words  ? . 
And  I,  that  ever  yet  spoke  what  I  thought, 
Shall  find  it  such  a  thing  at  first  to  lie  ! 

Tigr.  Yet,  do  thy  best. 

Enter  Bessus. 

Bes.  What,  is  your  majesty  ready  I 

Tigr.  There  is  the  lady,  captain. 

Bes.  Sweet  lady,  by  your  leave.  I  could  wish  myself  more 
full  of  courtship '  for  your  fair  sake. 

Spa.  Sir,  I  shall  feel  no  want  of  that. 

Bes.  Lady,  you  must  haste ;  I  have  received  new  letters 
from  the  king,  that  require  more  speed  than  I  expected :  he 
will  follow  me  suddenly  himself;  and  begins  to  call  for  your 
majesty  ah*eady. 

Tigr.  He  shall  not  do  so  long. 

Bes.  Sweet  lady,  shall  I  call  you  my  charge  hereafter? 

Spa.  I  will  not  take  upon  me  to  govern  your  tongue,  sir ; 
you  shall  call  me  what  you  please.  \_Exeunt. 

'  courtship']  "  i.  e.  coui'tly  breeding,  the  behaviour  of  a  courtier."     Weber. 


SCENE  1.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  257 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. —  The  Capital  of  Iberia.     An  apartment  in  the  Palace. 


Enter  Gobrias,  Bacurius,  Arane,  Panthea,  Waiting-women^ 
and  Attendants. 

Gob.  My  lord  Bacurius,  you  must  have  regard 
Unto  the  queen  ;  she  is  your  prisoner ; 
■"Tis  at  your  peril,  if  she  make  escape. 

Bac.  My  lord,  I  know't ;  she  is  my  prisoner, 
From  you  committed  :  yet  she  is  a  woman ; 
And,  so  I  keep  her  safe,  you  will  not  urge  me 
To  keep  her  close.     I  shall  not  shame  to  say, 
I  sorrow  for  her. 

Gob.  So  do  I,  my  lord  : 
I  sorrow  for  her,  that  so  little  grace 
Doth  govern  her,  that  she  should  stretch  her  arm 
Against  her  king ;  so  little  womanhood 
And  natural  goodness,  as  to  think '"  the  death 
Of  her  own  son. 

Ara.  Thou  know"'st  the  reason  why, 
Dissembling  as  thou  art,  and  wilt  not  speak. 

Gob.  There  is  a  lady  takes  not  after  you  ; 
Her  father  is  within  her ;  that  good  man, 
Whose  tears  paid  down  his  sins".     Mark  how  she  weeps  ; 
How  well  it  does  become  her  !  and  if  you 
Can  find  no  disposition  in  yourself 
To  sorrow,  yet  by  gracefulness  in  her 
Find  out  the  way,  and  by  your  reason  weep  : 

■"  /Atnfr]  "  i.  e.  intend."     Weber. 

"  paid  down  his  sins]  "  That  is,  paid  the  forfeit  of  his  sins,  were  sufficient  to 
balance  tlicm.     The  readin-;  of  the  old  [the  first]  quarto  was  subsequently 
changed  thus, — '  weigh' d  down  his  sins'."     Weber. 
VOL.  II.  S 


258  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  ii. 

All  this  she  does  for  you,  and  more  she  needs, 
When  for  yourself  you  will  not  lose  a  tear. 
Think  how  this  want  of  grief  discredits  you ; 
And  you  will  weep,  because  you  cannot  weep. 

Ara.  You  talk  to  me,  as  having  got  a  time 
Fit  for  your  purpose  ;  but  you  know,  I  know 
You  speak  not  what  you  think. 

Pan.  I  would  my  heart 
Were  stone,  before  my  softness  should  be  urg"'d 
Against  my  mother  !     A  more  troubled  thought 
No  virgin  bears  about  her  :  should  I  excuse 
My  mother''s  fault,  I  should  set  light  a  life. 
In  losing  which  a  brother  and  a  king 
Were  taken  from  me  ;  if  I  seek  to  save 
That  life  so  lov'd,  I  lose  another  life, 
That  gave  me  being, — I  shall  «  lose  a  mother, 
A  word  of  such  a  sound  in  a  child's  ear. 
That  it  strikes  reverence  through  it.     May  the  will 
Of  Heaven  be  done,  and  if  one  needs  must  fall, 
Take  a  poor  virgin's  life  to  answer  all ! 

Ara.  But,  Gobrias,  let  us  talk.     You  know,  this  fault 
Is  not  in  me  as  in  another  woman  p.  [  Thei/  icalk  apart. 

Goh.  I  know  it  is  not. 

Ara.  Yet  you  make  it  so. 

Goh.  Why,  is  not  all  that's  past  beyond  your  help  ? 

Ara.  I  know  it  is. 

Goh.  Nay,  should  you  publish  it 
Before  the  world,  think  you  'twould  be  believ'd  ? 

Ara.  I  know,  it  would  not. 

Goh.  Nay,  should  I  join  with  you, 
Should  we  not  both  be  torn  "•,  and  yet  both  die 
Uncredited  ? 

Ara.  I  think  we  should. 

0  shall]  Altered  by  Weber  to  "  should." 

P  another  zvoman]  "  So  the  first  quarto.     After  editions  read,  with  a  dis- 
agreeable jingle — '  another  mother.'  "     Weber. 

1  torn'}  i.  e.  toi-n  to  death,  tortured.    Theobald  adopted  Sympsou's  ridiculous 
alteration  of  this  passage,  in  which  "  sworn  "  is  substituted  for  "  torn." 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  259 

Gob.  Why,  then, 
Take  you  such  violent  courses  ?     As  for  me, 
I  do  but  right  in  saving  of  the  king 
From  all  your  plots. 

Ara.  The  king  ! 

Gob.  I  bade  you  rest 
With  patience,  and  a  time  would  come  for  me 
To  reconcile  all  to  your  own  content ; 
But  by  this  way  you  take  away  my  power  ; 
And  what  was  done,  unknown,  was  not  by  me, 
But  you,  your  urging  :  being  done, 
I  must  preserve  mine  own  "■ ;  but  time  may  bring 
All  this  to  light,  and  happily  for  all, 

Ara.  Accursed  be  this  over-curious  brain. 
That  gave  that  plot  a  birth  !  accurs'd  this  womb, 
That  after  did  conceive  to  my  disgrace  ! 

Bac.  My  lord-protector  they  say  there  are  divers  letters 
come  from  Armenia,  that  Bessus  has  done  good  service,  and 
brought  again  a  day  by  his  particular  valour :  received  you 
any  to  that  effect  ? 

Gob.  Yes  ;  'tis  most  certain. 

Bac.  Tm  sorry  for't ;  not  that  the  day  was  won, 
But  that  'twas  won  by  him.     We  held  him  hero 
A  coward  :  he  did  me  wrong  once,  at  which  I  laugh'd. 
And  so  did  all  the  world  ;  for  nor  I 
Nor  any  other  held  him  worth  my  sword. 

Enter  Bessus  and  Spaconia. 
Bes.  Health  to  my  lord-protector  !  from  the  king  these 
letters, — and  to  your  grace,  madam,  these. 

[^Gives  letters  to  Gobrias  and  Panthea. 
Gob.  How  does  his  majesty? 

Bes.  As  well  as  conquest,  by  his  own  means  and  his  valiant 
commanders,  can  make  him  :  your  letters  will  tell  you  all. 

Pan.  I  will  not  open  mine,  till  I  do  know 
My  brother's  health :  good  captain,  is  he  well  ? 

"■  mine  own'\  i.  e.  him  who  is  my  own. 
S  2 


260  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  ii. 

Bes.  As  the  rest  of  us  that  fought  are. 

Pan.  But  how's  that  ?  is  he  hurt  ? 

Bes.  He''s  a  strange  soldier  that  gets  not  a  knock. 

Pmi.  I  do  not  ask  how  strange  that  soldier  is 
That  gets  no  hurt,  but  whether  he  have  one. 

Bes.  He  had  divers. 

Pan.  And  is  he  well  again  I 

Bes.  Well  again,  an't  please  your  grace  !  Why,  I  was  run 
twace  through  the  body,  and  shot  i'  th'  head  with  a  cross 
arrow,  and  yet  am  well  again. 

Pan.  I  do  not  care  how  thou  dost :  is  he  well  ? 

Bes.  Not  care  how  I  do  !  Let  a  man,  out  of  the  mightiness 
of  his  spirit,  fructify  foreign  countries  with  his  blood,  for  the 
good  of  his  own,  and  thus  he  shall  be  answered.  Why,  I  may 
live  to  relieve,  withspearand  shield,  suchalady  as  you^  distressed. 

Pan.  Why,  I  will  care  :  I'm  glad  that  thou  art  well ; 
I  prithee,  is  he  so  I 

Gob.  The  king  is  well,  and  will  be  here  to-morrow. 

Pan.  My  prayers  are  heard.  Now  will  I  open  mine.  \_Reads. 

Gob.  Bacurius,  I  must  ease  you  of  your  charge. — 
Madam,  the  wonted  mercy  of  the  king, 
That  overtakes  your  faults,  has  met  with  this, 
And  struck  it  out ;  he  has  forgiven  you  freely  : 
Your  own  will  is  your  law  ;  be  where  you  please. 

Ara.  I  thank  him. 

Gob.  You  w  ill  be  ready 
To  wait  upon  his  majesty  to-morrow? 

Ara.  I  will. 

Bac.  Madam,  be  wise  hereafter.     I  am  glad 
I  have  lost  this  office.  \_Exit  Arane. 

Gob.  Good  captain  Bessus,  tell  us  the  discourse  ^ 

»  as  you]  So  all  the  old  eds.,  except  the  first  4to,  which  omits  these  words, 
and  which  Weber  followed. 

'  discourse]  "  This  was  one  of  the  numerous  words  derived  from  the  Latin, 
which  wei'e  used  with  a  great  latitude  of  meaning  by  our  ancestors  [see  note, 
vol.  i.  213].  Here  it  signifies,  as  Mr.  Mason  observes,  'transaction,  not  con- 
versation.' "  Weber.  Mason  may  be  right :  but  perhaps  "  the  discourse 
betwixt  Tigranes  and  our  king"  is  equivalent  to — the  story,  the  full  par- 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  261 

Betwixt  Tigranes  and  our  king,  and  how 
We  got  the  victory. 

Pan.  I  prithee,  do ; 
And  if  my  brother  were  in  any  danger, 
Let  not  thy  talc  make  him  abide  there  long 
Before  thou  bring  him  off,  for  all  that  while 
My  heart  will  beat. 

Bes.  Madam,  let  what  will  beat,  I  must  tell  truth ;  and  thus 
it  was.  They  fought  single  in  lists,  but  one  to  one.  As 
for  my  own  part,  I  was  dangerously  hurt  but  three  days 
before  ;  else  perhaps  we  had  been  two  to  two, — I  cannot  tell, 
some  thought,  we  had  ; — and  the  occasion  of  my  hurt  was  this ; 
the  enemy  had  made  trenches 

Gob.  Captain,  without  the  manner  of  your  hurt 
Be  much  material  to  this  business, 
We'll  hear't  some  other  time. 

Pan.  I  prithee  ",  leave  it, 
And  go  on  with  my  brother. 

Bes.  I  will ;  but  'twould  be  worth  your  hearing.  To  the 
lists  they  came,  and  single-sword  and  gauntlet''  was  their 
fight. 

Pan.  Alas  ! 

ticulars,  of  what  took  place  between  Tigranes  and  our  king.  Tlie  following 
passages  occur  in  Sir  P.  Sidney's  Arcadia — "  And  vnderstanding  the  ful 
discourse  (as  Fame  was  verie  prodigall  of  so  notable  an  accident)  in  what 
case  Pyroclos  was,"  &c.  B.  ii.  p.  128.  ed.  1598.  "And  therefore  desired  his 
mother  that  she  would  tell  him  the  whole  discourse,  how  all  these  mattei's  had 
happened."  B.  iii.  p.  241.  "  And  then  with  a  mery  mariage  looke  he  sang  this 
following  discourse  [tale],  for  with  a  better  grace  he  could  sing  then  tell." 
B.  iii.  p.  377. 

"  J  prithee]  I  may  just  notice  that  the  first  4to.  has  "  I  [Ay],  I  prethee." 
"  gatintlel]  Theobald  printed  "target",  the  rash  conjecture  of  Sympson. 
"  As  this  alteration  is  countenanced  by  none  of  the  old  copies,  so  the  reason  for 
which  it  is  made  will  hardly  be  deemed  a  sufficient  one,  when  it  is  understood 
that  every  combatant  was  provided  with  a  gauntlet  when  he  fought.  In  a  book 
entitled  *  Honor  Military  and  Civill,  contained  in  foure  Bookes.  By  W.  Segar,' 
fo.  Ifi02,  p.  130,  is  the  following  passage  :  '  He  that  loseth  his  gauntlet  in  fight, 
is  more  to  be  blamed  than  he  who  is  disarmed  of  his  poulderon.  For  the 
gauntlet  anneth  the  hand,  without  which  member  no  fight  can  be  perfoi'med  ; 
and  therefore  that  part  of  the  annor  is  commonly  sent  in  signe  of  defiance.'  " 
Reed. 


262  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  ii. 

Bes.  Without  the  lists  there  stood  some  dozen  captains  of 
either  side  mingled,  all  which  were  sworn,  and  one  of  those 
was  I ;  and  "'twas  my  chance  to  stand  next  a  captain  of  the 
enemies'  side,  called  Tiribasus  ;  valiant,  they  said,  he  was. 
Whilst  these  two  kings  were  stretching  themselves,  this  Tiri- 
basus cast  something  a  scornful  look  on  me,  and  asked  me, 
who '"  I  thought  would  overcome.  I  smiled,  and  told  him, 
if  he  would  fight  with  me,  he  should  perceive  by  the  event  of 
that  whose  king  would  win.  Something  he  answered  ;  and  a 
scuffle  was  like  to  grow,  when  one  Zipetus  offered  to  help 
him:  I 

Pmi.  All  this  is  of  thyself :   I  prithee,  Bessus, 
Tell  something  of  my  brother  ;  did  he  nothing  ? 

Bes.  Why,  yes  ;  I'll  tell  your  grace.  They  were  not  to 
fight  till  the  word  given  ;  which  for  my  own  part,  by  my 
troth,  I  confess,  I  was  not  to  give. 

Pan.  See,  for  his  own  part  ! 

Bac.  I  fear,  yet,  this  fellow's  abused  with  a  good  report. 

Bes.  Ay,  but  I 

Pan.  Still  of  himself ! 

Bes.  Cried,  "  Give  the  word  !"  when,  as  some  of  them  say, 
Tigranes  was  stooping  ;  but  the  word  was  not  given  then  ; 
yet  one  Cosroes,  of  the  enemies'  part,  held  up  his  finger  to 
me,  which  is  as  much  with  us  martialists  as,  "  I  will  fight  with 
you  : "  I  said  not  a  word,  nor  made  sign  during  the  combat ; 
but  that  once  done 

Pan.  He  slips  o'er  all  the  fight  ! 

Bes.  I  called  him  to  me  ;   "  Cosroes,"  said  I 

Pan.  I  will  hear  no  more. 

Bes.  No,  no,  I  lie. 

Bac.  I  dare  be  sworn  thou  dost. 

Bes.  "  Captain,"  said  I ;  so  'twas. 

Pan.  I  tell  thee,  I  will  hear  no  further. 

Bes.  No  !  your  grace  will  wish  you  had. 

Pan.  I  will  not  wish  it.     What,  is  this  the  lady 
My  brother  writes  to  me  to  take  ? 

"  who]   So  fol.  1G79.     The  Editors  of  1778  and  Webex'  chose  to  print  with 
the  4tos,  "whom." 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  263 

Bes.  An't  please  your  grace,  this  is  she. — Charge '',  will  you 
come  nearer  '>'  the  princess  ? 

Pan.  You're  welcome  from  your  country  ;  and  this  land 
Shall  shew  unto  you  all  the  kindnesses 
That  I  can  make  it.     Whafs  your  name  ? 

Spa.  Thalestris. 

Pan.  You're  very  welcome :  you  have  got  a  letter 
To  put  you  to  me,  that  has  power  enough 
To  place  mine  enemy  here  ;  then  much  more  you, 
That  are  so  far  from  being  so  to  me. 
That  you  ne'er  saw  me. 

Bes.  ]\Iadam,  I  dare  pass  my  word  for  her  truth. 

Spa.  My  truth ! 

Pan.  Why,  captain,  do  you  think  I  am  afraid  she'll  steal  I 

Bes.  I  cannot  tell ;  servants  are  slippery ;  but  I  dare  give 
my  word  for  her  and  for  her  ^  honesty  :  she  came  along  with 
me,  and  many  favours  she  did  me  by  the  way ;  but,  by  this 
light,  none  but  what  she  might  do  with  modesty  to  a  man  of 
my  rank. 

Pan.  Why,  captain,  here's  nobody  thinks  otherwise. 

Bes.  Nay,  if  you  should,  your  grace  may  think  your  pleasure ; 
but  I  am  sure  I  brought  her  from  Armenia,  and  in  all  that 
way,  if  ever  I  touched  any  bare  of  her  above  her  knee,  I  pray 
God  I  may  sink  where  I  stand. 

Spa.  Above  my  knee  ! 

Bes.  No,  you  know  I  did  not ;  and  if  any  man  will  say  I 
did,  this  sword  shall  answer.  Nay,  I'll  defend  the  reputation 
of  my  charge,  whilst  I  live.  Your  grace  shall  understand  I 
am  secret  in  these  businesses,  and  know  how  to  defend  a 
lady's  honour. 

Spa.  I  hope  your  grace  knows  him  so  well  already, 
I  shall  not  need  to  tell  you  he's  vain  and  foolish. 

Bes.  Ay,  you  may  call  me  what  you  please,  but  I'll  defend 
your  good  name  against  the  world. — And  so  I  take  my  leave 

*  Charge]   Sec  p.  256,  last  line  but  two. 

y  nearer]  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.  Other  eds.,  "  near  "  ;  and  so  the  modem 
editors. 

»  her]  So  the  first  4to.  Omitted  in  other  eds.  ;  and  by  the  modern 
editors. 


264  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  ii. 

of  your  grace, — and  of  you,  my  lord-protector. — I  am  likewise 
glad  to  see  your  lordship  well. 

Bac.  Oh,  captain  Bessus,  I  thank  you.    I  would  speak  with 
you  anon. 

Bes.  When  you  please,  I  will  attend  your  lordship. 

\_Exit. 

Bac.  Madam,  I'll  take  my  leave  too. 

Pan.  Good  Bacurius  !  [Exit  Bacumus. 

Gob.  Madam,  what  writes  his  majesty  to  you  ? 

Pan.  Oh,  my  lord. 
The  kindest  words  !     FU  keep  'em,  whilst  I  live, 
Here  in  my  bosom  ;  there's  no  art  in  'em  ; 
They  lie  disordered  in  this  paper,  just 
As  hearty  nature  speaks  'em. 

Goh.  And  to  me 
He  writes,  what  tears  of  joy  he  shed,  to  hear 
How  you  were  grown  in  every  virtuous  way ; 
And  yields  all  thanks  to  me  for  that  dear  care 
Which  I  was  bound  to  have  in  training  you. 
There  is  no  princess  living  that  enjoys 
A  brother  of  that  worth. 

Pan.  My  lord,  no  maid 
Longs  more  for  any  thing,  or='  feels  more  heat 
And  cold  within  her  breast,  than  I  do  now 
In  hope  to  see  him. 

Goh.  Yet  I  wonder  much 
At  this  :  he  writes,  he  brings  along  with  him 
A  husband  for  you,  that  same  captive  prince  ; 
And  if  he  love  you,  as  he  makes  a  show. 
He  will  allow  you  freedom  in  your  choice. 

Pan.  And  so  he  will,  my  lord,  I  warrant  you  ; 
He  will  but  offer,  and  give  me  the  power 
To  take  or  leave. 

Goh.  Trust  me,  were  I  a  lady, 
I  could  not  like  that  man  were  bargain'd  with 
Before  I  choose  ^  him. 

"  or'\  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.,  "  and" ;  which  the  modern  editors  give. 
''  choose'\  Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "chose." 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  265 

Pan.  But  I  am  not  built 
On  such  wild  humours  ;  if  I  find  him  worthy, 
He  is  not  less  because  he's  offered. 

Spa.  'Tis  true,  he  is  not :  would  he  would  seem  less  ! 

\Aside. 

Gob.  I  think  there  is  no  lady  can  affect 
Another  prince,  your  brother  standing  by ; 
He  doth  eclipse  men''s  virtues  so  with  his. 

Spa.  I  know  a  lady  may,  and  more,  I  fear, 
Another  lady  will.  [Aside. 

Pan.  Would  I  might  see  him  ! 

Gob.  Why,  so  you  shall.     My  businesses  are  great : 
I  will  attend  you  when  it  is  his  pleasure 
To  see  you,  madam. 

Pan.  I  thank  you,  good  my  lord. 

Gob.  You  will  be  ready,  madam  ? 

Pan.  Yes.  [Exit  Gobrias  rcith  Attendants. 

Spa.  I  do  beseech  you,  madam,  send  away 
Your  other  women,  and  receive  from  me 
A  few  sad  words,  which,  set  against  your  joys, 
May  make  'em  shine  the  more. 

Pan.  Sirs%  leave  me  all.  [E.ieunt  Waiting-women. 

Spa.  I  kneel,  a  stranger  here,  to  beg  a  thing  [Kneels. 

Unfit  for  me  to  ask,  and  you  to  grant : 
'Tis  such  another  strange  ill-laid  request. 
As  if  a  beggar  should  intreat  a  king 
To  leave  his  sceptre  and  his  throne  to  him, 
And  take  his  rags  to  wander  o'er  the  world, 
Hungry  and  cold. 

Pan.  That  were  a  strange  request. 

Spa.  As  ill  is  mine. 

Pan.  Then  do  not  utter  it. 

Spa.  Alas,  "'tis  of  that  nature,  that  it  must 
Be  utter'd,  ay,  and  granted,  or  I  die  ! 
I  am  asham'd  to  speak  it ;  but  where  life 
Lies  at  the  stake,  I  cannot  think  her  woman, 

•^  Sirs']  Was  formerly  a  not  unusual  address  to  women  :  sec  vol.  i.  275. 


266  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  ii. 

That  will  not  talk  ^  something  unreasonably 

To  hazard  saving  of  it.     I  shall  seem 

A  strange  petitioner,  that  wish  all  ill 

To  them  I  beg  of,  ere  they  give  me  aught ; 

Yet  so  I  must.     I  would  you  were  not  fair 

Nor  wise,  for  in  your  ill  consists  my  good  : 

If  you  were  foolish,  you  would  hear  my  prayer ; 

If  foul  ^,  you  had  not  power  to  hinder  me, — 

He  would  not  love  you. 

Pan.  What's  the  meaning  of  it  ? 

Spa.  Nay,  my  request  is  more  without  the  bounds 
Of  reason  yet ;  for  'tis  not  in  the  power 
Of  you  to  do  what  I  would  have  you  grant. 

Fan.  Why,  then,  'tis  idle.     Prithee,  speak  it  out. 

Spa.  Your  brother  brings  a  prince  into  this  land, 
Of  such  a  noble  shape,  so  sweet  a  grace. 
So  full  of  worth  withal,  that  every  maid 
That  looks  upon  him  gives  away  herself 
To  him  for  ever  ;  and  for  you  to  have, 
He  brings  him  :  and  so  mad  is  my  demand, 
That  I  desire  you  not  to  have  this  man, 
This  excellent  man  ;  for  whom  you  needs  must  die, 
If  you  should  miss  him.     I  do  now  expect 
You  should  lauffh  at  me. 

Pan.  Trust  me,  I  could  weep 
Rather  ;  for  I  have  found  in  all  thy  words 
A  strange  disjointed  sorrow. 

Spa.  'Tis  by  me 
His  own  desire  too  \  that  you  would  not  love  him. 

Pan.  His  ov\Ti  desire  !     Why,  credit  me,  Thalestris, 
t  am  no  common  wooer  :  if  he  shall  woo  me. 
His  worth  may  bo  such,  that  I  dare  not  swear 
I  will  not  love  him  ;  but,  if  he  will  stay 

<"  talk']  Theobald's  correction, — and  an  obvious  one,  in  which  he  had  been 
anticipated  by  the  early  possessor  of  my  copy  of  the  first  4 to.  Old  eds., 
« take." 

^  foul]  i.  e.  ugly. 

'  too}  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.,  "  so  "  j  wliich  the  modern  editors  give. 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  267 

To  have  me  woo  him,  I  will  promise  thee 
He  may  keep  all  his  graces  to  himself, 
And  fear  no  ravishing  from  me. 

Spa.  'Tisyet 
His  own  desire ;   but  when  he  sees  your  face, 
I  fear  it  will  not  be.     Therefore  I  charge  you, 
As  you  have  pity,  stop  those  tender  ears 
From  his  enchanting  voice ;  close  up  those  eyes, 
That  you  may  neither  catch  a  dart  from  him. 
Nor  he  from  you  :   I  charge  you,  as  you  hope 
To  live  in  quiet ;   for  when  I  am  dead, 
For  certain  I  shall  walk  to  visit  him,'. 
If  he  break  promise  with  me  ;  for  as  fast 
As  oaths,  without  a  formal  ceremony, 
Can  make  me,  I  am  to  him. 

Pan.  Then  be  fearless  ; 
For  if  he  were  a  thing  'twixt  god  and  man, 
I  could  gaze  on  him, — if  I  knew  it  sin 
To  love  him,— without  passion  ^     Dry  your  eyes  : 
I  swear  you  shall  enjoy  him  still  for  me  ; 

I  will  not  hinder  you.     But  I  perceive 

You  arc  not  what  you  seem :  rise,  rise,  Thalestris, 

If  your  right  name  be  so. 

Spa.  \rising\  Indeed,  it  is  not : 

Spaconia  is  my  name  ;  but  I  desire 

Not  to  be  known  to  others. 
Pan.  Why,  by  me 

You  shall  not ;  I  will  never  do  you  wrong  ; 

What  good  I  can,  I  will :  think  not  ray  birth 

Or  education  such,  that  I  should  injure 

A  strauffer-virgin.     Xon  arc  welcome  hither. 

In  company  you  wish  to  be  commanded  ; 

Rut  when  we  are  alone,  I  shall  be  ready 

To  be  your  servant.  [^Exeunt. 

s  For  if  he  were  a  thing  'twixt  god  and  man, 
I  could  gaze  on  him, — if  I  knew  it  sin 

To  love  him,— without  passion'\  "  i.  e.  If  she  knew  it  a  sin  to  fall  in  love 
with  him,  let  him  be  ever  so  lovely,  she  could  avoid  it."     Seward. 


268  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [actii. 


SCENE  II.— Fields  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  city.— A  great 

Crotcd. 

Enter  three  Shop-JNIen  and  a  Woman. 

First  Shop-M.  Come,  come,  run,  run,  run. 

Sec.  Shop-M.  We  shcall  outgo  her. 

Third  Shop-M.  One  were  better  be  hanged  than  carry 
women  out  fiddhng  to  these  shows. 

Worn.  Is  the  king  hard  by  1 

First  Shop-M.  You  heard,  he  with  the  bottles  said  he 
thought  we  should  come  too  late.  What  abundance  of  people 
here  is  ! 

Worn.  But  what  had  he  in  those  bottles  ? 

Tliird  Shop-M.  I  know  not. 

Sec.  Shop-M.  Why,  ink,  goodman  fool. 

Tliird  Shop-M.  Ink  !  what  to  do? 

First  Shop-M.  Why,  the  king,  look  you,  will  many  times 
call  for  those  bottles,  and  break  his  mind  to  his  friends. 

Worn.  Let's  take  our  places  quickly  ^^ ;  we  shall  have  no 
room  else. 

Sec.  Shop-M.  The  man  told  us,  he  would  walk  o'  foot  through 
the  people. 

Third  Shop-M.  Ay,  marry,  did  he. 

First  Shop-M.  Our  shops  are  well  looked  to  now. 

Sec.  Shop-M.  'Slife,  yonder  's  my  master,  I  think. 

First  Shop- 31.  No,  'tis  not  he. 

Enter  tico  Citizens'  Wives,  and  Philip. 

First  Cit.  JV.  Lord,  how  fine  the  fields  be  !  what  sweet 
living  'tis  in  the  country  ! 

Sec.  Cit.  JV.  Ay,  poor  souls,  God  help  'em,  they  live  as 
contentedly  as  one  of  us. 

First  Cit.  W.  My  husband's  cousin  would  have  had  me 
gone  into  the  country  last  year.     Wert  thou  ever  there  ? 

•>  quickly^  So  the  first  4to.  Omitted  in  other  eds. ;  and  by  the  modern 
editors. 


SCENE  n.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  269 

Sec.  Cit.  IV.  Ay,  poor  souls,  I  was  amongst  'em  once. 

First  Cit.  W.  And  what  kind  of  creatures  are  they,  for  love 
of  God  I 

Sec.  Cit.  W   Very  good  people,  God  help  'em. 

First  Cit.  JV.  AVilt  thou  go  down  with  me  this  summer, 
when  I  am  brought  to  bed  I 

Sec.  Cit.  JV.  Alas,  'tis  no  place  for  us  ! 

First  Cit.  JV.   Why,  prithee  ? 

Sec.  Cit.  JV.  Why,  you  can  have  nothing  there ;  there's 
nobody  cries  brooms. 

First  Cit.  W.  No  ! 

Sec.  Cit.  W.  No,  truly,  nor  milk. 

First  Cit.  JV.  Nor  milk  !  how  do  they  ? 

Sec.  Cit.  JV.  They  are  fain  to  milk  themselves  i'  the  country. 

First  Cit.  W.  Good  lord  !  But  the  people  there,  I  think, 
will  be  very  dutiful  to  one  of  us. 

Sec.  Cit.  JV.  Ay,  God  knows,  will  they ;  and  yet  they  do 
not  greatly  care  for  our  husbands. 

First  Cit.  JV.  Do  they  not  ?  alas !  in  good  faith,  I  cannot 
blame  them,  for  we  do  not  greatly  care  for  them  ourselves. 
—  Philip,  I  pray,  choose  us  a  place. 

Pliil.  There's  the  best,  forsooth. 

First  Cit.  JV.  By  your  leave,  good  people,  a  little. 

First  Shop-M.  AVhat's  the  matter  ? 

Phil.  I  pray  you,  my  friend ',  do  not  thrust  my  mistress  so  ; 
she's  with  child. 

Sec.  Shop-M.  Let  her  look  to  herself,  then.  Has  she  not 
had  thrusting  enough  yet?  if  she  stay  shouldering  here,  she 
may  hap  to  go  homeJ  with  a  cake  in  her  belly. 

Third  Shop-M.  How  now,  goodman  squitter-breech  !  why 
do  you  lean  so ''  on  me  i 

Phil.  Because  I  will. 

'  /  pray  you,  my  friend]  So  all  the  old  eds.,  except  the  first  4to,  which 
omits  "  you."  Weber  printed,  "  /  pray  you,  my  friends,"  and  informed  the 
reader  in  a  note  that  he  fo/lowed  the  first  4to  ! 

i  hap  to  go  home]  So  the  first  Uo.  Other  eds.,  "  haps  yo  home  ;  "  and  so  the 
modern  editors,  Weber  e.\cc[)tcd. 

''  .so]   Found  only  in  the  first  4 to.     Omitted  by  the  modern  editors. 


270  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  ii. 

Third  Shop-M.  Will  you,  sir  sauce-box  ?  \ Strikes  him. 

First  Cit.  W.  Look,  if  one  ha'  not  struck  Philip !— Come 
hither,  Philip  ;  why  did  he  strike  thee  ? 

Phil.  For  leaning  on  him. 

First  Cit.  TV.  Why  didst  thou  lean  on  him  ? 

Phil.  I  did  not  think  he  would  have  struck  me. 

First  Cit.  TV.  As  God  save  me,  la,  thou"'rt  as  wild  as  a 
buck;  there's  no  quarrel,  but  thou'rt  at  one  end  or  other 
on't. 

Third  Shop-M.  It's  at  the  first  end,  then,  for  he'll  ne'er 
stay  the  last. 

First  Cit.  TV.  Well,  slip-string ',  I  shall  meet  with  you. 

Third  Shop-M.  When  you  will. 

First  Cit.  TV.  I'll  give  a  crown  to  meet  with  you. 

Third  Shop-M.  At  a  bawdy-house. 

First  Cit.  TV.  Ay,  you're  full  of  your  roguery  ;  but  if  I 
do  meet  you,  it  shall  cost  me  a  fall.  [Flouj-ish. 

Enter  a  Man  runnhig. 

Man.  The  king,  the  king,  the  king,  the  king  !  Now,  now, 
now,  now ! 

Enter  Arbaces,  Tigranes,  Mardonius,  and  Soldiers. 

All.  God  preserve  your  majesty  ! 

Arb.  I  thank  you  all.     Now  are  my  joys  at  full, 
When  I  behold  you  safe,  my  loving  subjects. 
By  you  I  grow ;  'tis  your  united  love 
That  lifts  me  to  this  height. 
All  the  account  that  I  can  render  you 
For  all  the  love  you  have  bestow'd  on  me. 
All  your  expenses  to  maintain  my  war, 
Is  but  a  little  word  :  you  will  imagine 
'Tis  slender  payment ;  yet  'tis  such  a  word 

'  slip-siring'\  The  first  4 to  has  "  stripling ",  a  reading  which  Weber  chose 
to  adopt,  and  which  is  manifestly  wrong  :  towards  the  end  of  this  scene,  (p.  272), 
the  same  Citizen's  Wife  says  to  the  same  Shop-mau,  "  Away,  you  halter-sack, 
you!" 


SCENE  II.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING,  271 

As  is  not  to  be  bought  without  our  "'  bloods  : 
'Tis  peace  ! 

All.  God  preserve  your  majesty ! 

A?'b.  Now  you  may  live  securely  in  your  towns, 
Your  children  round  about  you  ;  you  may  sit 
Under  your  vines,  and  make  the  miseries 
Of  other  kingdoms  a  discourse  for  you, 
And  lend  them  sorrows ;  for  yourselves,  you  may 
Safely  forget  there  are  such  things  as  tears  : 
And  may  you  "  all,  whose  good  thoughts  I  have  gain'd, 
Hold  me  unworthy,  when  I  think  my  life 
A  sacrifice  too  great  to  keep  you  thus 
In  such  a  calm  estate  ! 

y4ll.  God  bless  your  majesty  ! 

Arb.  See,  all  good  people,  I  have  brought  the  man, 
Whose  very  name  you  fearM,  a  captive  home  : 
Behold  him  ;  'tis  Tigranes.     In  your  hearts 
Sing  songs  of  gladness  and  deliverance. 

First  Cit.  W.  Out  upon  him  I 

Sec.  Cit.  TV.  How  he  looks  ! 

JVom.  Hang  him,  hano;  him  ! 

Mar.  These  are  sweet  people. 

Tif/r.  Sir,  you  do  mo  wrong, 
To  render  me  a  scorned  spectacle 
To  common  people. 

Arb.  It  was  far  from  me " 
To  mean  it  so. — If  I  have  aught  deserved, 
My  loving  subjects,  let  me  beg  of  you 
Not  to  revile  this  prince,  in  whom  there  dwells 
All  worth,  of  which  the  nature  of  a  man 
Is  capable  ;  valour  beyond  compare  ; 

"■  without  our]  So  the  first  4to.  Sec.  4to., "  but  with  our."  Other  cds., 
"  but  with  your." 

"  mat/ you]  So  the  two  carhest  4tos.  Other  eds.,  '' i/ou  may";  and  so  tlie 
Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  ! 

"  It  was  far  from  mc]  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.  Other  eds.,  "  It  was  so  far 
from  vie," — which,  says  Weber  witli  his  usual  carelessness,  is  the  reading  of  the 
first  4 to. 


272  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  ii. 

The  terror  of  his  name  has  stretchM  itself 
Wherever  there  is  sun  :  and  yet  for  you 
I  fought  with  him  single,  and  won  p  him  too; 
I  made  his  valour  stoop,  and  brought  that  name, 
Soar'd  to  so  unbehev''d  a  height,  to  fall 
Beneath  mine  :  this,  inspired  with  all  your  loves, 
I  did  perform  ;  and  will,  for  your  content, 
Be  ever  ready  for  a  greater  work. 

All.  The  Lord  bless  your  majesty  ! 

Tigr.  So,  he  has  made  me 
Amends  now  with  a  speech  in  commendation 
Of  himself ;   I  would  not  be  so  vain-glorious.  [Aside. 

Arb.  If  there  be  any  thing  in  which  I  may 
Do  good  to  any  creature  here,  speak  out ; 
For  I  must  leave  you  :  and  it  troubles  me, 
That  my  occasions,  for  the  good  of  you, 
Are  such  as  call  me  from  you  ;  else  my  joy 
Would  be  to  spend  my  days  amongst  you  all. 
You  shew  your  loves  in  these  large  multitudes 
That  come  to  meet  me.     I  will  pray  for  you  : 
Heaven  prosper  you,  that  you  may  know  old  years, 
And  live  to  see  your  children's  children. 
Sit  at  your  boards  with  plenty  !     When  there  is 
A  want  of  any  thing,  let  it  be  known 
To  me,  and  I  will  be  a  father  to  you : 
God  keep  you  all ! 

All.  God  bless  your  majesty,  God  bless  your  majesty  ! 

[Flourish.     Exeunt  Arbaces,  Tigranes,  Mardonius, 
and  Soldiers. 

First  Shop-M.  Come,  shall  we  go  I  all's  done. 

Worn.  Ay,  for  God's  sake ;   I  have  not  made  a  fire  yet. 

Sec.  Shop-M.  Away,  away  !  all's  done. 

TTiird  Shop-M.  Content. — Farewell,  Philip. 

First  Cit.  IV.  Away,  you  halter-sack  "f,  you  ! 

First  Shop-M.  Philip  will  not  fight ;  he's  afraid  on's  face. 

Phil.  Ay,  marry,  am  I  afraid  of  my  face  ? 

p  7fOtt]  Qy.  «I  won"?  n  halter-sack]  See  note,  p.  149. 


SCENE  II.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  273 

Third  Shop-M.  Thou  wouldst  be,  Philip,  if  thou  sawest  it 
in  a  glass  ;  it  looks  so  like  a  visor. 

First  Cit.  IV.  You'll  be  hanged,  sirrah.  [^Exeunt  three  Shop- 
men and  Woman.]  Come,  Philip,  walk  afore  us  homewards. — 
Did  not  his  majesty  say  he  had  brought  us  home  peas'"  for  all 
our  money ' 

Sec.  Cit.  W.  Yes,  marry,  did  he. 

First  Cit.  W.  They're  the  first  I  heard  on  this  year,  by 
my  troth :  I  longed  for  some  of  'em.  Did  he  not  say  we 
should  have  some  I 

Sec.  Cit.  JV.  Yes,  and  so  we  shall  anon,  I  warrant  you, 
have  every  one  a  peck  brought  home  to  our  houses.    \_Exeimt. 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I, — An  apartment  in  the  Palace. 


Enter  Arbaces  and  Gobrias. 

Arh.  My  sister  take  it  ill ! 

Gob.  Not  very  ill ; 
Something  unkindly  she  does  take  it,  sir, 
To  have  her  husband  chosen  to  her  hands. 

Arh.    Why,  Gobrias,  let  her  :  I  must  have  her  know, 
My  will,  and  not  her  own,  must  govern  her. 
What,  will  she  marry  with  some  slave  at  home  ? 

Gob.  Oh,  she  is  far  from  any  stubboi'nness  ! 
You  much  mistake  her;  and  no  doubt  will  like 
^Vhcre  you  will  have  her  :  but,  when  you  behold  her, 
You  will  be  loath  to  part  with  such  a  jewel. 

Arb.  To  part  with  her  !   why,  Gobrias,  art  thou  mad  ? 
She  is  my  sister. 

Gob.  Sir,  I  know  she  is  ; 

'  pcas'\  B.  Jonsoii  had  previously  employed  this  wretched  pun  :  see   Every 
Man  out  of  his  Humour,  act  iv.  sc.  1.  Works,  ii.  133.  ed.  Gifford. 
VOL.  II.  \ 


274  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  hi. 

But  it  were  pity  to  make  poor  our  land, 
With  such  a  beauty  to  enrich  another. 

Arb.  Pish  !  will  she  have  him  ? 

Gob.  I  do  hope  she  will  not. \_Aside. 

I  think  she  will,  sir. 

Arb.  Were  she  my  father  and  my  mother  too, 
And  all  the  names  for  which  we  think  folks  friends, 
She  should  be  forc'd  ^  to  have  him,  when  I  know 
'Tis  fit :   I  will  not  hear  her  say  she's  loath. 

Gob.  Heaven,  bring  my  purpose  luckily  to  pass  ! 
You  know  'tis  just.  \^Aside.^ — Sir,  she'll'  not  need  constraint, 
She  loves  you  so. 

Arb.  How  does  she  love  me  1  speak. 

Gob.  She  loves  you  more  than  people  love  their  health, 
That  live  by  labour ;  more  than  I  could  love 
A  man  that  died  for  me,  if  he  could  live 
Again. 

Arb.  She  is  not  like  her  mother,  then. 

Gob.  Oh,  no !    When  you  were  in  Armenia, 
I  durst  not  let  her  know  when  you  were  hurt  ; 
For  at  the  first,  on  every  little  scratch, 
She  kept  her  chamber,  wept,  and  could  not  eat. 
Till  you  were  well ;  and  many  times  the  news 
Was  so  long  coming,  that,  before  we  heard, 
She  was  as  near  her  death  as  you"  your  health. 

Arb.  Alas,  poor  soul !  but  yet  she  must  be  rul'd  : 
I  know  not  how  I  shall  requite  her  well. 
I  long  to  see  her  :  have  you  sent  for  her, 
To  tell  her  I  am  ready  ? 

Gob.  Sir,  I  have. 

"  She  should  be  forced,  &c.]  So  the  passage  is  pointed  in  all  the  old  cds. 
Mason  would  point  it  thus ; 

"  She  should  be  forc'd  to  have  him.     When  I  know 
'Tis  fit,  I  will  not  hear  her  say  she's  loath." 
'  Sir,  she'll]  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "  She  will  "  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 

"  you']  "  This  word,  which  is  not  in  the  oldest  quarto,  was  properly  supplied 
in  the  folio  of  1G7J)."  Weber.  Another  specimen  of  Weber's  carelessness: 
"you  "  is  found  not  only  in  the  first,  but  also  in  the  second  4to  ! 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  275 

Enter  a  Gentleman  and  Tigranes. 

Gent.  Sir,  here  is  the  Armenian  king. 

Arb.  He''s  welcome. 

Gent.  And  the  queen-mother  and  the  princess  wait 
Without. 

Arb.  Good  Gobrias,  bring  'em  in. \_Exit  Gobrias. 

Tigranes,  you  will  think  you  arc  arriv'd 

In  a  strange  land,  where  mothers  cast^'  to  poison 

Their  only  sons  :  think  you,  you  shall  be  safe  ? 

Tifjr.  Too  safe  I  am,  sir. 

Re-enter  Gobrias,  icith  Arane,  Panthea,  Spaconia,  Bacurius, 
Mardonius,  Bessl'S,  and  two  Gentlemen. 

Ara.  [kneels].  As  low  as  this  I  bow  to  you""' ;  and  would 
As  low  as  to  my  grave,  to  shew  a  mind 
Thankful  for  all  your  mercies. 

Arb.  Oh,  stand  up, 
And  let  me  kneel !  the  light  will  be  asham'd 
To  see  observance  done  to  me  by  you. 

Ara.  You  are  my  king. 

Arb.  You  are  my  mother  :  rise.  \^Raises  her. 

As  far  be  all  your  faults  from  your  own  soul 
As  from  my  memory  !  then  you  shall  be 
As  white  as  Innocence  herself. 

"  cast]  i.  e.  contrive,  project. 

"■  As  low  as  tftis  I  bow  to  you,  ^c]  "  There  is  a  fine  passage,  upon  a  similar 
occasion,  in  Shakespeare's  Coriolatius,  to  wliich  our  authors  might  possibly  have 
an  eye : 

'  Vol.  Oh,  stand  up  bless'd  ! 

Whilst  with  no  softer  cushion  than  the  flint 
I  kneel  before  thee ;  and  unproperly 
Shew  duty,  as  mistaken  all  the  while 
Between  the  child  and  parent. 
Cor.  What  is  thus  ? 

Your  knees  to  me  ?  to  your  corrected  son  ? 
Then  let  the  pebbles  on  the  hungry  beach 
Fillip  the  stars  ;  then  let  the  mutinous  winds 
Strike  the  proud  cedars  'gainst  the  fiery  sun  ; 
Murdering  impossibility,  to  make 

What  cannot  be,  slight  w(uk.'  "  [act  v.  sc.  3.]     Theobald. 
T   2* 


276  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  hi. 

A7'a.  I  came 
Onl}'  to  shew  my  duty,  and  acknowledge 
My  sorrow  for  my  sins  :  longer  to  stay, 
Were  but  to  draw  eyes  more  attentively 
Upon  my  shame.     That  power,  that  kept  you  safe 
From  me,  preserve  you  still ! 

Arh.  Your  own  desires 
Shall  be  your  guide.  [_Exit  Arane. 

Pan.  Now  let  me  die  ! 
Since  I  have  seen  my  lord  the  king  return 
In  safety,  I  have  seen  all  good  that  life 
Can  shew  me  :   I  have  ne'er  another  wish 
For  Heaven  to  grant ;  nor  were  it  fit  I  should  ; 
For  I  am  bound  to  spend  my  age  to  come 
In  giving  thanks  that  this  was  granted  me. 

Gob.  Why  does  not  your  majesty  speak  ' 

Arb.  To  whom  l 

Gob.  To  the  princess. 

Pa7i.  Alas,  sir,  I  am  fearful  you  do  look 
On  me  as  if  I  were  some  loathed  thing. 
That  you  were  finding  out  a  way  to  shun  ! 

Gob.  Sir,  you  should  speak  to  her. 

Arb.  Ha  ! 

Pan.  I  know  I  am  unworthy,  yet  not  ill : 
Arm'd  with  which  innocence,  here  I  will  kneel  \^Kneels. 

Till  I  am  one  with  earth,  but  I  will  gain 
Some  words  and  kindness  from  you. 

Gob.  ^  Will  you  speak,  sir  ? 

Arb.  Speak  !  am  I  what  I  was  ? 
What  art  thou,  that  dost  creep  into  my  breast, 
And  dar  st  not  see  my  face  I  shew  forth  thyself. 
I  feel  a  pair  of  fiery  wings  displayed 
Hither,  from  thence.     You  shall  not  tarry  there ; 
Up,  and  begone  ;  if  thou  be'st  love,  begone  ! 
Or  I  will  tear  thee  from  my  wounded  flesh  ^, 

*   Gob.^  Old  eds.  "  Tigr.";  and  so  tlie  inodei'ii  editoi's. 

^  flesfi]   So  the  first  4to.     Later  eds.  "  breast  "  (a  word  whicli  occurs  in  the 
fifth  hne  above) ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 


scENK  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  277 

Pull  thy  lov'd  down  away,  and  with  a  quill, 

By  this  right  arm  drawn  from  thy  wanton  wing, 

Write  to  thy  laughing  mother  ="  in  thy  blood, 

That  you  are  powers  belied,  and  all  your  darts 

Are  to  be  blown  away  by  men  resolv'd, 

Like  dust.     I  know  thou  fear'st  my  words  :  away  ! 

Ti(/r.  Oh,  misery  !  why  should  he  be  so  slow  ? 
There  can  no  falsehood  come  of  loving  her  : 
Though  I  have  given  my  faith,  she  is  a  thing 
Both  to  be  lov'd  and  serv'd  beyond  my  faith. 
I  would  ho  would  present  me  to  her  quickly  !  {_Aside. 

Pan.  Will  you  not  speak  at  all  ?  are  you  so  far 
From  kind  words  ?    Yet,  to  save  my  modesty, 
That  must  talk  till  you  answer,  do  not  stand 
As  you  were  dumb  ;  say  something,  though  it  be 
Poison'd  with  anger,  that  may^  strike  me  dead. 

Mar.  Have  you  no  life  at  all  ?  for  manhood-sake, 
Let  her  not  kneel,  and  talk  neglected  thus  : 
A  tree  would  find  a  tongue  to  answer  her. 
Did  she  but  give  it  such  a  lov'd  respect. 

u4rh.  You  mean  this  lady :  lift  her  from  the  earth  ; 
Why  do  you  let  her  kneel  so  long? — Alas,  [Thei/  raiscF  anthea. 
Madam,  your  beauty  uses  to  command. 
And  not  to  beg  I  what  is  your  suit  to  me  ? 
It  shall  be  granted  ;  yet  the  time  is  short, 
And  my  affairs  are  great. — But  where 's  my  sister  ? 
I  bade  she  should  be  brought. 

Mar.  What,  is  he  mad  ?  [Aside. 

Arb.  Gobrias,  where  is  she  ? 

Gob.  Sir  ? 

Arb.  AVhere  is  she,  man  ? 

Gob.  Who,  sir  ? 

Arb.  Who  !  hast  thou  forgot?  ray  sister**. 

^  laughing  mother]  "  Venus  is  by  the  poets  both  Greek  and  Latin  charac- 
terized witli  tlie  epithets  of  (^i\o^n«i57jj  and  ridetis."     Theobald. 

■  thai  may]  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.  Other  cds.,  '  thai  it  may;"  and  so 
Weber. 

''  hast  thou  forgot  $  my  sister.]  So  in  the  first  4to.  these  words  are  rightly 
pointed.  In  other  cds.  thus — "  hast  thou  forgot  my  sister  ?  "  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 


278  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  hi. 

Goh.  Your  sister,  sir  ! 

Arb.  Your  sister,  sir  !    Some  one  that  hath  a  wit, 
Answer  where  is  she. 

Goh.  Do  you  not  see  her  there  ? 

Arh.  Where? 

Goh.  There. 

Arh.  There  !  where  ? 

Ma7\  'Shght,  there  :  are  you  bhnd  ? 

Arh.  Which  do  you  mean  I  that  little  one  ? 

Goh.  No,  sir. 

Arh.  No,  sir  !  why,  do  you  mock  me  ?  I  can  see 
No  other  here  but  that  petitioning  lady. 

Goh.  That"'s  she. 

Arh.  Away  ! 

Goh.  Sir,  it  is  she. 

Arh.  'Tis  false. 

Goh.  Is  it  I 

A7-h.  As  hell  !  by  heaven,  as  false  as  hell ! 
My  sister  ! — Is  she  dead  ?  if  it  be  so, 
Speak  boldly  to  me,  for  I  am  a  man, 
And  dare  not  quarrel  with  divinity  ; 
And  do  not  think  to  cozen  me  with  this. 
I  see  you  all  are  mute,  and  stand  amaz'd, 
Fearful  to  answer  me  :  it  is  too  true  ; 
A  decreed  instant  cuts  off  evei'y  life, 
For  which  to  mourn  is  to  repine  :  she  died 
A  virgin  though,  more  innocent  than  sleep, 
As  clear  as  her  own  eyes  ;  and  blessedness 
Eternal  waits  upon  her  where  she  is  : 
I  know  she  could  not  make  a  wish  to  change 
Her  state  for  new  ;  and  you  shall  see  me  bear 
My  crosses  like  a  man.     We  all  must  die  ; 
And  she  hath  taught  us  how. 

Gob.  Do  not  mistake, 
And  vex  yourself  for  nothing  ;  for  her  death 
Is  a  long  life  off  yet,  I  hope.     'Tis  she  ; 
And  if  my  speech  deserve  not  faith,  lay  death 
Upon  me,  and  my  latest  words  shall  force 
A  credit  from  you. 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  279 

Arb.  Which,  good  Gobrias  ? 
That  lady  dost  thou  mean? 

Gob.  That  lady,  sir  : 
She  is  your  sister ;  and  she  is  your  sister 
That  loves  you  so  ;  'tis  she  for  whom  I  weep, 
To  see  you  use  her  thus. 
Arb.  It  cannot  be. 
Tigr.  Pish  !  this  is  tedious  : 
I  cannot  hold  ;  I  must  present  myself ; 
And  yet  the  sight  of  my  Spaconia 
Touches  me,  as  a  sudden  thunder-clap 
Does  one  that  is  about  to  sin.  \^  Aside. 

Arb.  Away ! 
No  more  of  this.     Here  I  pronounce  him  traitor, 
The  direct  plotter  of  my  death,  that  names 
Or  thinks  her  for  my  sister  :  'tis  a  lie, 
The  most  malicious  of  the  world,  invented 
To  mad  your  king.     He  that  will  say  so  next, 
Let  him  draw  out  his  sword,  and  sheathe  it  here; 
It  is  a  sin  fully  as  pardonable. 
She  is  no  kin  to  me,  nor  shall  she  be  ; 
If  she  were  any,  I  create  her  none  : 
And  which  of  you  can  question  this  ?    My  power 
Is  like  the  sea,  that  is  to  be  obey'd, 
And  not  disputed  with  :   I  have  decreed  her 
As  far  from  having  part  of  blood  with  me 
As  the  naked  Indians.     Come  and  answer  me, 
He  that  is  boldest  now :  is  that  my  sister  ? 

Mar.  Oh,  this  is  fine  !  [Aside. 

Bes.  No,  marry,  she  is  not,  an't  please  your  majesty  ; 
I  never  thought  she  was ;  she's  nothing  like  you. 
Arb.  No  ;  'tis  true,  she  is  not. 

Mar.  Thou  shouldst  be  hang'd.  [To  Bessus. 

Pan.  Sir,  I  will  speak  but  once.     By  the  same  power 
You  make  my  blood  a  stranger  unto  yours, 
You  may  command  me  dead  ;  and  so  much  love 
A  stranger  may  importune  ;  pray  you,  do. 
If  this  request  appear  too  much  to  grant, 


280  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  in. 

Adopt  me  of  some  other  family 
By  your  unquestioned  word ;  else  I  shall  live 
Like  sinful  issues,  that  are  left  in  streets 
By  their  regardless  mothers,  and  no  name 
Will  be  found  for  me. 

Arh.  I  will  hear  no  more. — 
Why  should  there  be  such  music  in  a  voice, 
And  sin  for  me  to  hear  it  ?  all  the  world 
May  take  delight  in  this  ;  and''  "'tis  damnation 
For  me  to  do  so. — You  are  fair  and  wise, 
And  virtuous,  I  think  ;  and  he  is  blest 
That  is  so  near  you  as  your ''  brother  is  ; 
But  you  are  nought  to  me  but  a  disease, 
Continual  torment  without  hope  of  ease. 
Such  an  ungodly  sickness  I  have  got. 
That  he  that  undertakes  my  cure  must  first 
Overthrow  divinity,  all  moi-al  laws. 
And  leave  mankind  as  unconfin'd  as  beasts, 
Allowing  them  to  do  all  actions 
As  freely  as  they  drink  when  they  desire. 
Let  me  not  hear  you  speak  again  ;  yet  so 
I  shall  but  languish  for  the  want  of  that. 
The  having  which  would  kill  me. — No  man  here 
Offer  to  speak  for  her  ;  for  I  consider 
As  much  as  you  can  say.     I  will  not  toil 
My  body  and  my  mind  too  ;  rest  thou  there ; 
Here''s  one  within  will  labour  for  you  both. 

Pan.  I  would  I  were  past  speaking  ! 

Goh.  Fear  not,  madam  ; 
The  king  will  alter  :  "'tis  some  sudden  rage, 
And  you  shall  see  it  end  some  other  way. 

Pcm.  Pray  Heaven  it  do  ! 

Tigr.  Though  she  to  whom  I  swore  be  here,  I  cannot 
Stifle  my  passion  longer ;  if  my  father 

•-■  and']  For  which  Thcobahl  substituted  "yet," — is  here,  as  the  Editors  of 
1778  observe,  ccjuivalent  to  and  yet. 

•*  your\  So  the  two  earUest  4tos.  Other  eds.  "  my."  The  modern  editors, 
without  authority,  print  "  a." 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  281 

Should  rise  again,  disquieted  with  this, 

And  charge  me  to  forbear,  yet  it  would  out. —  lAside. 

ISIadam,  a  stranger  and  a  prisoner  begs 

To  be  bid  welcome. 

Pan.  You  are  welcome,  sir, 
I  think  ;  but  if  you  be  not,  'tis  past  me 
To  make  you  so  ;  for  I  am  here  a  stranger 
Greater  than  you  :   we  know  from  whence  you  come  ; 
But  I  appear  a  lost  thing,  and  by  whom 
Is  yet  uncertain ;  found  here  in  the  court, 
And  only  suffered  to  walk  up  and  down. 
As  one  not  worth  the  owning. 

Spa.  Oh,  I  fear 
Tiffranes  will  be  caudit  !  he  looks,  methinks, 
As  he  would  change  his  eyes  with  her.     Some  help 
There  is  above  for  me,  I  hope.  [_Aside. 

Tigr.  AVhy  do  you  turn  away,  and  weep  so  fast. 
And  utter  things  that  misbecome  your  looks  l 
Can  you  want  owning  I 

Spa.  Oh,  'tis  certain  so  !  [Aside 

Tiijr..  Acknowledge  yourself  mine. 

Arh.  How  now  ? 

Tigr.  And  then 
See  if  you  want  an  owner. 

Arh.  They  are  talking  ! 

Tigr.  Nations  shall  own  you  for  their  queen. 

Arh.  Tigranes,  art  not  thou  my  prisoner  ? 

Tigr.  I  am. 

Arh.  And  who  is  this  ? 

Tigr.  She  is  your  sister. 

Arh.  She  is  so. 

Mar.  Is  she  so  again  ?  that 's  well.  [Aside. 

Arh.  And  how,  then,  dare  you  offer  to  change  words  with 
her  ? 

Tigr.  Dare  do  it  !  why,  you  brought  me  hither,  sir, 
To  that  intent. 

Arh.  Perhaps  I  told  you  so  : 
If  I  had  sworn  it,  had  you  so  much  folly 


282  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  hi. 

To  credit  it  ?  The  least  word  that  she  speaks 
Is  worth  a  life.  Rule  your  disordered  tongue, 
Or  I  will  temper  it. 

Spa.  Blest  be  that  breath  !  [Aside. 

Tigr.  Temper  my  tongue  !     Such  incivilities 
As  these  no  barbarous  people  ever  knew : 
You  break  the  law  of  nature,  and  of  nations  ; 
You  talk  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  prisoner 
For  theft.     My  tongue  be  tempered  !  I  must  speak, 
If  thunder  check  me,  and  I  will. 

Arh.  You  will ! 

Spa.  Alas,  my  fortune  !  {^Aside. 

Tigr.  Do  not  fear  his  frown  : 
Dear  madam,  hear  me. 

Arb.  Fear  not  my  frown  !  but  that  "'twere  base  in  me 
To  fight  with  one  I  know  I  can  overcome. 
Again  thou  shouldst  be  conquered  by  me. 

Mar.  He  has  one  ransom  with  him  already  ;    methinks, 
'twere  good  to  fight  double  or  quit.  [Aside. 

Arb.  Away  with  him  to  prison  ! — Now,  sir,  see 
If  my  frown  be  regardless. — Why  delay  you? 
Seize  him,  Bacurius. — You  shall  know  my  word 
Sweeps  like  a  wind,  and  all  it  grapples  with 
Are  as  the  chaff  before  it. 

Tigr.  Touch  me  not. 

Arh.  Help  there  ! 

Tigr.  Away  ! 

First  Gent.  It  is  in  vain  to  struggle. 

Sec.  Gent.  You  must  be  forcM. 

Bac.  Sir,  you  must  pardon  us  ; 
We  must  obey. 

Arb.  Why  do  you  dally  there  ? 
Drag  him  away  by  any  thing. 

Bac.  Come,  sir. 

Tigr.  Justice,  thou  ought'st  to  give  me  strength  enough 
To  shake  all  these  off. — This  is  tyranny, 
Arbaces,  subtler  than  the  burning  bulFs, 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  283 

Or  that  fam'd  tyrant's  bed^     Thou  might'st  as  well 
Search  i'  the  deep  of  winter  through  the  snow 
For  half-starv'd  people,  to  bring  home  with  thee 
To  shew  'em  fire,  and  send  'em  back  again, 
As  use  me  thus. 

Arh.  Let  hira  be  close,  Bacurius. 

[Exit  TiGRAXEs,  toith  Bacurius  and  two  Gentlemen. 

Spa.  I  ne'er  rejoic'd  at  any  ill  to  hira 
But  this  imprisonment.     AVhat  shall  become 
Of  me  forsaken  ?  \_Aside. 

Gob.  You  will  not  let  your  sister 
Depart  thus  discontented  from  you,  sir  I 

Arh.  By  no  means,  Gobrias  :  I  have  done  her  wrong, 
And  made  myself  believe  much  of  myself 
That  is  not  in  me. — You  did  kneel  to  me, 
AVhilst  I  stood  stubborn  and  regardless  by. 
And,  like  a  god  incensed,  gave  no  ear 

To  all  your  prayers.     Behold,  I  kneel  to  you  :  [^Kneels. 

Shew  a  contempt  as  large  as  was  my  own, 
And  I  will  suffer  it ;  yet,  at  the  last. 
Forgive  me. 

Pan.  Oh,  you  wrong  me  more  in  this 
Than  in  your  rage  you  did  !  you  mock  me  now.  [Kneels. 

Arh.  Never  forgive  me,  then  ;  which  is  the  worst 
Can  happen  to  me. 

Pan.  If  you  be  in  earnest, 
Stand  up,  and  give  me  but  a  gentle  look 
And  two  kind  words,  and  I  shall  be  in  heaven. 

Arh.  Rise  you,  then,  too.     Here  ^  I  acknowledge  thee 

[Risinrj,  and  raising  Panthea. 
My  hope,  the  only  jewel  of  my  life, 

'  the  burning  bull's. 

Or  that  f am' d  tyrant's  bed.]  Allusions  to  the  brazen  bull  of  Phalaris,  and  the 
bed  of  Procrustes, — of  both  which  Theobald  gives  a  full  and  particular  account. 
Mason  says  that  the  right  reading  is  "  bull "  :   I  think  not. 

'  Rise  you,  then,  too.  Here]  This  reading,  which  is  found  in  the  two  earliest 
4tos.  ( — the  other  eds.  have  "  Rise  you  then  to  hoar" — )  was  supposed  by  the 
Editore  of  177<'i,  and  Weber,  to  be  "  the  alteration  of  Theobald  "  ! 


284  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  hi. 

The  best  of  sisters,  dearer  than  my  breath, 
A  happiness  as  high  as  I  could  think  ; 
And  when  my  actions  call  thee  otherwise, 
Perdition  light  upon  me  ! 

Pan.  This  is  better 
Than  if  you  had  not  frown'd  ;  it  comes  to  me 
Like  mercy  at  the  block  :  and  when  I  leave 
To  serve  you  with  my  life,  your  curse  be  with  me  ! 

Arb.  Then,  thus  I  do  salute  thee  ;  and  again,     [^Kisses  her. 
To  make  this  knot  the  strono^er. — Paradise 
Is  there! — It  may  be  you  are  yet  in  doubt ; 
This  third  kiss  blots  it  out. — I  wade  in  sin, 
And  foolishly  entice  myself  along. —  [Aside. 

Take  her  away  ;  see  her  a  prisoner 
In  her  own  chamber,  closely,  Gobrias. 

Pan.  Alas,  sir,  why  1 

Arb.  I  must  not  stay  the  answer. — 
Do  it. 

Gob.  Good  sir  ! 

Arb.  No  more :  do  it,  I  say. 

Mar.  This  is  better  and  better.  [Aside. 

Pan.  Yet  hear  me  speak. 

Arb.  I  will  not  hear  you  speak. — 
Away  with  her  !     Let  no  man  think  to  speak 
For  such  a  creature  ;  for  she  is  a  witch, 
A  poisoner,  and  a  traitor. 

Gob.  Madam,  this  office  grieves  me. 

Paji.  Nay,  "'tis  well ; 
The  king  is  pleas'd  with  it. 

Arb.  Bessus,  go  you  along  ^  too  with  her.     I  will  prove 
All  this  that  I  have  said,  if  I  may  live 
So  long  :  but  I  am  desperately  sick. 
For  she  has  given  me  poison  in  a  kiss, — 
She  had  it  'twixt  her  lips, — and  with  her  eyes 
She  witches  people.     Go,  without  a  word. 

[^Exeunt  Gobrias,  Panthea,  Bessus,  and  Spaconia. 

«  along]  Sliould  perhaps  be  tlirowu  out. 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  285 

Why  should  you  ^  that  have  made  me  stand  in  war 
Like  Fate  itself,  cutting  what  threads  I  pleasM, 
Decree  such  an  unworthy  end  of  me 
And  all  my  glories  ?     What  am  I,  alas, 
That  you  oppose  me  ?     If  ray  secret  thoughts 
Have  ever  harbour'd  swellings  against  you, 
They  could  not  hurt  you ;  and  it  is  in  you 
To  give  me  sorrow,  that  will  render  me 
Apt  to  receive  your  mercy :  rather  so, 
Let  it  be  rather  so,  than  punish  me 
With  such  unmanly  sins.     Incest  is  in  me 
Dwelling  already ;  and  it '  must  be  holy, 
That  pulls  it  thence. — Where  art,  Mardonius  ? 

Mar.  Here,  sir. 

Arh.  I  prithee,  bear  me,  if  thou  canst. 
Am  I  not  grown  a  strange  weight  I 

Mar.  As  you  were. 

Arh.  No  heavier  ? 

Mar.  No,  sir. 

Arb.  Why,  my  legs 
Refuse  to  bear  my  body.     Oh,  Mardonius, 
Thou  hast  in  field  beheld  me,  when  thou  know'st 
I  could  have  gone,  though  I  could  never  run  ! 

Mar.  And  so  I  shall  again. 

Arh.  Oh,  no,  'tis  past  I 

Mar.  Pray  you,  go  rest  yourself. 

Arh.  Wilt  thou  hereafter,  when  they  talk  of  me. 
As  thou  shalt  hear,  nothing  but  infamy, 
Remember  some  of  those  things  ? 

Mar.  Yes,  I  will. 

Arb.  I  prithee,  do  ; 
For  thou  slialt  never  see  me  so  again. 

Mar.  I  warrant  ye  K  \_Exeunt. 

^  you^  See  note  p.  254. 

'  »/]  i.  e.  that  thmg,  that  power  ;— which  I  notice  only  because  Theobald 
was  "  puzzled  a  great  while  "  by  the  passage. 

J  Mar.  /  warrant  ye]  So  the  first  Ito.  Omitted  in  other  eds.  ;  and  by  the 
modern  editors,  Theobald  excepted. 


286  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  hi. 

SCENE  II. — A  room  in  the  liouse  o/'Bessus. 

Enter  Bessus. 

Bes.  They  talk  of  fame  ;  I  have  gotten  it  in  the  wars,  and 
will  afford  any  man  a  reasonable  pennyworth.  Some  will  say, 
they  could  be  content  to  have  it,  but  that  it  is  to  be  achieved 
with  danger :  but  my  opinion  is  otherwise ;  for  if  I  might 
stand  still  in  cannon-proof,  and  have  fame  fall  upon  me,  I 
would  refuse  it.  My  reputation  came  principally  by  thinking 
to  run  away  ;  which  nobody  knows  but  Mardonius,  and  I 
think  he  conceals  it  to  anger  me.  Before  I  went  to  the  wars, 
I  came  to  the  town  a  young  fellow,  without  means  or  parts  to 
deserve  friends ;  and  my  empty  guts  persuaded  me  to  lie,  and 
abuse  people,  for  my  meat ;  which  I  did,  and  they  beat  me  : 
then  would  I  fast  two  days,  till  my  hunger  cried  out  on  me, 
"  Rail  still ! "  then,  methought,  I  had  a  monstrous  stomach 
to  abuse  'em  again  ;  and  did  it.  In  this  state  I  continued, 
till  they  hung  me  up  by  the  heels,  and  beat  me  with  hazel- 
sticks,  as  if  they  would  have  baked  me,  and  have  cozened  some- 
body with  me  for  venison.  After  this  I  railed,  and  eat  quietly; 
for  the  whole  kingdom  took  notice  of  me  for  a  baffled  whipped 
fellow  ^^  and  what  I  said  was  remembered  in  mirth,  but  never 
in  anger ;  of  which  I  was  glad, — I  would  it  were  at  that  pass 
again  !  After  this.  Heaven  called  an  aunt  of  mine,  that  left 
two  hundred  pounds  in  a  cousin's  hand  for  me  ;  who,  taking 
me  to  be  a  gallant  young  spirit,  raised  a  company  for  me  with 
the  money,  and  sent  me  into  Armenia  with  'em.  Away  I 
would  have  run  from  them,  but  that  I  could  get  no  company ; 

''  till  they  hung  me  up  hy  the  heels  ....  a  baffled  whipped  fellow'^ 
Baffled  means  iguominiously  treated  ;  and  the  passage  ct)ntains  an  allusion  to 
the  punishment  inflicted  on  recreant  knights  : 

"  And  after  all,  for  greater  infamie, 
He  by  the  heeles  him  hung  upon  a  tree. 
And  bnffuld  so,  that  all  which  passed  by 
The  picture  of  his  punishment  might  see." 

Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  B.  VI.  C.  vii.  st.  27. 
See  more  on  this  subject  in  Nares's  Gloss,  in  v.  Baffle. 


SCENE  11.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  287 

and  alone  I  durst  not  run.  I  was  never  at  battle  but  once, 
and  there  I  was  running,  but  Mardonius  cudgelled  me  :  yet  I 
got  loose  at  last,  but  was  so  afraid  that  I  saw  no  more  than 
my  shoulders  do,  but  fled  with  my  whole  company  amongst 
my '  enemies,  and  overthrew  'em.  Now  the  report  of  ray 
valour  is  come  over  before  me,  and  they  say  I  was  a  raw 
young  fellow,  but  now  I  am  improved, — a  plague  on  their 
eloquence  !  "'twill  cost  me  many  a  boating  :  and  ISIardonius 
might  help  this  too,  if  he  would  ;  for  now  they  think  to  get 
honour  on  me,  and  all  the  men  I  have  abused  call  me  freshly 
to  account,  (worthily,  as  they  call  it,)  by  the  way  of  challenge. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

Gent.  Good  morrow,  captain  Bessus. 

Bes.  Good  morrow,  sir. 

Gent.  I  come  to  speak  with  you 

Bes.  You're  very  welcome. 

Gent.  From  one  that  holds  himself  wronged  by  you  some 
three  years  since.  Your  worth,  he  says,  is  famed,  and  he  doth 
nothing  doubt  but  you  will  do  him  right,  as  beseems  a  soldier. 

Bes.  A  pox  on  'em  !  so  they  cry  all.  [Aside. 

Gent.  And  a  slight  note  I  have  about  me  for  you,  for  the 
delivery  of  which  you  must  excuse  me :  it  is  an  office  that 
friendship  calls  upon  me  to  do,  and  no  way  offensive  to  you, 
since  I  desire  but  right  on  both  sides.  [Gives  a  letter. 

Bes.  'Tis  a  challenge,  sir,  is  it  not  ? 

Gentl  'Tis  an  inviting  to  the  field. 

Bes.  An  inviting  !  Oh,  cry  you  mercy  ! — What  a  com- 
pliment he  delivers  it  with !  he  might  as  agreeably  to  my 
nature  present  me  poison  with  such  a  speech. — [Aside ;  and 
then  reads.]  Um,  um,  um — reputation— \\m,  um,  um — call  you 
to  account — um,  um,  um— forced  to  this — um,  um,  um — with 
viy  stoord — um,  um,  um — like  a  r/cntleman — um,  um,  um — dear 
to  me — um,  um,  um — satisfaction. — Tis  very  well,  sir  ;  I  do 
accept  it ;  but  he  must  await  "*  an  answer  this  thirteen  weeks. 

1  my]  Altered,  without  authority,  to  "mine  "  by  the  modern  editors. 
■"  aivaxt]   Altered  by  Weber  to  "  wait  ". 


288  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [Acr  in. 

Gent.  Why,  sir,  he  would  be  glad  to  wipe  off  his  "  stain  as 
soon  as  he  could. 

Bes.  Sir,  upon  my  credit,  I  am  already  engaged  to  two 
hundred  and  twelve  ;  all  which  must  have  their  stains  wiped 
off,  if  that  be  the  word,  before  him. 

Geyit.  Sir,  if  you  be  truly  engaged  but  to  one,  he  shall  stay 
a  competent  time. 

Bes.  Upon  my  faith,  sir,  to  two  hundred  and  twelve  :  and 
I  have  a  spent  body  too,  much  bruised  in  battle ;  so  that  I 
cannot  fight,  I  must  be  plain  with  you  °,  above  three  combats 
a-day.  All  the  kindness  I  can  shew  him,  is  to  set  him 
resolvedly  in  my  roll  the  two  hundredth  and  thirteenth  man, 
which  is  something  ;  for,  I  tell  you,  I  think  there  will  be  more 
after  him  than  before  him  ;  I  think  p  so.  Pray  you,  commend 
me  to  him,  and  tell  him  this. 

Gent.  I  will,  sir.     Good  morrow  to  you. 

Bes.  Good  morrow,  good  sir.  [Exit  Gentleman.] — Certainly 
my  safest  way  were  to  print  myself  a  coward,  with  a  discovery 
how  I  came  by  my  credit,  and  clap  it  upon  every  post.  I  have 
received  above  thirty  challenges  within  this  two  hours.  Marry, 
all  but  the  first  I  put  off  with  engagement ;  and,  by  good 
fortune,  the  first  is  no  madder  of  fighting  than  I ;  so  that 
that's  referred  :  the  place  where  it  must  be  ended  is  four  days' 
journey  off,  and  our  arbitrators  are  these ;  he  has  chosen  a 
gentleman  in  travel,  and  I  have  a  special  friend  with  a  quartain 
ague,  like  to  hold  him  this  five  years,  for  mine ;  and  when  his 
man  comes  home,  we  are  to  expect  my  friend's  health.  If 
they  would  send  me  challenges  thus  thick,  as  long  as  I  lived, 
I  would  have  no  other  living:  I  can  make  seven  shilHngs  a-day 
o'  the  paper  to  the  grocers.  Yet  I  learn  nothing  by  all  these, 
but  a  little  skill   in  comparing  of  styles :   I  do  find  evidently 

"  his'\  Altered  by  Weber  to  "  this  ". 

0  with  yoii]  So  the  first  4to.  Omitted  in  other  eds.  ;  and  by  the  modern 
editors. 

p  I  think]  Qy.  did  these  words  creep  into  the  text  by  a  mistake  of  the 
original  compositor,  his  eye  having  caught  them  from  the  preceding  line  ?  and 
ought  the  passage  to  run  thus  :  "  I  think  there  will  be  more  after  him  than 
before  him.     So,  pray  you,  commend  me,"  &c.  ? 


SCENE  II. J  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  289 

that  there  is  some  one  scrivener  in  this  town,  that  has  a  great 
hand  in  writing  of  challenges,  for  they  are  all  of  a  cut,  and  six 
of  'em  in  a  hand  ;  and  they  all  end,  "  My  reputation  is  dear 
to  me,  and  I  must  reqtiire  satisfaction." — Who's  there  ?  more 
paper,  I  hope.  No  ;  'tis  my  lord  Bacurius  :  I  fear  all  is  not 
well  betwixt  us. 

Enter  Bacurius. 

Bac.  Now,  captain  Bessus;  I  come  about  a  frivolous  matter, 
caused  by  as  idle  a  report.     You  know  you  were  a  coward. 

Bes.  Very  right. 

Bac.  And  wronged  me. 

Bes.  True,  my  lord. 

Boc.  But  now  people  will  call  you  valiant, — desertlessly,  I 
think ;  yet,  for  their  satisfaction,  I  will  have  you  fight 
with''  mo. 

Bes.  Oh,  my  good  lord,  my  deep  engagements  — 

Bac.  Tell  not  me  of  your  engagements,  captain  Bessus  :  it 
is  not  to  be  put  off  with  an  excuse.  For  my  own  part,  I  am 
none  of  the  multitude  that  believe  your  conversion  from 
coward. 

Bes.  My  lord,  I  seek  not  quarrels,  and  this  belongs  not  to 
me  ;  I  am  not  to  maintain  it. 

Bac.  Who,  then,  pray? 

Bes.  Bessus  the  coward  wronired  vou. 

Bac.  Itifjht. 

Bes.  And  shall  Bessus  the  valiant  maintain  what  Bessus  the 
coward  did  I 

Bac.  I  prithee,  leave  these  cheating  tricks.  I  swear  thou 
shalt  fight  with  me,  or  thou  shalt  be  beaten  extremely  and 
kicked. 

Bes.  Since  you  provoke  me  thus  fur,  my  lord,  I  will  fight 
with  you  ;  and,  by  my  sword,  it  shall  cost  me  twenty  pounds 
but  I  will  have  my  leg  well  a  week  sooner  purposely. 

Bac.  Your  leg  !  why,  what  ails  your  leg  ?  Til  do  a  cure 
on  you.     Stand  up  !  [Kicks  him. 

Bes.  My  lord,  this  is  not  noble  in  you. 

1  «•«//(]  TIic  Editors  of  1  778  and  Weber  cliose  to  omit  this  word. 
VOL.  II.  L, 


290  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  in. 

Bac.  What  dost  thou  with  such  a  phrase  in  thy  mouth  ?  I 
will  kick  thee  out  of  all  good  words  before  1  leave  thee. 

\^Kicks  him. 

Bes.  My  lord,  I  take  this  as  a  punishment  for  the  offence  I 
did  when  I  was  a  coward. 

Bac.  When  thou  wert !  confess  thyself  a  coward  still,  or, 
by  this  light,  I'll  beat  thee  into  sponge. 

Bes.  Why,  I  am  one. 

Bac.  Are  you  so,  sir  I  and  why  do  you  wear  a  sword,  then  ? 
Come,  unbuckle ;  quick  ! 

Bes.  My  lord  ! 

Bac.  Unbuckle,  I  say,  and  give  it  me  ;  or,  as  I  live,  thy 
head  will  ache  extremely. 

Bes.  It  is  a  pretty  hilt ;  and  if  your  lordship  take  an 
affection  to  it,  with  all  my  heart  I  present  it  to  you,  for  a 
new-year's  gift.    [^Gives  his  sivord^,  icith  a  knife  in  the  scabbard. 

Bac.  I  thank  you  very  heartily.     Sweet  captain,  farewell. 

Bes.  One  word  more  :  I  beseech  your  lordship  to  render  me 
my  knife  again, 

Bac.  Marry,  by  all  means,  captain.  [^Gives  back  the  knife. ^ 
Cherish  yourself  with  it,  and  eat  hard,  good  captain ;  we 
cannot  tell  whether  we  shall  have  any  more  such.  Adieu, 
dear  captain.  [^Exit. 

Bes.  I  will  make  better  use  of  this  than  of  my  sword.  A 
base  spirit  has  this  vantage  of  a  brave  one ;  it  keeps  always 
at  a  stay,  nothing  brings  it  down,  not  beating.  I  remember 
I  promised  the  king,  in  a  great  audience,  that  I  would  make 
my  back-biters  eat  my  sword  to  a  knife  :  how  to  get  another 
sword  I  know  not ;  nor  know  any  means  left  for  me  to  main- 
tain my  credit  but  impudence  :  therefore  I  will  outswear  him 
and  all  his  followers,  that  this  is  all  that's  left  uneaten  of  my 
sword.  \^E.vit. 

'  Gives  his  sword,  &.C.]  "Hitherto  no  stagc-dii-cction  has  been  given  in  this 
place,  and  consequently  tlic  passage  must  have  been  obscui'c  to  any  one  who 
happened  not  to  have  been  acquainted  with  the  custom,  which  once  prevailed, 
of  wearing  a  dagger  or  a  knife  in  a  sheath,  attached  to  the  scabbard  of  the 
sword."     WTCiiER. 


SCENE  III.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  291 


SCENE  III. — An  apai'tment  m  the  Palace. 

Enter  Maudomus. 
Mar.  I '11  move  the  king  ;  he  is  most  strangely  altered  :  I 
guess  the  cause,  I  fear,  too  right ;  Heaven  has  some  secret  end 
in''t,  and  'tis  a  scourge,  no  question,  justly  laid  upon  him.  He 
has  followed  me  through  twenty  rooms ;  and  ever,  when  I 
stay  to  await  his  command,  he  blushes  like  a  girl,  and  looks 
upon  me  as  if  modesty  kept  in  his  business ;  so  turns  away 
from  me ;  but,  if  I  go  on,  he  follows  me  again. 

Enter  Arbaces, 
See,  here  he  is.     I  do  not  use  this,  yet,  I  know  not  how,  I 
cannot  choose  but  weep  to  see  him  :    his  very  enemies,  1 
think,  whose  wounds  have  bred  his  fame,  if  they  should  see 
him  now,  would  find  tears  in  their  eyes.  \^Aside. 

Arh.  I  cannot  utter  it.     AVhy  should  I  keep 
A  breast  to  harbour  thoughts  I  dare  not  speak  I 
Darkness  is  in  my  bosom  ;  and  there  lie 
A  thousand  thoughts  that  cannot  brook  the  light. 
How  wilt  thou  vex  me,  when  this  deed  is  done. 
Conscience,  that  art  afraid  to  let  me  name  it ! 

Mar.  How  do  you,  sir  ? 

Arh.  Why,  very  well,  Mardonius  : 
How  dost  thou  do  ? 

Mar.  Better  than  you,  I  fear. 

Arb.  I  hope  thou  art ;  for,  to  be  plain  with  thee, 
Thou  art  in  hell  else.     Secret  scorching  flames, 
That  far  transcend  earthly  material  fires, 
Are  crept  into  me,  and  there  is  no  cure  : 
Is  it  not  strange,  Mardonius,  there's  no  cure  I 

Mar.  Sir,  either  I  mistake,  or  there  is  something  hid,  that 
you  would  utter  to  me. 

Arh.  So  there  is  ;  but  yet  I  cannot  do  it. 

Mar.  Out  with  it,  sii-.  If  it  bo  dangerous,  I  will  not 
shrink  to  do  you  service.  I  shall  not  esteem  my  life  a 
weightier  matter  than  indeed  it  is  :     I  know  'tis  subject  to 

u  2 


292  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  in. 

more  chances  than  it  has  hours  ;  and  I  were  better  lose  it  in 
my  king's  cause  than  with  an  ague  or  a  fall,  or,  sleeping,  to 
a  thief ;  as  all  these  are  probable  enough.  Let  me  but  know 
what  I  shall  do  for  you. 

Arh.  It  will  not  out.     Were  you  with  Gobrias, 
And  bade  him  give  my  sister  all  content 
The  place  affords,  and  give  her  leave  to  send 
And  speak  to  whom  she  please  ? 

Mar.  Yes,  sir,  I  was. 

Arb.  And  did  you  to  Bacurius  say  as  much 
About  Tigranes  ? 

Mar.  Yes. 

Arh.  That's  all  my  business. 

Mar.  Oh,  say  not  so  ! 
You  had  an  answer  of  all^  this  before  : 
Besides,  I  think  this  business  might  be  utter'd 
More  carelessly. 

Arb.  Come,  thou  shalt  have  it  out.     I  do  beseech  thee, 
By  all  the  love  thou  hast  profess'd  to  me, 
To  see  my  sister  from  me. 

Mar.  AVell ;  and  what  ? 

Arb.  That^s  all. 

Mar.  That's  strange  :  shall  I  say  nothing  to  her  I 

Arb.  Not  a  word  : 
But,  if  thou  lov'st  me,  find  some  subtle  way 
To  make  her  understand  by  signs. 

Mar.  But  what  shall  I  make  her  understand  ? 

Arb.  Oh,  Mardonius,  for  that  I  must  be  pardon\l ! 

Mar.  You  may  ;  but  I  can*  only  see  her,  then  I 

Arb.  'Tis  true.  \^Gives  a  ring. 

Bear  her  this  ring,  then ;  and,  on  more  advice. 
Thou  shalt  speak  to  her  :  tell  her  I  do  love 
INIy  kindred  all ;   wilt  thou  I 

Mar.  Is  there  no  more  ? 

^  all]  So  the  first  4to.  Omitted  in  other  eds.  ;  and  by  the  modern  editors, 
Theobald  excepted. 

*  can]  Altered  in  my  copy  of  the  first  4to.  in  a  very  old  hand  to  "  sliall," — 
which  seems  to  be  the  better  reading. 


SCENE  III.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  293 

Arh.  Oh,  yes  ! — and  her  the  best ; 
Better  than  any  brother  loves  his  sister  : 
That 's  all. 

Mar.  INIethinks,  this  need  not  have  been   delivered   with 
such  caution".     Fll  do  it. 

Arb.  Tiiere  is  more  yet :  wilt  thou  be  faithful  to  me  ? 

Mar.  Sir,  if  I  take  upon  me  to  deliver  it, 
After  I  hear  it,  Til  pass  through  fire  to  do  it. 

Arb.  I  love  her  better  than  a  brother  ought. 
Dost  thou  conceive  me  ? 

Mar.  I  hope  I  do  not,  sir^. 

Arb.  No  !  thou  art  dull.     Kneel  down  before  her, 
And  never  rise  again,  till  she  will  love  me. 

Mar.  Why,  I  think  she  does. 

Arb.  But  better  than  she  does  ;  another  way  ; 
As  wives  love  husbands. 

Mar.  Why,  I  think  there  are  few  wives  that  love  their 
husbands  better  than  she  does  you. 

Arb.  Thou  wilt  not  understand  me.     Is  it  fit 
This  should  be  utterM  plainly  ?    Take  it,  then. 
Naked  as  it  is  :  I  would  desire  her  love 
Lasciviously,  lewdly,  incestuously, 
To  do  a  sin  that  needs  must  damn  us  both. 
And  thee  too.     Dost  thou  understand  me  now  ? 

Mar.  Yes ;  there's  your  ring  again.     AVhat  have  I  done 
Dishonestly  in  my  whole  life,  name  it,       [^Gives  back  the  ring. 
That  you  should  put  so  base  a  business  to  me  ? 

Arb.   Didst  thou  not  tell  me  thou  wouldst  do  it  ? 

Mar.  Yes,  if  I  undertook  it :  but  if  all 
My  hairs  were  lives,  I  would  not  be  engag'd 
In  such  a  cause  to  save  my  last  life  '^. 

"  cautiou'\  So  the  first  4to.  Other  eds.  "  a  caution  "  ;  and  so  the  modem 
editors,  Theobald  excepted. 

"  I  hope  I  do  not,  sir]  So  the  two  earliest  4to.s.  Other  eds.  "  /  hope  you  do 
not,  sir ;"  which  (incredible  as  it  may  seem)  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber 
adopted  ! 

'^  last  life]  Here  Theobald,  for  the  metre,  printed  "last  of  life'';  and 
throughout  this  scene  between  the  King  and  Mardonius,  the  whole  of  which  he 


294  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  hi. 

Arb.  O  guilt,  how  poor  and  weak  a  thing  art  thou  ! 
This  man  that  is  my  servant,  whom  ray  breath 
Might  blow  about  the  world,  might  beat  me  here, 
Having  this  cause  ;  whilst  I,  press'd  down  with  sin, 
Could  not  resist  him. — Dear"  Mardonius, 
It  was  a  motion  misbeseeming  man, 
And  I  am  sorry  for  it. 

Mar.  Heaven  grant  you  may  be  so  !  You  must  under- 
stand, nothing  that  you  can  utter  can  remove  my  love  and 
service  from  my  prince ;  but  otherwise,  I  think  I  shall  not 
love  you  more,  for  you  are  sinful ;  and,  if  you  do  this  crime, 
you  ought  to  have  no  laws,  for,  after  this,  it  will  be  great 
injustice  in  you  to  punish  any  offender  for  any  crime.  For 
myself,  I  find  my  heart  too  big ;  I  feel  I  have  not  patience 
to  look  on,  whilst  you  run  these  forbidden  courses.  Means  I 
have  none  but  your  favour  ;  and  I  am  rather  glad  that  I 
shall  lose  'em  both  together  than  keep  'em  with  such  condi- 
tions. I  shall  find  a  dwelling  amongst  some  people,  where, 
though  our  garments  perhaps  be  coarser,  we  shall  be  richer 
far  within,  and  harbour  no  such  vices  in  'em.  The  gods  pre- 
serve you,  and  mend  you^  ! 

Arh.  Mardonius  !  stay,  Mardonius  I  for,  though 
My  present  state  requires  nothing  but  knaves 
To  be  about  me,  such  as  are  prepared 
For  every  wicked  act,  yet  who  does  know 
But  that  my  loathed  fate  may  turn  about, 
And  I  have  use  for  honest  men  again  ? 
I  hope  I  may  :  I  prithee,  leave  me  not. 

Enter  Bessus, 
Bes.  Where  is  the  king  ? 

was  determinnd  to  exhibit  as  verse,  he  took  the  most  unwarrantable  liberties 
with  the  text. 

"^  Dear']  So  the  first  4to.  Other  eds.  "  Hear  ;"  and  so  the  modern  editoi*s, 
Theobald  excepted. 

y  The  gods  preserve  you,  and  mend  you~\  The  two  earliest  4tos.  "  God  preserve 
you,  and  mend  you."  Other  eds.  "  the  Gods  preserve  you,  and  mend"  ;  and  so 
Weber.  Theobald  and  the  editors  of  1778  printed,  "  The  Gods  preserve  and 
mend  you." 


SCENE  in.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  295 

Mar.  There. 

Bes.  An't  please  your  majesty,  there's  the  knife. 
Arh.  What  knife'? 
Bes.  The  sword  is  eaten. 
Mar.  Away,  you  fool !  the  king  is  serious, 
And  cannot  now  admit  your  vanities. 

Bes.  Vanities  !  Vm  no  honest  man,  if  my  enemies  have  not 
brought  it  to  this.     What,  do  you  think  I  lie  ? 
Arb.  No,  no ;  'tis  well,  Bessus,  'tis  very  well : 
Tm  glad  on't. 

Mar.  If  your  enemies  brought  it  to  that,  your  enemies  arc 
cutlers.     Come,  leave  the  king, 

Bes.  Why,  may  not  valour  approach  him  ? 
Mar.  Yes  ;  but  he  has  affairs.     Depart,  or  I  shall  be  some- 
thing unmannerly  with  you. 

Arh.  No  ;  let  him  stay,  Mardonius,  let  him  stay ; 
I  have  occasions  ^  with  him  vei'y  weighty, 
And  I  can  spare  you  now. 
Mar.  Sir? 

Arb.  Why,  I  can  spare  you  now. 
Bes.  Mardonius,  give  way  to  the  state-affairs. 
Mar.  Indeed,  you  are  fitter  for  his  pi'escnt  purpose.  ^Exit. 
Arb.  Bessus,  I  should  employ  thee  :  wilt  thou  do't  ? 
Bes.  Do't  for  you  !  by  this  air,  I  will  do  any  thing,  without 
exception,  be  it  a  good,  bad,  or  indifferent  thing. 
Arb.  Do  not  swear. 

Bes.  By  this  light,  but  I  will ;  any  thing  whatsoever. 
Arb.  But  I  shall  name  a  ^  thing 
Thy  conscience  will  not  suffer  thee  to  do. 
Bes.  I  would  fain  hear  that  thing. 
Arb.   Why,  I  would  have  thee  get  my  sister  for  me, — 
Thou  understand'st  me, — in  a  wicked  manner. 

Bes.  Oh,  you  would  have  a  bout  with  her  I  I'll  do't,  Til 
do't,  i'faith. 

'  occasinni>'\  So  the  two  earliest  4 tos.  Other  eds.  "occasion";  and  so  tlio 
modern  editors. 

"  rt]  So  the  two  cadicst  4tos.  Other  eds.  "the";  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 


296  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  hi. 

A7'h.  Wilt  thou  ?  dost  thou  make  no  more  on't  ? 

Bes.  More  !  no.  Why,  is  there  any  thing  else  ?  if  there 
be,  telP  me ;  it  shall  be  done  too. 

Arb.  Hast  thou  no  greater  sense  of  such  a  sin  ? 
Thou  art  too  wicked  for  my  company, 
Though  I  have  hell  within  me,  and  mayst  yet 
Corrupt  me  further.     Pray  thee,  answer  me, 
How  do  I  shew  to  thee  after  this  motion  ? 

Bes.  Why,  your  majesty  looks  as  well,  in  my  opinion,  as 
ever  you  did  since  you  were  born. 

Arb.  But  thou  appear'st  to  me,  after  thy  grant. 
The  ugliest,  loathed,  detestable  thing. 
That  I  have  ever  met  with.     Thou  hast  eyes 
Like  flames  of  sul^^hur,  which,  methinks,  do  dart 
Infection  on  me ;  and  thou  hast  a  mouth 
Enough  to  take  me  in,  where  there  do  stand 
Four  rows  of  iron  teeth. 

Bes.  I  feel  no  such  thing.  But  'tis  no  matter  how  I  look  ; 
I'll  do  your  business  as  well  as  they  that  look  better  :  and 
when  this  is  despatched,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  your  mother, 
tell  me,  and  you  shall  see  I'll  set  it  hard. 

Arb.  My  mother  ! — Heaven  forgive  me,  to  hear  this  ! 
I  am  inspired  with  horror. — Now  I  hate  thee 
Worse  than  my  sin ;  which,  if  I  could  come  by. 
Should  suffer  death  eternal,  ne'er  to  rise 
In  any  breast  again.     Know,  I  will  die 
Languishing  mad,  as  I  resolve  I  shall, 
Ere  I  will  deal  by  such  an  instrument. 
Thou  art  too  sinful  to  employ  in  this : 
Out  of  the  world,  away  !  [Beats  hiin. 

Bes.  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ? 

A7-b.  Hung  round  with  curses,  take  thy  fearful  flight 
Into  the  deserts  ;  where,  'mongst  all  the  monsters, 
1  f  thou  find'st  one  so  beastly  as  thyself, 
Thou  shalt  be  held  as  innocent. 

Bes.  Good  sir 

^  tell]  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  to  "  trust"! 


SCENE  III.]  A  KING  A>;D  NO  KING.  297 

Arh.  If  there  were  no  such  instruments  as  thou'", 
We  kings  could  never  act  such  wicked  deeds. 
Seek  out  a  man  that  mocks  divinity, 
That  breaks  each  precept  both  of  God  and  man, 
And  nature's''  too,  and  does  it  without  lust, 
Merely  because  it  is  a  law  and  good. 
And  live  with  him  ;  for  him  thou  canst  not  spoil : 
Away,  I  say  !  [_Exit  Bessus. 

I  will  not  do  this  sin  : 
I'll  press  it  here  till  it  do  break  my  breast. 
It  heaves  to  get  out  ;  but  thou  art  a  sin, 
And,  spite  of  torture,  I  will  keep  thee  in.  \_Exit. 

«  If  there  were  no  such  instruments  as  iho^l,,^■c.'\  "  The  following  passage,  in 
Shakespeare's  King  John,  conveys  the  same  sentiment,  and  is  similar  to  this 
befoi'e  us  : — 

'  It  is  the  cui-se  of  kings  to  be  attended 
By  slaves,  that  take  their  humours  for  a  warrant 
To  break  within  the  bloody  house  of  life  ; 
And,  on  the  winking  of  authority, 
To  understand  a  law,  to  know  the  meaning 
Of  dangerous  majesty,  when,  perchance,  it  frowns 
More  upon  humour  than  advis'd  respect.     [Act  iv.  sc.  2].'  " 

Ed.  1778. 
'^  nature's]  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  to  "  natui-e." 


298  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  iv. 


ACT    IV. 

Scene  I. — A  room  in  ike  house  of  Gobiuas' 


Enter  Gobrias,  Pamthea,  and  Spaconia. 

Gob.  Have  you  written,  madam  ? 

Pan.  Yes,  good  Gobrias. 

Goh.  And  with  a  kindness  and  such  winning  words 
As  may  provoke  him,  at  one  instant,  feel 
His  double  fault,  your  wrong,  and  his  own  rashness  ? 

Pan.  I  have  sent  words  enough,  if  words  may  win  him 
From  his  displeasure  ;  and  such  words,  I  hope. 
As  shall  gain  mucli  upon  his  goodness,  Gobrias. 
Yet  fearing,  since  they  are  many,  and  a  woman's, 
A  poor  belief  may  follow,  I  have  woven 
As  many  truths  within  'em  to  speak  for  me. 
That,  if  he  be  but  gracious  and  receive  'em — — 

Goh.  Good  lady,  be  not  fearful :  though  he  should  not 
Give  you  your  present  end  in  this,  believe  it, 
You  shall  feel,  if  your  virtue  can  induce  you 

•=  A  room  in  the  house  of  Gobriasi    Weber  wrongly  marked  this  scene, 
"  The  apartment  of  the  Princess  in  the  Palace."  When  Arbaces(act  iii.  sc.  1) 
first  orders  Panthea  into  confinement,  he  exclaims, — 
"  see  her  a  prisoner 
In  her  own  chamber,  closely,  Gobrias." 
What  Panthea  tells  Arbaces  (act  iv.  sc.  3)  proves  that  she  was  not  a  prisoner  in 
the  palace  ; 

"  I'll  back  unto  my  prison.     Yet,  methinks, 
/  might  be  kept  in  some  place  where  you  are  ; 
For  in  myself  I  find,  I  know  not  what 
To  call  it,  but  it  is  a  great  desire 
To  see  you  often." 
And  towards  the  conclusion  of  the  play,  Arbaces  says, — 
"  One  call  the  queen. 

-    Go,  some  one. 
She  is  in  Gobrias^  house." 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  209 

To  labour  out  this  tempest  (which,  I  know, 
Is  but  a  poor  proof  'gainst  your  patience). 
All  those  contents  your  spirit  will  arrive  at. 
Newer  and  sweeter  to  you.     Your  royal  brother, 
When  he  shall  once  collect  himself,  and  see 
How  far  he  has  been  asunder  from  himself, 
What  a  mere  stranger  to  his  golden  temper. 
Must,  from  those  roots  of  virtue,  never  dying, 
Though  somewhat  stopt  with  humour,  shoot  again 
Into  a  thousand  glories,  bearing  his '  fair  branches 
High  as  our  hopes  can  look  at,  straight  as  justice, 
Loaden  with  ripe  contents.     He  loves  you  dearly  ; 
I  know  it ;  and  I  hope  I  need  not  further 
Win  you  to  understand  it. 

Pan.  I  believe  it : 
Howsoever ",  I  am  sure  I  love  him  dearly ; 
So  dearly,  that  if  any  thing  I  write 
For  my  enlarging  should  beget  his  anger, 
Heaven  be  a  witness  with  me,  and  my  faith, 
I  had  rather  live  entomb'd  here. 

Gob.  You  shall  not  feel  a  worse  stroke  than  your  grief ; 
I  am  sorry  'tis  so  sharp.     I  kiss  your  hand. 
And  this  night  will  deliver  this  true  story 
With  this  hand  to  your  brother. 

Pan.  Peace  go  with  you  ! 
You  are  a  good  man. —  [Exit  Gobrias. 

My  Spaconia, 
Why  arc  you  ever  sad  thus  ? 

Spa.  Oh,  dear  lady  ! 

Pan.  Prithee,  discover  not  a  way  to  sadness. 
Nearer  than  I  have  in  me.     Our  two  sorrows 
Work,  like  two  eager  hawks,  who  shall  get  highest. 
How  shall  I  lessen  thine  ?  for  mine,  I  fear, 
Is  easier  known  than  cur'd. 

Spa.  Heaven  comfort  both, 

f  his]  Theobald,  for  the  iiictrc,  omitted  tliis  word. 

K  Howsoever']  So  tlie  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "  But  howsoever  ^\  and  so  ihr 
modern  editors. 


300  .  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  iv. 

And  give  yours  happy  ends,  however  I 
Fall  in  my  stubborn  fortunes. 

Pa7i.  This  but  teaches 
How  to  be  more  familiar  with  our  sorrows, 
That  are  too  much  our  masters.     Good  Spaconia, 
How  shall  I  do  you  service  ? 

Spa.  Noblest  lady, 
You  make  me  more  a  slave  still  to  your  goodness, 
And  only  live  to  purchase  thanks  to  pay  you  ; 
For  that  is  all  the  business  of  my  life  now. 
I  will  be  bold,  since  you  will  have  it  so. 
To  ask  a  noble  favour  of  you. 

Pan.  Speak  it ;  'tis  yours  ;  for  from  so  sweet  a  virtue 
No  ill  demand  has  issue. 

Spa.  Then,  ever-virtuous,  let  me  beg  your  will 
In  helping  me  to  see  the  prince  Tigranes, 
With  whom  I  am  equal  prisoner,  if  not  more". 

Pan.  Reserve  me  to  a  greater  end,  Spaconia  ; 
Bacurius  cannot  want  so  much  good  manners 
As  to  deny  your  gentle  visitation, 
Though  you  came  only  with  your  own  command. 

Spa.  I  know  they  will  deny  me,  gracious  madam, 
Being  a  stranger,  and  so  little  faniM, 
So  utter  empty  of  those  excellencies 
That  tame  authority  ^ :  but  in  you,  sweet  lady, 
All  these  are  natural ;  beside,  a  power 
Deriv'd  immediate  from  your  royal  brother. 
Whose  least  word  in  you  may  command  the  kingdom. 

Pan.  More  than  my  word,  Spaconia,  you  shall  carry. 
For  fear  it  fail  you. 

Spa.  Dare  you  trust  a  token  I 
JNladam,  I  fear  I  am  grown  too  bold  a  beggar. 

Pan.  You  are  a  pretty  one ;  and,  trust  me,  lady, 
It  joys  me  I  shall  do  a  good  to  you, 

s  if  not  more^  I  may  just  observe  that  the  fii'st  4to.  has  "i/'no  more;'" 
which  pei'haps  might  mean — if  no  otherwise  equal. 

*■  That  tame  authority  :'\  "i.e.  that  cau  have  auy  control  over  people  in 
office  and  power."     Theobald. 


SCENE  II.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  301 

Though  to  myself  I  never  shall  be  happy. 

Here,  take  this  ring,  and  from  me  as  a  token         [Gives  rim/. 

Deliver  it :   I  think  they  will  not  stay  you. 

So,  all  your  own  desires  go  with  you,  lady  ! 

Spa.  And  sweet  peace  to  your  grace  ! 

Pa7i.  Pray  Heaven,  I  find  it !  [  Exeunt. 


SCENE  n.—APriso7i\ 
TiGRANES  discovered. 


Tigr.  Fool  that  I  am  !  I  have  undone  myself, 
And  with  my  own  hand  turnM  my  fortune  round. 
That  was  a  fair  one  :  I  have  childishly 
Play\l  with  my  hope  so  long,  till  I  have  broke  it, 
And  now  too  late  I  mourn  for't.     Oh,  Spaconia, 
Thou  hast  found  an  even  way  to  thy  revenge  now  ! 
AVhy  didst  thou  follow  me,  like  a  faint  shadow. 
To  wither  my  desires  ?     But,  wretched  fool. 
Why  did  I  plant  thee  ""twixt  the  sun  and  me, 
To  make  me  freeze  thus  ?  why  did  I  prefer  her 
To  the  fair  princess  ?     Oh,  thou  fool,  thou  fool. 
Thou  family  of  fools,  live  like  a  slave  still, 
And  in  thee  bear  thine  own  hell  and  thy  torment ! 
Thou  hast  deservM  it.     Couldst  thou  find  no  lady. 
But  she  that  has  thy  hopes,  to  put  her  to. 
And  hazard  all  thy  peace  ?  none  to  abuse, 
But  she  that  lov\l  thee  ever,  poor  Spaconia  ? 
And  so  much  lov'd  thee,  that  in  honesty 
And  honour  thou  art  bound  to  meet  her  virtues  ! 
She,  that  forgot  the  greatness  of  her  griefs  J, 
And  miseries  that  must  follow  such  mad  passions, 

'  A  prison]  Though  all  the  old  eds.,  except  the  first  4to.,  have  "  Enter 
Tigranes  in  prison,"  perhaps  this  scene  ought  to  be  marked, — "  A  room  in  the 
house  of  Bactirius."' 

J  griefs]  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "  grief"  ;  and  so  the  modern  editoi-s. 


302  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  iv. 

Endless  and  wild  as  woman's ' !  she.  that  for  thee. 

And  with  thee,  left  her  liberty,  her  name. 

And  country  !      You  have  paid  me,  equal  heavens  ^, 

And  sent  my  own  rod  to  correct  me  with, 

A  woman  !     For  inconstancy  Til  suffer  ; 

Lay  it  on,  justice,  till  my  soul  melt  in  me, 

For  my  unmanly,  beastly,  sudden  doting 

Upon  a  new  face,  after  all  my  oaths, 

Many  and  strange  ones. 

I  feel  my  old  fire  flame  again,  and  burn 

So  strong  and  violent,  that,  should  I  see  her 

Again,  the  grief  and  that  would  kill  me. 

Enter  Bacurius  and  Spacoma. 

Bac.  Lady, 
Your  token  I  acknowledge  ;  you  may  pass : 
There  is  the  king. 

Spa.   I  thank  your  lordship  for  it.  [Exit  Bacurius. 

Tiffr.  She   comes,  she  comes !     Shame  hide  me  ever  from 
her ! 
Would  I  were  buried,  or  so  far  removed, 
Light  might  not  find  me  out  !     I  dare  not  see  her. 

Spa.  Nay,  never  hide  yourself ;  for  ',  were  you  hid 
Where  earth  hides  all  her  riches,  near  her  centre, 
I\Iy  wrongs,  without  more  day,  would  light  me  to  you. 
I  must  speak  ere  I  die.     Were  all  your  greatness 
Doubled  upon  you,  you're  a  perjurM  man. 
And  only  mighty  in  the  "^  wickedness 
Of  wronging  women.     Thou  art  false,  false  prince  ! 

'as  tvoman's']  So  the  first  4to.  Other  eds.  " cs  women,"  except  4to.  IGfil, 
which  has  "  as  woman."  Theobald  adojjted  Seward's  conjecture, "  in  women "' ; 
and  so  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber.  Coleridge  (Remains,  ii.  295)  pronounces 
Seward's  emendation  to  be  "  right  and  obvious " :  but  he  was  unacquainted 
with  the  reading  of  the  first  4to.,  which  not  one  of  the  modern  editors  have  even 
mentioned. 

^  equal  heavens]  i.  e.  just  heavens.  Weber  absurdly  pointed  the  passage 
thus, — "  Vou  have  paid  mc  equal,  heavens.'' 

'  for}  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "  or  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors  ! 

'"  the]  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "  your  " ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 


SCENE  11.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  303 

I  live  to  see  it ;  poor  Spaconia  lives 
To  tell  thee  thou  art  false,  and  then  no  more  "  : 
She  lives  to  tell  thee  thou  art  more  unconstaut 
Than  all  ill  women  ever  were  together  ; 
Thy  faith  as ""  firm  as  raging  overflows, 
That  no  bank  can  command  ;  and ''  as  lasting 
As  boys'  gay  bubbles,  blown  i'  the  air  and  broken : 
The  wind  is  fix\l  to  "i  thee  ;  and  sooner  shall 
The  beaten  mariner  with  his  shrill  whistle 
Calm  the  loud  murmurs  "■  of  the  troubled  main, 
And  strike  it  smooth  again,  than  thy  soul  fall 
To  have  peace  in  love  with  any :  thou  art  all 
That  all  good  men  must  hate  ;  and  if  thy  story 
Shall  tell  succeeding  ages  what  thou  wert, 
Oh,  let  it  spare  me  in  it,  lest  true  lovers. 

In  pity  of  my  wrongs,  burn  thy  black  legend, 
And  with  their  curses  shake  thy  sleeping  ashes  ! 
Ti(/r.  Oh  !  oh  ! 
Spa.  The  Destinies,  I  hope,  have  pointed  out 

Our  ends  alike,  that  thou  mayst  die  for  love, 

Though  not  for  me  ;  for,  this  assure  thyself. 

The  princess  hates  thee  deadly,  and  will  sooner 

Be  won  to  marry  with  a  bull,  and  safer, 

Than  such  a  beast  as  thou  art. — I  have  struck, 

I  fear,  too  deep;  beshrow*  me  for  it  I — Sir, 

"  and  then  no  more}  Theobald  at  Sympson's  suggestion  printed  "  and  tell 
thee  more  "  !  Seward  (Postscript  to  vol.  1.  of  ed.  1750)  says  that "  then  no  more''' 
means, — this  shall  be  the  last  time  I  will  upbraid  you  with  your  falsehood.  The 
Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  followed  the  old  cds.,  but  they  evidently  understood 
the  passage  no  better  than  their  predecessors.  The  meaning  of  it  is  this, — 
"  poor  Spaconia  lives  to  tell  thee  thou  art  false,  and  then  she  lives  no  more"  : 
she  has  previously  said,  "  I  must  speak  ere  I  die  ". 

°  as']  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.  Other  eds,  "  is  "  ;  wliicli  the  Editors  of  1778 
and  Weber  chose  to  adopt. 

P  a«f/]   So  the  first  4to.     Omitted  in  other  eds. ;    and  by  the  modern  editors. 

*)  /o]  i.  e.  compared  to. 

■■  murmurs]  So  the  first  4 to.  Other  cds.  "murmur"  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 

"  heshrow]  So  all  the  old  eds.,  except  the  Itos.  of  1C31  and  103.'),  which  have 
"  beshrew." 


304  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  iv. 

This  sorrow  works  mc,  like  a  cunning  friendship, 

Into  the  same  piece  with  it. — He's  ashamW  : 

Alas,  I  have  been  too  rugged  ! — Dear  my  lord, 

I  am  sorry  I  have  spoken  any  thing, 

Indeed  I  am,  that  may  add  more  restraint 

To  that  too  much  you  have.     Good  sir,  be  pleas'd 

To  think  it  was  a  fault  of  love,  not  malice, 

And  do  as  I  will  do, — forgive  it,  prince : 

I  do,  and  can,  forgive  the  greatest  sins 

To  me  you  can  repent  of.     Pray,  believe  me '. 

Tigr.  Oh,  my  Spaconia  !  oh,  thou  virtuous  woman  ! 

S^m.  No  more  ;  the  king,  sir. 

Enter  Arbaces,  Bacurius,  and  Mardonius. 

Arb.  Have  you  been  careful  of  our  noble  prisoner. 
That  he  want  nothing  fitting  for  his  greatness  I 

Bac.  I  hope  his  grace  will  quit  me  for  my  care,  sir. 

Arb.  'Tis  well. — lioyal  Tigranes,  health  ! 

Tigr.  More  than  the  strictness  of  this  place  can  give,  sir, 
I  offer  back  again  to  great  Arbaces. 

Arb.  We  thank  you,  worthy  prince  ;  and  pray,  excuse  us, 
We  have  not  seen  you  since  your  being  here. 
I  hope  your  noble  usage  has  been  equal 
With  your  own  person  :  your  imprisonment. 
If  it  be  any,  I  dare  say,  is  easy  ; 
And  shall  not  outlast  two  days. 

Tigr.  I  thank  you  "  : 
My  usage  here  has  been  the  same  it  was, 
Worthy  a  royal  conqueror.     For  my  restraint, 
It  came  unkindly,  because  much  unlooli'd-for  ; 
But  1  must  bear  it. 

Arb.  What  lady  's  that,  Bacurius  I 

Bac.  One  of  the  princess"'  women,  sir. 

»  He's  asham'd]  "  I  have  adopted  the  reading  of  Theobald's  copy.  The  old 
editions,  and  that  of  1778  read—'  'tis  asham'd.' "  Weber.  The  first  4to.  has 
distinctly  "  hee's  asham'd  ' ' ! 

«  we]  So  the  first  4to.  Omitted  in  other  cds. ;  and  by  the  modern 
editors. 

»  you]  Theobald  printed,  without  authority,  «  you,  sir." 


SCENE  II.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  305 

Arh.  I  fear'd  it. 
Why  comes  she  hither  ? 

Bac.  To  speak  with  the  prince  Tigranes. 

Arb.  From  whom,  Bacurius  ? 

Bac.  From  the  princess,  sir. 

Arb.  I  knew  I  had  seen  her. 

Mar.  His  fit  begins  to  take  him  now  again  : 
'Tis  a  sti'ango  fever,  and  'twill  shake  us  all 
Anon,  I  fear.      Would  he  were  well  cur\l  of 
This  raging  folly  !     Give  me  the  wars,  where  men 
Are  mad,  and  may  talk  what  they  list,  and  held 
The  bravest  fellows  :  this  pelting',  prattling  '''  peace 
Is  good  for  nothing  ;  drinking 's  a  virtue  to 't.  [Aside. 

Arh.  T  see  there  's  truth  in  no  man,  nor  obedience, 
But  for  his  own  ends.     Why  did  you  let  her  in  ? 

Bac.  It  was  your  own  command  to  bar  none  from  him  : 
Besides,  the  princess  sent  her  ring,  sir,  for  my  warrant. 

Arb.  A  token  to  Tigranes,  did  she  not  ? 
Sirrah  ",  tell  truth. 

Bac.  I  do  not  use  to  lie,  sir  ; 
'Tis  no  way  I  eat  or  live  by :  and  I  think 
This  is  no  token,  sir. 

Mar.  This  combat  has  undone  him  :  if  he  had  been  well 
beaten,  he  had  been  temperate.  I  shall  never  see  him  hand- 
some again,  till  he  have  a  horseman's  staff  poked -^'  through  his 
shoulders,  or  an  arm  broke  with  a  bullet.  [A.iide. 

Arb.  I  am  trifled  with. 
Bac.  Sir  ? 
Arb.  I  know  it,  as  I  know  thee  to  be  false. 

'  pelting']  i.  e.  paltry,  contemptible  :  see  Todd's  Jolmson's  Did.  in  v 
Paltry,  and  Richardson's  Did.  in  v.  Peltiiif/.  The  word  is  very  common  in 
our  early  writers. 

"■  prattliiiff]  So  the  first  4 to.  Other  eds.  "prating";  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 

^  Sirrah]  So  the  first  4to.  Other  eds.  "  Sir  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors 
(Theobald  choosing  to  print,  "  Sir,  tell  the  truth  "). 

y  poked]  So  the  first  4  to.  Other  eds.  (with  various  spelhng)  "yoakt  "  ;  and 
so  the  modern  editors  ! 

VOL.    II.  X 


306  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  iv. 

Mar.  Now  the  clap  comes.  [Aside. 

Bac.   You  never  knew  me  so,  sir,  I  dare  speak  it ; 
And  durst  a  worse  man  tell  me,  though  ray  better — 

Mar.  Tis  well  said,  by  ray  soul.  iJsicle. 

Arh.  Sirrah,  you  answer  as  you  had  no  life. 
Bac.  That  I  fear,  sir,  to  lose  nobly. 

Arh.  I  say,  sir,  once  again 

Bac.  You  may  say  what  you  please,  sir. 
Mar.  Would  I  raight  do  so  ^  I  {Aside. 

Arh.   I  will,  sir ;   and  say  openly. 
This  woman  carries  letters  :  by  ray  life, 
I  know  she  carries  letters ;  this  woman  does  it. 

Mar.  Would    Bessus  were   here,    to   take   her   aside  and 
search  her  !  he  would  quickly  tell  you  what  she  carried,  sir. 
Arh.  I  have  found  it  out,  this  woraan  carries  letters. 
Mar.  If  this  hold,  'twill  be  an  ill  world  for  bawds,  chamber- 
maids, and  post-boys.     I   thank  heaven,  I  have  none  but  his 
letters-patents,  things  of  his  own  inditing.  [Aside. 

Arb.  Prince,  this  cunning  cannot  do  ""t. 
Tigr.  Do  what,  sir  ?  I  reach  you  not. 
Arh.  It  shall  not  serve  your  turn,  prince. 
Tigr.  Serve  ray  turn,  sir ! 
Arh.  Ay,  sir,  it  shall  not  serve  your  turn. 
Tigr.  Be  plainer,  good  sir. 

Arb.  This  woraan  shall  carry  no  raore  letters  back  to  your 

love,  Panthea  ;  by  heaven,  she  shall  not ;  I  say  she  shall  not. 

Mar.  This  would  make  a  saint  swear  like  a  soldier,  and  a 

soldier  like  Termagant *'».  [Aside. 

Tigr.  This  beats   rae    raore,  king,   than    the    blows    you 

gave  me. 

'■  Would  I  might  do  so]  The  first  4to.  rightly  gives  these  words  to  Mardonius. 
Other  eds.  (the  prefix  "  Mar."  having  dropt  out)  assign  them  to  Bacurius  ; 
and  so  the  modern  editors  I 

a  Termagant]  "  Was  a  Saracen  deity,  very  clamorous  aud  violent  in  the 
old  moraUties."  Percy.  Termagant  was  a  deity,  \Ahom  the  Crusaders  and 
romance-writers  charged  the  Saracens  with  worshipping,  though  there  was 
certainly  no  such  Saracenic  divinity.  Concerning  the  name,  see  Gifford's 
note  on  Massinger's  Works,  ii.  12.5.  cd.    1813,  and  Narcs's   Gloss,  in  v. 


SCENE  II,]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  307 

Arb.  Take  'em  away  both,  and  together  let  'era  be  prisoners'', 
strictly  and  closely  kept ;  or,  sirrah,  your  life  shall  answer  it ; 
and  let  nobody  speak  with  'em  hereafter. 

Tigr."  Well,  I  am  subject  to  you. 
And  must  endure  these  passions. 

Spa.  This  is  th'  imprisonment  1  have  look'd  for  always. 
And  the  dear  place  I  would  choose.  \^Aside. 

[Exeunt  Bacuhius,  Tigranes,  and  Spaconia. 

Mar.  Sir,  have  you  done  well  now  I 

Arb.  Dare  you  reprove  it  ? 

Mar.  No. 

Arb.  You  must  be  crossing  me. 

Mar.  I  have  no  letters,  sir,  to  anger  you, 
But  a  dry  sonnet  of  my  corporal's 
To  an  old  sutler's  wife ;  and  that  I'll  burn,  sir. 
'Tis  like  to  prove  a  fine  age  for  the  ignorant. 

Arb.  How  darest  thou  so  often  '^  forfeit  thy  life  ? 
Thou  knowest  it  is  in  my  power  to  take  it. 

Mar.  Yes,  and  I  know  you  wo'not ;  or,  if  you  do,  you'll 
miss  it  quickly. 

Arb.  Why? 

Mar.  Who  shall  then  '^  tell  you  of  these  childish  follies. 
When  I  am  dead  ?  who  shall  put-to  his  power 
To  draw  those  virtues  out  of  a  flood  of  humours, 
Where '  they  are  drown'd,  and  make  'cm  shine  again  ? 
No,  cut  my  head  off: 

Then  you  may  talk,  and  be  bcliev'd,  and  grow  worse, 
And  have  your  too  self-glorious  temper  rock'd " 
Into  a  dead  sleep,  and  the  kingdom  with  you, 
Till  foreign  swords  be  in  your  throats,  and  slaughter 

••  let  'em  he  prisoners']  So  the  first  4to.  Other  cds.,  "  let  them  prisoners  be" ; 
and  so  the  modern  editors. 

'  Tigr.'\  The  first  Ito.  has  "  Bac.",  to  whom,  indeed,  the  speecli  is  not 
unsuitable. 

•t  often]  Altered  by  Theobald,  for  the  metre, to  "oft." 

^  then]  So  the  first  4to.     Omitted  in  other  cds. ;  and  by  the  modern  editors. 

'   Where]  So  the  first  4to.     Other  cds.,  "  When  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 

B  rock'd]  Seward's  correction,  in  which,  however,  he  had  been  anticipated  by 
the  early  possessor  of  my  copy  of  the  first  4to.     Old  cds.,  "  rott "  and  "  rot." 

X  2 


30«  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  iv. 

Be  every  where  about  you,  like  your  flatterers. 
Do,  kill  me, 

Arb.  Prithee,  be  tamer,  good  Mardonius. 
Thou  know'st  I  love  thee,  nay,  I  honour  thee  ; 
Believe  it,  good  old  soldier,  I  am  all  =  thine  ; 
But  I  am  rack'd  clean  from  myself :  bear  with  me ; 
Wo't  thou  bear  with  me,  good*"  Mardonius? 

Enter  Gobrias. 

Mar.    There   comes    a   good   man ;    love   him    too ;    he's 
temperate  : 
You  may  live  to  have  need  of  such  a  virtue  ; 
Rage  is  not  still  in  fashion. 

Arb.  Welcome,  good  Gobrias. 

Gob.  My  service  and  this  letter  to  your  grace. 

\^Gives  letter. 

Arb.  From  whom  I 

Goh.  From  the  rich  mine  of  virtue  and  all '  beauty, 
Your  mournful  sister. 

Arb.  She  is  in  pi-ison,  Gobrias,  is  she  not  ? 

Gob.  [liiieels.^  She  is,  sir,  till  your  pleasure  do  enlarge  her, 
Which  on  my  knees  I  beg.     Oh,  'tis  not  fit 
That  all  the  sweetness  of  the  world  in  one. 
The  youth  and  virtue  that  would  tame  wild  tigers. 
And  wilder  people  that  have  known  no  manners. 
Should  live  thus  cloisterd  up  !     For  your  love's  sake. 
If  there  be  any  in  that  noble  heart 
To  her,  a  wretched  lady  and  forlorn, 
Or  for  her  love  to  you,  which  is  as  much 
As  nature  and  obedience  ever  gave, 
Have  pity  on  her  beauties  ! 

Arb.  Prithee,  stand  up.     'Tis  true,  she  is  too  fair, 

[GoiiRiAs  rises. 
And  all  these  commendations  but  her  own  : 

s  alt]   So  the  first  4to.     Omitted  in  other  eds.  ;  and  by  the  modern  editors. 

•^  good]  So  the  first  4to.,  and  rightly,  as  the  next  line  shews.  Other  eds., 
"  my  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 

'  all]  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.  Omitted  in  other  eds.  ;  and  by  the  Editors  of 
1778  and  Weber. 


SCENE  II.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  309 

Would  thou  hadst  never  so  commended  her, 

Or  I  ne'er  lived  to  have  heai'd  it,  Gobrias ! 

If  thou  but  knew'st  the  wrong  her  beauty  does  her. 

Thou  wouldst,  in  pity  of  her,  be  a  liar. 

Thy  ignorance  has  drawn  me,  wretched  man. 

Whither  myself  nor  thou  canst  well  tell.     Oh,  my  fate  ! 

I  think  she  loves  me,  but  I  fear  another 

Is  deeper  in  her  heart :  how  think'st  thou,  Gobrias  ? 

Gob.  I  do  beseech  your  grace,  believe  it  not ; 
For,  let  me  perish,  if  it  be  not  false. 
Good  sir,  read  her  letter.  [Arbaces  reads. 

Mar.  This  love,  or  what  a  devil  it  is,  I  know  not,  begets 
more  mischief  than  a  wake.  I  had  rather  be  well  beaten, 
starved,  or  lousy,  than  live  within  the  air  on't.  He  that  had 
seen  this  brave  fellow  charge  through  a  grove  of  pikes  but 
t'other  day,  and  look  upon  him  now,  will  ne'er  believe  his 
eyes  again.  If  he  continue  thus  but  two  days  more,  a  tailor 
may  beat  him  with  one  hand  tied  behind  him.  {_Aside. 

Arh.  Alas,  she  would^  be  at  liberty  ! 
And  there  bo  thousand  reasons,  Gobrias, 
Thousands,  that  will  deny  it ; 
W^hich  if  she  knew,  she  would  contentedly 
Be  where  she  is,  and  bless  her  virtue  ''  for  it, 
And  me,  though  she  were  closer :  she  would,  Gobrias  ; 
Good  man,  indeed  she  would. 

Gob.  Then,  good  sir,  for  her  satisfaction. 
Send  for  her,  and  with  reason  make  her  know 
Why  she  must  live  thus  from  you. 

Arb.  I  will.     Go,  bring  her  to  me.  [Exeunt. 

J  she  would]  Theobald,  for  the  metre,  printed,  "  she  fain  would.'" 
^  rirlue]  So  the  two  earliest  4to8.  Otlicr  eds., "  vertues  "  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 


310  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [Acr  iv. 


SCENE  III. — A  7'oom  in  the  ftouse  o/*Bessus. 

Enter  Bessus,  tico  Sword-men ',  and  Boy. 

Bes.  You're  very  welcome,  both. — Some  stools  there,  boy ; 
And  reach  a  table. — Gentlemen  o'  the  sword. 
Pray  sit,  without  more  compliment. — Begone,  child. 

[Exit  Boy. 
I  have  been  curious  in  the  searching  of  you. 
Because  I  understand  you  wise  and  valiant  persons. 

First  Sw.  M.  We  understand  ourselves,  sir. 

Bes.  Nay,  gentlemen,  and  my  "'  dear  friends  o'  the  sword. 
No  compliment,  T  pray  ;  but  to  the  case  " 
I  hang  upon,  which,  in  few ",  is  my  honour. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  You  cannot  hang  too  much,  sir,  for  your  honour. 
But  to  your  case  :  be  wise,  and  speak  truth  p. 

Bes.  My  first  doubt  is,  my  beating  by  my  prince. 

First  Siv.  M-  Stay  there  a  little,  sir:  do  you  doubt "i  a 
beating  ? 
Or  have  you  had  a  beating  by  your  prince  ? 

'  Sword-men'\  i.  e.  professors  of  the  science  of  arms  ("  masters  of  depen- 
.  deneies,"  as  they  are  termed  in  Fletcher's  Elder  Brother,  act  v.  sc.  1.)  ;  needy 
bulhes,  who  undertook  to  assist  the  timorous, — to  ascertam  for  tliem  the 
authentic  grounds  of  a  quarrel,  to  settle  it  according  to  the  laws  of  the  duello, 
&c., — and  whose  language  was  a  jargon  derived  from  Caranza  and  other  writers 
of  that  description.  Duelling  with  all  its  absurd  punctilios  was  the  passion  of 
the  age  ;  and  there  seems  every  reason  to  believe  that  what  mamly  contributed 
to  the  suppression  of  such  follies  was  the  ridicule  with  which  they  were  treated 
by  most  of  our  early  dramatists.  See  Seward's  note  on  the  present  passage 
(Postscript  to  vol.  i.  of  ed.  1750),  and  GifFoixl's  note  on  Massiugei"'s  Works,  iii. 
9.  ed.  1813. 

™  Tny]  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.  Omitted  in  other  eds.  ;  and  by  the  modern 
editors,  Theobald  excepted. 

"  easel  01*^  ^^^-  liere,  and  in  the  next  speech,  "  cause "  ;  and  so  the 
modern  editors.     But  compare  the  rest  of  this  scene. 

°  infewl  i.  e.  in  few  words. 

V  be  wise,  and  speak  truth]  The  first  4to.  rightly  gives  these  words  to  Sec. 
Sw.  M.  In  other  eds.  they  are  assigned  to  Bes.  ;  and  so  by  the  modern 
editors  ! — Theobald  printing  "the  truth,''  for  the  metre- 

*<  doubt]   i.  e.  dread,  apprehend. 


SCENE  III.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  311 

Bes.  Gentlemen  o'  the  sword,  my  prince  has  beaten  me. 

Sec.  Sic.  M.  Brother,  what  think  you  of  this  case  I 

First  Sic.  M.  If  he  have  beaten  him,  the  case  is  clear. 

Sec.  Sic.  M.  If  he  have  beaten  him,  I  grant  the  case. — 
But  how  ? — we  cannot  be  too  subtle  in  this  business, — 
I  say,  but  how  I 

Bes.  Even  with  his  royal  hand. 

First  Sic.  M.  Was  it  a  blow  of  love  or  indignation  ? 

Bes.  'Twas  twenty  blows  of  indignation,  gentlemen. 
Besides  two  blows  o'  the  face. 

Sec.  Stv.  M.  Those  blows  o'   the  face  have  made  a  new 
case  '^  on't ; 
The  rest  were  but  an  honourable  rudeness. 

First  Sic.  M.  Two  blows  o'  the  face,  and  given  by  a  worse 
man, 
I  must  confess,  as  we  *  sword-men  say,  had  turn''d 
The  business  :  mark  me,  brother,  by  a  worse  man  ; 
But  being  by  his  prince,  had  they  been  ten, 
And  those  ten  drawn  ten  teeth,  besides  the  hazard 
Of  his  nose  for  ever,  all  these '  had  been  but  favours. 
This  is  my  flat  opinion,  which  I'll  die  in. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  The  king  may  do  much,  captain,  believe  it ; 
For  had  he  crack'd  your  skull  through,  like  a  bottle, 
Or  broke  a  rib  or  two  with  tossing  of  you, 
Yet  you  had  lost  no  honour.     This  is  strange. 
You  may  imagine,  but  this  is  truth  now,  captain. 

Bes.  I  will  be  glad  to  embrace  it,  gentlemen. 
But  how  far  may  he  strike  me  1 

First  Sw.  M.  There^s  another, 
A  new  case  "  rising  from  the  time  and  distance, 
In  which  I  will  deliver  my  opinion. 
He  may  strike,  beat,  or  cause  to  be  beaten  ; 
For  these  are  natural  to  man  : 
Your  prince,  I  say,  may  beat  you  so  far  forth 

■■  case']  So  the  first  4to.     Other  cds.,  "  cause  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 
*  we]  So  the  two  carUest  4tos.  Other  eds.  "  the  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 
'  these]  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "  this  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 
"  case]  Old  cd.s.  "  cause  ;  "  and  so  the  modern  editors. 


312  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  iv. 

As  his  dominion  reacheth  " ;   that's  for  the  distance  ; 
The  time,  ten  miles  a-day,  I  take  it. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  Brother,  you  err,  'tis  fifteen  miles  a-day  ; 
His  stage  is  ten,  his  beatings  are  fifteen. 

Bes.  'Tis  o'  the  longest,  but  we  subjects  must — 

First  Sic.  M.  Be  subject  to  it :  you  are  wise  and  virtuous. 

Bes.  Obedience  ever  makes  that  noble  use  on't. 
To  which  I  dedicate  my  beaten  body. 
I  must  trouble  you  a  little  further,  gentlemen  o'  the  sword. 

Sec.  Sto.  M.  No  trouble  at  all  to  us,  sir,  if  we  may 
Profit  your  understanding  :   we  are  bound. 
By  virtue  of  our  calling,  to  utter  our  opinions 
Shortly  and  discreetly. 

Bes.  My  sorest  business  is,  I  have  been  kick'd. 

Sec.  Sio.  M.  How  far,  sir  ? 

Bes.  Not  to  flatter  myself  in  it,  all  over : 
My  sword  lost,  but  not  forc'd  '^ ;  for  discreetly 
I  rendered  it,  to  save  that  imputation. 

First  Sw.  M.  It  shewed  discretion,  the  best  part  of  valour. 

Sec.Sw.  M.  Brother,  this  is  a  pretty  case";  pray,  ponder  on't: 
Our  friend  here  has  been  kick'd. 

Fi7'st  Sio.  M.  He  has  so,  brother. 

Sec.  Siv.  M.  Sorely,  he  says.  Now,  had  he  sit  ^'  down  here 
•  Upon  the  mere  kick,  't  had  been  cowardly. 

"  reacheth']   Altered  by  Weber  to  "reaches." 

*  lost,  but  not  fore' d]  Old  eds.  "forc'd,  but  not  lost.' ^  "This  is  as  absurd 
and  ridiculous  a  transposition  (made  through  the  error  of  the  copyists,  or  at 
press)  as  we  shall  meet  with  in  haste.  Though  Bessus  was  by  nature  and  habit 
a  liar,  yet  here  he  meant  to  represent  the  state  of  his  case  seriously  to  the 
Sword-men,  to  have  their  opinion  upon  it.  We  find  in  a  preceding  scene, 
that,  upon  Bacurius  discovering  him  to  be  a  notorious  poltron,  he  orders  him 
to  unbuckle  and  deliver  up  his  sword.  Bessus  obeys,  and  does  it  with  a  gasco- 
nade ;  saying,  it  is  a  pretty  hilt,  and  if  his  lordship  takes  an  affection  to  it, 
with  all  his  heart  he'll  present  it  to  him  for  a  neiv-years-<]ift.  How  then  was 
his  swoi'd /o?-c'c?  from  him  ?  It  was  not ;  for  he  immediately  subjoins  hei'e  to  the 

Sword-men,  for  I  discreetly  rendered  it  to  save  that  imputation. Let  the 

two  words  forc'd  and  lost  change  places,  and  then  all  is  clear,  and  the  fact  truly 
stated."     Theobald. 

"  case]  So  the  four  earliest  4tos.  Other  eds.  "  cause  ";  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 

y  sit\  So  tlie  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "  set  ;  "  and  so  the  modern  editors. 


SCENE  III.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  313 

First  Sio.  M.  I  think  it  luui  been  cowardly  indeed. 

Sec.  Sio.  M.  But  our  friend  has  redeem'd  it,  in  deUvoring 
His  sword  without  compulsion  ;  and  that  man 
That  took  it  of  him,  I  pronounce  a  weak  one, 
And  his  kicks  nullities  : 

He  should  have  kick'd  him  after  the  delivery  % 
Which  is  the  confirmation  of  a  coward. 

First  Sic.  M.  Brother,  I  take  it  you  mistake  the  question  ; 
For  say,  that  I  were  kick'd. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  I  must  not  say  so ; 
Nor  I  must  not  hear  it  spoke  by  the  tongue  of  man  : 
You  kick'd,  dear  brother  !  you  are  merry- 

First  Sw.  M.  But  put  the  case,  I  were  kick'd. 

Sec.  Sio.  M.  Let  them  put  it, 
That  are  things  w^eary  of  their  lives,  and  know  not 
Honour  :  put  the  case,  you  were  kick'd  ! 

First  Sw.  M.  I  do  not  say  I  was  kick'd. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  Nor  no  silly  creature  that  wears  his  head 
Without  a  case,  his  soul  in  a  skin-coat : 
You  kick'd,  dear  brother  ! 

lies.  Nay,  gentlemen,  let  us  do  what  we  shall  do, 
Truly  and  honestly :    good  sirs,  to  the  question. 

First  Sw.  M.  ^Vhy,  then,  I  say,  suppose  your  boy  kick'd, 
captain. 

Sec.  Siu.  M.  The  boy  may  be  suppos'd,  he  's  ^  liable  : 
But,  kick  my  brother  ! 

First  Sw.  M.  A  foolish,  forward  zeal,  sir,  in  my  friend. 
But  to  the  boy  :  suppose  the  boy  were  kick'd. 

Bes.  I  do  suppose  it. 

First  Sw.  M.  Has  your  boy  a  sword  I 

Bes.  Surely,  no  ;  I  pray,  suppose  a  sword  too. 

First  Sio.  M.  I  do  suppose  it.     You  grant,  your  boy  was 
kick'd,  then. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  By  no  means,  captain  ;  let  it  be  suppos'd  still  ; 
The  word  '•  grant "  makes  not  for  us. 

^  delivery]  So  the  four  earliest  4tos.     Other  cds.  "  delivering  ;"  ami  so  tlic 
modern  editors,  those  of  1778  excepted. 

"  he's]   So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  '<  is  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 


314  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  iv. 

First  Stc.  M.  I  say,  this  must  be  granted. 

Sec.  Siv.  M.  This  must  be  granted,  brother  ! 

Fi7'sf  Siv.  M.  Ay,  this  must  be  granted. 

Sec.  Sw.  M,  Still  the  b  must ! 

First  Sic.  M.  I  say,  this  must  be  granted. 

Sec.  Sio.  M.  Give ''  me  the  must  again  !  brother,  you  palter. 

First  Sw.  M.  I  will  not  hear  you,  wasp. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  Brother, 
I  say,  you  palter  :  the  must  three  times  together  ! 
I  wear  as  sharp  steel  as  another  man, 
And  my  fox  ^  bites  as  deep  :  musted  ^,  my  dear  brother  ! 
But  to  the  case  f  again. 

Bes.  Nay,  look  you,  gentlemen — 

Sec.  Sio.  M.  In  a  word,  I  ha'  done. 

First  Sw.  M.  A  tall "  man,  but  intemperate ;  'tis  great  pity. 
Once  more,  suppose  the  boy  kick'd. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  Forward. 

First  Sw.  M.  And,  being  throughly  ^  kick'd,  laughs  at  the 
kicker. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  So  much  for  us.     Proceed. 

First  Sw.  M.  And  in  this  beaten  scorn,  as  I  may  call  it, 
Delivers  up  his  weapon  ;  where  lies  the  error  ? 

Bes.  It  lies  i'  the  beating,  sir ;    I  found  it  four  days  since. 

''  the']  So  the  first  4to.  rightly  (see  what  follows).  Other  eds.  "  this  "  ;  and 
so  the  modern  editors. — Theobald  assures  us  that  "  the  poets  here  are  flirting  " 
at  Shakespeare's  Coriolamis — 

"  It  is  a  mind, 
That  shall  remain,"  &c.  &e.     Act  iii.  sc.  1. 
and  that  when  the  First  Sw.  M.  §ays,  "I  will  not  hear  yo\x,tvasp"  there 
is  a  sneer  upon  the  quarrelling  scene  between  Brutus  and  Cassius  iu  Shake- 
speare's Julius  Ccesar,  act  iv.  sc.  3, — where  the  word  "  ivaspish'^   happens 
to  occur  ! 

<=  Give]  So  the  four  earliest  4tos.  Other  eds.  "  I  [xVy],  (/ire  "  ;  and  so  the 
modern  editors. 

•*  fod]  A  familiar  (and  very  common)  term  for  the  old  English  bi-oadsword. 

<^  musted]  May,  perhaps,  be  right ;  but  I  have  felt  strongly  inclined  to  alter 
it  to  "  must," — as  the  early  possessor  of  my  copy  of  the  first  4to.  has  done. 

'  case]  Old  eds.  ' '  cause  "  ;  and  so  the  modem  editox's. 

K  tall]  i.  e.  high-spirited,  bold,  brave. 

'■  throwjhly]  The  4to.  of  1655  and  folio  of  1679  "thorowly";  and  so  the 
modern  editors. 


SCENE  HI.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  Mb 

Sec.  Siv.  M.  The  error,  and  a  sore  one,  as  I  take  it, 
Lies  in  the  thing  kicking. 

Bes.  I  understand  that  well ;  'tis  sore  indeed,  sir. 

First  Sw.  M.  That  is,  according  to  the  man  that  did  it. 

Sec.  S2i\  M.  There  springs  a  new  branch :  whose  was  the  foot  i 

Bes.  A  lord's. 

First  Sw.  M.  The  case  '  is  mighty ;  but,  had  it  been  two  lords, 
And  both  had  kick'd  you.  if  you  laugh\i,  'tis  clear. 

Bes.  I  did  laugh ;  but  how  will  that  help  me,  gentlemen  i 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  Yes,  it  shall  help  you,  if  you  laugh'd  aloud. 

Bes.  As  loud  as  a  kick\l  man  could  laugh,  I  laughM,  sir. 

First  Sic.  M.   My  reason  now  :  the  valiant  man  is  known 
By  suffering  and  contemning  J ;  you  have 
Enough  of  both,  and  you  are  valiant. 

Sec.  Sic.  M.  If  he  be  sure  he  has  been  kicked  enough  ; 
For  that  brave  sufferance  you  speak  of,  brother, 
Consists  not  in  a  beating  and  away, 
But  in  a  cudgell'd  body,  from  eighteen 
To  eight  and  thirty ;  in  a  head  rebuked  '^ 
With  pots  of  all  size,  daggers,  stools,  and  bed-staves  ; 
This  shews  a  valiant  man. 

Bes.  Then  I  am  valiant,  as  valiant  as  the  proudest ; 
For  these  are  all  familiar  things  to  me. 
Familiar  as  my  sleep  or  want  of  money  ; 
All  my  whole  body's  but  one  bruise  with  beating  : 
I  think  I  have  been  cudgell'd  with  all  nations. 
And  almost  all  religions. 

■  case'\  Old  eds.  "  cause  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 

J  contemning']  Theobald  printed,  for  the  raeti'e,  and  against  the  sense,  "  con- 
temning it."  The  probability  is,  that  the  word  "  had  "  has  dropt  out  from 
the  end  of  the  line. 

^  in  a  head  rebuked,  Sfc]  "  There  is  a  pleasant  passage  in  Plautus's  Persian 
about  parasites,  whom  he  styles  hard-headed  fellows,  because  they  had  fre- 
quently things  thrown  at  their  pates. 

His  cognomentum  crat  duris  capitonibus  [i.  2.  8.]. 
Casaubon  has  this  note  upon  the  place.      Olim   inter  alia  instrumcnta  perdili 
luxus,  et  matulcB  in  triclinia  inferri  solitcB  ;  quus  scepe,  nbi  incaluissent,  in 
capita  sibi  invicem  illiserunt.       llinc  dicti  propterea  parasiti,  duri  capitones." 
Sympson. 


316  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  iv. 

Sec.  Siv.  M.  Embrace  him,  brother  :  this  man  is  valiant ; 
I  know  it  by  myself,  he's  valiant. 

First  Sio.  M.  Captain,  thou  art  a  valiant  gentleman  ; 
Abide  upon't,'  a  very  valiant  man. 

Bes.  My  equal  friends  o'  the  sword,  I  must  request 
Your  hands  to  this. 

Sec.  Siv.  M.  'Tis  fit  it  should  be. 

Bes.  Boy, 
Get  me  some  wine,  and  pen  and  ink,  within. —  [  To  Boy  within. 
Am  I  clear,  gentlemen  ? 

First  Sio.  M.  Sir,  when  the  world  has  taken  notice  what  we 
have  done, 
Make  much  of  your  body  ;  for  I'll  pawn  my  steel. 
Men  will  be  coyer  of  their  legs  hereafter. 

Bes.  I  must  request  you  go  along,  and  testify 
To  the  lord  Bacurius,  whose  foot  has  struck  me. 
How  you  find  my  case  '". 

Sec.  Sic.  M.  We  will ;  and  tell  that  lord  he  must  be  ruFd, 
Or  there  be  those  abroad  will  rule  his  lordship.  [Exeimt. 


SCENE  IV. — An  apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  on  one  side  Arbaces,  on  the  other  Gobrias  and  Panthea. 

Gob.  Sir,  here  's  the  princess. 

Arb.  Leave  us,  then,  alone  ; 
For  the  main  cause  of  her  imprisonment 
Must  not  be  heard  by  any  but  herself. —  [Exit  Gobrias. 

You  're  welcome,  sister ;  and  I  would  to  Heaven 
I  could  so  bid  you  by  another  name  ! — 
If  you  above  love  not  such  sins  as  these. 
Circle  my  heart  with  thoughts  as  cold  as  snow, 
To  quench  these  rising  flames  that  harbour  here. 

'  Abide  upon' f]  i.  e.  Depend  upon  it.  The  fu'st  4to.,  "  To  abitle  upon't  "  ; 
which  Tlieobald  gave.  Other  eds.,  "  To  bide  upon  "  ;  and  so  the  Editors  of 
1778  and  Weber. 

'"  case]  Old  eds.  "  cause  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 


SCENE  IV.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  317 

Pan.  Sir,  does  it  please  you  I  should  speak  ? 

Arh.  Please  me ! 
Ay,  more  than  all  the  art  of  music  can, 
Thy  speech  doth  please  me ;  for  it  ever  sounds 
As  thou  brought'st  joyful,  unexpected  news  : 
And  yet  it  is  not  fit  thou  shouldst  be  heard ; 
I  prithee,  think  so. 

Pan.  Be  it  so ;  I  will. 
I  am "  the  first  that  ever  had  a  wrong. 
So  far  from  being  fit  to  have  redress. 
That  'twas  unfit  to  hear  it :   I  will  back 
To  prison,  rather  than  disquiet  you, 
And  wait  till  it  be  fit. 

Arh.  No,  do  not  go, 
For  I  will  hear  thee  with  a  serious  thought ; 
I  have  collected  all  that 's  man  about  me 
Together  strongly,  and  I  am  resolvM 
To  hear  thee  largely  :  but  I  do  beseech  thee, 
Do  not  come  nearer  to  me,  for  there  is 
Something  in  that,  that  will  undo  us  both. 

Pan.  Alas,  sir,  am  I  venom  I 

Arh.  Yes,  to  me ; 
Though,  of  thyself,  I  think  thee  to  bo  in 
As  equal  a  degree  of  heat  or  cold 
As  nature  can  make ;  yet,  as  unsound  men 
Convert  the  sweetest  and  the  nourishing''st  meats 
Into  diseases,  so  shall  I,  distempered. 
Do  thee  :   I  prithee,  draw  no  nearer  to  me. 

Pan.  Sir,  this  is  that  I  would  :   I  am  of  late 
Shut  from  the  world  ;  and  why  it  should  be  thus, 
Is  all  I  wish  to  know. 

Arh.  Why,  credit  me, 
Panthea,  credit  me,  that  am  thy  brother. 
Thy  loving  brother,  that  there  is  a  cause 
Sufficient,  yet  unfit  for  thee  to  know, 

"  /  am'\  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.     Otlier  cds,  "  Am  I  ",•  .ind  so  the  modern 
editors,  Theobald  excepted. 


318  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  iv. 

That  might  undo  thee  everlastingly, 
Only  to  hear.     Wilt  thou  but  credit  this  ? 
By  heaven,  'tis  true  ;  believe  it,  if  thou  canst. 

Pan.  Children  and  fools  are  ever^  credulous, 
And  I  am  both  I  think,  for  I  believe. 
If  you  dissemble,  be  it  on  your  head  ! 
ril  back  unto  my  prison.     Yet,  methinks, 
I  might  be  kept  in  some  place  where  you  are  ; 
For  in  myself  I  find,  I  know  not  what 
To  call  it,  but  it  is  a  great  desire 
To  see  you  often. 

Arh.  Fie,  you  come  in  a  step ;  what  do  you  mean  ? 
Dear  sister,  do  not  so  !  Alas,  Panthea, 
Where  I  am  would  you  be  ?  why,  that's  the  cause 
You  are  iroprison''d,  that  you  may  not  be 
Where  I  am. 

Pan.  Then  I  must  endure  it,  sir. 
Heaven  keep  you  ! 

Arb.  Nay,  you  shall  hear  the  cause  in  short,  Panthea  ; 
And,  when  thou  hear'st  it,  thou  wilt  blush  for  me, 
And  hang  thy  head  down,  like  a  violet 
Full  of  the  morning's  dew.     There  is  a  way 
To  gain  thy  freedom  ;  but  'tis  such  a  one 
As  puts  thee  in  worse  bondage,  and  I  know 
Thou  wouldst  encounter  fire,  and  make  a  proof 
Whether  the  gods  have  care  of  innocence, 
Rather  than  follow  it.    Know,  I?  have  lost, 
The  only  difference  betwixt  man  and  beast, 
My  reason. 

Pan.  Heaven  forbid  ! 

Arh.  Nay,  it  is  gone  ; 
And  I  am  left  as  far  without  a  bound 
As  the  wild  ocean,  that  obeys  the  winds ; 
Each  sudden  passion  throws  me  where  it  lists. 
And  overwhelms  all  that  oppose  my  will. 

"  ever'l  Weber  printed  "  very"  ! 

p  Know,  /]    So  the  two  earliest  4tos.     Other  eds.  "  Know  that  /  "  ;  and  so 
tlie  modern  editor?. 


SCENE  IV.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  319 

I  have  beheld  thee  with  a  lustful  eye ; 

My  heai't  is  set  on  wickedness,  to  act 

Such  sins  with  thee  as  I  have  been  afraid 

To  think  of.     If  thou  dar'st  consent  to  this, 

(Which,  I  beseech  thee,  do  not,)  thou  mayst  gain 

Tliy  liberty,  and  yield  me  a  content : 

If  not,  thy  dwelling  must  be  dark  and  close, 

Where  I  may  never  see  thee ;  for  Heaven  knows, 

That  laid  this  punishment  upon  my  pride, 

Thy  sight  at  some  time  will  enforce  my  madness 

To  make  a  start  e'en  to  thy  ravishing. 

Now  spit  upon  me,  and  call  all  reproaches 

Thou  canst  devise  together,  and  at  once 

Hurl  'em  against  me  ;  for  I  am  a  sickness, 

As  killing  as  the  plague,  ready  to  seize  thee. 

Pan.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  revile  the  king  ! 
But  it  is  true  that  I  shall  rather  choose 
To  search  out  death,  that  else  would  search  out  me, 
And  in  a  grave  sleep  with  my  innocence, 
Than  welcome  such  a  sin.     It  is  my  fate ; 
To  these  cross  accidents  I  was  ordain'd, 
And  must  have  patience ;  and,  but  that  ray  eyes 
Have  more  of  woman  in  'em  than  my  heart, 
I  would  not  weep.     Peace  enter  you  again  ! 

Arh.  Farewell ;  and,  good  Panthea,  pray  for  me, 
(Thy  prayers  are  pure,)  that  I  may  find  a  death, 
However  soon,  before  my  passions  grow. 
That  they  forget  what  I  desire  is  sin  ; 
For  thither  they  are  tending.     If  that  happen. 
Then  I  shall  force  thee,  though  thou  wert  a  virgin 
By  vow  to  Heaven,  and  shall  pull  a  heap 
Of  strange,  yet-uninvented  sin  upon  me. 

Pan.  Sir,  I  will  pray  for  you  ;  yet  you  shall  know 
It  is  a  sullen  fate  that  governs  us  : 
For  I  could  wish,  as  heartily  as  you, 
I  were  no  sister  to  you  ;   I  should  then 
Embrace  your  lawful  love,  sooner  than  health. 

Arb.  Couldst  thou  affect  me,  tlien  i 


320  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  iv. 

Pan.  So  perfectly, 
That,  as  it  is,  I  ne'er  shall  sway  my  heart 
To  like  another. 

Arh.  Then,  I  curse  my  birth. 
Must  this  be  added  to  my  miseries, 
That  thou  art  willing  too  ?  is  there  no  stop 
To  our  full  happiness  but  these  mere  sounds. 
Brother  and  sister  ? 

Pan.  There  is  nothing  else  : 
But  these,  alas,  will  separate  us  more 
Than  twenty  worlds  betwixt  us  ! 

Arb.  I  have  liv'd 
To  conquer  men,  and  now  am  overthrown 
Only  by  words,  brother  and  sister.      Where 
Have  those  words  dwelling  ?  I  will  find  'em  out, 
And  utterly  destroy  'em  ;  but  they  are 
Not  to  be  grasp'd  :  let  'em  be  men  or  beasts, 
And  I  will  cut  'em  from  the  earth ;  or  towns. 
And  I  will  raze  ""em,  and  then  blow  'em  up  ; 
Let  'em  be  seas,  and  I  will  drink  'em  off. 
And  yet  have  unquench'd  fire  left  in  my  breast ; 
Let  'em  be  any  thing  but  merely  voice. 

Pan.  But  'tis  not  in  the  power  of  any  force 
Or  policy  to  conquer  them. 

Arb.  Panthea, 
What  shall  we  do  ?  shall  we  stand  firmly  here, 
And  gaze  our  eyes  out  ? 

Pan.  Would  I  could  do  so  ! 
But  I  shall  weep  out  mine. 

Arb.  Accursed  man  ! 
Thou  bought'st  thy  reason  at  too  dear  a  rate  ; 
For  thou  hast  all  thy  actions  bounded  in 
With  curious''  rules,  when  every  beast  is  free : 
What  is  there  that  acknowledges  a  kindred 
But  wretched  man  I  Who  ever  saw  the  bull 
Fearfully  leave  the  heifer  that  he  lik'd, 
Because  they  had  one  dam  ? 

'1  curious']   i.  e.  scrupulously  strict. 


scENK  IV.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  321 

Pan.  Sir,  I  disturb  you 
And  myself  too  ;  "'twere  better  I  were  gone. 

Arb.  I  will  not  be  so  foolish  as  I  was' ; 
Stay,  we  will  love  just  as  becomes  our  births, 
No  otherwise  :  brothers  and  sisters  may 
Walk  hand  in  hand  together ;  so  will^  we. 
Come  nearer  :  is  there  any  hm't  in  this  ? 

Pan.  I  hope  not. 

Arh.  Faith,  there  is  none  at  all : 
And  tell  me  truly  now,  is  there  not  one 
You  love  above  me  ? 

Pan.  No,  by  heaven. 

Arh.  Why,  yet 
You  sent  unto  Tigranes,  sister. 

Pan.  True, 
But  for  another  :  for  the  truth 

Arb.  No  more  : 
111  credit  thee  ;   I  know  thou  canst  not  lie, 
Thou  art  all  truth. 

Pan.  But  is  there  nothing  else 
That  wo  may  do,  but  only  walk  I    Methinks 
Brothers  and  sisters  lawfully  may  kiss. 

Arh.  And  so  they  may,  Panthea  ;  so  will  we ; 
And  kiss  again  too  :  we  were  scrupulous  * 
And  foolish,  but  wo  will  be  so  no  more. 

Pan.  If  you  have  any  mercy,  let  me  go 
To  prison,  to  my  death,  to  any  thing  : 
I  feel  a  sin  growing  upon  my  blood. 
Worse  than  all  these,  hotter,  I  fear,  than  yours. 

Arh.  That  is  impossible  :  what  should  we  do  ? 

Pan.  Fly,  sir,  for  heaven's  sake. 

Arb.  So  we  must :   away  ! 
Sin  grows  upon  us  more  by  this  delay.     \^Exeunt  sever  ally. 

'  I  will  not  be  so  foolish   as  I  teas]  The  first  4to.  gives  this  liue  to  Panthea  : 
but  compare  the  fourth  speech  of  Arbaces  after  this. 

'  irill]  Altered  by  Weber  to  "  shall  "  ! 

'  irere  scrupuloiis']    So  the  two  earliest  4tos.     Other  eds.  "  were  too  scru- 
pulous ;"  and  so  the  modern  editors,  those  of  1778  excepted. 
VOL.  II.  Y 


322  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — Before  the  Palace. 


Enter  Mardonius  and  Lygones. 

Mar.  Sir,  the  king  has  seen  your  commission,  and  believes 
it ;  and  freely,  by  this  warrant,  gives  you  power  to  visit  prince 
Tigranes,  your  noble  master. 

LyQ'  I  thank  his  grace,  and  kiss  his  hand. 

Mar.  But  is  the  main  of  all  your  business  ended  in  this  ? 

Lyf/.  I  have  another,  but  a  worse  :  I  am  ashamed  ;  it  is  a 
business — 

Mar.  You  seem  "  a  worthy  person,  and  a  stranger  I  am 
sure  you  are  :  you  may  employ  me,  if  you  please,  without  your 
purse  ;  such  offices  should  ever  be  their  own  rewards. 

Lyg.  I  am  bound  to  your  nobleness. 

Mar.  I  may  have  need  of  you,  and  then  this  courtesy, 
If  it  be  any,  is  not  ill  bestowal. 
But  may  I  civilly  desire  the  rest  ? 
I  shall  not  be  a  hurter,  if  no  helper. 

Lyg.  Sir,  you  shall  know  I  have  lost  a  foolish  daughter. 
And  with  her  all  my  patience  ;  pilfer'd  away 
By  a  mean  captain  of  your  king's. 

Mar.  Stay  there,  sir  : 
If  he  have  reacliM  the  noble  worth  of  captain, 
He  may  well  claim  a  worthy  gentlewoman, 
Though  she  were  yours  and  noble. 

Lyg.  I  grant  all  that  too.    But  this  wretched  fellow 
Reaches  no  further  than  the  empty  name 

"  seem]  Old  eds.  "serve";  which  is  altered  to  "  seeme  "  by  the  early 
possessor  of  my  copy  of  the  first  4  to.  ]\Iason  too  had  pointed  out  the  right 
reading  ;  but  Weber  did  not  even  mention  his  note. 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  323 

That  serves  to  feed  him  :  were  he  valiant, 
Or  had  but  in  him  any  noble  nature, 
That  might  hereafter  promise  him  a  good  man, 
My  cares  were  so  much  lighter,  and  my  grave 
A  span  yet  from  me. 

Mai'.  I  confess,  such  fellows 
Be  in  all  royal  camps,  and  have  and  must  be, 
To  make  the  sin  ^  of  coward  more  detested 
In  the  mean  soldier,  that  with  such  a  foil 
Sets  off  much  valour.     By  description, 
I  should  now  guess  him  to  you  ;   it  was  Bessus, 
I  dare  almost  with  confidence  pronounce  it. 

Lyp-  ^Tis  such  a  scurvy  name  as  Bessus  ;  and  now 
I  think,  "'tis  he. 

Mar.  Captain  do  you  call  him  ? 
Believe  me,  sir,  you  have  a  misery 
Too  mighty  for  your  age  :  a  pox  upon  him  ! 
For  that  must  be  the  "•"  end  of  all  his  service. 
Your  daughter  was  not  mad,  sir  ? 

Lyg.  No  ;  would  she  had  been  ! 
The  fault  had  had  more  credit.     I  would  do  somethinff. 

Mar.  I  would  fiiin  counsel  you,  but  to  what  I  know  not. 
He's  so  below  a  beating,  that  the  women 
Find  him  not  worthy  of  their  distaves  ;  and 
To  hang  him  were  to  cast  away  a  rope. 
He  ""s  such  an  airy,  thin,  unbodied  coward. 
That  no  revenge  can  catch  him. 
I  Ml  tell  you,  sir,  and  tell  you  truth ;  this  rascal 
Fears  neither  God  nor  man;  has  been  so  beaten, 
Sufferance  has  made  him  wainscot ;  he  has  had, 
Since  he  was  first  a  slave. 
At  least  three  hmidred  daggers  set  in  's  head, 
As  little  boys  do  new  knives  in  hot  meat ; 
There  ""s  not  a  rib  in  "'s  body,  o'  my  conscience. 
That  has  not  been  thrice  broken  with  dry  beating ; 

'  sinl  Altered  by  the  early  possessor  of  my  copy  of  the  first  4to.  to  "  name." 
"■  the']   Altered  by  Weber  to  "an." 

Y   2 


324  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v. 

And  now  his  sides  look  like  two  wicker  targets, 

Every  way  bended  : 

Children  will  shortly  take  him  for  a  wall, 

And  set  their  stone-bows "  in  his  forehead.     He 

Is  of  so  base  a  sense,  I  cannot  in 

A  week  imagine  what  should  ^  be  done  to  him. 

Zy?//7.   Sure  ^,  I  have  committed  some  great  sin, 
That  this  strange  ^  fellow  should  be  made  my  rod  : 
I  would  see  him ;  but  I  shall  have  no  patience. 

Mar.  'Tis  no  great  matter,  if  you  have  not.     If  a  laming  ^ 
of  him,  or  such  a  toy,  may  do  you  pleasure,  sir,  he  has  it  for 
you ;  and  I  '11  help  you  to  him  :  'tis  no  news  to  him  to  have 
a  leg  broken  or  a  shoulder  out,   with  being  turned  o'   the 
stones  like  a  tansy.     Draw  not  your  sword,  if  you  love  it ;  for, 
on  my  conscience,  his  head  will  break  it :  we  use  him  i'  the 
wars  like  a  ram,  to  shake  a  wall  withal. 
Here  comes  the  very  person  of  him ;  do 
As  you  shall  find  your  temper ;  I  must  leave  you : 
But  if  you  do  not  break  him  like  a  biscuit. 
You  are  much  to  blame,  sir.  [Exit. 

Enter  Bessus  and  two  Sword-men. 

Lyg.  Is  your  name  Bessus  ? 

Bes.  Men  call  me  captain  Bessus. 

Lyg.  Then,  captain  Bessus, 
You  are  a  rank  rascal,  without  more  exordiums, 
A  dirty,  frozen  slave  !  and  with  the  favour 
Of  your  friends  here,  I  will  beat  you. 

Sec.  Sic.  M.  Pray,  use  your  pleasure,  sir ;  you  seem  to  be 
A  gentleman. 

*  sione-boivs]  i.  e.  ci"oss-bows,  which  shoot  stones. 

y  sfiould]  So  tlie  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "shall ;  "  and  so  the  modern  editors. 

^  Sure]  Altered,  for  the  metre,  to  "  Surely  "  by  Theobald, — who,  throughout 
this  scene,  introduced  sundry  variations,  for  which  he  had  not  the  slightest 
authority. 

»  strange']  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.  Omitted  in  other  eds.  Theobald 
printed  "  base  "  ;  and  so  his  successors. 

^  lamingl  Ought  perhaps  to  lie  "  lamming,"  i.  e.  beating, — which  is  undoubt- 
edly the  right  reading  in  scene  thii'd  of  this  act ;  see  p.  330. 


SCENE  I.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  325 

Lyg.  Thus,  captain  Bessiis,  thus  ! 
Thus  twinge  your  nose,  thus  kick  you.  and  thus  tread  you  '^. 

\_Kicks  hhn^  S^r. 

Bes.  I  do  beseech  you,  yield  your  cause,  sir,  quickly. 

Lyg-  Indeed,  I  should  have  told  you  that  first. 

Bes.  I  take  it  so. 

First  Sto.  M.  Captain,  he  should,  indeed  ;   he  is  mistaken. 

Lyg.  Sir,  you  shall  have  it  quickly,  and  more  beating  : 
You  have  stoln  away  a  lady,  captain  Coward, 
And  such  a  one 

Bes.  Hold,  I  beseech  you,  hold,  sir  ! 
I  never  yet  stole  any  living  thing 
That  had  a  tooth  about  it. 

Lyg.  Sir,  I  know  you  dare  lie. 

Bes.   With  none  but  summer-whores,  upon  my  life,  sir : 
My  means  and  manners  never  could  attempt 
Above  a  hedge  or  haycock. 

Lyg.  Sirrah,  that  quits  not  me.     Where  is  this  lady  ? 
Do  that  you  do  not  use  to  do,  tell  truth, 
Or,  by  my  hand.  Til  beat  your  captain's  brains  out. 
Wash  ""em  and  put  'em  in  again  that  will  '^. 

Bes.  There  was  a  lady,  sir,  I  must  confess, 
Once  in  my  charge ;  the  prince  Tigranes  gave  her 
To  my  guard,  for  her  safety.     How  I  us'd  her. 
She  may  herself  report ;  she 's  with  the  prince  now  : 
I  did  but  wait  upon  her  like  a  groom, 
"Which  she  will  testify,  I  am  sure ;  if  not. 
My  brains  are  at  your  service,  when  you  please,  sir, 
And  glad  I  have  'em  for  you. 

Lyg.  This  is  most  likely.     Sir,  I  ask  your  pardon. 
And  am  sorry  I  was  so  intemperate. 

Bes.  Well,  I  can  ask  no  more.  You  would  think  it  stranffe 
now  to  have  me  beat  you  at  first  sight. 

"^  thus  kick  you,  and  thus  tread  you]  So  the  first  4to.  Tlie  sec.  4to. 
*'■  thus  kicke,  and  thus  treade  you."  Other  eds.  "  thus  kick,  thus  tread  you." 
Theob.ikl  i)riiitcd  "  thus  kick,  thus  tread  upon  you  ;  "  and  so  his  successors. 

■'  that  ivill]  Is  obviously  the  right  reading.  Old  eds.  "  that  will  1 "  ;  and  so 
the  modern  editors. 


326  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v. 

Lyg.  Indeed   I   would ;     but  I  know  your    goodness    can 
forget  twenty  beatings  :  you  must  forgive  me. 

Bes.  Yes ;  there's  ray  hand.     Go  where  you  will,  I  shall 
think  you  a  valiant  fellow,  for  all  this. 

Lyg.  ]My  daughter  is  a  whore ; 
I  feel  it  now  too  sensible  ;  yet  I  will  see  her ; 
Discharge  myself  of  ^  being  father  to  her, 
And  then  back  to  my  country,  and  there  die. —  [  Aside. 

Farewell,  captain. 

Ben.  Farewell,  sir,  farewell ; 
Commend  me  to  the  gentlewoman,  I  pray.        SJ^xit  Lygones. 

First  Sw.  M.  How  now,  captain  l  bear  up,  man. 

Bes.  Gentlemen  o'  the  sword,  your  hands  once  more  :   I  have 
Been  kick'd  again  ;  but  the  foolish  fellow  is  penitent. 
Has  ask'd  me  mercy,  and  my  honour's  safe. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.   We  knew  that,  or  the  foolish  fellow  had  better 
Have  kick'd  his  grandsire. 

Bes.  Confirm,  confirm,  I  pray. 

First  Sw.  M.  There  be  our  hands  again. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  Now  let  him  come, 
And  say  he  was  not  sorry,  and  he  sleeps  for  it.  ^ 

Bes.  Alas,  good,  ignorant  old  man  !  let  him  go, 
Let  him  go  ;  these  courses  will  undo  him.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.— A  Prison^. 


Enter  Lygones  and  Bacurius. 

Bac.  My  lord,  your  authority  is  good,  and  I  am  glad  it  is 

so  ;  for  my  consent  would  never  hinder  you  from  seeing  your 

own  king  :   I  am  a  minister,  but  not  a  governor  of  this  state. 

Yonder  is  your  king ;   I'll  leave  you.  \_Exit. 

*  of\  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.  Other  eds.  "  from  "  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 

*  Sec.  Sw.  M.  Noiv  let  him  ....  sleeps  for  it.}  So  the  first  4to.  In  other 
eds.,  the  prefix  having  dropt  out,  this  is  given  to  the  First  Sw.  M. ;  and  so  by  the 
modern  editoi's. 

B  A  Prison']  See  note,  p.  301. 


SCENE  II.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  327 

Enter  Tigranes  and  Spaconia. 
Lyg.  There  he  is, 
Indeed,  and  with  him  my  disloyal  child. 

Tigr.  I  do  perceive  my  fault  so  much,  that  yet, 
Methinks,  thou  shouldst  not  have  forgiven  me. 

Lyg.  Health  to  your  majesty  ! 

Tigi'.  What,  good  Lygones  ! 
Welcome  :  wliat  business  brought  thee  hither  ? 

Lyg.  Several 
Businesses :  my  public  business  will  appear       \^Gwes  a  paper. 
By  this ;  I  have  a  message  to  deliver, 
Which,  if  it  please  1'  you  so  to  authorise, 
Is  an  embassasre  from  the  Armenian  state 
Unto  Arbaces  for  your  liberty  : 
The  offer's  there  set  down  ;  please  you  to  read  it. 

Tigr.  There  is  no  alteration  happened  since 
I  came  thence  ? 

Lrjg.  None,  sir ;  all  is  as  it  was. 

Tigr.  And  all  our  friends  are  well  ? 

Lyg.  All  very  well.  [Tigr\nes  reads. 

Spa.  Though  I  have  done  nothing  but  what  was  good, 
I  dare  not  see  my  father  :  it  was  fault 
Enough  not  to  acquaint  him  with  that  good.  [Aside. 

Lyg.  Madam,  I  should  have  seen  you. 

Spa.  Oh,  good  sir,  forgive  me  ! 

Lyg.  Forgive  you  !  why,  I  am  no  kin  to  you,  am  I  ? 

Spa.  Should  it  be  measur'd  by  my  mean  deserts. 
Indeed  you  arc  not. 

Lyg.  Thou  couldst  prate  unhappily  i 
Ere  thou  couldst  go  ;  would  thou  couldst  do  as  well ! 
And  how  does  your  custom  hold  out  here  ? 

Spa.  Sir? 

Lyg.  Are  you  in  private  still,  or  how  ? 

Spa.  What  do  you  mean  I 

Lyg.  Do  you  take  money  ?  are  you  come  to  sell  sin  yet  i 

h  please]  Tlie  Editors  of  1778  chose  to  print  "  pleases"  ;  and  so  Weber. 
'  unhappily]  i.  e.  mischievously,  waggishly,  wantonly. 


328  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v, 

perhaps  I  can  help    you  to  hberal  chents :    or  has  not  the 

king  cast  you  off  yet  ?    Oh,  thou  vild  J  creature,  whose  best 

commendation  is,  that  thou  art  a  young  whore !  I  would  thy 

mother  had  lived  to  see  this ;  or,  rather,  that  I  had  died  ere 

I  had  seen  it !  Why  didst  not  make  me  acquainted  when  thou 

wert  first  resolved  to  be  a  whore  ? 

I  would  have  seen  thy  hot  lust  satisfied 

More  privately  :  I  would  have  kept  a  dancer, 

And  a  whole  consort  ^  of  musicians, 

In  my  own  house,  only  to  fiddle  thee. 

Spa.  Sir,  I  was  never  whore. 

Lyff.  If  thou  couldst  not 
Say  so  much  for  thyself,  thou  shouldst  be  carted.  '. 

Tiyr.  Lygones,  I  have  read  it,  and  I  like  it ; 
You  shall  deliver  it. 

Lyg.  Well,  sir,  I  will  : 
But  I  have  private  business  with  you. 

Tigr.  Speak,  what  is't  ? 

Lyg.  How  has  my  ago  deserv'd  so  ill  of  you. 
That  you  can  pick  no  strumpets  i'  the  land 
But  out  of  my  breed  ? 

Tigr.  Strumpets,  good  Lygones  ! 

Lyg.  Yes  ;  and  I  wish  to  have  you  know,  I  scorn 
To  get  a  whore  for  any  prince  alive  ; 
And  yet  scorn  will  not  help  :  methinks,  my  daughter 
Might  have  been  spar'd  ;  there  were  enow  besides. 

Tigr.  May  I  not  prosper  but  she''s  innocent 
As  morning  light,  for  me  !  and,  I  dare  swear, 
For  all  the  world. 

Lyg.  Why  is  she  with  you,  then  ? 
Can  she  wait  on  you  better  than  your  man  ? 
Has  she  a  gift  in  plucking  off  your  stockings  I 
Can  she  make  caudles  well,  or  cut  your  corns  ? 
Why  do  you  keep  her  with  you  ?  For  a  queen, 

J  vild]  So  the  three  earliest  4tos.  Other  eds.  "  vile  "  ;  aud  so  the  modera 
editors.     See  note,  vol.  i.  331. 

^  consort}  i.e.  company,  baud.  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  to  "  cou- 
cert." 


SCENE  II.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  329 

I  know,  you  do  contemn  her  ;  so  should  I  ; 
And  every  subject  else  think  much  at  it. 

Tigr.  Let  'em  think  much  ;  but  'tis  more  firm  than  earth, 
Thou  see'^st  thy  queen  there. 

Lyg.  Then  have  I  made  a  ftiir  hand :  I  called  her  whore. 
If  I  shall  speak  now  as  her  father,  I  cannot  choose  but 
greatly  rejoice  that  she  shall  be  a  queen ;  but  if  I  shall 
speak  to  you  as  a  statesman,  she  were  more  fit  to  be  your 
whore. 

Tigr.  Get  you  about  your  business  to  Arbaces ; 
Now  you  talk  idly. 

Lyg.   Yes,  sir,  1  will  go. 
And  shall  she  be  a  queen  I  she  had  more  wit 
Than  her  old  father,  when  she  ran  away  : 
Shall  she  be  a '  queen  I  now,  by  my  troth,  'tis  fine, 
ril  dance  out  of  all  measure  at  her  wedding  ; 
Shall  I  not,  sir  I 

Tigr.  Yes,  marry,  shalt  thou. 

Lyg.  ril  make  tliese  withered  kexes "'  bear  my  body- 
Two  hours  together  above  ground. 

Tigr.  Nay,  go  ; 
My  business  requires  haste. 

Lyg.  Good  Heaven  preserve  you  ! 
You  are  an  excellent  king. 

Spa.  Farewell,  good  father. 

Lyg.  Farewell,  sweet,  virtuous  daughter. 
I  never  was  so  joyful  in  my  life, 
That  I  remember  :  shall  she  be  a  queen  ? 
Now  I  perceive  a  man  may  weep  for  joy  ; 
I  had  thought  they  had  lied  that  said  so.  \^Exit. 

Tigr.  Come,  my  dear  love. 

Spa.  But  you  may  see  another, 
Mav  alter  that  again. 

Tigr.  Urge  it  no  more  : 
I  have  made  up  a  new  strong  constancy, 

'  a]  So  the  first  4to.  Omitted  iu  other  eds.  ;  and  by  the  modern  editoi's. 
But  compare  what  precedes  and  follows. 

"'  kexes}  i.  c.  di-y  stalks  (pi-operly  of  hemlock). 


330  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [aci  v. 

Not  to  be  shook  with  eyes.     I  know  I  have 

The  passions  of  a  man ;  but  if  I  meet 

With  any  subject  that  should  hold  my  eyes 

More  firmly  than  is  fit,  Til  think  of  thee, 

And  run  away  from  it :  let  that  suffice.  \JExeunt. 


SCENE  III. — Aj'oom  in  the  house  o/'Bacurius. 

Enter  Bacurius  and  Servant. 
Bac.  Three  gentlemen  without,  to  speak  with  me  ? 
Serv.  Yes,  sir. 
Bac.  Let  them  come  in. 
Serv.  They  are  enter'd,  sir,  already. 

Enter  Bessus  and  tim  Sword-men. 

T^ac.  Now,  fellows,  your  business  ? — Are  these  the  gentle- 
men? 

Bes.  My  lord,  I  have  made  bold  to  bring  these  gentlemen, 
My  friends  o'  the  sword,  along  with  me. 

Bac.  I  am 
Afraid  you'll  fight,  then. 

Bes.  My  good  lord,  I  will  not ; 
Your  lordship  is  mistaken  ;   fear  not,  lord. 

Bac.  Sir,  I  am  sorry  for't. 

Bes.  1  ask  no  more  in  honour. — Gentlemen, 
You  hear  my  lord  is  sorry. 

Bac.  Not  that  I  have 
Beaten  you,  but  beaten  one  that  will  be  beaten  ; 
One  whose  dull  body  will  require  a  lamming  °, 
As  surfeits  do  the  diet,  spring  and  fall. 
Now,  to  your  sword-men  : 
What  come  they  for,  good  captain  Stockfish  I 

"  lamming']  i.  e.  beating.  The  first  4to.  "  launcing "  (for  which  the  early 
possessor  of  my  copy  has  substituted  "  lamniyng  ").  Other  eds.  "  laming."  In 
justice  to  Weber,  let  me  mention  that  he  alone  of  the  modern  editors  gave  the 
right  reading  here. 


scE.NE  III.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  331 

Bes.  It  seems  your  lordship  has  forgot  my  name. 

Bac.  No,  nor  your  nature  neither  ;  though  they  are 
Things  fitter,  I  must  confess,  for  any  thing 
Than  my  remembrance,  or  any  honest  man's  : 
What  shall  these  billets  do  I  be  piPd  up  in  my  wood-yard  I 

Bes.  Your  lordship  holds  your  mirth  still ;    heaven  con- 
tinue it ! 
But,  for  these  gentlemen,  they  come 

Bac.  To  swear 
You  are  a  coward  :  spare  your  book  ;   I  do  believe  it. 

Bes.  Your  lordship  still  draws  wide  ;  they  come  to  vouch 
Under  their  valiant  hands,  I  am  no  coward. 

Bac.  That  would  be  a  show,  indeed,  worth  seeing.  Sirrah", 
be  wise,  and  take  money  for  this  motion  p  ;  travel  with  it ; 
and  where  the  name  of  Bessus  has  been  known,  or  a  good 
coward  stirring,  'twill  yield  more  than  a  tilting  :  this  will 
prove  more  beneficial  to  you,  if  you  be  thrifty,  than  your 
captainship,  and  more  natural. — Men  of  most  valiant  hands, 
is  this  true  i 

Sec.  Sic.  M.  It  is  so,  most  renownM. 

Bac.  'Tis  somewhat  strange. 

First  Siv.  M.  Lord,  it  is  strange,  yet  true. 
We  have  examin'd,  from  your  lordship's  foot  there 
To  this  man's  head,  the  nature  of  the  beatings ; 
And  we  do  find  liis  honour  is  come  off 
Clean  and  sufficient :  this,  as  our  swords  shall  help  us  ! 

Bac.  You  are  much  bound  to  your  bilbo-men  '^ ; 
I  am  glad  you  are  straight  again,  captain.     'Twere  good 
You  would  think  on''  some  way  to  gratify  them  : 
They  have  undergone  a  labour  for  you,  Bessus, 
Would  have  puzzled  Hercules  with  all  his  valour. 

0  Sirrah]   Theobald  chose  to  print  "  Sii'S  "  ;  and  bo  his  succcssoi-s. 

P  motion']  i.  c.  puppct-sliow. 

'f  bilbo-men']  i.  e.  sword-men. 

'  on]  So  the  folio  of  1679.  Omitted  m  the  4tos.  Theobald  ;(ever 
tamperuig  with  the  text)  printed, 

"  You'd  think  on  some  way  hoio  to  gratify  them  "  : 
and  the  Editoi-s  of  1778  and  Weber,  having  thrown  out  from  the  line  the  "on  " 
of  the  folio,  retained  Theobald's  "  how  ". 


332  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  Your  lordsliip  must  understand  we  are  no  men 
O^  the  law,  that  take  pay  for  our  opinions  ; 
It  is  sufficient  we  have  clear\l  our  friend. 

Bac.  Yet  there  is  something  due,  which  I,  as  touchM 
In  conscience,  will  discharge. — Captain,  I'll  pay 
This  rent  for  you. 

Bes.  Spare  yourself,  my  good  lord  ; 
My  brave  friends  aim  at  nothing  but  the  virtue. 

Bac.  Thafs  but  a  cold  discharge,  sir,  for  their  ^  pains. 

Sec.  Sw.  AL  Oh,  lord  !   my  good  lord  ! 

Bac.  Be  not  so  modest ;   I  will  give  you  something. 

Bes.  They  shall  dine  with  your  lordship  ;  that's  sufficient, 

Bac.  Something  in    hand   the   while.      You   rogues,    you 
apple-squires  \ 
Do  you  come  hither,  with  your  bottled  valour. 
Your  windy  froth,  to  limit  out  my  beatings  ?         [Kicks  them. 

First  Sic.  M.  I  do  beseech  your  lordship  ! 

Sec.  Stv.  M.  Oh,  good  lord  ! 

Bac.  'Sfoot,  what  a  bevy  of  beaten  slaves  are  here  ! — 
Get  me  a  cudgel,  sirrah,  and  a  tough  one.  [^Exit  Servant. 

Sec.  Siv.  M.  More  of  your  foot,  I  do  beseech  your  lordship  ! 

Bac.  You  shall,  you  shall,  dog,  and  your  fellow  beagle. 

First  Sic.  M.  O""  this  side,  good  my  lord  ! 

Bac.  Off  with  your  swords ;  for  if  you  hurt  my  foot, 
ril  have  you  flay'd,  you  rascals. 

Fi7'st  Siv.  M.  Mine's  off,  my  lord. 

Sec.  Siv.  M.  I  beseech  your  lordship,  stay  a  little ;  my  strap's 
Tied  to  my  cod-piece  point :  now,  when  you  please. 

[They  take  off  their  sicords. 

Bac.  Captain,  these  are  your  valiant  friends  !  you  long  for 
a  little  too  ? 

Bes.  I  am  very  well,  I  humbly  thank  your  lordship. 

Bac.  ^Vhat's  that  in  your  pocket  hurts  my  toe,  you  mongrel  ? 
Thy  buttocks  cannot  be  so  hard  ;  out  with't  quickly. 

•  MctV]  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.,  "  the  "  ;  and  so  the  moderu  editors, 
Theobald  excepted. 

'  apple-squires'^  i.  e.  pimps. 


SCENE  III.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  333 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  [takes  out  a  pistol''.]  Here  'tis,  sir  ; 
A  small  piece  of  artillery,  that  a  gentleman, 
A  dear  friend  of  your  lordship's,  sent  me  with 
To  get  it  mended,  sir  ;  for,  if  you  mark. 
The  nose  is  somewhat  loose. 

Bac.  A  friend  of  mine,  you  rascal ! — 
I  was  never  wearier  of  doing  nothing " 
Than  kicking  these  two  foot-balls. 

Re-enter  Servant,  icitk  a  cudgel. 

Serv.  Here's  a  good  cudgel,  sir. 

Bac.  It  comes  too  late  ;  I  am  weary ;  prithee,  do  thou 
beat  them. 

Sec.  Siv.  M.  My  lord,  this  is  foul  play,  i'faith,  to  put 
A  fresh  man  upon  us  :  men  are  but  men,  sir. 

Bac.  That  jest  shall  save  your  bones. — Captain,  rally  up 
your  rotten  regiment,  and  begone. — I  had  rather  thrash  than 
be  bound  to  kick  these  rascals  till  they  cried  ho''! — Bessus, 
you  may  put  your  hand  to  them  now,  and  then  you  are  quit. 
— Farewell :  as  you  like  this,  pray  visit  me  again ;  "'twill  keep 
me  in  good  breath".  [_Exit. 

Sec.  Sic.  M.  H'as  a  devilish  hard  foot ;    I  never  felt  the  like. 

First  Sw.  M.  Nor  I ;  and  yet,  I'm  sure,  I  ha'  felt  a  hundred. 

Sec.  Sw.  M.  If  he  kick  thus  i'  the  dog-days,  ho  will  be  dry- 
founder'd. — 
What  cure  now,  captain,  besides  oil  of  bays  ? 

Bes.  ^Vhy,  well  enough,  I  warrant  you  ;  you  can  go  ? 

Sec.  Sic.  M.  Yes,  Heaven  be  thank'd  !  but  I  feel  a  shrewd 
ache ; 
Sure,  h'  as  sj)rang  my  huckle-bone. 
First  Sio.  M.  I  ha'  lost  a  haunch. 

»  lakes  out  a  pislol]  Was  added  by  Weber.  In  a  copy  of  ed.  177*5  Gifford 
has  queried  "a  sjTinge  ? '' 

"  nothing'\  Theobald  gave,  with  the  folio  of  1679,  "anything." 

"  ho]  The  fii-st  4to.  lias  "  hold  "  :  but  ho,  in  the  sense  of — stop,  hold,  is 
very  common  in  our  early  writers. 

^  breath]  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.  Other  eds.  "  health  "  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editoi-s. 


334  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v. 

Bes.  A  little  butter,  friend,  a  little  butter ; 
Butter  and  parsley  is  a  sovereign  matter : 
Probatum  est. 

Sec.  Siv.  M.  Captain,  we  must  request 
Your  hand  now  to  our  honours. 

Bes.  Yes,  marry,  shall  ye  ; 
And  then  let  all  the  world  come  ;  we  are  valiant 
To  ourselves,  and  there's  an  end. 

First  Sic.  M.  Nay,  then,  we  must 
Be  valiant.     Oh,  my  ribs  ! 

Sec.  Siv.  M.  Oh,  my  small  guts  ! 
A  plague  upon  these  sharp-toed  shoes  !  they  are  murderers. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. — An  apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Are  aces,  with  his  sicord  drawn. 

Arh.  It  is  resolv'd  :   I  bore  it  whilst  I  could  ; 
I  can  no  more.     Hell,  open  all  thy  gates, 
And  I  will  thorough  them  :  if  they  be  shut, 
ril  batter  'em,  but  I  will  find  the  place 
Where  the  most  damn'd  have  dwelling.     Ere  I  end, 
Amongst  them  all  they  shall  not  have  a  sin, 
But  I  may  call  it  mine  :   I  must  begin 
With  murder  of  my  friend,  and  so  go  on 
To  that  incestuous  ravishing,  and  end  . 
My  life  and  sins  with  a  forbidden  blow 
Upon  mj'self. 

Enter  Mardonius. 

Mar.  What  tragedy  is  near  ? 
That  hand  was  never  wont  to  draw  a  sword, 
But  it  cried  '  dead  "*  to  something. 

Arb.  jNIai'donius, 
Have  you  bid  Gobrias  come  I 


SCENE  IV.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  335 

Mar.  How  do  you,  sir  ? 

Arh.  Well.     Is  he  coming  ? 

Mar.  Why,  sir,  are  you  thus  ? 
Why  does  your  hand  ^  proclaim  a  lawless  war 
Against  yourself? 

Arh.  Thou  answer'st  me  one  question  with  another  : 
Is  Gobrias  coming  ? 

Mar.  Sir,  he  is. 

Arh.  'Tis  well : 
I  can  forbear  your  questions,  then  ;  begone. 

Mar.  Sir,  I  have  markM 

Arh.  IMark  less ;  it  troubles  you  and  me. 

Mar.  You  are 
More  variable  than  you  were. 

Arh.  It  may  be  so. 

Mar.  To-day  no  hermit  could  be  humbler  ^ 
Than  you  were  to  us  all. 

Arh.  And  what  of  this  I 

Mar.  And  now  you  take  new  rage  into  your  eyes, 
As  you  would  look  us  all  out  of  the  land. 

Arb.  I  do  confess  it ;  will  that  satisfy  I 
I  prithee,  get  thee  gone. 

Mar.  Sir,  I  will  speak. 

Arh.  Will  ye? 

Mar.  It  is  my  duty. 
I  fear  you  will  kill  yourself  :   I  am  a  subject, 
And  you  shall  do  me  wrong  in't ;  'tis  my  cause, 
And  I  may  speak. 

Arh.  Thou  art  not  train'd  in  sin, 
It  seems,  JSIardonius  :  kill  myself  !  by  heaven, 
I  will  not  do  it  yet ;  and  when  I  will, 
ni  tell  thee ;  then  I  shall  be  such  a  creature, 
That  thou  wilt  give  me  leave  without  a  word. 
There  is  a  method  in  man's  wickedness ; 

y  does  your  hand]  So  all  the  4tos.  The  folio  of  1G70,  "  do  your  hands ''  ;  and 
so  the  modern  editors. 

^  humbler]  To  bo  i-ead  as  a  trisyllable  :  indeed,  the  first  4to.  has  "  humblier"  ; 
and  so  perhaps  the  poet  wi'otc. 


336  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v. 

It  grows  up  by  degrees  ^ :  I  am  not  come 
So  high  as  killing  of  myself ;  there  are 
A  hundred  thousand  sins  'twixt  me  and  it, 
Which  I  must  do  ;   I  shall  '^  come  to't  at  last, 
But,  take  my  oath,  not  now.     Be  satisfied, 
And  get  thee  hence. 

Mar.  I  am  sorry  'tis  so  ill. 

Arb.  Be  sorry,  then  : 
True  sorrow  is  alone  ;  grieve  by  thyself'^. 

Mar.  I  pray  you,  let  me  see  your  sword  put  up 
Before  I  go :   I'll  leave  you  then. 

Arb.  [^sheathing  his  sivord.^  Why,  so. 
What  folly  is  this  in  thee  I  is  it  not 
As  apt  to  mischief  as  it  was  before  ? 
Can  I  not  reach  it,  think'st  thou  ?     These  are  toys 
For  children  to  be  pleas'd  with,  and  not  men. 
Now  I  am  safe,  you  think  :   I  would  the  book 
Of  Fate  were  here  !  my  sword  is  not  so  sure. 
But  I  would  get  it  out,  and  mangle  that. 
That  all  the  Destinies  should  quite  forget 
Their  fix'd  decrees,  and  haste  to  make  us  new 
For  '^  other  fortunes  :  mine  could  not  be  worse. 
Wilt  thou  now  leave  me  ? 

Mar.  Heaven  put  into  your  bosom  temperate  thoughts ! 
ril  leave  you,  though  I  fear. 

Arb.  Go  ;  thou  art  honest.  [Exit  Mardonius. 

Why  should  the  hasty  errors  of  my  youth 

^   There  is  a  method  in  man's  wickedness  ; 
It  grows  up  by  degrees']  "  From  Juvenal's  Satires, 
Nemo  repente  fuit  turpissimus." 

Theobald. 

''  I  shall]  So  the  two  earliest  4tos.,  which  the  Editors  of  1778  rightly  fol- 
lowed. Other  eds.,  "  and  7  sAa/Z " ;  and  so  Weber  (Theobald  chose  to  j)riut, 
"  and  /  shall  come  to't  last  "). 

«  True  sorrow  is  alone;  grieve  by  thyself]  "Evidently  shadowed  out  from 
one  of  Martial's  epigrams  ; 

Ille  dolet  vere  qui  sine  teste  dolet." 

TUEOBALD. 

■•  For]  Theobald  and  the  Editors  of  1 778  gave,  with  the  J5rst  4to., "  Far  ", — 
wrongly  :  in  the  preceding  line  "  new  "  means — new  decrees. 


SCENE  IV.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  .S37 

Be  SO  unpardonable  to  draw  a  sin, 
Helpless,  upon  me  ? 

Enter  Gobrias. 

Gob.  There  is  the  king  ; 
Now  it  is  ripe.  \^Asi({r. 

Arh.  Draw  near,  thou  guilty  man, 
That  art  the  author  of  the  loathed'st  crime 
Five  ages  have  brought  forth,  and  hear  me  speak  : 
Curses  incurable,  and  all  the  evils 
Man's  body  or  his  spirit  can  receive, 
Be  with  thee  ! 

Gob.  Why,  sir,  do  you  curse  me  thus  ? 

Arb.  Why  do  I  curse  thee  !     If  there  be  a  man 
Subtle  in  curses,  that  exceeds  the  rest. 
His  worst  wish  on  thee  !  thou  hast  broke  my  heart. 

Gob.  How,  sir  !  have  I  preserv'd  you,  from  a  child, 
From  all  the  arrows  malice  or  ambition 
Could  shoot  at  you,  and  have  I  this  for  pay  I 

Arb.  'Tis  true,  thou  didst  preserve  me,  and  in  that 
Wert  crueller  than  harden'd  murderers 
Of  infants  and  their  mothers  :  thou  didst  save  me, 
Only  till  thou  hadst  studied  out  a  way 
How  to  destroy  me  cunningly  thyself; 
This  was  a  curious  way  of  torturing. 

Gob.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Arb.  Thou  know\st  the  evils  thou  hast  done  to  me  : 
Dost  thou  remember  all  those  witching  letters 
Thou  sent'st  unto  me  to  Armenia, 
Fill'd  with  the  praise  of  my  beloved  sister, 
Where  thou  extol'dst  her  beauty  i — what  had  I 
To  do  with  that  ?  what  could  her  beauty  be 
To  me  ; — and  thou  didst  write  how  well  she  lov'd  me, — 
Dost  thou  remember  this  I — so  that  I  doted 
Something  before  I  saw  her. 

Gob.  This  is  true. 

Arb.  Is  it  I  and,  when  I  was  return'd,  thou  Icnow'st 
Thou  didst  pursue  it,  till  thou  wound'st  me  in 

VOL.  II.  /. 


338  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v. 

To  such  a  strange  and  unbeliev'd  affection 
As  good  men  cannot  think  on. 

Gob.  This  I  grant ; 
I  think  I  was  the  cause. 

Arh.  Wert  thou  'i  nay,  more, 
I  think  thoU  meant'st  it. 

Gob.  Sir,  I  hate  a  lie  : 
As  I  love  heaven  and  honesty,  I  did  ; 
It  was  my  meaning. 

Arb.  Be  thine  own  sad  judge  ; 
A  further  condemnation  will  not  need  : 
Prepare  thyself  to  die. 

Gob.  Why,  sir,  to  die? 

Arb.  Why  shouldst  thou  live  ?  was  ever  yet  offender 
So  impudent,  that  had  a  thought  of  mercy 
After  confession  of  a  crime  like  this  I 
Get  out  I  cannot  where  thou  hurl'st  me  in  ; 
But  I  can  take  revenge  ;  that's  all  the  sweetness 
Left  for  me. 

Gob.  Now  is  the  time.   [Aside.^ — Hear  me  but  speak. 

Arb.  No.     Yet  I  will  be  far  more  merciful 
Than  thou  wert  to  me  :  thou  didst  steal  into  me, 
And  never  gav'st  me  warning  ;  so  much  time 
As  I  give  thee  now,  had  prevented  me  ^ 
For  ever.     Notwithstanding  all  thy  sins, 
If  thou  hast  hope  that  there  is  yet  a  prayer 
To  save  thee,  turn  and  speak  it  to  thyself. 

Gob.  Sir,  you  shall  know  your  sins,  before  you  do  ""em  : 
If  you  kill  me 

Arb.  I  will  not  stay,  then. 

Gob.  Know, 
You  kill  your  father. 

Arb.  How  ! 

''  prevented  me'\  The  alteration  of  Theobald  (who  states,  untruly,  that  it  is  the 
reading  of  4to.  1G19);  and  so  his  successors.  Old  eds.  "  pret^ented  ihee" — 
which  might,  indeed,  be  explained  to  mean,  '  had  prevented  thee  from  being 
able  to  seduce  my  aflfoctions  into  such  an  unlawful  channel  '  ;  but  which,  I 
apprehend,  every  reader  who  carefully  weighs  the  whole  passage  will  conclude 
to  be  a  mistake  of  the  original  compositor. 


scENKiv.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  339 

Gob.  You  kill  your  father. 

A?'!).  My  father  !     Though  I  know  it  for  a  lie, 
Made  out  of  fear,  to  save  thy  stained  life, 
The  very  reverence  of  the  word  comes  'ci'oss  me, 
And  ties  mine  arm  down. 

Gob.  I  will  tell  you  that 
Shall  heighten  you  again  :  T  am  thy  father ; 
I  charge  thee  hear  me. 

Arb.  If  it  should  be  so, 
As  "'tis  most  false,  and  that  I  should  be  found 
A  bastard  issue,  the  despised  fruit 
Of  lawless  lust,  I  should  no  more  admire 
All  my  wild  passions.     But  another  truth'' 
Shall  be  wrung  from  thee  :  if  I  could  come  by 
The  spirit  of  pain,  it  should  be  pourM  on  thee, 
Till  thou  allow'st  thyself  more  full  of  lies 
Than  he  that  teaches  thee. 

Enter  Arane. 

Ara.  Turn  thee  about : 
I  come  to  speak  to  thee,  thou  wicked  man ; 
Hear  me,  thou  tyrant  ! 

Arb.  I  will  turn  to  thee  : 
Hear  me,  thou  strumpet  !      1  have  blotted  out 
The  name  of  mother,  as  thou  hast  thy  shame. 

A}-a.  My  shame  !     Thou  hast  less  shame  than  any  thing  : 
Why  dost  thou  keej)  my  daughter  in  a  prison  ? 
Why  dost  thou  call  her  sister,  and  do  this  I 

Arb.  Cease,  thou  strange  impudence,  and  answer  quickly  ! 

[Dratv.<!  Jus  srrord. 
If  thou  contemn''st  me,  this  will  ask  an  answer. 
And  have  it. 

Ara.  Help  me,  gentle  Gobrias  ! 

Arb.  Guilt  dare  not  help  guilt :  though  they  grow  together 
In  doing  ill,  yet  at  the  punishment 

'■  anothrr  Iru/h]  "  Does  not  moan  ortp  truth  more  ;  for  Arbacos  supposes 
that  what  Gobrias  had  said  was  false.  Another  truth  is  a  truth  of  a  dillVrent 
nature."     Mason. 

Z  2 


340  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v. 

They  sever,  and  each  flies  the  noise  of  other. 
Think  not  of  help  ;  answer  ! 

Ara.  I  will ;  to  what  ? 

Arh.  To  such  a  thing,  as,  if  it  be  a  truth. 
Think  what  a  creature  thou  hast  made  thyself, 
That  didst  not  shame  to  do  what  I  must  blush 
Only  to  ask  thee.     Tell  me  who  I  ara. 
Whose  son  I  am,  without  all  circumstance  ; 
Be  thou  as  hasty  as  my  sword  will  be. 
If  thou  refusest. 

Ara.   Why,  you  are  his  son. 

Arb.    His   son !    swear,    swear,    thou    worse  than  woman 
damnM  ! 

Ara.  By  all  that's  good,  you  are  ! 

Arb.  Then  art  thou  all 
That  ever  was  known  bad.     Now  is  the  cause 
Of  all  my  strange  misfortunes  come  to  light. 
What  reverence  expect'st  thou  from  a  child, 
To  bring  forth  which  thou  hast  offended  Heaven, 
Thy  husband,  and  the  land  I     Adulterous  witch, 
I  know  now  why  thou  wouldst  have  poison'd  me ; 
I  was  thy  lust,  which  thou  wouldst  have  forgot : 
Then  \  wicked  mother  of  my  sins  and  me, 
Shew  me  the  way  to  the  inheritance 
I  have  by  thee,  which  is  a  spacious  world 
Of  impious  acts,  that  I  may  soon  possess  it. 
Plagues  rot  thee  as  thou  liv'st,  and  such  diseases 
As  use  to  pay  lust  recompense  thy  deed  ! 

Gob.  You  do  not  know  why  you  curse  thus. 

Arh.   Too  well. 
You  are  a  pair  of  vipers  ;  and,  behold, 
The  serpent  you  have  got !     There  is  no  beast, 
But,  if  he  knew  it,  has  a  pedigree 
As  brave  as  mine,  for  they  have  more  descents  ; 
And  I  am  every  way  as  beastly  got. 
As  far  without  the  compass  of  a  law. 
As  they. 

'   Then]  Theobald  ijiivp,  with  the  first  4to.,  "  Thou.'" 


SCENE  IV.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  341 

Am.  You  spend  your  rage  and  words  in  v;iin, 
And  rail  upon  a  guess  :  hear  us  a  little. 

Arh.   No,  1  will  never  hear,  but  talk  away 
My  breath,  and  die. 

Goh.   Why,  but  you  are  no  bastard. 

Arh.  How's  that  I 

Ara.  Nor  child  of  mine. 

Arh.  Still  you  go  on 
In  wonders  to  me. 

Goh.  Pray  you,  be  more  patient ; 
I  may  bring  comfort  to  you. 

Arh.  I  will  kneel,  [KiueU. 

And  hear  with  the  obedience  of  a  child. 
Good  father,  speak  :   I  do  acknowledge  you, 
So  you  bring  comfort. 

Goh.  First  know,  our  last  king,  your  supposed  father, 
Was  old  and  feeble  when  he  married  her. 
And  almost  all  the  land,  as  she,  past  hope 
Of  issue  from  him. 

Arh.  Therefore  she  took  leave 
To  play  the  whore,  because  the  king  was  old  : 
Is  this  the  comfort  I 

Ara.   What  will  you  find  out 
To  give  me  satisfaction,  when  you  find 
How  you  have  injurM  me  I     Let  fire  consume  me. 
If  ever  I  were  whore  ! 

Goh.  Forbear  these  starts. 
Or  I  will  leave  you  wedded  to  despair. 
As  you  are  now.     If  you  can  find  a  temper, 
My  breath  shall  be  a  pleasant  western  wind, 
That  cools  and  blasts  not. 

Arh.  Bring  it  out,  good  father, 
ril  lie,  and  listen  here  as  reverently  [LzV.s-  doion. 

As  to  an  angel :  if  I  breathe  too  loud, 
T'ell  me  ;  for  I  would  be  as  still  as  night. 

Goh.  Oui-  king,  I  say,  was  old  ;  and  this  our  queen 
Desir'd  to  bring  an  heir,  but  yet  her  husband 
She  thought  was  past  it  ;  and  to  be  dishonest. 


342  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v 

I  think,  she  would  not :  if  she  would  have  been, 

The  truth  is,  she  was  watch'd  so  narrowly, 

And  had  so  slender  opportunities, 

She  hardly  could  have  been.     But  yet  her  cunning 

Found  out  this  way  ;  she  feignM  herself  with  child  ; 

And  posts  were  sent  in  haste  throughout  the  land, 

And  God  was  humbly  thank'd  in  every  church, 

That  so  had  bless'd  the  queen,  and  prayers  were  made 

For  her  safe  going  and  delivery. 

She  feign'd  now  to  grow  bigger  ;  and  perceiv'd 

This  hope  of  issue  made  her  fearVl,  and  brought 

A  far  more  large  respect  from  every  man, 

And  saw  her  power  encrease,  and  was  resolv'd, 

Since  she  believ'd  she  could  not  have  't  indeed, 

At  least  she  would  be  thoucrht  to  have  a  child. 

Arb.  Do  1  not  hear  it  well  I  nay,  I  will  make 
No  noise  at  all ;  but,  pray  you,  to  the  point, 
Quick  as  you  can. 

Gob.  Now  when  the  time  was  full 
She  should  be  brought  to  bed,  I  had  a  son 
Born,  which  was  you.     This  the  queen  hearing  of, 
Mov'd  me  to  let  her  have  you  ;  and  such  reasons 
She  shewed  me,  as  she  knew  would  tie " 
My  secrecy  ;  she  swore  you  should  be  king ; 
And,  to  be  short,  I  did  deliver  you 
Unto  her,  and  pretended  you  were  dead. 
And  in  mine  own  house  kept  a  funeral, 
And  had  an  empty  coffin  put  in  earth. 
That  night  the  queen  feign'd  hastily  to  labour, 
And  by  a  pair  of  women  of  her  own. 
Which  she  had  charm'd,  she  made  the  world  believe 
She  was  deliver'd  of  you.     You  grew  up 
As  the  king's  son,  till  you  were  six  years  old  : 
Then  did  the  king  ilie,  and  did  leave  to  me 

s  She  shewed  me,  as  she  knew  tvould  tie']   Theobald,  for  the  metre,  gave, — 
"  She  shew'd  to  me,  as  she  knew  zvell  would  tic." 
The  Editin-s  of  1778  and  Webex-  prhitcd, — 

"She  shewed  me,  as  she  knew  ivc/l  would  tie.'' 


SCENE  IV.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  343 

Protection  of  the  realm  ;   and,  contrary 
To  his  own  expectation,  left  this  queen 
Truly  with  child,  indeed,  of  the  fair  princess 
Panthea.     Then  she  could  have  torn  her  hair  ; 
And  did  alone  to  me,  yet  durst  not  speak 
In  public,  for  she  knew  she  should  be  found 
A  traitor,  and  her  tale  would  have  been  thought 
Madness,  or  any  thing  rather  than  truth. 
This  was  the  only  cause  why  she  did  seek 
To  poison  you,  and  I  to  keep  you  safe  ; 
And  this  the  reason  why  I  sought  to  kindle 
Some  sparks  of  love  in  you  to  fair  Panthea, 
That  she  might  get  part  of  her  right  again. 

Arh.  And  have  you  made  an  end  now  ?  is  this  all  i 
If  not,  I  will  be  still  till  I  be  aged, 
Till  all  my  hairs  be  silver. 

Gob.  This  is  all. 

Arb.  [rising.^  And  is  it  true,  say  you  too,  madam  i 

Ara.  Yes ; 
Heaven  knows,  it  is  most  true. 

Arb.  Panthea,  then,  is  not  my  sister  ? 

Gob.  No. 

Arb.  But  can  you  prove  this  ? 

Gob.  If  you  will  give  consent, 
Else  who  dares  go  about  it  ? 

Arb.  Give  consent  ! 
^V^hy,  I  will  have  'em  all  that  know  it  rack\l 
To  get  this  from  'em. — All  that  wait  without. 
Come  in ;   whate'er  you  be,  come  in,  and  be 
Partakers  of  my  joy ! 

Re-enter  Mardonius,  icith  Bessus,  two  Gentlemen,  and  Attendanls. 

Oh,  you  are  welcome  ! 
Mardonius,  the  best  news  ! — nay,  draw  no  nearer  ; 
They  all  shall  hear  it, — I  am  found  no  king. 

Mar.  Is  that  so  good  news  ? 

Arb.  Yes,  the  happiest  news 
I'hat  e'er  \vat>  heard. 


■344  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v. 

Mar.  Indeed,  'twere  well  for  you 
If  you  might  be  a  little  less  obey'd. 

Arh.  One  call  the  queen. 

Mar.  Why,  she  is  there. 

Arb.  The  queen, 
Mardonius  !  Panthea  is  the  queen. 
And  I  am  plain  Arbaces. — Go,  some  one  ; 
She  is  in  Gobrias'  house.  \^Exit  First  Gentleman. 

Since  I  saw  you, 
There  are  a  thousand  thinofs  deliver'd  to  me 
You  little  dream  of. 

Mar.  So  it  should  seem. — My  lord, 
What  fury's  this  I 

Gob.  Believe  me,  'tis  no  fury  ; 
All  that  he  says  is  truth. 

Mar.  'Tis  very  strange. 

Arb.  Why  do  you  keep  your  hats  off,  gentlemen  ? 
Is  it  to  me  ?  I  swear,  it  must  not  be  ; 
Nay,  trust  me,  in  good  faith,  it  must  not  be  : 
I  cannot  now  command  you  ;  but  I  pray  you, 
For  the  respect  you  bare  me  when  you  took 
Me  for  your  king,  each  man  clap  on  his  hat 
At  my  desire. 

Mar.  We  will :  but '  you  are  not  found 
So  mean  a  man  but  that  you  may  be  cover'd 
As  well  as  we  ;   may  you  not  ? 

Ai'h.  Oh,  not  here  ! 
You  may,  but  not  I,  for  here  is  my  father 
In  presence. 

Mar.  Where? 

Arb.   Why,  there.     Oh,  the  whole  story 
Would  be  a  wilderness,  to  lose  thyself 
For  ever  ! — Oh,  pardon  me,  dear  father, 
For  all  the  idle  and  unreverent  words 
That  I  have  spoke  in  idle  moods  to  you  ! — 

■  huf^  So  the  first  4to.     Omitted  in  otliei*  eds.  ;  and  by  the  modern  editors, 
Theobald  excepted. 


SCENE  IV.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KINO.  3-15 

I  am  Arbaces  ;  we  all  fellow-subjects  ; 
Nor  is  the  queen  Panthea  now  my  sister. 

Bes.  ^^^^y,  if  you  remember,  fellow-subject  Arbaces,  I  told 
you  once  she  was  not  your  sister  ;  ay,  and  she  looked  nothing 
like  you. 

^■Irlj.  I  think  you  did,  good  captain  Bessus. 

Bes.  Here  will  arise  another  question  now  amongst  the 
sword-men,  whether  I  be  to  call  him  to  account  for  beating 
me,  now  he  is  proved  no  king.  \^As/<l('. 

Enter  Lygone.s. 

Mar.  Sir,  here's  Lygones,  the  agent  for  the  Armenian  state. 
Arb.  Where  is  he  ? — I  know  your  business,  good  Lygones. 
Li/ff.  We  must  have  our  king  again,  and  will, 
Arb.  I  knew  that  was  your  business.     You  shall  have 
Your  king  again  ;   and  have  him  so  again 
As  never  king  was  had. — Go,  one  of  you. 
And  bid  Bacurius  bring  Tigranes  hither  ; 
And  bring  the  lady  with  him,  that  Panthea, 
The  queen  Panthea,  sent  me  word  this  morning 
Was  brave  Tigranes**  misti'ess.  [_Exit  Sec.  Gentleman. 

Li/(j.  'Tis  Spaconia. 
Arb.  Ay,  ay,  Spaconia. 
L^ff.  She  is  my  daughter. 
Arb.  She  is  so  :   I  could  now  tell  any  thing 
I  never  heard.     Your  king  shall  go  so  home 
As  never  man  went. 

Mar.  Shall  he  go  on's  head  '( 
Arb.  He  shall  have  chariots  easier  than  air, 
That  I  will  have  invented  ;  and  ne'er  think 
He  shall  pay  any  ransom  :  and  thyself. 
That  art  the  messenger,  shalt  ride  before  him 
On  a  horse  cut  out  of  an  entire  diamond, 
That  shall  be  made  to  go  with  golden  wheels, 
I  know  not  how  yet. 

Z/3//7.   ^Vhy,  I  shall  be  made 
For  ever  !   They  belied  this  king  with  us, 
And  said  he  was  unkind.  [.-/.wV/r. 


346  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  [act  v. 

Arb.  And  then  thy  daughter  ; 
She  shall  have  some  strange  thing  :  we'll  have  the  kingdom 
Sold  utterly  and  put  into  a  toy, 
Which  she  shall  wear  about  her  carelessly, 
Somewhere  or  other. 

Enter  Panthea  tcith  First  Gentleman. 

See,  the  virtuous  queen  I — 
Behold  the  humblest  subject  that  you  have 
Kneel  here  before  you.  [^Kneels. 

Pan.  Why  kneel  you  to  me. 
That  am  your  vassal  ? 

Arh.  Grant  me  one  request. 

Pan.  Alas,  what  can  I  grant  you  I  what  I  can 
I  will. 

Arh.  That  you  will  please  to  marry  me, 
If  I  can  prove  it  lawful. 

Pan.  Is  that  all  ? 
More  willingly  than  I  would  draw  this  air. 

Arh.  [rising.^   I'll  kiss  this  hand  in  earnest. 

Re-enter  Second  Gentleman. 

Sec.  Gent)  Sir,  Tigranes 
Is  coming,  though  he  made  it  strange  '^  at  first 
To  see  the  princess  any  more. 

Arh.  The  queen 
Thou  mean'st. 

Enter  Tigranes  and  Spacoma. 

Oh,  my  Tigranes,  pardon  me  ! 
Tread  on  my  neck  ;   I  freely  offer  it ; 
And,  if  thou  be'st  so  given,  take  revenge. 
For  I  have  injured  thee. 
Tigr.  No  ;   I  forgive, 

J  Sec.  Gent.]  Though  Arbaces  has  sent  to  "  bid  Bacurius  brmg  Tigranes 
hither,"  yet  Bacurius  does  not  make  his  appearance  here.  In  the  first  4to  the 
prefix  to  the  present  speech  is  "Mar." — qy.  if  a  misprint  for  "  Bac."  ?  and 
ought  the  Sec.  Gent,  to  re-enter  with  Tigranes  and  Spaconia  ? 

''  made  it  strange]  i.  e.  made  it  a  matter  of  nicety,  scruple. 


scENK  IV.]  A  KING  AND  NO  KING.  M7 

And  rejoice  more  that  you  have  found  repentance 
Than  I  my  liberty. 

Arb.  Mayst  thou  be  happy 
In  thy  fair  choice,  for  thou  art  temperate  ! 
You  owe  no  ransom  to  the  state  !   Know  that 
I  have  a  thousand  joys  to  tell  you  of, 
Which  yet  I  dare  not  utter,  till  I  pay 
My  thanks  to  Heaven  for  'em.     Will  you  go 
With  me,  and  help  me  I  pray  you,  do. 

T/(/?\   I  will. 

A)'b.  Take,  then,  your  fair  one  with  you  : — and  you,  ([ucen 
Of  goodness  and  of  us,  oh,  give  me  leave 
To  take  your  arm  in  mine  ! — Come,  every  one 
That  takes  delight  in  goodness,  help  to  sing 
Loud  thanks  for  me,  that  I  am  prov\l  no  king  !  [_Exeunt. 


CUPID'S   REVENGE. 


Ciqiids  Revei)(je.  As  it  hath  beene  diners  times  Acted  hy  the  Children  of  her  Maiesties 
ReucU.  Bij  lohn  Fletcher.  London  Printed  by  Thomas  Creede  for  Tosias  Harison,  and  are 
to  bee  solde  at  the  Golden  Anker  in  Pater-Noster-Roiv.    1615.  4to. 

"Weber,  who  certainly  had  not  seen  the  4to.  of  1615,  mentions  one  dated  1625,  the  exist- 
ence of  which  I  disbelieve. 

Cvpids  Revenge.  As  it  was  often  Acted  {with  great  applause)  by  the  Children  of  the 
Reuells. 

r  Fran.  Beavmont       -i 

Wriiten  by  1  ^  I  Gentlemen. 

|_/o.  Fletcher  J 

The  second  Edition.  London:  Printed  for  Thomas  lones,  and  are  to  be  sold  at  his 
Shop  in  Saint  Dunstanes  Churchyard  in  Fleet-street.    1630.  4to. 

Cupids  Revenge,  &c.     The  third  Edition.    London,  Printed  by  A.  M.  1635.  4to. 
In  the  folio  of  1679. 


"  As,"  says  Weber,  "  we  are  informed  by  Oldys  in  his  iMS.  notes  on 
Langbaine  that  this  play  was  acted  at  court  in  101  .'5,  we  may  confidently 
assign  the  date  of  its  original  representation  to  that  year."  This  remark 
only  shews  how  dangerous  it  is  to  be  confident  in  matters  of  such  uncer- 
tainty. An  authentic  document  is  now  before  me,  which  proves  that  the 
present  tragedy  is  of  an  earlier  date  :  a  MS.  Boolce  of  the  Reuelh  records 
that  "  The  Sunday  fFollowing  [after  "  Neweres  night,"  lGll-12]  A  play 
called  Cupids  Reueng"  was  acted  by  the  Children  of  Whitefriars. 

According  to  the  Biographia  Dramatica,  "  it  was  entered  on  the  Sta- 
tioners' books,  April  24,  1G15," — in  which  year  also  it  was  first  printed. 

That  this  drama  was  written  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  conjointly, 
there  is  every  reason  to  believe.  The  Arcadia  furnished  the  ground- 
work of  the  plot  :  and  the  abstract  of  Sidney's  narrative  wliich  was  given 
by  ^V^eber%  I  have  taken  some  pains  to  alter  into  tlie  following  shape. 
"  '  Of  late  there  reigned  a  king  in  Lydia,  who  had,  for  tlie  blessing  of  his 
maiTiage,  this  only  daughter  of  his,  Erona,  a  princess  worthy  for  her 
l)eauty  as  much  praise  as  beauty  may  be  praiseworthy.  This  princess, 
Erona,  l)eing  nineteen  years  of  age,  seeing  the  country  of  Lydia  so  much 
devoted  to  Cupid,  as  that  in  every  place  his  naked  pictures  and  images 
were  superstitiously  adored,  (either  moved  thereunto  by  the  esteeming 
that  could  be  no  godhead  which  could  breed  wickedness,  or  the  shame- 
fast  consideration  of  sucli  nakedness,)  procured  so  much  of  her  father  as 
utterly  to  pull  down  and  defoce  all  those  statues  and  pictures.  'Wliich 
how  terribly  he  punished,  (for  to  that  the  Lydians  impute  it,)  quickly 
after  appeared'''.  J]rona  was  punished  for  tlie  sacrilege  slie  had  com- 
mitted, by  falling  desperately  in  love  with  Antiphilus,  the  son  of  her 
nurse.     Accordingly,  when  her  father  offered  to  wed  her  to  Tiridates, 

"  AVebcr  says  that  Shirlri/  selected  the  same  plot  for  his  tragedy  of  Andromaiui  ■  hut  that 
play  was  certainly  the  work  of  some  other,  and  far  inferior,  drnmntist. 
t'  P.  IJl.td.  l.V»!i. 


352 

king  of  Armenia,  she  refused  it ;  and  neither  the  reported  flight  of 
Antiphilus,  nor  his  pretended  execution,  (another  being  put  to  death 
under  his  name,  while  he  was  kept  in  prison,)  could  divert  her  love. 
When  she  thought  him  dead,  she  endeavoured  to  take  away  her  life,  and 
thus  '  send  her  soul  at  least  to  be  married  in  the  eternal  church  with 
him.'  This  occasioned  the  death  of  her  father,  and  Erona,  inheriting 
the  kingdom,  sought  by  all  means  to  obtain  her  desires  in  a  union  with 
Antiphilus.  '  But  before  she  could  accomplish  all  the  solemnities,' 
Tiridates,  who  was  violently  enamoured  of  her,  and  determined  to  obtain 
her,  invaded  and  wasted  the  country,  and  besieged  her  in  her  best  city. 
Pyrocles  and  Musidorus,  the  princes  of  INIacedon  and  Thessalia,  happen- 
ing to  arrive  there,  gathered  together  '  the  honestest  Lydians '  for  her 
relief,  and  had  defeated  her  adversary,  if  Plangus,  the  cousin  of  Tiri- 
dates and  general  of  his  horse,  had  not  retrieved  the  battle.  The  latter 
then  offered  a  challenge  of  three  princes  in  his  retinue  against  the  two 
princes  and  Antiphilus,  in  order  to  decide  the  war.  Pyrocles  and 
Musidorus  slew  their  adversaries  ;  but  Plangus  took  Antiphilus  prisoner, 
whom  Tiridates  threatened  to  behead  before  the  walls  on  the  third  day 
after,  unless  Erona  should  grant  his  suit.  By  the  valour  of  her  two 
confederates,  her  lover  was  rescued,  and  Tiridates  slain  ;  and  Erona  was 
married  to  Antiphilus,  though  against  the  consent  of  all  her  nobility. 
Plangus  now  returned  to  Armenia.  The  circumstances  which  had  brought 
him  to  take  part  in  the  war  against  Erona  were  these.  He  was  the  only 
son  to  the  king  of  Iberia  by  his  queen,  who  died  soon  after  his  birth. 
He  had  an  intrigue  with  the  wife  of  a  private  citizen  ;  and  his  father 
having  discovered  it,  disguised  himself,  surprised  the  lovers  together,  and 
laid  his  '  threatenings  upon  her,  and  upon  him  reproaches.'  The  prince 
endeavoured  to  pi-oduce  a  more  favourable  opinion  of  her  in  his  father's 
mind,  and  (thinking,  '  if  it  be  ever  lawful  to  lie,  it  is  for  one's  lover ') 
praised  her  chastity  and  resistance  to  his  wishes  so  strongly  that  the  old 
king  fell  violently  in  love  with  her,  and,  sending  his  son  to  subdue  a 
distant  province  which  had  rebelled,  plied  his  suit  so  earnestly,  that  she, 
whose  husband  died  very  opportunely,  became  his  queen,  and  bore  him 
a  son  and  a  daughter.  'When  Plangus  returned,  she  tried  to  induce 
him  to  resume  their  criminal  intercourse  ;  but,  finding  him  absolute  in 
his  refusal,  and  consequently  both  hating  and  fearing  him,  she  resolved 
upon  revenge.  This  she  commenced  by  praising  him  extravagantly  to 
the  king,  and  thus  gradually  awakening  his  jealousy.  She  not  only 
extolled  his  beauty  and  superior  accomplishments,  but  suborned  one  of 
her  servants  to  intimate  the  extreme  affection  of  the  Iberians  to  the 


353 

prince,  and  their  weariness  of  the  old  king's  government.  The  queen 
now  engaged  the  principal  men  of  the  countrj^  to  propose  to  the  king  to 
make  Plangus  joint  ruler  in  the  kingdom.  Plangus  disclaimed  any  wish 
for,  and  refused  to  accept,  such  a  dignity  ;  but  the  old  king  thought  he 
dissembled,  '  and  therefore  delaying  the  desire  of  his  subjects,  attended 
some  fit  occasion  to  lay  hands  upon  his  son,  which  his  wife  brought  thus 
to  pass.'  She  sent  her  accomplice  to  inform  the  prince  that  his  step- 
mother and  certain  noblemen  had,  with  the  consent  of  the  king,  con- 
spired his  destruction.  Plangus  credited  the  story,  but  not  choosing  to 
fly  the  country,  as  he  was  advised,  he  determined  to  wait  and  '  see 
further.'  Upon  this,  his  informer  offered  to  bring  him  that  same  night 
into  a  place  where  he  should  overhear  the  plot  meditated  against  him. 
Plangus,  having  armed  himself  on  account  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
was  accordingly  conducted  into  a  room  adjoining  the  chamber  of  the 
queen.  She  meanwhile,  counterfeiting  extreme  affliction,  '  lay  almost 
grovelling  on  the  floor ' ;  and,  the  king  having  been  summoned  by  her 
attendants,  she  at  last  declared  to  liim  that  she  was  weary  of  her  life,  as 
she  must  either  conceal  his  murder,  or  accuse  his  son,  who  had  besought 
her  to  assist  in  destroj'uig  him,  and  had  assured  her  he  would  marry  her 
afterwards.  Her  accomplice  now  rushed  into  the  chamber,  and  falling 
at  the  king's  feet,  intreated  him  to  save  himself,  for  a  man  with  a  drawn 
sword  was  in  the  next  apartment.  The  king  having  called  the  guard, 
they  found  Plangus,  with  his  sword  in  his  hand,  '  not  naked,  but 
standing  suspiciously  enough  to  one  already  suspicious.'  lie  was  imme- 
diately sent  to  prison,  being  destined  for  death  the  following  morning. 
But  he  was  rescued  by  his  friends  and  followers ;  and  though  he  might 
have  then  revenged  himself  and  obtained  the  crown,  he  chose  rather  a 
voluntary  exile,  and  withdrew  to  the  court  of  his  cousin  Tiridates, 
where  he  remained  '  eleven  or  twelve  years,  ever  hoping  by  his  interces- 
sion and  his  own  desert  to  recover  his  father's  grace  :  at  the  end  of  wliich 
time  the  war  of  Erona  happened.'  His  father,  however,  still  believing 
him  to  be  guilty,  employed  '  that  wicked  servant '  already  mentioned  to 
poison  him  ;  but  the  villain  being  detected  by  the  watchfulness  of 
Plangus's  attendants,  was  taken,  tortured,  and  executed.  Palladius,  the 
son  of  the  new  queen,  was  now  proclaimed  heir  to  the  kingdom  of  Iberia. — 
The  remainder  of  the  story  bears  no  similarity  to  the  plot  of  Cupid's 
Revenge." 

Malone  cites  from  Sir  Henry  Herbert's  Ofiice-book  ;  "  Upon  Iimo- 
cents  night,  the  Qprince]  and  the  duke  of  Brunswyck  being  there, 
Cupids  Revenge,  by  the  Queen  of  Bohemia's  Servants.     Att  AVhitehall. 

VOL.    n.  A   A 


354 

1624,"  Shakespeare  (by  Boswell),  iii,  228.  It  appears  to  have  been  a 
very  popular  play  till  the  suppression  of  the  theatres ;  and  in  The  Wits, 
or  Sport  upon  Sport ",  (see  vol.  i.  200  of  the  present  work,)  is  a  droll 
entitled  TTie  Loyal  Citizens,  taken  from  the  third  scene  of  the  fourth 
act.  After  the  Restoration,  Cupid's  Revenge  seems  to  have  been 
neglected. 

c  The  Catalogue  erroneously  states  that  The  Loyal  Citiseng  is  taken  from  Philaster,  and 
that  the  droll  formed  from  the  latter  play  is  a  portion  of  Cupid's  Revenge. 


THE  PRINTER  TO  THE  READER 


It  is  a  custom  used  by  some  writers  in  this  age  to  dedicate 
their  plays  to  worthy  persons,  as  well  as  their  other  works  ; 
and  there  is  reason  for  it,  because  they  are  the  best  Minervas 
of  their  brain,  and  express  more  purity  of  conceit  in  the  in- 
genious circle  of  an  act  or  scene  than  is  to  be  found  in  the 
vast  circumference  of  larger  volumes,  and  therefore  worthy  an 
answerable  Mecsenas  to  honour  and  be  honoured  by  them. 
But  not  having  any  such  epistle  from  the  author  (in  regard  I 
am  not  acquainted  with  him),  I  have  made  bold  myself, 
without  his  consent,  to  dedicate  this  play  to  the  judicious  in 
general,  of  what  degree  soever ;  not  insinuating  herein  with 
any,  be  they  never  so  great,  that  want  judgment,  for  to  them 
it  belongs  not,  though  they  pay  for  it,  more  than  in  this 
respect,  that,  like  ^sop's  cock,  having  met  with  a  precious 
stone  by  accident,  they  knew  not  the  true  use  thereof,  but 
had  rather  have  a  barleycorn  to  their  humour  than  a  perfect 
diamond.  But  leaving  them  to  their  ignorance,  I  once  again 
dedicate  this  book  to  the  judicious,  some  whereof  I  have  heard 
commend  it  to  be  excellent ;  who,  because  they  saw  it  acted, 
and  knew  what  they  spake,  are  the  better  to  be  beheved  : 
and  for  ray  part,  I  censure  '^  it  thus, — that  I  never  read  a 
better. 

The  Printer  to  the  Header,  &c.]     Prefixed  to  -Ito.  161.">. 
■'  censurel  i.  e.  pass  upiuiou  on. 


A  A  2 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 


Cupid. 

Leontius,  duke  *  of  Lycia. 

Leucippus,  his  son. 

IsMENUs,  his  nephew. 

dorialus. 

Agenor. 

Nisus. 

Telamon. 

TiMANTUS. 

ZoiLus,  a  dwarf. 


NiLO. 

Priest  of  Cupid. 

Citizens,  Gentlemen,  Attendants,  &c. 

HiDASPES,  daughter  to  Leontius. 

Cleophila,   -| 

!    her  attendants. 
Hero,  j 

Bacha  ,  a  widow. 
Urania,  her  daughter. 
Waiting-maids   to   Bacha  and  Ura- 
nia, &c. 


Scene— Z,j/cia. 


*  "  There  is  a  great  and  Irremediable  confusion  in  this  play.  Leontius  is  sometimes  called 
duke,  at  others,  king  of  Lycia ;  Bacha,  after  her  marriage  to  Leontius,  queen  and  duchess, 
and  Leucippus,  prince  and  marquis."    Weber. 


CUPID'S    REVENGE. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — An  apartment  in  the  Palace. 


Enter  Dorialus,  Agenor,  and  Nisus. 

Age.  Trust  me,  my  lord  Dorialus,  I  had  missed  of  this, 
if  you  had  not  called  me;  I  thought  the  princess's  birthday 
had  been  to-morrow. 

Nisus.   Why,  did  your  lordship  sleep  out  the  day  ? 

Dor.  I  marvel  what  the  duke  meant,  to  make  such  an  idle 
vow. 

Nisus.  Idle  !  why  ? 

Dor.  Is't  not  idle,  to  swear  to  grant  his  daughter  any  thing 
she  shall  ask  on  her  birthday  ?  she  may  ask  an  impossible 
thing ;  and  I  pray  Heaven  she  do  not  ask  an  unfit  thing,  at 
one  time  or  other  :  'tis  dangerous  trusting  a  man's  vow  upon 
the  discretion  on's ''  daughter. 

A(/e.  I  wonder  roost  at  the  marquis  her  brother,  who  is 
always  vehemently  forward  to  have  her  desires  granted. 

Dor.  He's  acquainted  with  'em  before. 

Age.  She''s  doubtless  very  chaste  and  virtuous. 

Dor.  So  is  Leucippus  her  brother. 

Nisus.  She's  twenty  year  old ;  I  wonder  she  ask  not  a 
husband. 

^  on's]  Seward  printed  "of  one's"  ;  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber,  "<if 
his."     That  on  was  often  used  for  o/,  has  been  already  observed. 


358  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  i. 

Dor.  That  were  a  folly  in  her,  having  refused  all  the  great 
princes  in  one  part  of  the  world  :  she'll  die  a  maid. 

Age.  She  may  ask  but  once,  may  she  ? 

Nisus.  A  hundred  times  this  day,  if  she  will :  and,  indeed, 
every  day  is  such  a  day  ;  for  though  the  duke  has  vowed  it 
only  on  this  day,  he  keeps  it  every  day  ;  he  can  deny  her 
nothing.  [Cornets  ivithin. 

Enter  Leontitts,  Hidaspes,  Leucippus,  Ismenus,  Timantus, 
and  Telamon. 

Leon.  Come,  fair  Hidaspes  ;  thou  art  duchess  to-day  ; 
Art  thou  prepar'd  to  ask  ?  thou  know'st  my  oath 
Will  force  performance  : — and,  Leucippus,  if 
She  now  ask  aught  that  shall  or  would  have  performance 
After  my  death,  when  by  the  help  of  Heaven 
This  land  is  thine,  accursed  be  thy  race, 
May  every  one  forget  thou  art  my  son, 
And  so  their  own  obedience 

Leuc.  Mighty  sir, 
I  do  not  wish  to  know  that  fatal  hour 
That  is  to  make  me  king  ;  but  if  I  do, 
I  shall  most  hastily  *^,  and  like  a  son, 
Perform  your  grants  to  all,  chiefly  to  her. — 
Remember  that  you  ask  what  we  agreed  upon.  [Aside  to  Hid. 

Leon.  Are  you  prepar'd  ?  then,  speak. 

Hid.  Most  royal  sir,  I  am  prepar'd  ; 
Nor  shall  my  will  exceed  a  virgin's  bounds ; 
What  I  request  shall  both  at  once  bring  me 
[And  you]  ^  a  full  content. 

Leoji.  So  it  ever  does  : 
Thou  only  comfort  of  my  feeble  age. 
Make  known  thy  good  desire,  for  I  dare  swear 
Thou  lovest  me. 

'  hastilt/]  Altered  by  the  modem  editors  to  "  heartily." 

'  And  you]  Mason's  insertion.  I  give  this  speech  according  to  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  old  eds.  The  modern  editors  divide  the  lines  differently.  In  several 
])laces  of  this  play  the  blank  verse  is  irremediably  corrupted  by  the  dropping 
out  of  words. 


SCENE  I]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  359 

Hid.    \kneeling'\  This  is  it  I  beg, 
And  on  my  knees.     The  people  of  your  hind, 
The  Lycians,  are,  through  all  the  nations 
That  know  their  name,  noted  to  have  in  use 
A  vain  and  fruitless  superstition ; 
So  much  more  hateful,  that  it  bears  the  show 
Of  true  religion,  and  is  nothing  else 
But  a  self-pleasing  bold  lasciviousness. 

Leon.  What  is  it  I 

Hid.  Many  ages  before  this. 
When  every  man  got  to  himself  a  trade, 
And  was  laborious  in  that  chosen  course, 
Hating  an  idle  life  far  worse  than  death, 
Some  one  that  gave  himself  to  wine  and  sloth, 
Which  breed  lascivious  thoughts,  and  found  himself 
Contemn'd "  for  that  by  every  painful  man, 
To  take  his  stain  away,  fram'd  to  himself 
A  god,  whom  he  pretended  to  obey. 
In  being  thus  dishonest  ;  for  a  name, 
He  call'd  him  Cupid.     This  created  god 
(Man's  nature  being  ever  credulous 
Of  any  vice  that  takes  part  with  his  blood) '' 
Had  ready  followers  enow  ;  and  since 
In  every  age  they  grew,  especially 
Amongst  your  subjects,  who  do  yet  remain 
Adorers  of  that  drowsy  deity, 
Which  drink  invented  ;  and  the  winged  boy 

K  Contemn'd]  Symson's  conjecture  ;  and  so  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber. 
Seward  printed  "  Condemn'd." — Old  cds.  "  conioynd,"  and  "conjoyn'd." — "  The 
editors  [of  1778]  are  clearly  right  in  reading  Contemn'd  instead  of  Conjoin' d  : 
ever?/  painful  man  means,  every  laborious  man,  who  takes  pains  to  fulfil  the 

duties  of  Ills  profession Seward,  in  his  note,  accuses  the  poets  of  an  outrage 

on  poetical  justice  by  making  this  just  speech  of  Hidaspes  to  be  esteemed  such 
an  act  of  impiety  as  to  involve  the  extirpation  of  her  and  her  family  :  but  he 
surely  must  have  forgot  that  the  Lycians  were  pagans,  that  Cupid  was  their 
tutelar  deity,  and  that  therefore  tliis  just  speech,  as  he  calls  it,  must  have  been 
the  most  horrid  blasphemy,  and  the  subsequent  proceedings  to  which  it  prompted 
highly  sacrilegious."     Mason. 

''  blood]  "  i.  e.  disposition,  or  propensity  of  nature."     Mason. 


360  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  i. 

(For  so  they  call  him)  '  has  his  sacrifices, 

And  these  loose  naked  statues  throuffh  the  land, 

In  every  village  ;  nay,  the  palace 

Is  not  free  from  'em.     This  is  my  request, 

That  these  erected  obscene  images 

May  be  pluckVl  down  and  burnt,  and  every  man 

That  offers  to  'em  any  sacrifice 

May  lose  his  life. 

Leo7i.   [raising  he?']  But  be  advis'd. 
My  fairest  daughter  :  if  he  be  a  god, 
He  will  express  it  upon  thee,  my  child  ; 
Which  Heaven  avert ! 

Leuc.  There  is  no  such  power  ; 
But  the  opinion  of  him  fills  the  land 
With  lustful  sins  :  every  young  man  and  maid, 
That  feel  the  least  desire  to  one  another, 
Dare  not  suppress  it,  for  they  think  it  is 
Blind  Cupid's  motion  ;  and  he  is  a  god  ! 

Leon.  This  makes  our  youth  unchaste.     I  am  resolvM. — 
Nephew  Ismenus,  break  the  statues  down 
Here  in  the  palace,  and  command  the  city 
Do  ^  the  like  :  let  proclamations 
Be  drawn,  and  hastily  sent  through  the  land, 
To  the  same  purpose. 

Ism.  Sir,  I'll  break  down  none 

'  and  the  winged  hoy, 

{For  so  they  call  hhn)  <^c.]  Old  eds. 

"  and  the  winged  Boy, 
(For  so  they  call  him)  has  his  sacrifices. 

These  loose  naked  statues  [1st  4to.  statutes]  through  the  Land, 
And  in  every  Village,  nay  the  Palace 
Is  not  free  from  'em," 
Seward  printed, — 

"  And  these  loose  naked  statues  through  the  land, 
In  every  village  ;  nay,  the  palace'  self"  &c. 

and  so  the  Editors  of  1778.     I  have  followed  him  only  in  removing  "And  " 
from  the  beginning  of  one  line  to  that  of  the  preceding  line, — an  alteration 
which  at  least  gives  a  sense  to  this  corrupted  passage  ;  and  so  Weber. 
J  Do]  The  modern  editore  print  "To  do." 


SCENE  I.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  361 

Myself,  but  FU  deliver  your  command  : 
Hand  Til  have  none  in't,  for  1  like  it  not. 

Leon.  Go,  and  command  it.  [^Exit  Ismenus. 

Pleasure  of  my  life, 
Wouldst  thou  aught  else  ?  make  many  thousand  suits  ; 
They  must  and  shall  be  granted. 

Hid.  Nothing  else. 

Leon.  But  go  and  meditate  on  other  suits  ; 
Some  six  days  hence  I'll  give  thee  audience  again, 
And  by  a  new  oath  bind  myself  to  keep  it : 
Ask  largely  for  thyself:  dearer  than  life, 
In  whom  I  may  be  bold  to  call  myself 
More  fortunate  than  any  in  my  age, 
I  will  deny  thee  nothing. 

Leuc.  'Twas  well  done,  sister. 

\_Exeunt  all  except  Dorialus,  Agexok,  and  Nisus, 

Nisus.  How  like  you  this  request,  my  lords  ?  '^ 

Dor.  I  know  not  yet,  I  am  so  full  of  wonder  : 
We  shall  be  gods  ourselves  shortly. 
An  we  pull  'em  out  of  heaven  o""  this  fashion. 

Age.  We  shall  have  wenches  now  when  we  can  catch  'em, 
An  we  transgress  thus. 

Nisus.  An  we  abuse  the  gods  once,  'tis  a  justice 
We  should  be  held  at  hard  meat.     For  my  part, 
Fll  e'en  make  ready  for  mine  own  affection  ; 
I  know  the  god  incens'd  must  send  a  hardness 
Through  all  good  women's  hearts,  and  then  we  have  brought 
Our  ejrgrs  and  muscadine  to  a  fair  market : 

CO 

Would  I  had  gi'n  an  hundred  pound  for  a  toleration, 
That  I  might  but  use  my  conscience  in  mine  own  house ! 
Dor.  The  duke,  he's  old  and  past  it ;  he  would  never 
Have  brought  such  a  plague  upon  the  land  else  ; 
'Tis  worse  than  sword  and  famine.     Yet,  to  say  truth, 
We  have  deserv'd  it,  we  have  liv\l  so  wickedly, 
Every  man  at  his  livery  ;  and  would  that 

*  lords']  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "  lord  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 
Compare  the  last  two  speeches  of  this  scene. 


362  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  i. 

Would  have  sufficM  us  ! 

We  murmurM  at  this  blessing,  that  'twas '  nothing, 

And  cried  out  to  the  god  for  endless  pleasures  : 

He  heard  us,  and  supplied  us,  and  our  women 

Were  new  still,  as  we  needed  ™  'em ;  yet  we. 

Like  beasts,  still  cried,  "  Poor  men  can  number  their  whores," 

Give  us  abundance  !  "  we  had  it,  and  this  curse  withal. 

Age.  By'r  lady,  we  are  like  to  have  a  long  Lent  on't ; 
Flesh  will  °  be  flesh  now.     Gentlemen,  I  had  rather 
Have  anger'd  all  the  gods  than  that  blind  gunner. 
I  remember,  once  the  people  did  but  slight  him 
In  a  sacrifice  ;  and  what  followed  \  women  kept 
Their  houses,  grew  good  huswives,  honest  forsooth  ! 
Was  not  that  fine  ? 

Wore  their  owti  faces,  though  they  wore  gay  clothes''. 
Without  surveying  ;  and,  which  was  most  lamentable, 
They  lov'd  their  husbands. 

Nisus.  I  do  remember  it  to  my  grief : 
Young  maids  were  as  cold  as  cucumbers,  and  much 
Of  that  complexion ;  bawds  were  abolish'd  ; 
And  (to  which  misery  it  must  come  again) 
There  were  no  cuckolds. 

Well,  we  had  need  pray  "i  to  keep  these  devils'  from  us ; 
The  times  grow  mischievous. — There  he  goes  !   Lord  ! 

An  Attendant,  carrying  an  image  of  Cupid,  jMSses  over  the  stage. 

This  is  a  sacrilege  I  have  not  heard  of : 

Would  I  were  gelt,  that  I  might  not  feel  what  follows  ! 

'  'hens']  Mason's  correction.     Old  eds.  "  was." 

■"   needed]  Old  eds.  "  need." 

"  whores']  Seward's  correction.     Old.  eds.  "woers." 

"  will]  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "  shall "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 

P  though  they  tvore  gay  clothes]  Old  eds.  "  though  they  weare,"  &c.  Seward 
altered  the  passage  to,  "  nay,  they  let  us  wear  gay  clothes  " ;  and  so  his  succes- 
sors gave  it.  The  Rev.  J,  Mitford  would  read,  "  as  though  they  were  gay 
clothes."  These  speeches  come  imder  the  head  of  what  Mi'.  Darley  calls  the 
blank  doggerel  of  our  authors.     Introd.  to  the  Works  of  B.  and  F.  p.  xlvii. 

I  pray]   Weber  printed  "  to  pray.'" 

'  devils]  Qy.  «  evils  "  I 


SCENE  I.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  363 

Age.  And  I  too.     You  shall  see,  within  these  few  years, 
A  fine  confusion  i'  the  country,  mark  it : 
Nay,  an  we  grow  for  to  depose  the  powers, 
And  set  up  Chastity  again, — well,  I  have  done, — 
A  fine  new  goddess  certainly,  whose  blessings 
Are  hunger  and  hard  beds  ! 

Nisus.  This  comes  of  fulness,  a  sin  too  frequent  with  us  : 
T  believe  now  we  shall  find  shorter  commons. 

Dor.  Would  I  were  married  !  somewhat  has  some  savour  ; ' 
The  race  of  gentry  will  quite  run  out,  now 
'Tis  only  left  to  husbands  :  if  younger  sisters 
Take  not  the  greater  charity,  'tis  lawful.' 

Age.  Well,  let  come  what  will  come,  I  am  but  one, 
And  as  the  plague  falls,  I  will  shape  myself: 
If  women  will  be  honest,  Fll  be  sound. 
If  the  god  be  not  too  unmerciful, 
I'll  take  a  little  still,  where  I  can  get  it, 
And  thank  him,  and  say  nothing. 

Nisus.  This  ill  wind  yet  may  blow  the  city  good, 
And  let  them  (if  they  can)  get  their  ovm  children  ; 
They  have  hung  long  enough  in  doubt :  but,  howsoever. 
The  old  way  was  the  surer ;  then  they  had  'em. 

Dor.  Farewell,  my  lords.     Fll  e'en  take  up  what  rent 
I  can  before  the  day  ;  I  fear  the  year 
Will  fall  out  ill. 

Age.  We'll  with  you,  sir  : — and.  Love,  so  favour  us, 
As  we  are  still  thy  servants  !  —  Come,  my  lords  ; 
Let's  to  the  duke,  and  tell  him  to  what  folly 
His  doting  now  has  brought  him.  [Exeunt. 

'  savour]  Weber  chose  to  print  "  favour." 
'  lawful]   Mason  wishes  to  read  ''  awful." 


•UiJ  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  i. 


SCENE  U.— Temple  of  Cupid. 

Enter  Priest,  with  four  young  Men  and  Maidens,  and  Boy. 

Priest.  Come,  my  children,  let  your  feet 
In  an  even  measure  meet, 
And  your  cheerful  voices  rise, 
For  to  present  this  sacrifice 
To  great  Cupid,  in  whose  name 
I  his  priest  begin  the  same. 
Young  men,  take  your  loves  and  kiss  ; 
Thus  our  Cupid  honoured  is  ; 
Kiss  again,  and  in  your  kissing 
Let  no  promises  be  missing  ; 
Nor  let  any  maiden  here 
Dare  to  turn  away  her  ear 
Unto  the  whisper  of  her  love, 
But  give  bracelet,  ring,  or  glove. 
As  a  token  to  her  sweeting 
Of  an  after  secret  meeting. 
Now,  boy,  sing,  to  stick  our  hearts 
Fuller  of  great  Cupid''s  darts. 

[  The  Boy  sings  the  following 

SONG. 

Lovers,  rejoice  !  your  pains  shall  be  rewarded, 
The  god  of  love  himself  grieves  at  your  crying  ; 
No  more  shall  frozen  honour  he  regarded, 
Nor  the  coy  faces  of  a  maid  "  denying  ; 
No  more  shall  virgins  sigh,  and  say  "  We  dare  not, 
For  men  are  false,  and  what  they  do  they  care  not : ' ' 
All  shall  he  well  again  ;  then  do  not  grieve  ; 
Men  shall  be  true,  and  women  shall  believe. 

Lovers,  rejoice  !  what  you  shall  say  henceforth, 
When  you  have  caught  your  sweethearts  in  your  arms, 


"  maid'\  So  the  first  4to ;  and  so  Seward  and  the  Editors  of  1778   (though 
they  had  not  seen  that  4to).     Other  cds.  "  maid's  "  ;  and  so  Weber. 


SCENE  ir]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  365 

It  shall  be  accounted  oracle  and  worth  ; 

No  more  faint-hearted  gh'ls  shall  dream  of  harms,  • 

And  cry  "  They  are  too  young  ;  "  the  god  hath  said, 

Fifteen  shall  make  a  mother  of  a  maid  : 

Then,  wise  men,  pull  your  roses  yet  unblown  ; 

Love  hates  the  too-ripe  fruit  that  falls  alone. 

[/I  measure." 

Enter  Nilo,  Gentlemen,  and  Attendants. 

Nilo.  No  more  of  this  :  here  break  your  rites  for  ever  ; 
The  duke  commands  it  so.     Priest,  do  not  stare  ; 
I  must  deface  your  temple,  though  unwilling, 
And  your  god  Cupid  here  must  make  a  scarecrow, 
For  any  thing  I  know,  or,  at  the  best. 
Adorn  a  chimney-piece. 

Priest.  Oh,  sacrilege  unheard  of  ! 

Nilo.  This  will  not  help  it. — 
Take  down  the  images,  and  away  with  'em'"^^. — 

[^Attendants  take  down.,  and  carry  out  the  images  ofCvpw. 
Priest,  change  your  coat,  you  had  best ;  all  service  now 
Is  given  to  men  ;  prayers  above  their  hearing 
Will  prove  but  babblings  ;  learn  to  lie  and  thrive, 
'Twill  prove  your  best  profession.     For  the  gods. 
He  that  lives  by  ""em  now  must  be  a  beggar  : 
There''s  better  holiness  on  earth,  they  say  ; 
Pray  God  it  ask  not  greater  sacrifice  ! 
Go  home  ; 

And  if  your  god  be  not  deaf  as  well  as  blind. 
He  will  make  some  smoke  for  it. 

[Exeunt  Priest,  young  Men  and  Maidens,  and  Boy. 

Tirst  Gent.  Sir 

Nilo.  Gentlemen, 

"  A  measure']  See  note,  vol.  i.  166. 

*  the  images  -  -  -  -  'em]  So  the  two  first  4tos.  The  third  4 to.,  "their 
images  -  -  -  -  um  "  ;  and  so  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber.  Folio  of  1679, 
" the  image  -  -  -  em"  ;  which  Seward  gave.  I  suspect  (from  the  preceding 
speech  of  Nilo)  that  only  a  single  imago  of  Cupid  is  now  removed,  and  that  the 
right  reading  is,  "  the  image  -  -  -  -  liim," — our  early  printers,  as  we  have  seen 
before,  frequently  confounding  'em  and  him. 


:i6(i  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  i. 

There  is  no  talking  ;  this  must  be  done  and  speedily : 
I  have  commission  that  I  must  not  break. 

Sec.  Gent.  We  are  gone,  to  wonder  what  shall  follow. 

mio.  On 
To  the  next  temple  !  [Exeunt. 

Cornets  within.     Cupid  descends. 

Cupid.  Am  I,  then,  scorn'd  ?  is  my  all-doing  will, 
And  power  that  knows  no  limit  nor  admits  none. 
Now  look'd  into  by  less  than  gods,  and  weakened  ? 
Am  I,  whose  bow  struck  terror  through  the  earth 
No  less  than  thunder,  and  in  this  exceeding 
Even  gods  themselves,  who  kneel "  before  my  altars, 
Now  shook  off  and  contemnM  '•■  by  such  whose  lives 
Are  but  my  recreation  'I     Anger,  rise  ! 
My  sufferance  and  myself  are  made  the  subject 
Of  sins  against  us :  go  thou  out,  displeasure  ! 
Displeasure  of  a  great  god,  fling  ^  thyself 
Through  all  this  kingdom  ;  sow  whatever  evils 
Proud  flesh  is  taking  of  amongst  these  rebels ; 
And  on  the  first  heart  that  despised  ^  my  greatness 
Lay  a  strange  misery,  that  all  may  know 
Cupid"'s  revenge  is  mighty.     With  [tjhis  arrow, 
Hotter  than  plagues  or  ^^  mine  own  anger,  will  I 
Now  nobly  right  myself ;  nor  shall  the  prayers, 
Nor  sweet  smokes  on  my  altars,  hold  my  hand. 
Till  I  have  left  this  a  most  wretched  land.  [Asceiuh. 

"  who  kneel]  Old  eds.  "  whose  knees  "  ;  a  misprint,  which  arose,  I  imagine, 
from  the  eye  of  the  original  compositor  having  caught  "whose"  in  the  following 
line.  The  modern  editors  suppose  a  line  to  have  dropt  out  after  the  present 
one.     Mason  would  read  "  who've  knelt." 

y  contemn\l\  Weber  printed  "  condemn'd  "  ! 

'  fling]  Is  evidently  the  right  reading,  which  Seward  gave  from  Theobald's 
conjecture.  All  the  old  eds.  "flying," — except  4to  1635,  which  has  "fly,"  and 
which  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  followed  ! 

"  heart  that  despised]  So  4to  1635,  rightly  (Hidaspes  being  alluded  to,  and 
the  "  strange  misery  "  meaning  her  passion  for  Zoilus).  Other  eds.,  "  heart  that 
despise."     The  modern  editors  print  "  hearts  that  despise." 

b  or]   The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber,  "  of  "  ! 


SCENE  III.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  367 


SCENE  III. — An  apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Hidaspes  and  Cleophila. 

Hid.  Cleophila,  what  was  he  that  went  hence  ? 
Cleo.  What  means  your  grace  now  ? 
Hid.  I  mean  that  handsome  man, 
That  something  more  than  man,  I  met  at  door. 
Cleo.  Here  was  no  handsome  man. 
Hid.     Come,  he's  some  one 
You  would  preserve  in  private  ;  but  you  want 
Cunning  to  do  it,  and  my  eyes  are  sharper 
Than  yours,  and  can  with  one  neglecting  glance 
See  all  the  graces  of  a  man.     Wlio  was't  ? 
Cleo.  That  went  hence  now  i 
Hid.  That  went  hence  now  ;  ay,  he. 
Cleo.  Faith,  here  was  no  such  one  as  your  grace  thinks : 
Zoilus,  your  brother's  dwarf,  went  out  but  now. 

Hid.  I  think  'twas  he :  how  bravely  he  passM  by  ! 
Is  he  not  grown  a  goodly  gentleman  ? 

Cleo.  A  goodly  gentleman,  madam  !   he  is 
The  most  deformed  fellow  i'  the  land. 

Hid.  Oh,  blasphemy !  he  may  perhaps  to  thee 
Appear  deformed,  for  he  is  indeed 
Unlike  a  man  :  his  shape  and  colours  are 
Beyond  the  art  of  painting  ;  he  is  like 
Nothing  that  we  have  seen,  yet  doth  resemble 
Apollo,  as  I  oft  have  fancied  him, 
NVhcn  rising  from  his  bod  he  stirs  himself, 
And  shakes  day  from  his  hair." 

Cleo.  He  resembles  Apollo's  recorder.'' 
Hid.  Cleophila,  go  send  a  page  for  him, 

«  shakes  day  from  his  hair]  Here  Reed  cites  a  passage  from  Lord  Falkliinds 
j\laTrins;c  Niyht,  whicli  is  merely  a  copy  of  tiic  present  one  ;  and  Mason  i|Uotes 
another  from  Virgil,  which  is  notiiing  to  the  purpose. 

•*  reconler']   "  i.  e.  flageolet."     Weber. 


368  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  i. 

And  thou  shalt  see  thy  error,  and  repent.  .     [Exit  Cleophila. 

Alas,  what  do  I  feel  ?  My  blood  rebels, 

And  I  am  one  of  those  I  us'd  to  scorn : 

My  maiden-thoughts  are  fled  ;  against  myself 

I  harbour  traitors  ;  my  virginity,'^ 

That  from  my  childhood  kept  me  company, 

Is  heavier  than  I  can  endure  to  bear. 

Forgive  me,  Cupid  !  for  thou  art  a  god, 

And  I  a  wretched  creature  :  I  have  sinn'd  ; 

But  be  thou  merciful,  and  grant  that  yet 

I  may  enjoy  what  thou  wilt  have  me  love  !  ^' 

Re-enter  Cleophila  u-ith  Zoilus. 

Cleo.  Zoilus  is  here,  madam. 

Hid.  He's  there  indeed. 
Now  be  thine  own  judge :  see,  thou  worse  than  mad, 
Is  he  deformed  ?  look  upon  those  eyes. 
That  let  all  pleasure  out  into  the  world. 
Unhappy  that  they  cannot  see  themselves  ; 
Look  on  his  hair,  that,  like  so  many  beams, 
Streaking  the  east,  shoot  light  o'er  half  the  world  ; 
Look  on  him  altogether,  who  is  made 
As  if  two  natures  had  contention 
About  their  skill,  and  one  had  brought  forth  him  ! 

Zoilus.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
Madam,  though,  nature  hath  not  given  me 
So  much  as  others  in  my  outward  show, 
I  bear  a  heart  as  loyal  unto  you 
In  this  unsightly  body  (which  you  please 
To  make  your  mirth),  as  many  others  do 
That  are  far  more  befriended  in  their  births  : 
Yet  I  could  wish  myself  much  more  deformM 

"^  traitors;  my  virginity]  Old  eds,.,  ^'  traitors  h\  my  virginity." 
e  uilt  have  me  love]  Old  eds.,  "  wilt  have  me.  Love." — "  As  the  address  is  to 
Love,  a  comma  and  a  great  letter  was  a  material  corruption  here  :  to  ask  Cupid 
to  let  her  enjoy  what  he  would  have  her  enjoy  was  a  ridiculous  request ;  but  to 
let  her  enjoy  what  he  would  have  her  love  is  the  common  prayer  of  all  worship- 
pers of  Cupid."     Sewaud. 


SCENE  III.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  369 

Than  yet  I  am,  so  I  might  make  your  grace 
More  merry  than  you  are.     Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Hid.  Beshrew  me,  then, 
If  I  be  merry  !  but  I  am  content 
Whilst  thou  art  with  me  ;  thou  that  art  my  saint, 
By  hope  of  whose  mild  favour  I  do  live 
To  tell  thee  so.    I  pray  thee,  scorn  me  not : 
Alas,  what  can  it  add  unto  thy  worth 
To  triumph  over  me,  that  am  a  maid 
Without  deceit,  whose  heart  doth  guide  her  tongue, 
Drown'd  in  my  passions  I  yet  I  will  take  leave 
To  call  it  reason,  that  I  dote  on  thee. 

Cleo.  The  princess  is  besides  ^  her  grace,  I  think, 
To  talk  thus  with  a  fellow  that  will  hardly 
Serve  i'  the  dark  when  one  is  drunk.  [Aside. 

Hid.  What  answer  wilt  thou  give  me  ? 

Zoilus.  If  it  please  your  grace  to  jest  on,  I  can  abide  it. 

Hid.  If  it  be  jest  -,  not  to  esteem  my  life 
Compar'd  with  thee  ;  if  it  be  jest  in  me. 
To  hang  a  thousand  kisses  in  an  hour 
Upon  those  lips,  and  take  ""em  off  again  ; 
If  it  be  jest  for  me  to  marry  thee. 
And  take  obedience  on  me  whilst  I  live  ; 
Then  all  I  say  is  jest; 
For  every  part  of  this,  I  swear  by  those 
That  see  ray  thoughts,  I  am  resolv'd  to  do ! 
And  I  beseech  thee,  by  thine  own  white  hand, 
(Which  pardon  me  that  1  am  bold  to  kiss 
With  so  unworthy  lips, )  that  thou  wilt  swear 
To  marry  mo,  as  I  do  hero  to  thee, 
Before  the  face  of  Heaven  ! 

Zoilus.  Marry  you  !  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Hid.  Kill  me,  or  grant  !  wilt  thou  not  speak  at  all  ? 

Zoilus.  Why,  I  will  do  your  will  for  ever. 

Hid.  I  ask  no  more  :  but  let  me  kiss  that  mouth 

'  besides]  The  modern  editors  print  "  beside." 

K  If  it  be  jest,  &c.]  "  This  is  very  like  the  turn  of  a  speech  in  Pliilasler,  '  If 
it  be  love,'  &c.  [see  vol.  i.  239.]  "     Erl.  1778. 
VOL.  II.  u  n 


370  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  i. 

That  is  so  merciful, — that  is  my  will; 
Next,  go  with  me  before  the  king  in  haste, — 
That  is  my  will, — where  I  will  make  our  peers 
Know  that  thou  art  their  better. 

Zoihis.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 
That  is  fine  I  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Cleo.  Madam,  what  means  your  grace  ? 
Consider,  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  to  what 
You  run  madly  ^ :  will  you  take  this  viper 
Into  your  bed  ? 

Hid.  Away  !  hold  off  thy  hands  ! — 
Strike  her,  sweet  Zoilus  ;  for  it  is  my  will, 
Which  thou  hast  sworn  to  do. 

Zoilus.  Away,  for  shame  ! 
Know  you  no  manners  ? — Ha,  ha,  ha  !     [Exit  with  Hidaspes. 

Cleo.  Thou  know'st  none,  I  fear. — 
This  is  just  Cupid's  anger.     Venus,  look 
Down  mildly  on  us  !  and  command  thy  son 
To  spare  this  lady  once,  and  let  me  be 
In  love  with  all,  and  none  in  love  with  me '' !  \^Exit. 


SCENE  IV. — Another  apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Ismenus  and  Timantus. 

Tim.  Is  your  lordship  for  the  wars  this  summer  I 
Ism.  Tiraantus,  wilt  thou  go  with  me  ? 
Tim.  If  I  had  a  company,  my  lord. 
Ism.  Of  fiddlers  ?  thou  a  company  ! 
No,  no  ;  keep  thy  company  at  home,  and  cause  cuckolds  : 

c  madly']  Seward,  for  the  metre,  printed  "  thus  madly." 

•"  In  love  with  all,  and  none  in  love  ivith  ?ne]  "  The  editors  [of  1778]  say 
that  this  is  certainly  corrupt,  and  that  the  conclusion  of  the  prayer  is  a  strange 
one.  But  they  mistake  the  meaning  of  the  faithful  Cleophila,  who  implores 
Venus  to  spare  her  mistress,  and  to  let  all  her  [Cupid's]  vengeance  light  upon 
herself ;  and  considers  the  loving  all  mankind  without  being  beloved  by  any  as 
the  severest  punishment  that  could  be  inflicted  on  her."     Mason. 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  371 

The  wars  will  hurt  thy  face  ;  there's  '  no  semsters, 
Shoemakers,  nor  tailors,  nor  alraond-milk  i'  the  morning, 
Nor  poached  eggs  to  keep  your  worship  soluble, 
No  man  to  warm  your  shirt,  and  blow  your  roses^. 
Nor  none  to  reverence  your  round  lace  breeches. 
If  thou  wilt  needs  go,  and  go  thus,  get  a  case 
For  thy  captainship ;  a  shower  will  spoil  thee  else. 
Thus  much  for  thee. 

Tim.  Your  lordship  's  wondrous  witty  ; 
Very  pleasant,  believe  ""t. 

Enter  Leontius,  Telamon,  Dorialds,  Agenor,  Nisus, 
and  Attendants. 

Leon.  No  news  yet  of  my  son  ? 

21?/.  Sir,  there  be  divers  out  in  search ;  no  doubt 
They'll  bring  the  truth  where  he  is,  or  the  occasion 
That  led  him  hence. 

Tim.  They  have  ^  good  eyes,  then.  ^  Aside. 

Leon.  The  gods  go  with  them  ! — Who  be '  those  that  wait 
there  ? 

Tel.  The  lord  Ismenus,  your  general,  for  his  despatch. 

Leon.  Oh,  nephew,  we  have  no  use  to  employ  your  virtue 
In  our  war ;  now  the  province  is  well  settled. 
Hear  you  aught  of  the  marquis  I 

Ism.  No,  sir. 

Leon.  'Tis  strange  he  should  be  gone  thus ;  these  five  days 
He  was  not  seen. 

Tim.  V\\  hold  my  life,  I  could  bolt  him  in  an  hour.  [Aside. 

Leon.  "Where's  my  daughter  ? 

Dor.  About  the  purging  of  the  temples,  sir. 

I^eon.  She  is  chaste  and  virtuous.     Fetch  her  to  me. 
And  tell  her  I  am  pleasM  to  grant  her  now 
Her  last  request,  without  repenting  me, 

'  there's']  The  modern  editors  print  "  there  are." 

J  roses']  i.  e.  the  (sometimes  preposterously  large  and  costly)  knots  of  ribands 
on  the  shoes. 

^   They  have]   Seward  and  his  successors  print  "  They  must  have." 
'  be]  The  Editors  of  1778  and  Wpber  print  "  are." 

f!  R  2 


372  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  i. 

Be  it  what  it  will.  [Exit  Nisus. 

She  is  wise,  Dorialus, 
And  will  not  press  me  farther  than  a  father. 

Do?'.  I  pray  the  best  ma,y  follow  !  yet,  if  your  grace 
Had  taken  the  opinions  of  your  people, 
At  least  of  such  whose  wisdoms  ever  wake 
About  your  safety,  I  may  say  it,  sir. 
Under  your  noble  pardon,  that  this  change 
Either  had  been  more  honour  to  the  gods, 
Or  I  think  not  at  all.     Sir,  the  princess. 

Enter  Hidaspes,  with  Nisus  arid  Zoilus. 

Leon.  Oh,  my  daughter, 
My  health  !  and  did  I  say  ray  soul,  I  lied  not. 
Thou  art  so  near  me  !  speak,  and  have  whatever 
Thy  wise  will  leads  thee  to.     Had  I  a  heaven. 
It  were  too  poor  a  place  for  such  a  goodness. 

Dor.  What's  here? 

Affe.  An  ape's  skin  stuft,  I  think,  'tis  so  plump. 

Hid.  Sir,  you  have  pass'd  your  word ;  still  be  a  prince, 
And  hold  you  to  it.     AVonder  not  I  press  you  ; 
My  life  lies  in  your  word  ;  if  you  break  that, 
You  have  broke  my  heart.     I  must  ask  that's  my  shame. 
And  your  will  must  not  deny  me  :  now,  for  Heaven, 
Be  not  forsworn. 

Leon.  By  the  gods "",  I  will  not, 
I  cannot  !  were  there  no  other  power 
Than  my  love  called  to  a  witness  of  it. 

Dor.  They  have  much  reason  to  trust  you  have  forsworn 
one  of  'em  out  o'  the  country  already.  [Aside. 

Hid.  Then  this  is  my  request :  this  gentleman — 
Be  not  asham'd,  sir  ;  you  are  worth  a  kingdom. 

Leon.  Id  what  ? 

■n  Bij  the  gods,  ^c]  Such  is  tlic  arrangement  of  this  speech  in  the  old  eds., 
and  bad  enough  it  is  ;  but  I  doubt  if  the  following  would  be  better  ; 
"  By  the  gods,  I  will  not,  I  cannot  ! 
Were  there  no  other  power  than  my  love 
Call'd  to  a  witness  of  it." 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  P73 

Hid.  In  the  way  of  marriage  ".  \ 

Leon.  How ! 

Hid.  In  the  way  of  marriage  :  it  must  be  so  ; 
Your  oath  is  tied  to  Heaven,  as  my  love 
To  him. 

Leon.  I  know  thou  dost  but  try  my  age  ; 
Come,  ask  again. 

Hid.  If  I  should  ask  all  my  lifetime, 
This  is  all  still.     Sir,  I  am  serious  ;   I  must  have 
This  worthy  man,  without  inquiring  why. 
And  suddenly,  and  freely  :  do  not  look 
For  reason  or  obedience  in  my  words ; 
JMy  love  admits  no  wisdom  ;  only  haste 
And  hope  hangs  on  my  fury.     Speak,  sir,  speak  ! 
But  not  as  a  father  ;   I  am  deaf  and  dull  to  counsel ; 
]\Iy"  inflam'd  blood  hears  nothing  but  my  will : 
For  God's  sake,  speak  ! 

Dor.  Here''s  a  brave  alteration  ! 

Nisus.  This  comes  of  chastity  I 

Hid.  Will  not  you  speak,  sir  ? 

Age.  The  god  begins  his  vengeance  :  what  a  sweet  youth 
He  has  sent  us  here,  with  a  pudding  in's  belly  ! 

Leon.  Oh,  let  me  never  speak, 
Or  with  my  words  let  me  speak  out  my  life  ! — 
Thou  power  abus'd,  great  Love,  whose  vengeance  now 
We  feel  and  fear,  have  mercy  on  this  land  ! 

Nisus.  How  does  your  grace  I 

Leon.  Sick  ;  very  sick,  I  hope. 

Dor.  Gods  comfort  you  ! 

Hid.  Will  not  you  speak  I  is  this  your  royal  word  ? 
Do  not  pull  perjury  upon  your  soul  : 
Sir,  you  are  old,  and  near  your  punishment ; 
Remember. 

Leon.  Away,  base  woman  ! 

Hid.  Then  be  no  more  my  father,  but  a  plague 

°  way     of  marriage'^    E(iuivaleiit    to — nian'iage  ;    see    Gilford's   note   on 
Massinger's  IVorks,  iv.  300,  ed.  1813. 

"  My'\   So  the  first  4to.   Omitted  in  other  cds.  ;  and  by  the  modern  editors. 


374  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  i. 

I  am  bound  to  pray  against !   be  any  sin 
May  force  xce  to  despair,  and  hang  myself  ! 
Be  thy  name  never  more  rememberM,  king, 
But  in  example  of  a  broken  faith, 
And  curs'd  even  to  forgetfulness  !  may  thy  land 
Bring  forth  such  monsters  as  thy  daughter  is  ! — 
I  am  weary  of  my  rage. — I  pray,  forgive  me, 
And  let  me  have  him  !  will  you,  noble  sir  ? 

Leon.  Mercy,  mercy.  Heaven  ! — 
Thou  heir  of  all  dishonour,  sham'st  thou  not 
To  draw  this  little  moisture  left  for  life 
Thus  rudely  from  me  ? — Carry  that  slave  to  death  ! 

Zoilus.  For  Heaven's  sake,  sir  !  it  is  no  fault  of  mine 
That  she  wiU  love  me. 

Leon.  To  death  with  him,  I  say  ! 

Hid.  Then  make  haste,  tyrant,  or  Fll  be  before  him  "  ! 
This  is  the  way  to  hell. 

Leon.  Hold  fast,  I  charge  you  ! 
Away  with  him  !  [Exit  Zoilus  tvifh  Attendants. 

Hid.  Alas,  old  man !  death  hath  more  doors  than  one. 
And  I  will  meet  him.  [Exit. 

Leon.  Dorialus,  pray,  see  her  in  her  chamber. 
And  lay  a  guard  about  her.  [Exit  Dorialus. 

The  greatest  curse  the  gods  lay  on  our  frailties 
Is  will  P  and  disobedience  in  our  issues. 
Which  we  beget,  as  well  as  them,  to  plague  us, 
With  our  fond  '^  loves.     Beasts,  you  are  only  blest. 
That  have  that  happy  dulness  to  forget 
AVhat  you  have  made  !  your  young  ones  grieve  not  you  ; 
They  wander  where  they  list,  and  have  their  ways 
Without  dishonour  to  you  ;  and  their  ends 
Fall  on  'em  without  sorrow  of  their  parents, 

°  I'll  be  before  him]  Old  eds.  "  I'll  be  for  him:'  The  Editors  of  1778 
observe  that  "  perhaps  the  original  ran  (which  seems  more  in  our  authore' 
style)  *  I  will  before  him  '."  I  think  not.  When  two  syllables  exactly  the 
same  happen  to  come  together,  one  of  them  is  not  unfrcquently  omitted  by  the 
compositor. 

p  will]  "i.  e.  wilfulness."     Ed.  1778. 

1  fond]  i.  e.  foolish. 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  375 

Or  after  ill  remembrance.     Oh,  this  woman  ! 
Would  I  had  made  myself  a  sepulchre, 
When  I  made  her  ! — Nephew,  where  is  the  prince  ? — 
Pray  God  he  have  not  more  part  of  her  baseness 
Than  of  her  blood  about  him  ! — Gentlemen, 
^Vhere  is  he  ? 

Ism.  I  know  not,  sir  :  h'as  his  ways  by  himself. 
Is  too  wise  for  my  company. 

Leon.  I  do  not  like  this  hiding  of  himself 
From  such  society  as  [fits]  his  person  : 
Some  of  ye  needs  must  know  ■'. 

Ism.  I  am  sure  not  I, 
Nor  have  known  twice  this  ten  days  ;  which,  if  I  were 
As  proud  as  some  of 'em,  I  should  take  scurvily  : 
But  he  is  a  young  man,  let  him  have  his  swinge  ; 

[TiMANTUs  whispers  the  Duke. 

■•Twill  make  him there's  some  good  matter  now  in  hand  : 

How  the  slave  jeers  ^  and  grins  !  the  duke  is  pleas'd  ; 

There's  a  new  pair  of  scarlet  liose '  now,  and  as  much 

Money  to  spare  as  will  fetch  the  old  from  pawn, 

A  hat  and  a  cloak  to  go  out  to-morrow  ; 

Garters  and  stockings  come  by  nature.  [Aside. 

Leon.  Be  sure  of  this. 

Tim.  I  durst  not  speak  else,  sir.  \^Exeunt. 

'  Some  of  ye  needs  must  know}  The  first  4to,  "  Some  of  it  needs  must  yee 
know."  The  second  4to  and  the  folio  of  1679,  "Some  of  it  ye  needs  must 
know."  The  third  4to,  "  Some  of  it  ye  must  iieeds  know."  On  the  superfluous 
"it"  Theobald  founded  his  conjecture  "  fits,"  to  supply  the  deficiency  in  the 
preceding  line,  where  Seward  printed  "suits." 

'  jeers]  Qy.  "  leei's  "  ? 

'  hose]  i.  e.  breeches  (the  stockings  being  mentioned  afterwards). 


376  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  ii 


ACT   II. 

Scene  I. — Temple  o/" Cupid. 


Cornets  within.     Cupid  descends. 
Cupid.  Leucippus,  thou  art  shot  thi-ough  with  a  shaft 
That  will  not  rankle  long,  yet  sharp  enough 
To  sow  a  world  of  helpless  misery 
In  this  unhappy  kingdom.     Dost  thou  think, 
Because  thou  art  a  prince,  to  make  a  part 
Against  my  power  ?  but  it  is  all  the  fault 
Of  thy  old  father,  who  believes  his  age 
Is  cold  enough  to  quench  my  burning  darts  ; 
But  he  shall  know  ere  long  that  my  smart  loose  ^ 
Can  thaw  ice,  and  inflame  the  wither''d  heart 
Of  Nestor :  thou  thyself  art  lightly  struck  ; 
But  his  mad  love  shall  publish  that  the  rage 
Of  Cupid  has  the  power  to  conquer  age.  \^Ascends 


SCENE  II. — A  room  in  the  house  of  Bacha. 

Enter  Bacha  and  Leucippus  \ 
Leuc.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 
Bacha.  Have  you  got  the  spoil 
You  thirsted  for  1     Oh,  tyranny  of  men  ! 
Leuc.  I  pray  thee,  leave. 

'  smart  loose]  The  4to  of  1635  has,  by  a  mispriut,  "  dart  loosed' — which 
reading  is  givou  by  the  modern  editors  !  Loose  is  a  technical  term  for  the 
discharging  of  an  arrow  :  "  the  Archers  terme,  who  is  not  said  to  finish  the 
feate  of  his  shot  before  he  giue  the  loose,  and  deUuer  his  arrow  from  his  bow." 
Puttcnliam's  Arte  of  Enylish  Poesie,  1589,  p.  145. 

'  Enter  Bacha  and  Lcticippus]  The  old  eds.  add,  "  Jiacha,  a  handkcrchcffe 
[to  dry  her  tears]," — a  direction  intended  for  the  performer  of  that  part. 


SCENE  II.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  377 

Bacha.  Your  envy  "  is,  Heaven  knows, 
Beyond  the  reach  of  all  our  feeble  sex : 
What  pain,  alas,  could  it  have  been  to  you, 
If  I  had  kept  mine  honour  ?  you  might  still 
Have  been  a  prince,  and  still  this  country's  heir  : 
That  innocent  guard  which  I  till  now  had  kept 
For  my  defence,  my  virtue,  did  it  seem 
So  dangerous  in  a  state,  that  yourself^' 
Came  to  suppress  it  I 

Leuc.  Dry  thine  eyes  again  ; 
I'll  kiss  thy  tears  away  :  this  is  but  folly  ;  \ 

'Tis  past  all  help.  J^' 

Bacha.  Now  you  have  won  the  treasure,  /    ; 

'Tis  my  request  that  you  would  leave  me  thus, 
And  never  see  these  empty  walls  again  : 
I  know  you  will  do  so  ;  and  well  you  may, 
For  there  is  nothing  in  'em  that  is  worth 
A  glance.     I  loathe  myself,  and  am  become 
Another  woman ;  one,  methinks,  with  whom 
I  want  acquaintance. 

Leuc.  If  I  do  offend  thee, 
I  can  be  gone  ;  and  though  I  love  thy  sight, 
So  highly  do  I  prize  thine  own  content, 
That  I  will  leave  thee. 

Bacha.  Nay,  you  may  stay  now  ; 
You  should  have  gone  before  :   I  know  not  now 
Why  I  should  fear  you ;  all  I  should  have  kept 
Is  stoln,  nor  is  it  in  the  power  of  man 
To  rob  me  farther  ;  if  you  can  invent, 
Spare  not :  no  naked  man  fears  robbing  less 
Than  I  do  ;  now  you  may  for  ever  stay. 

Leuc.  Why,  I  could  do  thee  farther  wrong. 

Bacha.  You  have  a  deeper  reach  in  evil  than  I ; 
'Tis  past  my  thought  ^''. 

"  envy']  i.  e.  malice. 

»  i/ourself]  Tlic  niodcru  editors  print  "  you  yourself." 

**   thouyht]  So   the   first  -Ito.     Utlier  cds.  "thoughts":  and  so  the  inoderii 
editors. 


378  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [aci  ii. 

Leuc.  And  past  my  will  to  act ; 
But,  trust  me,  I  could  do  it. 

Baclia.  Good  sir,  do  ; 
That  I  may  know  there  is  a  wrong  beyond 
What  you  have  done  me. 

Leuc.  I  could  tell  the  ^  world 
What  thou  hast  done. 

Baclia.  Yes,  you  may  tell  the  world  ; 
A  nd  do  you  think  I  am  so  vain  to  hope 
You  will  not  \  you  can  tell  the  world  but  this, 
That  I  am  a  widow,  full  of  tears  in  show, 
(My  husband  dead,  and  one  that  lov'd  me  so, 
Hardly  a  week,)  forgot  my  modest}', 
And,  caught  with  youth  and  greatness,  gave  myself 
To  live  in  sin  with  you  :  this  you  may  tell ; 
And  this  I  do  deserve. 

Leuc.  Why,  dost  thou  think  me 
So  base  to  tell  ?  these  limbs  of  mine  shall  part 
From  one  another  on  a  rack, 
Ere  I  disclose.     But  thou  dost  utter  words 
That  much  afflict  me  ;  you  did  seem  as  ready, 
Sweet  Bacha,  as  myself. 

Baclia.  You  are  right  a  man  ; 
When  they  have  witch'd  us  into  misery. 
Poor  innocent  souls,  they  lay  the  fault  on  us. 
But  be  it  so  :  for  prince  Leucippus'  sake, 
I  will  bear  any  thing. 

Leuc.  Come,  weep  no  more ; 
I  wrought  thee  to  it ;  it  was  my  fault : 
Nay,  see  if  thou  wilt  leave  !     Here,  take  this  pearl, — 
Kiss  me,  sweet  Bacha, — and  receive  this  purse. 

\Gives  pearl  and  purse. 

Baclia.  What  should  I  do  with  these?  they  will  not  deck 
My  mind. 

Leuc.  Why,  keep  'em  to  remember  me. 
I  must  be  gone  ;   I  have  been  absent  long ; 

>■  /Ae]  So  the  first  -Ito.     Otlior  eds.  "all  the  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 


SCENE  n.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  379 

I  know  the  duke  my  father  is  in  rage  : 
But  I  will  see  thee  suddenly  again. 
Farewell,  my  Bacha  ! 

Bacha.  Gods  keep  you  !     Do  you  hear,  sir  ? 
Pray,  give  me  a  point  ■  to  wear. 

Leuc.  Alas,  good  Bacha  ! 
Take  one,  I  pray  thee,  where  thou  wilt. 

Bacha.  [taking  a  point  from  his  dress].  Coming 
From  you,  this  point  is  of  as  high  esteem 
With  me  as  all  pearl  and  gold.     Nothing  but  good 
Be  ever  with  or  near  you  ! 

Leiic.  Fare  thee  well, 
Mine  own  good  Bacha  !     I  will  make  all  haste.  [Exit. 

Bacha.  Just  as  you  are  a  dozen  ^  I  esteem  you  ; 
No  more.     Does  he  think  I  would  prostitute 
Myself  for  love  ?  it  was  the  love  of  these 
Pearls  and  gold  that  won  me.     I  confess 
I  lust  more  after  him  than  any  other,  Jj/ 

And  would  at  any  rate,  if  I  had  store,  /     i^.  '  ' 

Purchase  his  fellowship  ;  but  being  poor, 
I'll  both  enjoy  his  body  and  his  purse, 
And,  he  a  prince,  ne'er  think  myself  the  worse. 

Enter  Leontics,  with  Leucippus,  Ismenus,  and  Timantus. 

Leon.  Nay,  you  must  back,  and  shew  us  what  it  is 
That  witches  you  out  of  your  honour  thus. 

Bacha.  Who's  that  i 

Tim.  Look  there,  sir  ! 

Leon.  Lady,  never  fly  ; 
You  are  betray'd. 

Bacha.  Leave  me,  my  tears,  a  while. 
And  to  my  just  rage  give  a  little  place  ! — 
AVhat  saucy  man  are  you,  that  without  leave 
Enter  upon  a  widow's  mournful  house  ? 
You  hinder  a  dead  man  from  many  tears, 

y  point]  See  note,  p.  197. 

'  dozenl  Mason  would  read  "  donor  "  ;  which   Weber  might  well  say  "  has 
a  very  tame  sound." 


380  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  ii. 

Who  did  deserve  more  than  the  world  can  shed, 

Though  they  should  weep  themselves  to  images. 

If  not  for  love  of  me,  yet  of  yourself, 

Away  !  for  you  can  bring  no  comfort  to  me  ; 

But  you  may  carry  hence  you  know  not  what ; 

Nay,  sorrow  is  infectious. 
Leon.  Thou  thyself 

Art  grown  infectious.     Wouldst  thou  know  my  name, 

I  am  the  duke,  father  to  this  young  man 

Whom  thou  corrupt'st. 

Bacha.  Has  he,  then,  told  him  all  ?  [Aside. 

Leuc.   You  do  her  wrong,  sir. 

Bacha.   Oh,  he  has  not  told. —  [Aside. 

Sir,  I  beseech  you  pardon  my  wild  tongue,  [Kneels. 

Directed  by  a  weak  distemperM  head, 

Madded  with  grief !  Alas,  I  did  not  know 

You  were  my  sovereign  !  but  now  you  may 

Command  my  poor  unworthy  life,  which  will 
Be  none,  I  hope,  ere  long. 

Leon.  All  thy  dissembling 
AVill  never  hide  thy  shame  :  and  were''t  not  more 
Respecting  womanhood  in  general 
Than  any  thing  in  thee,  thou  should  st  be  made 
Such  an  example,  that  posterity. 
When  they  would  speak  most  bitterly,  should  say, 
"  Thou  art  as  impudent  as  Bacha  was." 

Bacha.  Sir,  though  you  be  my  king,  whom  I  will  serve 
In  all  just  causes,  yet  when  wrongfully 

You  seek  to  take  mine  honour,  I  will  rise  [Rises. 

Thus,  and  defy  you  ;  for  it  is  a  jewel 
Dearer  than  you  can  give,  which  whilst  I  keep, 
(Though  in  this  lowly  house,)  I  shall  esteem 
Myself  above  the  princes  of  the  earth 
That  are  without  it.     If  the  prince  your  son, 
Whom  you  accuse  me  with,  know  how  to  speak 
Dishonour  of  me,  if  he  do  not  do  it. 
The  plagues  of  hell  light  on  him  !  may  he  never 
Govern  this  kingdom  !     Here  I  challenge  him. 


SCENE  II.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  381 

Before  the  face  of  Heaven,  my  Ucgc,  and  these 
To  speak  the  worst  he  can  :  if  he  will  lie 
To  lose  a  woman\s  fame,  I'll  say  he  is 
Like  you, — I  think  I  cannot  call  him  worse. 
He's  dead,  that  with  his  life  would  have  defended 
My  reputation,  and  I  forc\l  to  play 
(That  which  I  am) "  the  foolish  woman, 
And  use  my  liberal  tongue. 

Leuc.  Is't  possible  ? 
We  men  are  children  in  our  carriages, 
Compar'd  with  women.     Wake  thyself,  for  shame, 
And  leave  not  her  (whose  honour  thou  shouldst  keep 
Safe  as  thine  own)  alone  to  free  herself ! 
But  I  am  pressed,  I  know  not  how,  with  guilt. 
And  feel  my  conscience  (never  us'd  to  lie) 
Loath  to  allow  ray  tongue  to  add  a  lie 
To  that  too  much  I  did  :  but  it  is  lawful 
To  defend  her,  that  only  for  my  love 
LovM  evil.  \^A!iide. 

Leon.  Tell  me,  why  did  you,  Leucippus, 
Stay  here  so  long  ? 

Leuc.  If  I  can  urge  aught  from  me  but  a  truth. 
Hell  take  me  !  [Aside. 

Leon.  What's  the  matter  I  why  speak  you  not  I 

Tim.  Alas,  good  sir,  forbear  to  urge  the  prince  ! 
You  see  his  shamefaccdness. 

Bacha.  What  does  he  say,  sir? — If  thou  be  a  prince, 
Shew  it,  and  tell  the  truth. 

Ism.  If  you  have  lain  with  her,  tell  your  father  ; 
No  doubt  but  he  has  done  as  ill  before  now  : 
The  gentlewoman  will  be  proud  on't. 

Bacha.  For  God's  sake,  speak  ! 

Leuc.  Have  you  done  prating  yet  ? 

Ism.  Who  prates  I 

"  {That  ii'hich  I  am),  I'vic]  The  poet  probably  wrote  "{That  ti'hirh  I  am 
indeed),"  &c.  Seward  and  the  Editors  of  1778  (contrary  to  the  old  eds.)  make 
this  line  end  with  "  and  use. '^— Liberal  means  -  licentiously  free. 


382  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  ii. 

Leiic.  Thou  know'st  I  do  not  speak  to  thee,  Ismeniis  :  — 
But    what    said     you,    Timantus,    concerning    my    shame- 
faced ness  ? 

Tim.  Nothing,  I  liope,  that  might  displease  your  highness. 

Leuc.  If  any  of  thy  great-great-grandmothers, 
This  thousand  years,  had  been  as  chaste  as  she. 
It  would  have  made  thee  honester  :   I  stay'd 
To  hear  what  you  would  say.     She  is,  by  Heaven, 
Of  the  most  strict  and  blameless  chastity 
That  ever  woman  was  ; — good  gods,  forgive  me  !  —       \^  Aside. 
Had  Tarquin  met  with  her,  she  had  been  kilFd 
With  a  slave  by  her  ere  she  had  agreed. 
I  lie  with  her  !  would  I  might  perish,  then  ! 
Our  mothers,  whom  we  all  must  reverence, 
Could  ne'er  exceed  her  for  her  chastity, 
Upon  my  soul  !  for,  by  this  light,  she  is 
A  most  obstinate  modest  creature  ! 

Leon.  What  did  you  with  her,  then,  so  long,  Leucippus  I 

Leuc.  I'll  tell  you,  sir  :  you  see  she's  beautiful. 

Leon.  I  see  it  well. 

Leuc.  ]Mov'd  by  her  face,  I  came 
With  lustful  thoughts  (which  was  a  fault  in  me. 
But,  telling  truth,  something  more  pardonable. 
And  for  the  world  I  will  not  lie  to  you)  ; 
Proud  of  myself,  I  thought  a  prince's  name 
Had  power  to  blow  'em  down  flat  of '^  their  backs, 
But  here  I  found  a  rock  not  to  be  shook  ; 
For,  as  I  hope  for  good,  sir,  all  the  battery 
That  I  could  lay  to  her,  or  of  my  person. 
My  greatness,  or  gokK,  could  nothing  move  her. 

Leon.  'Tis  very  strange,  being  so  young  and  fair. 

Leuc.  She's  almost  thirty,  sir. 

Leon.  How  do  you  know 
Her  age  so  just? 

Leuc.  She  told  it  me  herself, 

''  of]  i.  c.  on.     Altered  by  tlie  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  to  "o'." 

•■■  gold]  Seward  printed  "my  gold ;  "  and  so  probably  the  author  wrote. 


SCENE  II.] 


CUPID'S  REVENGE.  383 


Once  when  she  went  about  to  shew  by  reason 
I  should  leave  wooing  her. 

Leon.  She  stains  '^  the  ripest  virgins  of  the  ^  age. 
Leuc.  If  I  had  sinnM  with  her,  I  would  be  loath 
To  publish  her  disgrace  ;  but,  by  ray  life, 
I  would  have  told  it  you,  because  I  think 
You  would  have  pardon'd  me  the  rather,  sir  ^ : 
And  I  will  tell  you  farther  ^ ;  by  this  light, 
(But  that  I  never  will  bestow  myself 
But  to  your  liking)  if  she  now  would  have  me, 
I  now  would  marry  her. 

Leon.  How's  that,  Leucippus  ? 
Leuc.  Sir,  will  you  pardon  me  one  fault,  which  yet 
I  have  not  done,  but  had  a  will  to  do. 
And  I  will  tell  it  \ 

Leon.  Be  it  what  it  will, 
I  pardon  thee. 

Leuc.  I  offered  marriage  to  her. 
Leo7i.  Did  she  refuse  it  I 
Leuc.  With  that  earnestness, 
And  almost  scorn  to  think  of  any  other 
After  her  lost  mate,  that  she  made  me  think 
Myself  unworthy  of  her. 
Leon.  You  have  stay'd 
Too  long,  Leucippus. 

Leuc.  Yes,  sir. — Forgive  me,  Heaven  ! 
What  multitudes ''  of  oaths  have  I  bestow'd 
On  lies  !   and  yet  they  were  officious  lies ', 
There  was  no  malice  in  'em.  [Aside. 

<"  She  stains]  "  i.  e.  she  makes  them  look  faded  [sullied]  by  the  superior  lustre 
of  her  beauty."     Mason, 

'  the]  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "  her  "  ;  and  so  the  modem  editors. 

'  sir]  Evidently  belongs  to  this  line.  Old  eds.  place  it  at  the  end  of  the  next  ; 
and  so  the  modern  editors.  Seward,  finding  the  present  line  too  short,  printed, — 
"  Yoti  would  have  pardon'd  me  the  rather  for  it." 

K  farther]  So  Seward  rightly  jirintcd  from  Theobald's  and  Sympson's  correc- 
tion ;  and  so  Weber.     The  Editors  of  1778  gave,  with  the  old  eds.,  "father." 

>•  multitudes]  So  the  first  4 to.  Other  eds.  "  multitude"  ;  and  so  the  modern 
editors. 

'  officious  lies]  i.  e.  lies  uttered  with  a  kind  intention. 


384  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  ii. 

Leon.  She  is  the  fairest 
Creature  that  ever  I  beheld  ;  and  then 
So  chaste,  "'tis  wonderful :  the  more  I  look  on  her, 
The  more  I  am  amazed.     I  have  long 
Thought  of  a  wife,  and  one  I  would  have  had. 
But  that  I  was  afraid  to  meet  a  woman 
That  might  abuse  my  age  :  but  here  she  is 
Whom  I  may  trust  to ;  of  a  chastity 
Impregnable,  and  approvVl  J  so  by  my  son  ; 
The  meanness  of  her  birth  will  still  preserve  her 
In  due  obedience  ;  and  her  beauty  is 
Of  force  enough  to  pull  me  back  to  youth. 
My  son  once  sent  away,  whose  rivalship 
I  have  just  cause  to  fear,  if  power,  or  gold. 
Or  wit,  can  win  her  to  me,  she  is  mine. —  [Aside. 

Nephew  Ismenus,  I  have  new  intelligence 
Your  province  is  vmquiet  still. 

Ism.  I'm  glad  on't. 

Leon.  And  so  dangerously,  that  I  must  send 
The  prince  in  person  with  you. 

Ism.  I'm  glad  of  that  too  : 
Sir,  will  you  despatch  us  ?  we  shall  wither  here 
For  ever. 

Leo7i.  You  shall  be  despatched  within 
This  hour. — Leucippus,  never  wonder,  nor  ask  ; 
It  must  be  thus. — Lady,  I  ask  your  pardon. 
Whose  virtue  I  have  slubberVl  with  my  tongue ; 
And  you  shall  ever  be 
Chaste  in  my  memory  hereafter :    but 
We  old  men  often  dote.    To  make  amends 
For  my  great  fault,  receive  that  ring  :  [Gives  ring. 

I'm  sorry  for  your  grief;  may  it  soon  leave  you  ! — 
Come,  my  Icixls  ;  let 's  be  gone. 

Bacha.  Heaven  bless  your  grace  ! 

[Exeunt  all  except  Bacha. 
One  that  had  but  so  much  modesty  left  as  to  blush, 
Or  shrink  a  little  at  his  first  encounter, 

J  approv'd]   i.  e.  proved. 


SCENE  III.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  385 

Had  been  undone  ;  where  ^  I  come  off  with  honour, 

And  gain  too  :  they  that  never  would  be  tracked 

In  any  course  by  the  most  subtle  sense, 

Must  bear  it  through  with  frontless  impudence.  [_Exit. 


SCENE  III.— Before  the  Palace. 

Enter  Dorialtis,  Agenor,  and  Nisus. 

Dor.  Gentlemen,  this  is  a  strange  piece  of  justice,  to  put  the 
wretched  dwarf  to  death  because  she  doted  on  him  :  is  she 
not  a  woman,  and  subject  to  those  mad  figaries'  her  whole 
sex  is  infected  with  I  Had  she  loved  you,  or  you,  or  I,  or  all 
on"'s,  (as  indeed  the  more  the  merrier  still  with  them,)  must 
we  therefore  have  our  heads  pared  with  a  hatchet  ?  So  she 
may  love  all  the  nobility  out  o'  the  dukedom  in  a  month,  and 
let  the  rascals  in. 

Nisus.  You  will  not,  or  you  do  not,  see  the  need 
That  makes  this  just  to  the  world. 

Dor.  I  cannot  tell ;   I  would  be  loath  to  feel  it : 
But,  the  best  is,  she  loves  not  proper  men  ; 
We  three  were  in  wise  cases  else.     But  make  me  know 
This  need. 

Nisus.  Why,  yes  :  he  being  taken  away, 
This  base  incontinence  dies  presently, 
And  she  must  see  her  shame,  and  sorrow  for  it. 

Dor.  Pray  God  she  do  !  But  was  the  sprat  beheaded  I  or 
did  they  swing  him  about  like  a  chicken,  and  so  break  his 
neck? 

j4ffe.  Yes,  he  was  beheaded,  and  a  solemn  justice  made 
of  it. 

Dor.  That  might  have  been  deducted. 

Af/e.  Why,  how  would  you  have  had  him  die  ? 

^  where]   i.  e.  whereas.  '  figarics']   i.  e.  vagaries. 

VOL.   II.  C  C 


386  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  ii. 

Bar.  Faith,  I  would  have  had  him  roasted,  Hke  a  warden," 
in  a  brown  paper,  and  no  more  talk  on't ;  or  a  feather  stuck 
in's  head  like  a  quail ;  or  ha'  hanged  him  in  a  dog-collar. 
What  should  he  be  beheaded  ?  we  shall  have  it  grow  so  base 
shortly,  gentlemen  will  be  out  of  love  with  it. 

Nisus.  I  wonder  from  whence  this  [race]  of  the  dwarfs  °  first 
sprung  ? 

Dor.  From  an  old  lecherous  pair  of  breeches,  that  lay  upon 
a  wench  to  keep  her  warm ;  for  certainly  they  are  no  man's 
work :  and  I  am  sure  a  monkey  would  get  one  of  the  guard 
to  P  this  fellow  ;  he  was  no  bigger  than  a  small  portmanteau, 
and  much  about  that  making,  ift  had  legs. 

Age.  But,  gentlemen,  what  say  you  to  the  prince  ? 

Nisus.  Ay,  concerning  his  being  sent  I  know  not  whither. 

Dor.  Why,  then,  he  will  come  home  I  know  not  when. 
You  shall  pardon  me ;  I'll  talk  no  more  of  this  subject,  but 
say,  Gods  be  with  him,  where'er  he  is,  and  send  him  well 
home  again  !  for  why  he  is  gone,  or  when  he  will  return,  let 
them  know  that  directed  him  :  only  this,  there's  mad  raoris- 
coes  1  in  the  state  ;  but  what  they  are,  I'll  tell  you  when  I 
know.     Come,  let's  go,  hear  all,  and  say  nothing. 

Age.   Content.  [^Exeunt. 


SCENE   IV. — Ante-chamher  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Timantus  and  Telamon. 

Tel.  Timantus,  is  the  duke  ready  ''  yet  ? 

Tim.  Almost. 

Tel  What  ails  him? 

"  a  warden]  "  A  Warden  (Pear)  pyrum  volemum  or  sylvestre."  Coles's  Diet. 

0  this  [race]  of  the  dwarf n]  So  Weber.  Heath  (M.S.  Notes)  proposes 
"  [breed]."  Seward  printed  «  this  love  of  the  dwarf's  ",  the  Editors  of  1778 
"  this  love  of  the  dwarf  ; "  and  Mason  would  read  "  this  love,  the  dwarf  :  "—all 
wrongly,  beyond  a  doubt  :  see  the  next  speech.  p  to]  i.  e.  compared  to. 

1  moriseoes]  i.  e.  morris-dances  (intended  originally  as  an  imitation  of  Aloor- 
ish  dances), — commotions.  >■  rcadi/']  i.  e.  dressed. 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  387 

Tim.  Faith,  I  know  not :  I  tliink  he  has  dreamt  he's  but 
eighteen ;  has  been  worse  since  he  sent  you  forth  for  the 
frizzling-iron. 

Tel.  That  cannot  be ;  he  lay  in  gloves  all  night,  and  this 
morning  I  brought  him  a  new  periwig  with  a  lock  ^  at  it,  and 
knocked  up  a  swing  in"'s  chamber. 

Tim.  Oh,  but  since  his  tailor  came,  and  they  have  fallen  out 
about  the  fashion  on's  clothes  ;  and  yonder's  a  fellow  come 
has  bored  a  hole  in's  ear ;'  and  he  has  bespoke  a  vaulting-horse. 
You  shall  see  him  come  forth  presently :  he  looks  like 
Winter,  stuck  here  and  there  with  fresh  flowers. 

Tel.  ^Vill  he  not  tilt,  think  you  '.  , 

Tim.  I  think  he  will. 

Tel.  What  does  he  mean  to  do  l 

Tim.  I  know  not ;  but,  by  this  light,  I  think  he  is  in  love  : 
he  would  ha'  been  shaved  but  for  me. 

Tel.  In  love  !  with  whom  ? 

Tim.  I  could  guess,  but  you  shall  pardon  me  :  he  will  take 
me  along  with  him  somewhither. 

Tel.  I  overheard  him  ask  your  opinion  of  somebody's  beauty. 

Tim.  Yes  ;  there  it  goes  that  makes  him  so  youthful :  and 
h'as  laid  by  his  crutch,  and  halts  now  with  a  leading-staff. 

Enter  Leontius  with  a  staff  and  a  looking-glass."^ 
Leon.  Timantus — 
Tim.  Sir? 

Leon.  This  feather  is  not  large  enough. 
Tim.  Yes,  faith,  'tis  such  an  one  as  the  rest  of  the  young 
gallants  wear. 

Leon.  Telamon,  does  it  do  well  ? 

'  a  lock'\  "  i.  e.  a  love-lock.  The  allusiou  is  (as  Dr.  Warburton  observes  in  a 
note  on  Much  Ado  About  Xothing)  to  the  fantastical  custom  in  our  poets'  days 
of  men  wearing  '  a  favourite  lock  of  hair,  which  was  brought  before,  tied  with 
ribbands,  and  called  a  love-lock.  Against  this  fashion  Prynne  wrote  his  treatise 
called  The  Unloveliness  of  Love-locks.^"     Ed.  1/78. 

'  a  hole  ill's  ear ;']  "  i.  e.  For  an  ear-rimj."     Ed.  1778.     See  note,  p.  251. 

"  a  lookuiff-tjlass']  "  This  article  of  refinement  was  worn  by  gallants  as  well 
as  ladies,"  &c.  Weber.  It  is  quite  evident  that  Lcontius  does  not  wear  the 
glass. 

C  C  2 


388  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  ii. 

Tel.  Sir,  it  becomes  you,  or  you  become  it,  the  rarcliest 

Leon.  Away  !  dost  think  so  ? 

Tel.  Think,  sir  !  I  know  it.  Sir,  the  princess  is  past  all 
hope  of  life  since  the  dwarf  was  put  to  death. 

Leon.  Let  her  be  so ;  I  have  other  matters  in  hand.  But 
this  same  tailor  angers  me,  he  has  made  my  doublet  so  wide"'; 
and,  see,  the  knave  has  put  no  points  ^^  at  my  arm  ! 

Tim.  Those  will  be  put-to  quickly,  sir,  upon  any  occasion. 

Leon.  Telamon,  have  youbidthis"  dancer  comea-mornings? 

Tel.  Yes,  sir. 

Leon.  Timantus,  let  me  see  the  glass  again.  Look  you 
how  careless  you  are  grown  !  is  this  tooth  well  put  in  I 

Tim.   Which,  sir  ? 

Leon.  This,  sir. 

Tim.  It  shall  be. 

Tel.  Methinks  that  tooth  should  put  him  in  mind  on's 
years  ;  and  Timantus  stands  as  if  (seeing  the  duke  in  such  a 
youthful  habit)  he  were  looking  in  's  mouth  how  old  he  were. 

{^Aside. 

Leon.   So,  so. 

Tel.  Will  you  have  your  gown,  sir  l 

Leon.  My  gown  !  why,  am  I  sick  ?  bring  me  my  sword. 
\Exit  Telamon].  Timantus^,  let  a  couple  of  the  great  horses 
be  brought  out  for  us. 

Tim.  He'll  kill  himself.   \^Aside'\ — Why,  will  you  ride,  sir  ? 

Leon.  E-ide  !  dost  thou  think  I  cannot  ride  ?     . 

Tim.  Oh,  yes,  sir,  I  know  it :  but,  as  I  conceive  your 
journey,  you  would  have  it  private  ;  and,  then,  you  were  better 
take  a  coach. 

Leon.  These  coaches  make  me  sick  ;  yet  "'tis  no  matter ;  let 
it  bo  so. 

"  my  doublet  so  wide ;"]  "At  the  time  this  play  was  written,  the  wide 
stuffed  doublets  and  great  hose  had  given  way  to  those  of  a  closer  make,"  &c. 
Weber. 

""  points']  See  note,  p.  197. 

==  this]  Altered  by  Weber  to  "the." 

y  Titnantus]  So  the  first  4to.  Omitted]  in  other  eds. ;  and  by  the  modern 
editors  (Seward  printing  "  and  "  instead  of  it). 


SCENE  v.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  389 

Re-enter  Telamon  with  a  sicord. 

Tel.  Sir,  here's  your  sword. 

Leon.  Oh,  well  said  !  let  me  see  it.  I  could,  methinks— 
[Endeavours  to  draw  if].  Why,  Telamon,  bring  me  another  : 
what,  thinkest  thou  I  will  wear  a  sword  in  vain  ? 

Tel  He  has  not  stren^^h  enough  to  draw  it :  a  yoke  of 
fleas  tied  to  a  hair  would  have  drawn  it.  \_Aside ;  and  then 
draics  lY.]— 'Tis  out,  sir,  now  ;  the  scabbard  is  broke. 

Leon.  Oh,  put  it  up  agnin.  and  on  with  it  !  methinks,  I  am 
not  dressed  till  I  feel  my  sword  on.  [Tel.  sheathes  it,  and  then 
puts  it  on  Leox.^I  Telamon,  if  any  of  my  council  ask  for  me, 
say  I  am  gone  to  take  the  air.  [_Exit. 

Tim.  He  has  not  been  dressed  this  twenty  years,  then  ^.  If 
this  vein  hold  but  a  week,  he  will  learn  to  play  o'  the  base- 
viol,  and  sing  to't.  He's  poetical  already  ;  for  I  have  spied  a 
sonnet  on's "  making  lie  by  's  bed's  side  :  Fll  be  so  unmannerly 
to  read  it.  [^Exeunt. 


SCENE  V. —  The  apartment  (t/' Hidaspes. 

HiDASPES  discocered  on  a  led,  Cleophila  and  Hero  attending. 
Hid.  He's  dead,  he's  dead,  and  I  am  following  ! 
Cleo.  Ask  Cupid  mercy,  madam. 
Hid.  Oh,  my  heart  ! 
Cleo.  Help  ! 
Hero.  Stir  her. 
Hid.  Oil,  oh  ! 

Cleo.  She's  ffoini;  ;   wretched  women  that  wo  are  ' 
Look  to  her,  and  I'll  pray  the  while. 

Hero.   Why,  madam 

Cleo.  [kneelinf/]  Cupid,  pardon  what  is  past. 
And  forgive  our  sins  at  last  ! 

'  theni  Was  deliberately  alU'i'cd  Ijy  Seward  to  "thus"  ;  wliicli  his  succes- 
sors gave  !  Lcoiitius  has  just  said,  "  1  am  not  di-essed  till  I  feel  my  sword  on  "  ; 
and  now  Timantus  observes,  "  Then  he  has  not  been  dressed  this  twenty  years 
[fui  during  that  time  he  has  not  had  a  sword  on]." 

*  on's]  Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  of  his." 


390  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  ii. 

Then  we  will  be  coy  no  more, 

But  thy  deity  adore  ; 

Troths  at  fifteen  we  will  plight, 

And  will  tread  a  dance  each  ''  night, 

In  the  fields  or  by  the  fire. 

With  the  youths  that  have  desire. — 
How  does  she  yet  ? 
Hero,  Oh,  ill  ! 
Clco.     Given  ear-rings  we  will  wear, 

Bracelets  of  our  lovers""  hair, 

Which  they  on  our  arms  shall  twist, 

With  their  names  carvM,  on  our  wrist ; 

All  the  money  that  we  owe '' 

We  in  tokens  will  bestow  ; 

And  learn  to  write  that,  when  'tis  sent, 

Only  our  loves  know  what  is  meant. 

Oh,  then,  pardon  what  is  past, 

And  forgive  our  sins  at  last ! — 
What,  mends  she  I 

Hero.    Nothing ;     you   do   it   not   wantonly  \    you   should 
sing. 

Cleo.   Why 

Hero.  Leave,  leave,  'tis  now  too  late ;  she  is  dead. 
Her  last  is  breath'd. 

Cleo.  What  shall  we  do  1 
Hero.  Go,  run. 
And  tell  the  duke  ;  and  whilst  Til  close  her  eyes. 

[^Exit  Cleophila. 

Thus  I  shut  thy  faded  light, 

And  put  it  in  eternal  night. 

Where  is  she  can  boldly  say, 

Though  she  be  as  fresh  as  IMay, 

She  shall  not  by  this  corpse  be  laid. 

Ere  to-morrow's  light  do  fade  ? 

Let  us  all  now  living  be 

Warn'd  by  thy  strict  chastity, 

''  cac]L'\  So  the  first 4to.    Other  cds.,  "at ;"  and  pn  the  modern  editors. 
^  owe]  i.  e.  own. 


SCENE  VI.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  391 

And  marry  all  fast  as  we  can  ; 

Till  then  we  keep  a  piece  of  man 

Wrongfully  from  them  that  owe  it : 

Soon  may  every  maid  bestow  it  !  [Scene  closes. 


SCENE  VI. — A  room  in  the  house  o/*BAcnA. 

Enter  Bach  a  and  Maid. 
Bacha.  Who  is  it  I 

Maid.  Forsooth,  there's  a  gallant  coach  at  the  door,  and 
the  brave ''  old  man  in't  that  you  said  was  the  duke. 
Bacha.  Cupid,  grant  he  may  be  taken  I — Away  !  '^ 
Maid.  He  is  coming  up,  and  looks  the  swaggeringest,  and 
has  such  glorious  clothes  ! 

Bacha.  Let  all  the  house  seem  *  sad,  and  see  all  handsome. 

lExit  Maid. 
Enter  Leontitjs  and  Timantus. 
Leon.  Nay,  widow,  fly  not  back  ;  we  come  not  now 

[Bacha  kneels. 
To  chide ;  stand  up,  and  bid  me  welcome. 

Bacha  \_risin(j.']  To  a  poor  widow's  house,  that  knows  no  end 
Of  her  ill  fortune,  your  highness  is  most  welcome. 

Leon.  Come,  kiss  me,  then  ;  this  is  but  manners,  widow  : 

[Kissing  her. 
Ne"'er  fling  your  head  aside  ;  I  have  more  cause 
Of  grief  than  you  ;  my  daughter"'s  dead  ;  but  what  ! 
Tis  nothing. — Is  the  rough  French  horse  brought  to  the  door? 
They  say  ho  is  a  high-goer  ;  I  shall  soon  try  his  mettle. 

Tim.  He  will  be,  sir,  and  the  grey  Barbary  ; 
They  are  fiery  both. 

Leon.  They  are  the  better  : 

''  bravcl  i.  e.  richly,  fiiitly,  dressed. 

'  Away'\  So  all  the  old  cds.  (the  word  being  by  mistake  iirintcd  in  Italics), 
— except  4to.  1635,  which  omits  it,  and  which  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber 
followed. 

'  seem'\  Old  eds.  "  see  me." 


392  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  ii. 

Before  the  gods,  I  am  lightsome,  very  lightsome  ! — 
How  dost  thou  like  me,  widow  ? 

Bacha.  As  a  person 
In  whom  all  graces  are. 

Leon.  Come,  come,  you  flatter  : 
I'll  clap  your  cheek  for  that ;  and  you  shall  not 
Be  angr}'.     Hast  no  music  I    now  could  I  cut 
Three  times  with  ease,  and  do  a  cross-point  should 
Shame  all  your  gallants  ! 

Bacha.  I  do  believe  you  ; — and  yourself  too  : 
Lord,  what  a  fine  old  zany  ^  my  love  has  made  him  ! 
He's  mine,  I  am  sure :   Heaven  make  me  thankful  for  him  ! 

\_Aside. 

Leon.  Tell  me  how  old  thou  art,  my  pretty  sweetheart  ? 

Tim.  Your  grace  will  not  buy  her  !  she  may  trip,  sir. 

Bacha.  My  sorrow  shews  me  elder  than  I  am 
By  many  years. 

Leon.  Thou  art  so  witty  I  must  kiss  again.        [^Kissing  her. 

Tim.  Indeed,  her  age  lies  not  in  her  mouth  ; 
Ne'er  look  it  there,  sir :   she  has  a  better  register, 
If  it  be  not  burnt. 

Leon.  I  will  kiss  thee,  [kissing  her.'] — I  am  a-fire,  Timantus  ! 

Tim.  Can  you  choose,  sir,  having  such  heavenly  fire 
Before  you  ? 

Leon.  Widow,  guess  why  I  come  ;  I  prithee,  do. 

Bacha.  I  cannot,  sir,  unless  you  be  pleas'd  to  make 
A  mirth  out  of  my  rudeness  ; 
And  that  I  hope  your  pity  will  not  let  you. 
The  subject  is  so  barren. — Bite,  king,  bite  ! 
I'll  let  you  play  a  while.  [Aside. 

Leon.  Now,  as  I  am  an  honest  man,  Til  tell  thee  truly. — 
How  many  foot  did  I  jump  yesterday,  Timantus  l 

Tim.  Fourteen  of  your  own  and  some  three  fingers. 

Bacha.   This  fellow  lies  as  lightly''  as  if  he 
Were  in  cut  taffiita. 

B  zany']  "  i.  e.  buffoon."  Weber. 

''  lies  as  lightly']  i.  c.  lies  as  easily,  I'cadily, — with  a  play  on  the  words. 


SCENE  VI.] 


CUPIDS  REVENGE  393 


Alas,  good  almanack,  get  thee  to  bed, 

And  tell  what  weather  we  shall  have  to-morrow  !  [Aside. 

Leon.  Widow,  I  am  come,  in  short,  to  be  a  suitor. 
Bacha.  For  whom  1 

Leon.  Why,  by  my  troth,  I  come  to  woo  thee,  wench, 
And  win  thee,  for  myself :  nay,  look  upon  me  ; 
I  have  about  me  that  will  do  it. 

Bacha.  Now  Heaven  defend  me  ! 
Your  whore  you  shall  never '.     1  thank  the  gods,  I  have 
A  little  left  me  to  keep  me  warm  and  honest  : 
If  your  grace  take  not  that,  I  seek  no  more. 
Leon.   I  am  so  far  from  taking  any  thing, 
ril  add  unto  thee. 

Bacha.  Such  additions  may 
Be  for  your  ease,  sir,  not  my  honesty ; 
I  am  well  in  being  single ;  good  sir,  seek  another  ; 
I  am  no  meat  for  money. 

Leon.  Shall  I  fight  for  thee  ? 
This  sword  shall  cut  his  throat  that  dares  lay  claim 
But  to  a  finger  of  thee,  but  to  a  look  ; 
I  would  see  such  a  fellow  ! 

Bacha.  It  would  be  but  a  cold  sight  to  you. 
This  is  the  father  of  St.  George  a-footback  : 
Can  such  dry  mummyj  talk  ?  [Aside. 

Tim.  Before  the  gods,  your  grace  looks  like  ^Eneas. 
Bacha.  He  looks  like  his  old  father  upon  his  back. 
Crying  to  get  aboard.  [Aside. 

Leon.  How  shall  I  win  thy  love?    I  pray  thee,  tell  me. 
I'll  marry  thee,  if  thou  desirest  that ; 
That  is  an  honest  course, — I  am  in  good  earnest, — 
And  presently,  within  this  hour, — I  am  mad  for  thee  :— 

'  Your  tvhore  you  shall  never]  The  two  earliest  4tos.,  and  the  folio  of  1G79, 
have,  "  your  whore  shall  never.'^  The  4to.  of  1635  has  the  reading  which  I 
have  adopted,  and  which  (though  I  hardly  think  it  can  be  the  genuine  one) 
may  mean — Your  whore  you  shall  never  win  me  to  be.  Seward  printed  "your 
whore  I  shall  be  never."  The  Editors  of  177fi  followed  the  4to.  of  1635, 
varying  the  punctuation  thus, "  Vour  whore  ?  you  shall  never — ,"  marking 
it  as  a  broken  sentence  ;  and  so  Wcbcr. 
J  mummy]  Old  eds.  "  mumming." 


394  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  ii. 

Prithee,  deny  me  not ;  for,  as  I  live, 
I'll  pine  for  thee,  but  I'll  have  thee. 

Bacha.  Now  he  is  in  the  toil,  Til  hold  him  fast.         lAside. 

Tim.  You  do  not  know  what  'tis  to  be  a  queen  ; 
Go  to,  you're  mad  else.     What^  the  old  man  falls  short  of, 
There's  others  can  eke  out,  when  you  please  to  call  on  'em. 

Bacha.  I  understand  you  not. — Love,  I  adore  thee  ! — 
Sir,  on  my  knees  I  give  you  hearty  thanks  \^Kneeling. 

For  so  much  honouring  your  humble  handmaid 
Above  her  birth,  far  more  her  weak  deservings. 
I  dare  not  trust  the  envious  tongues  of  all 
That  must  repine  at  my  unworthy  rising ; 
Beside,  you  have  many  fair  ones  in  your  kingdom 
Born  to  such  worth  :  oh,  turn  yourself  about, 
And  make  a  noble  choice  ! 

Leon,  [^i^aising  her.^  If  I  do,  let  me  famish  !   I  will  have 
thee, 
Or  break  up  house,  and  board  here. 

Bacha.  Sir,  you  may 
Command  an  unwilling  woman  to  obey  you  ; 
But  Heaven  knows 

Leon.  No  more  : 
These  half-a-dozen  kisses,  and  this  jewel, 

[Kissing  her,  and  giving  jeivel. 
And  every  thing  I  have,  and  away  with  me. 
And  clap  it  up,  and  have  a  boy  by  morning  !  — 
Timantus,  let  one  be  sent 
Post  for  my  son  again  and  for  Ismenus ; 
They  are  scarce  twenty  miles  on  their  way  yet : 
By  that  time  we'll  be  married. 

Tim.  There  shall,  sir.  [Exeiini. 

i  you're  mad  else.  What,  &c.]  The  first  4to., "  your  Maide,  else  u-hat,"  &c. 
The  sec.  4to.,  and  the  folio  of  1679,  "you  Maide,  else  tchat,"  &c.  The  4to.  of 
1035,  "you  Mayd,  ivhat,"  &c.  The  Editors  of  1778  printed,  "you're  made  ! 
What,"  &.C.,  and  Weber,  "you're  made!  Else  what,"  &c. :  but  Seward  had 
previously  given  tlie  right  reading,  though  he  pointed  it  wrongly, — "  yoiCre  mad, 
else  what,"  &e.  In  the  second  scene  of  the  next  act,  Bacha  says, 
"  The  world  had  call'd  me  mad,  had  1  refus'd 
The  king." 


SCENE  I.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  395 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — Before  the  Palace. 


Enter  Dorialus,  Agenor,  and  Nisus. 

Nisus.  Is  not  this  a  fine  marriage  ? 

Affe.  Yes,  yes  ;  let  it  alone. 

Do7'.  Ay,  ay,  the  king  may  marry  whom  's  list''.  Let's 
talk  of  other  matters. 

Nisus.  Is  the  prince  coming  home  certainly  ? 

Dor.  Yes,  yes  ;  he  was  sent  post  for  yesterday  :  let^s  make 
haste  ;  we'll  see  how  his  new  mother-in-law  will  entertain  him. 

Nisus.  Why,  well,  I  warrant  you :  did  you  not  mark  how 
humbly  she  carried  herself  to  us  on  her  marriage-day, 
acknowledging  her  own  unworthiness,  and  that  she  would  be 
our  servant  I 

Dor.  But  mark  what's  done. 

Nisus.  Regard  not  show. 

Age.  Oh,  God  !  I  knew  her  when  I  have  been  offered  her 
to  be  brought  to  my  bed  for  five  pounds ;  whether  it  could 
have  been  performed  or  no,  I  know  not. 

Nisus.  Her  daughter's  a  pretty  lady. 

Dor.  Yes  ;  and  having  had  but  mean  bringing-up,  it  talks 
the  prettiliest  and  innocentliest !  The  queen  will  be  so  angry 
to  hear  her  betray  her  breeding  by  her  language  !  but  I  am 
persuaded  she's  well  disposed. 

Age.  I  think,  better  than  her  mother. 

Nisus.  Come,  we  stay  too  long.  [Exeunt 

^  whoin'.s  lint']  Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  tchom  he  lisl.^' 


396  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  in. 


SCENE  II. — A71  apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  liEucippus  and  Ismenus. 

Ism.  How  now,  man  !  struck  dead  with  a  tale  I 

Leitc.  No,  but  with  a  truth. 

Lm.  Stand  of  yourself:  can  you  endure  blows,  and  shrink 
at  words  ? 

Leuc.  Thou  knowest  I  have  told  tliee  all. 

Ism.  But  that  all's  nothing  to  make  you  thus  ;  your  sister's 
dead. 

Leuc.  That's  much  ;  but  not  the  most. 

Ism.  Why,  for  the  other,  let  her  marry  and  hang  !  'tis  no 
purposed  fault  of  yours  ;  and  if  your  father  will  needs  have 
your  cast  whore,  you  shall  shew  the  duty  of  a  child  better  in 
being  contented,  and  bidding  much  good  do  his  good  old 
heart  with  her,  than  in  repining  thus  at  it ;  let  her  go  : 
what !  there  are  more  wenches,  man  ;  we'll  have  another. 

Leuc.  Oh,  thou  art  vain  !  thou  know'st  I  do  not  love  her. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  I  would  my  tongue  had  led  me 
To  any  other  thing  but  blasphemy, 
So  I  had  miss'd  commending  of  this  woman. 
Whom  I  must  reverence,  now  she  is  my  mother  ! 
My  sin,  Ismenus,  has  wrought  all  this  ill  : 
And  I  beseech  thee  to  be  warn'd  by  me, 
And  do  not  lie  !  if  any  man  should  ask  thee 
But  how  thou  dost,  or  what  o'clock  'tis  now, 
Be  sure  thou  do  not  lie ;  make  no  excuse 
For  him  that  is  most  near  thee  ;  never  let 
The  most  officious  falsehood '  scape  thy  tongue  ; 
For  they  above  (that  are  entirely  truth) 
AVill  make  that  seed  which  thou  hast  sown  of  lies 
Yield  miseries  a  thousand-fold 
Upon  thine  head,  as  they  have  done  on  mine. 

'  officious  falsehood'^  See  note,  p.  383. 


SCENE  II.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  397 

Enter  Timantus. 

Tim.  Sir,  your  highness  is  welcome  home  :  the  king  and 
queen '"  will  presently  come  forth  to  you. 

Leuc.  ril  wait  on  them. 

Tim.  Worthy  Israenus,  I  pray,  how  have  you  sped"  in 
your  wars  I 

Ism.  This  rogue  mocks  me. — Well,  Timantus.  Pray,  how 
have  you  sped  here  at  home  at  shovel-board  ? 

Tim.  Faith,  reasonable.  How  many  towns  have  you  taken 
in  this  summer  ? 

Ism.  How  many  stags  haveyoubeen  at  the  death  of  this  grass  ? 

Tim.  A  number.     Pray,  how  is  the  province  settled  'i 

Ism.  Prithee,  how  does  the  dun  nag  ? 

Tim.   I  think  you  mock  me,  my  lord. 

Ism.  Mock  thee!  yes,  by  my  troth,  do  I:  why,  whatwouldst 
thou  have  me  do  °  with  thee  I  art  good  for  any  thing  else  I 

Enter   Leontius,  Bacha,    Dorialus.   Agenor,  Nisus,    ami 
Telamon, 

Leuc.  My  good  Ismenus,  hold  me  by  the  wrist ; 
And  if  thou  see''st  me  fainting,  wring  me  hard, 
For  I  shall  swoon  again  else.  [^Kneels. 

Leon.  Welcome,  my  son  !    rise.     I  did  send  for  thee 
Back  from  the  province  by  thy  mother's  counsel,  [Leuc.  rises. 
Thy  good  mother  p  here,  who  loves  thee  well ; 
She  would  not  let  me  venture  all  my  joy 
Amongst  my  enemies.     I  thank  thee  for  her, 
And  none  but  thee ;   I  took  lier  on  thy  word. 

Leuc.  Pinch  harder.  [Aside  to  Ismenus. 

Leon.  And  she  shall  bid  thee  welcome  :    I  have  now 

™  the  king  and  queen'\  So  4to.  1635.  Otiier  eds.,  "the  Duke  and  Queen  ", 
(which  sounds  rather  oddly) ;  and  so  Seward  and  Weber.  The  confusion  of 
thise  titles  throughout  the  i)lay  has  been  already  noticed  (see  p.  35G)  :  in  what 
presently  follows,  Bacha  twice  calls  her  husband  king. 

"  /  pray,  how  have  you  sped]  So  the  first  4to.  Sec.  4to.  and  folio  of  1679, 
"  /  prag  you,  have  you  sped"  ;  and  so  Seward.  Quarto  1G35,  "  /  pray  you, 
how  have  you  sped  "  ;  and  so  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber. 

"  me  do]  Weber  chose  to  print  "  me  to  do." 

V   Thy  good  mother]   Altered  by  Seward  to  "  By  thy  good  mother's." 


398  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  hi. 

Some  near  affairs  ;  but  I  will  drink  a  health 

To  thee  anon. — Come,  Telamon. — I'm  grown 

Lustier,  I  thank  thee  for  it,  since  I  married. — 

Why,  Telamon,  I  can  stand  now  alone  p, 

And  never  stagger.  [Exit  with  Telamon. 

Backa.  Welcome,  most  noble  sir,  whose  fame  is  come 
Hither  before  you  ! — Out,  alas  !  you  scorn  me, 
And  teach  me  what  to  do. 

Leuc.  No  ;  you  are 
My  mother. 

Bacha.  Far  unworthy  of  that  name, 
God  knows  :  but,  trust  me,  here  before  these  lords, 
I  am  no  more  but  nurse  unto  the  duke  ; 
Nor  will  I  breed  a  faction  in  the  state  ; 
It  is  too  much  for  me  that  I  am  rais'd 
Unto  his  bed,  and  will  remain  the  servant 
Of  you  that  did  it. 

Leuc.  Madam,  I  will  serve  you 
As  shall  become  me. — Oh,  dissembling  woman  ! 
Whom  I  must  reverence  though.     Take  from  thy  quiver, 
Sure-aini'd  Apollo,  one  of  thy  swift  darts, 
Headed  with  thy  consuming  golden  beams. 
And  let  it  melt  this  body  into  mist, 
That  none  may  find  it !  [Aside. 

Bacha.  Shall  I  beg,  my  lords. 
This  room  in  private  for  the  prince  and  me  ? 

[Exeunt  all  except  Bacha  and  Leucippus. 

Leuc.   What  will  she  say  now  ?  [Aside. 

Bacha.  I  must  still  enjoy  him  : 
Yet  there  is  still  left  in  me  a  spark  of  woman, 
That  wishes  he  would  move  it ;  but  he  stands 
As  if  he  grew  there,  with  his  eyes  on  earth. —  [Aside. 

Sir,  you  and  I,  when  we  were  last  together. 
Kept  not  this  distance,  as  we  were  afraid 
Of  blasting  by  ourselves. 

p   IV/ii/,  Telamon,  I  can  stand  now  alone]  So4to.  1635.     Other  eds.,  "  /  can 
stand  now  alone,  why,  Telamon  " ;  and  so  Seward. 


SCENE  II.] 


CUPID'S  REVENGE.  399 


Leuc.  Madam,  'tis  true ; 
Heaven  pardon  it ! 

Bacha.  Amen,  sir.     You  may  think     ' 
That  I  have  done  you  wrong  in  this  strange  marriage. 

Leuc.  'Tis  past  now. 

Bacha.  But  it  was  no  fault  of  mine  : 
The  world  had  call'd  me  mad,  had  I  refus'd 
The  king ;  nor  laid  I  any  train  to  catch  him, 
It  was  your  own  oaths  did  it ''. 

Leuc.  'Tis  a  truth, 
That  takes  my  sleep  away  :  but  would  to  Heaven, 
If  it  had  so  been'  pleas'd,  you  had  refused  him. 
Though  I  had  gratified  that  courtesy 
With  having  you  myself !     But  since  'tis  thus, 
I  do  beseech  you  that  you  will  be  honest 
From  henceforth ;  and  not  abuse  his  credulous  age, 
Which  you  may  easily  do.     As  for  myself. 
What  I  can  say,  you  know,  alas,  too  well, 
Is  tied  within  me  !  here  it  will  sit  like  lead. 
But  shall  offend  no  other  ;  it  will  pluck  me 
Back  from  my  entrance  into  any  mirth. 
As  if  a  servant  came,  and  whisper'd  with  me 
Of  some  friend's  death.     But  I  will  bear  myself 
To  you  with  all  the  due  obedience 
A  son  owes  to  a*  mother  :  more  than  this 
Is  not  in  me ;  but  I  must  leave  the  rest 
To  the  just  gods,  who  in  their  blessed  time. 
When  they  have  given  me  punishment  enough 
For  my  rasli  sin,  will  mercifully  find 
As  unexpected  means  to  ease  my  grief 
As  they  did  now  to  bring  it. 

Bacha.  Grown  so  godly  ! 
This  must  not  be.  [ziszV/e.] — And  I  will  be  to  you 
No  other  than  a  natural  mother  ought ; 

1  oaths  did  i/]  So  all  the  old  cds., — except  4to.  1633,  which  has  "  oaths  that  did 
it",  and  which  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  followed  (printing, "'Twas,"  &c.) 
'  so  been]  Seward  and  Weber  print  "  been  so." 
'  a]  Seward  and  Weber  pi'int  "  his." 


400  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  hi. 

And  for  my  honesty,  so  you  will  swear 
Never  to  urge  me,  I  shall  keep  it  safe 
From  any  other. 

Ljeuc.  Bless  me  !   I  should  urge  you  ! 

Baclia.  Nay,  but  swear,  then,  that  I  may  be  at  peace  ; 
For  I  do  feel  a  weakness  in  myself, 
That  can  deny  you  nothing  :  if  you  tempt  me, 
I  shall  embrace  sin,  as  it  were  a  friend, 
And  run  to  meet  it. 

Leuc.  If  you  knew  how  far 
It  were  from  me,  you  would  not  urge  an  oath ; 
But  for  your  satisfaction,  when  I  tempt  you 

Bacha.  Swear   not. — I  cannot  move  him.    [AsideJ] — This 
sad  talk 
Of  things  past  help  does  not  become  us  well : 
Shall  I  send  one  for  my  musicians,  and  we'll  dance  I 

Leuc.  Dance,  madam  ! 

Bacha.  Yes,  a  lavolta '. 

Leuc.  I  cannot  dance,  madam. 

Bacha.  Then  let's  be  merry. 

Leuc.  I  am  as  my  fortunes  bid  me  ; 
Do  not  you  see  me  sour  ? 

Bacha.  Yes.     And  why  think  you  I  smile  ? 

Leuc.  I  am  so  far 
From  any  joy  myself,  I  cannot  fancy 
A  cause  of  mirth. 

Bacha.  I'll  tell  you  ;  we  are  alone. 

Leuc.  Alone  ! 

Bacha.  Yes. 

Leuc.  'Tis  true  ;  what  then  ? 

Bacha.  What  then  ! 
You  make  my  smiling  now  break  into  laughter  : 
What  think  you  is  to  be  done  then  ? 

Leuc.  We  should  pray 
To  Heaven  for  mercy. 

Bacha.  Pray  !  that  were  a  way  indeed 
To  pass  the  time  !     But  I  will  make  you  blush, 

'  lavolta]  See  note,  p.  196". 


SCENE  II.]  CUPID'S  REVENGK.  401 

To  see  a  bashful  woman  teach  a  man 
What  we  shouhl  do  alone  ;  try  again 
If  you  can  find  it  out. 

Leuc.  I  dare  not  think 
I  understand  you. 

Bacha.   I  must  teach  you,  then  : 
Come,  kiss  me. 

Leuc.  Kiss  you  ! 

Bacha.  Yes :  be  not  ashaniM 
You  did  it  not  yourself;   I  will  forgive  you". 

Leuc.  Keep,  you  displeased  gods,  the  due  respect 
I  ought  to  bear  unto  this  wicked  woman. 
As  she  is  now  my  mother,  fast '  within  me, 
Lest  I  add  sins  to  sins,  till  no  repentance 
^^^ill  cure  me. 

Bacha.  Leave  these  melancholy  moods. 
That  I  may  swear  thee  welcome  on  thy  lips 
A  thousand  times. 

Leuc.  Pray,  leave  this  wicked  talk  : 
Vou  do  not  know  to  what  my  father's  wrong 
May  urge  me. 

Bacha.  I  am  careless,  and  do  weigh 
The  world,  my  life,  and  all  my  after  hopes. 
Nothing  without  thy  love  :  mistake  me  not ; 
Thy  love,  as  1  have  had  it,  free  and  open 
As  wedlock  is,  within  itself.     What  say  you  ? 

Leuc.  Nothing. 

Bacha.  [_kneeh.'^  Pity  me  !  behold,  a  duchess 
Kneels  for  thy  mercy ;  and  I  swear  to  you, 
Though  I  should  lie  with  you,  it  is  no  lust. 
For  it  desires  no  change  ;  I  could  with  you 
Content  myself.     What  answer  will  you  give  I 

"  Yes  be  not  ashamed,  &c.]  "The  pointing  in  the  text  is  Mason's,  wlio  thus 
explains  the  speech  :  '  Be  not  ashamed  of  your  not  having  kissed  me  without 
my  bidding  ;  1  will  forgive  that  neglect.'  "     Webek. 

*  fast'\  "  Another  judicious  cuieudation  of  Mason's  has  here  Leon  adopted  ; 
the  old  text    ['hast'  and  'haste'],  though  unnoticed  by  the  editois  of  17.^)0 
and  1778,  being  stark  nonsense."    Weber.     In  the  MS.  A''o/t'«  of  Heath,  written 
long  before  the  Comments  of  Mason,  I  find  "  fast"  substituted  for  "  haste  ". 
vol..    11.  1>  IJ 


402  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  in. 

Leuc.  They  that  can  answer  must  be  less  amaz'd 
Than  I  am  now :  you  see  my  tears  deliver 
My  meaning  to  you. 

Bacha.  Shall  I  be  contemn''d? 
Thou  art  a  beast,  worse  than  a  savage  beast, 
To  let  a  lady  kneel,  to  beg  that  thing 
Which  a  right  man  would  offer. 

Leuc.  'Tis  your  will, 
Heaven  !  but  let  me  bear  me  like  myself, 
However  she  does. 

Bacha.  [rising.]  Were  you  made  an  eunuch 
Since  you  went  hence  ?  yet  they  have  more  desire 
Than  I  can  find  in  you.     How  fond  '*'  was  I 
To  beg  thy  love  !   I'll  force  thee  to  my  will : 
Dost  thou  not  know  that  I  can  make  the  king 
Dote  as  my  list ""  ?     Yield  quickly,  or,  by  heaven, 
ril  have  thee  kept  in  prison  for  my  purpose  ! 
Where  I  will  make  thee  serve  my  turn,  and  have  thee 
Fed  with  such  meats  as  best  shall  fit  my  ends, 
And  not  thy  health, — why  dost  not  speak  to  me  1 — 
And  when  thou  dost  displease  me,  and  art  grown 
Less  able  to  perform,  then  I  will  have  thee 
Kiird  and  forgotten  :  are  you  stricken  dumb  ? 

Leuc.  All  you  have  namM,  but  making  of  me  sin 
With  you,  you  may  command,  but  never  that : 
Say  what  you  will,  Fll  hear  you  as  becomes  me  ; 
If  you  speak  [wickedly]  y,  I  will  not  follow 
Your  counsel,  neither  will  I  tell  the  world 
To  your  disgrace,  but  give  you  the  just  honour 
That  is  due  from  rae  to  my  father*'s  wife. 

Bacha.  Lord,  how  full  of  wise  formality 

"■^  fo7id]  i.  e.  foolish. 

*  as  my  Ust'\  Seward  and  the  Editors  of  1778  print  "at  my  list",  Weber, 
"  as  me  list "  :  but,  surely,  the  old  text  may  mean — according  to  my  pleasm-e. 

y  wickedly']  That  something,  absolutely  uecessai'y  to  complete  the  sense,  has 
dropt  out  here,  probably  by  a  mistake  of  the  original  compositor,  is  quite 
evident ;  though  the  modern  editors  (those  of  1778  and  Weber  pointing  this 
speech  in  a  most  ridiculous  manner)  do  not  appear  to  have  perceived  the  defi- 
ciency. In  the  preceding  page  Leucijjpus  says,  "  Pray,  leave  this  wicked  iMi." 


SCENE  n.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  403 

You're  grown  of  late  !  but  you  were  telling  me 
You  could  have  wish'd  that  I  had  married  you  : 
If  you  will  swear  so  yet,  I'll  make  away 
The  king. 

Leuc.  You  are  a  strumpet ! 

Bacha.  Nay,  I  care  not 
For  all  your  railings ;  they  will  batter  walls 
And  take  in  towns,  as  soon  as  trouble  mo  : 
Tell  him,  I  care  not ;   I  shall  undo  you  only, 
Which  is  no  matter. 

Leuc.  I  appeal  to  you 
Still  and  for  ever,  that  are  and  cannot 
Be  other  ! — IMadam,  I  see  'tis  in  your  power 
To  work  your  will  on  him ;  and  J  desire  you 
To  lay  what  trains  you  will  for  my  wish'd  death. 
But  suffer  him  to  find  his  quiet  grave 
In  peace  :  alas,  he  never  did  you  wrong  ! 
And  farther,  I  beseech  you  pardon  me 
For  the  ill  word  I  gave  you ;  for,  however 
You  may  deserve,  it  became  not  me 
To  call  you  so ;  but  passion  urges  me 
I  know  not  whither. — My  heart,  break  now, 
And  ease  me  ever  ! 

Bacha.  Pray  you,  get  you  hence 
With  your  godly  '  humour  !      I  am  weary  of  you 
Extremely. 

Leuc.  Trust  me,  so  am  I  of  myself  too. 
Madam,  I'll  take  my  leave.     Gods  set  all  right  ! 

Bacha.  Amen,  sir.     Get  you  gone  !  \^Exit  Leucippus. 

Am  T  denied  I     It  does  not  trouble  mc 
That  I  have  mov'd,  but  that  I  am  refus'd  : 
I  have  lost  my  patience.     1  will  make  him  know 
Lust  is  not  love  ;  for  lust  will  find  a  mate 
AVhile  there  arc  men  ;   and  so  will  I,  and  more 
Than  one  or  twenty. 

'  godlyl  Old  eds.,  "  goodly  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors.  The  correction 
is  from  Heath's  MS.  Notes :  compare  what  Bacha  has  previously  said, — 
"  Grown  so  godly  !  "  p.  399. 

It  n  2 


404  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  hi. 

Enter  Timantus. 
Yonder  is  Timantus, 
A  fellow  void  of  any  worth  to  raise  himself, 
And  therefore  like  to  catch  at  any  evil 
That  will  but  pluck  him  up  :  him  will  I  make 
Mine  own.   [Aside.'\ — Timantus  ! 

Tim.  Madam  ? 

Bacha.  Thou  know'st  well 
Thou  wert  by  chance  a  means  of  this  my  raising, — 
Brought  the  duke  to  me  ;  and  though  'twere  but  chance, 
I  must  reward  thee. 

Tim.  I  shall  bend  my  service 
Unto  your  highness. 

Bacha.  But  do  it,  then,  entirely  and  in  every  thing ; 
And  tell  me,  couldst  thou  now  think  that  thing  thou 
Wouldst  not  do  for  me  I 

Tim.  No,  by  my  soul,  madam. 

Bacha.  Then  thou  art  right. 
Go  to  my  lodging,  and  Til  follow  thee, 
With  my  instruction.  \^Exit  Timantus. 

I  do  see  already 
This  prince,  that  did  but  now  contemn  me,  dead  ; 
Yet  will  I  never  speak  an  evil  word 
Unto  his  father  of  him,  till  I  have 
Won  a  belief  I  love  him  ;  but  111  make 
His  virtues  his  undoing,  and  my  praises 
Shall  be  so  many  swords  against  his  breast : 
Which  once  performM,  Fll  make  Urania, 
My  daughter,  the  king's  heir,  and  plant  my  issue 
In  this  large  throne  ;  nor  shall  it  be  withstood  : 
They  that  begin  in  lust  must  end  in  blood.  \^Exif. 


SCENE  III.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  405 


SCENE  III.— Before  the  Palace. 

Enter  DoRiALUs,  Agenor,  and  Nisus. 

Dor.  We  live  to  know  a  fine  time,  gentlemen. 

Nisus.  And  a  fine  duke,  that,  through  his  doting  age, 
Suffers  him  [self]  to  be  a  child  again, 
Under  his  wife's  tuition. 

Age.  All  the  land 
Holds  in  that  tenure  too,  in  woman''s  service  : 
Sure,  wo  shall  learn  to  spin. 

Dor.  No,  that's  too  honest ; 
We  shall  have  other  liberal  sciences 
Taught  us  too  soon  :  lying  and  flattering, 
Those  are  the  studies  now ;  and  murder  shortly 
I  know  will  be  humanity*.     Gentlemen, 
If  we  live  here,  we  must  be  knaves,  believe  it. 

Nisus.  I  cannot  tell,  my  lord  Dorialus ; 
Though  my  own  nature  hate  it, 
If  all  determine  to  be  knaves,  I'll  try 
What  I  can  do  upon  myself,  that"'s  certain  : 
I  will  not  have  my  throat  cut  for  my  goodness  ; 
The  virtue  will  not  quit  the  pain. 

Age.  But  pray  you,  tell  me, 
Why  is  the  prince,  now  ripe  and  full  experient  ^, 
Not  made  a  doer  '^  in  the  state  ? 

Nisus.  Because  he  is  honest. 

Enter  Timantus. 

7Vm,  Goodness  attend  your  honours  ! 

Dor.  You  must  not  be  amongst  us,  then. 

Tim.  The  duchess, 
Whose  humble  servant  I  am  proud  to  be, 
Would  speak  with  you. 

*  humanity'^  i.e.  (with  a    play  on  the  word)  polite  literature. 
'•  experienl'\  So  all  the  old  ods., — except  4to  1G35,  which  has  "  expcrienc't' 
and  which  the  Editors  of  1778  and  \\\ljer  follow. 
•=  doer]^  Old  eds.  "dore." 


406  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  hi. 

Age.  Sir,  we  are  pleased  to  wait : 
When  is  it  ? 

Tim.  An  hour  hence,  my  good  lords  ;  and  so 
I  leave  my  service.  yExit. 

Dor.  This  is  one  of  her  ferrets  that  she  boults  business  out 
withal :  this  fellow,  if  he  were  well  ript,  has  all  the  linings  of 
a  knave  within  him  ;  how  sly  he  looks  ! 

Nisus.  Have  we  nothing  about  our  clothes  that  he  may 
catch  at  ? 

Age.  O'  my  conscience,  there''s  no  treason  in  my  doublet  : 
if  there  be,  my  elbows  will  discover  it, — they  are  out. 

Dor.  Faith,  and  all  the  harm  that  I  can  find  in  mine  is, 
that  they  are  not  paid  for  :  let  him  make  what  he  can  of 
that,  so  he  discharge  that  ^.     Come,  let's  go.  {ExeiinL 


SCENE  IV. — An  apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Bacha,  Leontius,  and  Telamon. 

Bacha.  And  you  shall  find,  sir,  what  a  blessing  Heaven 
Gave  you  in  such  a  son. 

Leon.  Pray  gods  I  may !  Let's  walk,  and  change  our  subject. 

Bacha.  Oh,  sir,  can  any  thing  come  sweeter  to  you, 
Or  strike  a  deeper  joy  into  your  heart. 
Than  your  son's  virtue  ? 

Leon.  I  allow  his  virtues ; 
But  'tis  not  handsome  thus  to  feed  myself 
With  such  [imjmoderate  praises  of  mine  own. 

Bacha.  The  subject  of  our  commendations 
Is  itself  grown  so  infinite  in  goodness. 
That  all  the  glory  we  can  lay  upon  it. 
Though  we  should  open  volumes  of  his  praises. 
Is  a  mere  modesty  in  his  expression  ^\ 

d  thaf]  Seward  antl  the  Editors  of  1778  print  "  it." 

e  in   his   espressioti]    "  i.  e.  in  the   expression   of  him  and  his   merits.' 
Mason. 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  407 

And  shews  liim  lame  still,  like  an  ill-wrought  piece 
Wanting  proportion. 

heon.  Yet  still  he  is  a  man,  and  subject  still 
To  more  inordinate  vices  than  our  love 
Can  give  him  blessing '. 

Bacha.  Else  he  were  a  god  ; 
Yet  so  near,  as  he  is,  he  comes  to  Heaven, 
That  we  may  see,  so  far  as  flesh  can  point  us, 
Things  only  worthy  them,  and  only  these 
In  all  his  actions. 

Leon.  This  is  too  much,  my  queen. 

Bacha.  Had  the  gods  lov'd  me,  that  my  unworthy  womb 
Had  bred  this  bravo  man 

Leon.  Still  you  run  wrong. 

Bacha.  I  would  have  livM  upon  the  comfort  of  him. 
Fed  on  his  growing  hopes. 

Leon.  This  touches  me. 

Bacha.  I  know  ^  no  friends,  nor  being,  but  his  virtues. 

Leon.  You  have  laid  out  words  enough  upon  a  subject. 

Bacha.  But  words  cannot  express  him,  sir. 
Why,  what  a  shape  Heaven  has  conceived  him  in  ! 
Oh,  nature  made  him  up 

Leon.  I  wonder,  duchess 


Bacha.  So  you  must ;  for  less  than  admiration 
Loses  this  godlike  man. 

Leon.  Have  you  done  with  him  ? 

Bacha.  Done  with "  !     Oh,  good  gods. 
What  qualities  thus '  pass  by  us  without  reverence  ! 

Leon.  I  see  no  such  perfection. 

Bacha.  Oh,  dear  sir,  you  are  a  father,  and  those  joys 
To  you  speak  in  your  heart,  not  in  your  tongue. 

Leon.  This  leaves  a  taste  behind  it  worse  than  physic. 

'  Messing^  Altered  by  the  modern  editors  to  "  blessings", — rightly,  perhaps. 

s  /  knoiv'\  Is  not  tiic  right  reading, — "  Ay,  known  "  ? 

''  Done  with]  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  to  "  Done  ivith  him." 

'  r/tialilies  thux]  The  first  4to,"  frailties  thLs  ".  Other  eds.,  "  frailties  ^/h/a". 
Seward  printed  "  virtues  thus  ".  I  have  adopted  Simpson's  conjecture,  which 
is  given  by  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber,  and  approved  by  Heath  in  bis  AfS. 
Notes;  and   which  is  preferable   to   what  once  occured   to  me,— "  faculties." 


408  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  hi. 

Bacha.  Then,  for  his  wisdom ',  valour,  good  fortune,  and  all 
Those  friends  of  honour,  they  are  in  him  as  free 
And  natural  as  passions  in  a  woman. 

Leon.  You  make  me  blush,  at  all  these  years, 
To  see  how  blindly  you  have  flung  your  praises 
Upon  a  boy,  a  very  child  ;  and  worthless, 
Whilst  I  live,  of  these  honours. 

Bacha.  I  would  not  have  my  love,  sir,  make  my  tongue 
Shew  me  so  much  a  woman,  as  to  praise 
Or  dispraise,  where  my  will  is,  without  reason. 
Or  general  allowance  of  the  people. 

Leon.  Allowance  of  the  people  !   what  allow  they  I 

Bacha.  All  I  have  said  for  truth  ;  and  they  must  do  it. 
And  dote  upon  him,  love  him,  and  admire  him. 

Leon.  How^s  that  ? 

Bacha.  For  in  this  J  youth  and  noble  forwardness 
All  things  are  bound  together  that  are  kingly; 
A  fitness  to  bear  rule 

Leon.  No  more  ! 

Bacha.  And  sovereignty, 
Not  made  to  know  command. 

Leon.  I  have  said,  no  more  ! 

Bacha.  I  have  done,  sir,  though  unwilling ;  and  pardon  me. 

The  Rev.  J.  Mitford  would  retain  the  old  reading,  "frailties  thus,"  and  thinks 
that  the  line  raay  mean  (Bacha  alluding  to  the  king's  imperfect  estimate  of  his 
son's  character) — What  weaknesses  of  judgment,  frailties,  (for  she  dare  not  use 
a  stronger  tenn,)  pass  by  us  without  any  reverence  for  us,  any  shame  of  their 
baseness  ! — an  explanation  which  I  cannot  but  consider  as  both  too  subtle,  and 
not  in  accordance  with  the  context. 

'  Then,  for  his  irisdom,  &c.]  Old  eds.  "  Then  for  all  his  wisdom,'"  &c. — amis- 
take,  I  imagine,  of  the  original  compositor,  whose  eye  had  caught  the  "  all,"  a 
few  words  after.    Seward  printed, — 

"  Then  for  his  wisdom,  valour,  and  good  fortune. 
And  all  those  friends  of  honour,"  &c. 
and  so  the  Editors  of  1778.     Weber  altered  the  aiTangement  of  the  two  pre- 
ceding speeches  to  suit  exactly  the  following  division, — 
"  Then 
For  all  his  wisdom,  valour,  good  fortune,  and  all 
Those  friends  of  honour,'"'  &c. 
J  this']  Altered   by  Seward   to  "his"  ;  and  so   his  successors:  l)ut '•  this" 
means — this  his  youtli. 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  409 

Leun.  I  do ;  not  a  word  more  ! 

Bacha.  T  have  gi^n  thee  poison, 
Of  more  infection  than  the  dragon's  tooth, 
Or  the  gross  air  o'er-heated.  \^Aside. 

Enter  Timantus. 

Leon.  Timantus,  when 
Saw  you  the  prince  ? 

Tim.  I  left  him  now,  sir. 

Leon.  Tell  me  truly, 
Out  of  your  free  opinion,  without  courting, 
How  you  like  him. 

Tim.  How  1  like  him  ! 

Leon.  Yes ; 
For  you  in  conversation  may  see  more 
Than  a  father. 

Bacha.  It  works.  [Aside. 

Tim.  Your  grace  has  chosen  out  an  ill  observer. 

Leon.  Yes,  I  mean  of  his  ill ;  you  take  ^  rightly. 

77w.  But  you  take  me  wrong.     All  I  know  by  him 
I  dare  deliver  boldly  :  he  is  the  storehouse 
And  head  of  virtue,  your  great  self  excepted, 
That  feeds  the  kingdom. 

Leon.  These  are  flatteries.     Speak  me  his  vices  ;  there 
You  do  a  service  worth  ^  a  father's  thanks. 

Tim.  Sir,  I  cannot.     If  there  be  any,  sure 
rhey  are  the  times'',  which  I  could  wish  less  dangerous. 
But  pardon  me,  I  am  too  bold. 

Leon.  You  are  not : 
Forward,  and  open  what  these  dangers  are ! 

Tim.  Nay,  good  sir — 

Leon.  Nay,  fall  not  off  again  ;    I  will  have  all. 

Tim.  Alas,  sir,  what  am  I,  you  should  believe 
My  eyes  or  ears  so  subtle  to  observe 

''  take]  So  the  first  4to  (a  reading  which  is  proved  to  be  riglit  hy  wliat 
immediately  follows).     Other  cds.  "  talk  "  ;  and  so  tlic  modern  editors. 

'  ^rorth']  .Seward  and  the  Editors  of  I77f!  printed  "  worthy,"  t<>  suit  their 
arrangement  of  the  metre. 


410  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  m. 

Faults  in  a  state  ?  all  my  main  business 
Is  service  to  your  grace,  and  necessaries 
For  my  poor  life. 

Leon.  Do  not  displease  me,  sirrah ; 
But  that  you  know  tell  me,  and  presently. 

Tim.  Since  your  grace  will  have  it, 
I'll  speak  it  freely  ;  always  my  obedience 
And  love  preserv'd  unto  the  prince. 

Leon.  Prithee,  to  the  matter. 

Tim.  For,  sir,  if  you  consider 
How  like  a  sun  in  all  his  great  employments, 
How  full  of  heat 

Leon.  Make  me  understand 
What  I  desire. 

Tim.  And,  then,  at  his  return 

Leon.  Do  not  anger  me  ! 

Tim.  Then,  thus,  sir  :  all  mislike  you, 
As  they  would  do  the  gods,  if  they  did  dwell  with  'em. 

Leon.  What  ! 

Tim.  Talk  and  prate  as  their  ignorant  rages  lead ""  'em, 
Without  allegiance  or  religion. 
For  heaven's  sake,  have  a  care  of  your  own  person  ! 
I  cannot  tell ;  their  wickedness  may  lead 
Farther  than  I  dare  think  yet. 

Leon.  Oh,  base  people  ! 

Tim.  Yet  the  prince, 
For  whom  this  is  pretended,  may  persuade  'em. 
And  no  doubt  will ;  virtue  is  ever  watchful : 
But  be  you  still  secur'd  and  comforted ! 

Leon.  Heaven,  how  have  I  offended,  that  this  rod 
So  heavy  and  unnatural,  should  fall  upon  me 
When  I  am  old  and  helpless  ? 

Tim.  Brave  gentleman  ! 
That  such  a  madding  love  should  follow  thee. 
To  rob  thee  of  a  father  !     All  the  court 
Is  full  of  dangerous  whispers. 

Leon.  I  perceive  it ; 

•»  lead-]  Old  eds.,  « leads." 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  411 

And,  spite  of  all  their  strengths,  will  make  ray  safety  : 
ril  cut  him  shorter,  I'll  cut  him  shorter  first, — 
Then  let  him  rule  ! 

Bncha.  What  a  foul  age  is  this, 
When  virtue  is  made  a  sword  to  smite  the  virtuous  ! 
Alas,  alas ! 

Leon,  ril  teach  him  to  fly  lower. 

Tu7i.  By  no  means,  sir ;  rather  make  more  your  love, 
And  hold  your  favour  to  him ;  for  'tis  now 
Impossible  to  yoke  him,  if  his  thoughts, — 
As  I  must  ne'er  believe,— run  with  their  rages, — 
He  ever  "  was  so  innocent.     But  what  reason 
His  grace  has  to  withdraw  his  love  from  me 
And  other  good  men  that  are  near  your  person, 
I  cannot  yet  find  out ;  I  know  my  duty 
Has  ever  been  attending. 

Leoji.   'Tis  too  plain  : 
He  means  to  play  the  villain  ;   Pll  prevent  him. 
Not  a  word  more  of  this ;  be  private.  [Exii. 

Tim.  Madam,  'tis  done. 

Bacha.  He  cannot  escape  me.     Have  you  spoken  with 
The  noblemen  ? 

Tim.  Yes,  madam  ;  they  are  here. 
I  wait  a  farther  service. 

Bacha.  Till  you  see  °  the  prince, 
You  need  no  more  instructions. 

77?^.  No  ;   I  have  it.  [Exit. 

Bac/ta.  That  fool  that  willingly  provokes  a  woman, 
Has  made  himself  another  evil  angel. 
And  a  new  hell,  to  which  all  other  torments 
Are  but  mere  pastime. 

"  ever]  Old  eds.,  "  never." — "  A  very  involved  paragraph,  but  the  meaning 
is, — '  It  is  now  impossible  to  restrain  liim,  if  lu-  has  given  up  his  thoughts 
to  their  rages  (that  is,  to  their  violent  intents)  which  I  must  not  suffer  myself  to 
believe,  as  he  was  ever  so  innocent.'  "  Weber, — who  was  indebted  to  Mason 
for  this  wrong  explanation.  That  "  their  rages  ''  means  those  of  the  people,  is 
plain  from  what  Timantus  has  said  a  little  before, — 

"  Talk  and  pi-ate  as  Iheir  ignorant  rages  lead  'cm." 

°  Till  you  see]  So  4to  1635.  Other  eds.,  "  Till  yet  be."  Seward  printed 
"  Still  beset"  ! 


412  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  in. 

Enter  Dorialus,  Agenor,  and  Nisus. 
Now,  my  noble  lords, 
You  must  excuse  me,  that  unmannerly 
We  have  broke  your  private  business. 

Age.  Your  good  grace 
May  command  us  and  that. 

Bacha.  Faith,  my  lord  Agenor, 
It  is  so  good  a  cause,  I  am  confident 
You  cannot  lose  by  it. 

Dor.  Which  way  does  she  fish  now  I 
The  devil  is  but  a  fool  to  p  a  right  woman.  [Aside. 

Nisus.  Madam,  we  must  needs  win  in  doing  service 
To  such  a  gracious  lady. 

Bacha.  I  thank  you,  and  will  let  you  know  the  business, 
So  I  may  have  your  helps  :  never  be  doubtful ; 
For  'tis  so  just  a  cause,  and  will  to  you 
Upon  the  knowledge  seem  so  honourable. 
That  I  assure  myself  your  willing  hearts 
Will  straight  be  for  me  in  it. 

Age.  If  she  should  prove  good  now,  what  were  't  like  ? 

Dor.  Thunder    in    January,     or    a  good  woman ;    that's 
stranger  than  all  the  monsters  in  "^  Afric. 

Bacha.  It  shall  not  need  your  wonder ;  this  it  is. 
The  duke  you  know  is  old,  and  rather  subject 
To  ease  and  prayers  now,  than  all  those  troubles. 
Cares,  and  continual  watchings,  that  attend 
A  kingdom's  safety  ;  therefore,  to  prevent 
The  fall  of  such  a  flourishing  estate 
As  this  has  ever  "■  been,  and  to  put  off 
The  murmur[s]  of  the  people,  that  increase 
Against  my  government,  which  the  gods  know  * 
I  only  feel  the  trouble  of,  I  present 

P  to]  i.  e.  compared  to. 

1  the  monsters  in]    So  4to.   1635.     Omitted  in  otlicr  eds.  ;  and  by  Seward. 
In  The  Scornful  Lady,  act  v.  so.  3  (see  vol,  iii.),  we  find, — 

"  'Foot,  this  is  stranger  than  an  Afric  monstfr  /" 
'  ever]  So  the  first  4 to.     Omitted  in  other  eds,  ;  and  hy  the  modei-n  editors, 
*  know]   Old  eds,  "  knows." 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  413 

The  prince  unto  your  loves,  a  gentleman 
In  whom  all  excellencies  are  knit  together, 
All  pieces  of  a  true  man  :  let  your  prayers 
Win  from  the  duke  half  his  vexation, 
That  he  may  undertake  it,  whose  discretion 
I  must  confess,  though  it  be  from  a  *  father, 
Yet  now  is  stronger,  and  more  apt  to  govern  : 
'Tis  not  my  own  desire,  but  all  the  land's  ; 
I  know  the  weakness  of  it ". 

Nisus.  Madam,  this  noble  care  and  love  has  won  us 
For  ever  to  your  loves :  well  to  the  king  ; 
And  since  your  grace  has  put  it  in  our  mouths, 
^Ve'll  win  him  with  the  cunning'st  words  we  can. 
Dor.  I  was  never  cozen'd  in  a  woman  before  ; 
For  commonly  they  are  like  apples  ;  if  once  they  bruise, 
They  will  grow  rotten  through,  and  serve  for  nothing 
But  to  assuage  swellings.  [Aside. 

Baclia.  Good  lords,  delay  no  time,   since  'tis  your  good 
pleasures 
To  think  my  counsel  good  ;  and  by  no  means 
Let  the  prince  know  it,  whose  affections 
Will  stir  mainly  against  it ;  besides,  his  father 
May  hold  him  dangerous,  if  it  be  not  carried 
So  that  his  forward  will  appear  not  in  it. 
Go,  and  be  happy  ! 

Dor.  Well,  I  would  not  be  chronicled  as  thou 
Wilt  be  for  a  good  woman,  for  all  the  world.  [Aside. 

Nisus.  Madam,  we  kiss  your  hand  ;  and  so  inspir'd ", 
Nothing  but  happiness  can  crown  our  prayers. 

[Excu7it. 

'  a]  So  4to  1635.     Othei'  eds.,  "the  "  ;  and  so  Seward. 

"  /  know  the  weakness  of  it.]  "  i.  e.  of  the  duke's  discretion,  compared  with 
that  of  Leucippus."  Mason.  "  I  should  rather  conceive  the  meaning  to  be — 
*  It  is  the  desire  of  the  whole  land,  not  my  own  desire  only,  of  which  I  know  the 
inadequacy.' "     Wkber. 

"  inspir'd]  Seward's  coi'rection.     Old  eds.  "  inspire." 


411  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  iv. 


ACT    IV. 

Scene  I. — An  apartment  in  the  Palace. 


Enter  Leucippus  and  Ismenus. 

Leuc.  And'^  thus  she  has  us'd  me:  is't  not  a  good  mother  ? 

Ism.  Why  kilFd  you  her  not  ? 

Leuc.  The  gods  forbid  it ! 

Ism.  \SlIght,  if  all  the  women  i'  the  world  were  barren,  she 
had  died  ! 

Leuc.  But  'tis  not  reason  directs  thee  thus. 

Ism.  Then  have  I  none  at  all ;  for  all  I  have  in  me  directs 
me.     Your  father's  in  a  pretty  rage. 

Leuc.  Why  ? 

Ism.  Nay,  'tis  well  if  he  know  himself.  But  some  of  the 
nobility  have  delivered  a  petition  to  him ;  what's  in't  I  know 
not ;  but  it  has  put  him  to  his  trumps  :  he  has  taken  a 
month's  time  to  answer  it,  and  chafes  like  himself. 

Leuc.  He's  here,  Ismenus. 

Enter  Leontius  led  on  by  Telamon,  and  Bacha. 

Leon.  Set  me  down,  Telamon. — Leucippus  ! 

Leuc.  Sir  ? 

Bacha.  Nay,  good  sir,  be  at  peace ;   I  dare  swear 
He  knew  not  of  it. 

Leon.  You  are  foolish  ;  peace. 

Bacha.  All  will  go  ill  '^ !     Deny  it  boldly,  sir  ; 
Trust  me,  he  cannot  prove  it  by  you. 

Leuc.  What? 

Bacha.  You'll  make  all  worse  too  with  your  facing  it. 

Leuc.  What  is  the  matter  ? 

Leon.  Know'st  thou  that  petition  ? 

«'  And'\  Omitted  in  4to  1635;  and  by  the  Editoi-s  of  1778  and  Weber. 
"  ill]  Heath  {MS.  Notes)  would  read  "  well,"— a  specious  conjecture. 


SCENE  1.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  415 

Look  on  it  well :  wouldst  thou  be  join'd  with  me  ? 
Unnatural  child,  to  bo  weary  of  me, 
Ere  fate  esteem  me  fit  for  other  worlds  ! 
Bacha.  May  be  he  knows  not  of  it. 
Leuc.  Oh,  strange  carriages  ! 
Sir,  as  I  have  hope  that  there  is  any  thing 
To  reward  doing  well,  my  usages. 
Which  have  been, — but  it  is  no  matter  what, — 
Have  put  mo  so  far  from  the  thought  of  greatness, 
That  I  should  welcome  it  hke  a  disease 
That  grew  upon  me,  and  I  could  not  cure. 
They  are  my  enemies  that  gave  you  this  ; 
And  yet  they  call  me  friend,  and  are  themselves, 
I  fear,  abus'd.     I  am  weary  of  my  life  ; 
^  For  God's  sake,  take  it  from  me !  it  creates 
INIore  mischief  in  the  state  than  it  is  worth. 
The  usasre  I  have  had,  I  know  would  make 
Wisdom  herself  run  frantic  through  the  streets. 
And  Patience  quarrel  with  her  shadow.     Sir, 

This  sword \_Qff^^^  ^"^  sword  to  Leontius 

Bacha.  Alas  !  help,  for  the  love  of  Heaven! — 
Alakc  way^'  through  me  first ;  for  he  is  your  father. 
Leon.  What,  would  he  kill  me  I 
Bacha.  No,  sir,  no. 

Leon.  Thou  always  mak'st  the  best  on't ;  but  I  fear — 
Leuc.  Why  do  you  use  me  thus  ?  who  is't  can  think 
That  I  would  kill  my  father,  that  can  yet 
Forbear  to  kill  you^ — Here,  sir,  is  my  sword  ; 

[^Throws  down  his  sicord. 
I  dare  not  touch  it,  lest  she  say  again 
I  would  have  kill'd  you.     Let  me  not  have  mercy 
When  I  most  need  it,  if  I  would  not  change 
Place  with  my  meanest  servant !  —  Let  these  faults 

l^Aside  to  Bacha. 
Be  mended,  madam  :  if  you  saw  how  ill 
They  did  become  you,  you  would  part  with  them. 
Bacha.   l.told  the  duke  as  nuich  before. 

>  w«y]  Weber  chose  to  print  "  a  uay." 


416  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  iv. 

Leuc.  What  ■   what  did  you  tell  him  ? 

Bacha.  That  it  was  only  an  ambition, 
Nurs'd  in  you  by  your  youth,  provok'd  you  thus, 
Which  age  would  take  away. 

Leon.  It  was  his  doing,  then  l — Come  hither,  love. 

Bacha.  No,  indeed,  sir. 

Leuc.  How  am  I  made,  that  I  can  bear  all  this  I 
If  any  one  had  us'd  a  friend  of  mine 
Near  this,  my  hand  had  carried  death  about  it. 

Leon.  Lead  me  hence,  Telamon. — Come,  my  dear  Bacha. 
I  shall  find  time  for  this. 

Ism.  Madam,  you  know  I  dare  not  speak  before 
The  king  ;  but  you  know  well,  (if  not,  FU  tell  it^  you.) 
You  are  the  most  wicked'st  ^  and  most  murderous  strumpet 
That  ever  was  callM  woman  ! 

Bacha.  My  lord, 
What  I  can  do  for  him,  he  shall  command  me. 

Leo7i.  I  know  thou  art  too  kind  :  away,  I  say  ! 

[Exetmt  Leontius,  Bacha,  and  Telamon. 

Ism.  Sir,  I  am  sure  we  dream  ;  this  cannot  be. 

Leuc.  Oh,  that  we  did  !     My  wickedness  has  brought 
All  this  to  pass,  else  I  should  bear  myself. 

[Uraxia  passes  over  the  stage. 

Ism.  Look,  do  you  see  who's  there  ?  your  virtuous  mother's 
issue :  kill  her ;  yet  take  some  little  piddling  revenge. 

Leuc.  Away  ! 
The  whole  court  calls  her  virtuous  ;  for  they  say 
She  is  unlike  her  mother ;  and  if  so, 
She  can  have  no  vice. 

Ism.  ril  trust  none  of  'em 
That  come  of  such  a  breed. 

Leuc.  But  I  have  found 
A  kind  of  love  in  her  to  me :  alas, 
Think  of  her  death !   I  dare  be  sworn  for  her, 

*  i/]  So  the  first  4to.     Omitted  in  otlier  eds.  ;  and  by  the  modern  editors. 

*  wicked' st'\  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  to  "wicked." 
Perhaps  the  arrangement  of  the  old  eds.,  where  the  word  "  strumpet"  begins 
the  next  line,  is  that  which  was  intended  by  the  author. 


SCENE  I.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  417 

She  is  as  free  from  any  hate  to  me 
As  her  bad  mother''s  full.     She  was  brought  up 
r  the  country,  as  her  tongue  will  let  you  know, 
Tf  you  but  talk  with  her,  with  a  poor  uncle. 
Such  as  her  mother  had. 

Re-enter  Urania. 

Ism.  She's  come  again. 

Ura.  I  would  fen  speak  to  the  good  marquis,  my  brother. 
If  I  but  thought  he  could  abaid  me. 

Leuc.  Sister,  how  do  you  ? 

Ura.  Very  well,  I  thank  you. 

Ism.  How  does  your  good  mother  ? 

Leuc.  Fie,  fie,  Ismenus, 
For  shame  !  mock  such  an  innocent  soul  as  this  ! 

Ura.  Feth,  a*"  she  be  no  good,  God  ma'  >  her  so  ! 

Leuc.  I  know  you  wish  it  with  your  heart,  dear  sister  : 
But  she  is  good,  I  hope. 

Ism.  Are  you  so  simple, 
To  make  so  much  of  this  ?  do  you  not  know 
That  all  her  wicked  mother  labours  for 
Is  but  to  raise  her  to  your  right,  and  leave  her 
This  dukedom  i 

Ura.  Ay ;  but  ne'er,  sir,  be  afred ; 
For  though  she  take  th'  ungainest  weas  she  can, 
I'll  ne'er  ha't  fro  you. 

Leuc.  I  should  hate  myself,  Ismenus, 
If  I  should  think  of  her  simplicity 
Aught  but  extremely  well. 

Ism.  Nay,  as  you  will. 

Ura.  And  though  she  be  my  mother. 
If  she  take  any  caurse  to  do  you  wrang. 
If  I  can  see't,  you'st  quickly  hear  on't,  sir : 
And  so  ril  take  my  leave. 

>  jTja']  i.  e.  make.  Weber  remarks  on  a  later  scene,  that  "  it  ia  one  of  the 
numerous  singularities  in  this  play,  that  Urania  speaks  a  mixture  of  broad 
Scotch  and  Yorkshire."  The  absurdity  is  not  to  be  defended;  but  the  same 
sort  of  rustic  gibberish,  and  as  much  out  of  place,  may  be  found  in  various 
other  early  dramas. 

VOL.  n.  E  E 


418  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  iv. 

Leuc.  Farewell,  good  sister  : 
I  thank  you.  \^Exit  Urania. 

Ism.  You  believe  all  this  ? 

Leuc.  Yes. 

Ism.  A  good  faith  doth  well ;  but,  methinks,  it  were  no 
hard  matter  now  for  her  mother  to  send  her. 

Enter  Timantus. 

Yonder"'s  one  you  may  trust,  if  you  will,  too. 

Leuc.  So  I  will, 
If  he  can  shew  me  as  apparent  signs 
Of  truth  as  she  did.     Does  he  weep,  Ismenus  ? 

Ism.  Yes,  I  think  so ;  some  good's  happened  I  warrant. — 
Do  you  hear,  you  ?  what  honest  man  has  scaped  misery,  that 
thou  art  crying  thus  l 

Tim.  Noble  Ismenus,  where's  the  prince  I 

Ism.  Why,  there  :  hast  wept  thine  eyes  out  I 

Tim.  Sir,  I  beseech  you,  hear  rae. 

Leuc.  Well,  speak  on. 

Ism.   Why,  will  you  hear  him  ? 

Leuc.  Yes,  Ismenus;  why? 

Ism.  I  would  hear  blasphemy  as  willingly. 

Leuc.  You  are  to  blame. 

Tim.  No,  sir,  he  is  not  to  blame, 
If  I  were  as  I  was. 

Ism.  Nor  as  thou  art, 
I'faith,  a  whit  to  blame. 

Leuc.  What's  your  business  l 

Tim.  Faith,  sir,  I  am  asham'd  to  speak  before  you  ; 
My  conscience  tells  me  I  have  injur'd  you, 
And,  by  the  earnest  instigation 
Of  others,  have  not  done  you  to  the  king 
Always  the  best  and  friendliest  offices  : 
Which  pardon  me,  or  I  will  never  speak. 

Isyyi.  Never  pardon  him,  and  silence  a  knave. 

Leuc.  I  pardon  thee. 

Tim.   Your  mother  sui'e  is  naught. 

Leuc.   Wiiy  shouldst  thou  think  so  \ 


SCENE  1.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  419 

Tim.  Oh,  noble  sir,  your  honest  eyes  perceive  not 
The  dangers  you  are  led  to  !     Shame  upon  her, 
And  what  fell  miseries  the  gods  can  think  on, 
Shower  down  upon  her  wicked  head  !  she  has  plotted, 
I  know  too  well,  your  death  :  would  my  poor  life, 
Or  thousand  such  as  mine  is,  might  be  offer'd 
Like  sacrifices  up  for  your  preserving  ; 
What  free  oblations  would  she  have  to  glut  her ! 
But  she  is  merciless,  and  bent  to  ruin. 
If  Heaven  and  good  men  step  not  to  your  rescue. 
And  timely,  very  timely.     Oh,  this  dukedom  I 
1  weep,  I  weep  for  the  poor  orphans  i"'  the  country. 
Left  without  friends  or  parents^. 

Leuc.  Now,  Ismenus,  what  think  you  of  this  fellow  ? 
This  was  a  lying  knave,  a  flatterer  ! 
Does  not  this  love  still  shew  him  so  ? 

Ism.  This  love  !  this  halter.     If  he  prove  not  yet 
The  cunning'st,  rankest  rogue  that  ever  canted, 
ni  never  see  man  again ;   I  know  him  to  bring ", 

'  without  friends  or  parents]  All  the  old  eds.,  "  with  hut  friends  or  parents; " 
— except  4to  1 635,  which  has  "  tcith  hut  friends,  not  parents."  Seward  printed, — 
"  /  weep,  I  weep  for  the  poor  orphans  in 
This  country,  left  without  or  friends  or  parents." 
and  so  the  Editors  of  1778.      Weber  retained  Seward's    "This,"  and   his 
arrangement  of  the  lines. 

•  /  know  him  to  brint/']  Seward  printed  "  I  know  him  to  b'a  rogue"  !  Mason 
would  read  "/  know  him  to  be  one";  and  Weber  had  "  little  hesitation  in 
believing  that  here  a  line  had  been  overlooked  by  the  compositor." 

Though  sure  that  the  text  is  uncorrupted,  1  am  by  no  means  sure  about  its 
exact  meaning,  which  I  leave  the  reader  to  determine  from  a  comparison  of  the 
following  passages. 

"  E.  Love.  I  would  have  watch'd  you,  sir,  by  your  good  patience, 
For  ferreting  in  my  ground. 
Lady.        You  have  been  with  my  sister  ? 
Wei.  Yes,  to  bring. 

E.  Love.  An  heir  into  the  world  he  means." 

The  Scornful  Lady,  act  v.  sc.  4  ; — see  vol.  iii.  of  the  present  work. 
"  And  I'll  close  with  Bryan  till  I  have  gotten  the  thing 
That  he  hath  promised  me,  and  then  I'll  be  with  him  to  bring  : 
Well,  such  shifting  knaves  as  I  am,  the  ambodexter  must  play, 
And  for  commodity  serve  every  man,  whatsoever  the  world  say." 

Sir  Clyomon  and  Sir  Clumydes, — Peele's  Works,  iii.  44.  ed.  Dyce. 
E  E  2 


420  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  iv. 

And  can  interpret  every  new  face  he  makes: 
Look  how  he  wrings,  Hke  a  good  stool,  for  a  tear  ! 
Take  heed ; 
Children  and  fools  first  feel  the  smart,  then  weep. 

Leuc.  Away,  away  !  such  an  unkind  distrust 
Is  worse  than  a  dissembling,  if  it  be  one, 
And  sooner  leads  to  mischief.     I  believe  it, 
And  him  an  honest  man  ;  he  could  not  carry. 
Under  an  evil  cause,  so  true  a  sorrow. 

Ism.  Take  heed  ;   this  is  your  mother's  scorpion, 
That  carries  stings  even  in  his  tears,  whose  soul 
Is  a  rank  poison  through  :  touch  not  at  him  ; 
If  you  do,  you  are  gone,  if  you  had  twenty  lives. 
1  knew  him  from'^  a  roguish  boy, 
When  he  would  poison  dogs,  and  keep  tame  toads  ; 
He  lay  with  his  mother,  and  infected  her. 
And  now  she  begs  i'  the  hospital,  with  a  patch 
Of  velvet  where  her  nose  stood,  like  the  queen  of  spades. 
And  all  her  teeth  in  her  purse. 
The  devil  and  this  fellow  are  so  near, 
'Tis  not  yet  known  which  is  the  eviler  angel. 

Leuc.  Nay,  then,  I  see  'tis  spite. — Come  hither,  friend  : 
Hast  thou  not  heard  the  cause  yet  that  incensed 
My  mother  to  my  death  \  for  I  protest 
I  feel  none  in  myself. 

Tim.  Her  will,  sir,  and  ambition,  as  I  think, 
Are  the  provokers  of  it,  as  in  women 
Those  two  are  ever  powerful  to  destruction  ; 
Beside  a  hate  of  your  still-growing  virtues, 
She  being  only  wicked  ^. 

Leuc.  Heavens  defend  me, 

"  And  here  I'll  have  a  fluig  at  him,  that's  flat ; 
And,  Balthazar,  I'll  be  with  thee  to  bring, 
And  thee,  Lorenzo,"  &c. 

Kyd's  Spanish  Tragedy,  act  iv, — Dodsley's  Old  Plays, 

iii.  163,  last  ed. 

•^  from']   So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "  for  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 
•^  only  wicked]  "i.  e.  nothing  but  wickedness,  entirely  compounded  of  it." 
Mason. 


SCENE  T.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  421 

As  I  am  innocent,  and  ever  have  been, 
From  all  immoderate  thoughts  and  actions, 
That  carry  such  rewards  along  with  'em  ! 

Tim.  Sir,  all  I  know,  my  duty  must  reveal ; 
My  country  and  my  love  command  it  from  me, 
For  whom  I'll  lay  my  life  down.     This  night  coming, 
A  council  is  appointed  by  the  duke 
To  sit  about  your  apprehension  : 

If  you  dare  trust  my  fiiith,  (which,  by  all  good  things, 
Shall  ever  watch  about  you  !)  go  along, 
And  to  a  place  I'll  guide  you,  where  no  word 
Shall  scape  without  your  hearing,  nor  no  plot 
Without  discovering  to  you  ;  which  once  known, 
You  have  your  answers  and  prevention. 

Ism.  You  are  not  so  mad  to  go  !   shift  off  this  fellow  : 
You  shall  be  rul'd  once  by  a  wise  man. — Ratsbane, 
Get  you  gone,  or 

Leuc.  Peace,  peace,  for  shame  !  thy  love  is  too  suspicious  ; 
'Tis  a  way  offerM  to  preserve  my  life. 
And  I  will  take  it. — Be  my  guide,  Timantus, 
And  do  not  mind  this  angry  man ;  thou  know'st  him  : 
I  may  live  to  requite  thee. 

Tim.  Sir,  this  service 
Is  done  for  virtue's  sake,  not  for  reward, 
However  he  may  hold  me. 

Ism.  The  great  pox  on  you  !  but  thou  hast  that  curse  so 
much, 
'Twill  grow  a  blessing  in  thee  shortly. — Sir, 
For  wisdom's  sake,  court  not  your  death  !  I  am 
Your  friend  and  subject,  and  I  shall  lose  in  both  : 
If  I  lov\l  you  not,  I  would  laugh  at  you,  and  sec  you 
Run  your  neck  into  the  noose,  and  cry,  A  woodcock  !  ^ 

Leuc.  So  much  of  man,  and  so  much  fearful,  fie  ! 
Prithee,  have  peace  within  thee  :   I  shall  live  yet 
Many  a  golden  day  to  hold  thee  here 

••  woodcock']  Pecarae  a  common  cant  term  for  a  simpleton.  Again,  in 
Fletcher's  Lorjal  Subject,  act  iv.  sc.  4,  we  find  tlic  same  allusion  to  the  readi- 
ness with  which  woodcocks  ran  into  the  springes,  or  nets,  that  were  formerly 
set  for  them. 


422  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  iv. 

Dearest  and  nearest  to  me. — Go  on,  Timantus. — ' 
I  charge  you  by  your  love,  no  more,  no  more  ! 

[Exetint  Lrucippus  mid  Timantus. 
Ism.  Go,  and  let  your  own  rod  whip  you  !   I  pity  you : 
And,  dog,  if  he  miscarry,  thou  shalt  pay  fort ; 
ril  study  for  thy  punishment,  and  it  shall  last 
Longer  and  sharper  than  a  tedious  winter. 
Till  thou  blasphem'st,  and  then  thou  diest  and  damn'st. 

[Exit. 


SCENE   11. — Another  apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Leontius  and  Telamon. 

Leon.  1  wonder  the  duchess  comes  not. 

Tel.  She  has  heard,  sir,  your  will  to  ^  speak  with  her  : 
But  there  is  something  leaden  at  her  heart, 
(Pray  God  it  be  not  mortal !)  that  even  keeps  her 
From  conversation  with  herself. 

Enter  Bach  a. 

Bacha.  Oh,  whither 
Will  you,  my  cross  affections,  pull  me  ?  Fortune,  Fate, 
And  you  whose  powers  dii-ect  our  actions, 
And  dwell  within  us,  you  that  are  angels 
Guiding  to  virtue,  wherefore  have  you  given 
So  strong  a  hand  to  evil  ?  wherefore  suffer'd 
A  temple  of  your  own,  you  deities. 
Where  your  fair  selves  dwelt  only  and  your  goodness, 
Thus  to  be  soiFd  with  sin  l 

Leon.  Heaven  bless  us  all ! 
From  whence  comes  this  distemper  ?  speak,  my  fair  one. 

Bacha.  And  have  you  none,  Love  and  Obedience, 
You  ever-faithful  servants,  to  employ 
In  this  strange  story  of  impiety 
But  me,  a  mother  I  must  I  be  your  trumpet', 

■^  to\   The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  give,  with  4to.  163.5,  "  is  to." 
'  trumpet]  So  the  Editors  of  1778.     Old  eds.  "strumpet." 


SCENE  II.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  423 

To  lay  black  treason  open  "  ?  and  in  him 

In  whom  all  sweetness  was ;  in  whom  ray  love 

AVas  proud  to  have  a  being ;  in  whom  justice, 

And  all  the  gods  for  our  imaginations '' 

Can  work  into  a  man,  were  more  than  virtues  ? 

Ambition,  down  to  hell,  where  thou  wert  fostered  ! 

Thou  hast  poison'd  the  best  soul,  the  purest,  whitest, 

And  merest  innocence  '  itself,  that  ever 

Man's  j  greedy  hopes  gave  life  to, 

Leon.  This  is  still  stranger :  lay  this  treason  open 
To  my  correction. 

Bacha.  Oh,  what  a  combat  duty  and  affection 
Breed  ^  in  my  blood  ! 

Leon.  If  thou  conceaFst  him,  may. 
Beside  my  death,  the  curses  of  the  country. 
Troubles  of  conscience,  and  a  wretched  end, 
Bring  thee  unto  a  poor  forgotten  grave  ! 

Bacha.  My  being,  for  another  tongue  to  tell  it ! 
Oh,  ease  '  a  mother,  some  good  man  that  dares 
Speak  for  his  king  and  country  !     I  am  full 
Of  too  much  woman's  pity  :  yet,  oh,  heaven. 
Since  it  concerns  the  safety  of  my  sovereign. 
Let  it  not  be  a  cruelty  in  me. 
Nor  draw  a  mother's  name  in  question 
Amongst  unborn  people,  to  give  up  that  man 
To  law  and  justice,  that  unrighteously 
Has  sought  his  father''s  death  !   Be  deaf,  be  deaf,  sir  ! 
Your  son  is  the  offender  :  now  have  you  all ; 
Would  I  might  never  speak  again  ! 

^  open]  Old  cds.  "  ujion." 

^  And  all  the  gods  for  our  imaginatiouit]   Seward  printed, — 
"  And  all  the  gods  for  all  our  imaginations." 
The  Editors  of  1778  propose  in  a  note  "or  our  imaginations."     Mason  would 
read  "  to  our  imaginations."     And  Weber  gave  (Sympson's  conjecture)  "for 
our  imitations."     Surely,  the  text  may  mean, — And  all  that  the  gods,  to  satisfy 
our  imaginations  of  perfection. 

'  innocence]   Theobald's  and  Seward's  correction.     Old  eds.  "  innocent'.st." 

i  Man's]  So  4to,  1635.     Other  eds.  "  Men's  ;"  and  so  Seward. 

"<  Breed]  Old  eds.  "  Breeds." 

'   Oh,  ease]  Seward's  correction.     Old  eds.  "  Cease." 


124  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  iv. 

Leon.  My  son ! 
Heaven  help  me  !  No  more  :   I  thought  it ; 
And  since  his  life  is  grown  so  dangerous, 
Let  them  that  srave  him  take  him ;  he  shall  die, 
And  with  him  all  my  fears. 

Bacha.  Oh,  use  your  mercy  ! 
You  have  a  brave  subject  to  bestow  it  on  : 
ril  forgive  him,  sir ;  and  for  his  wrong  to  me, 
I'll  be  before  you. 

Leon.  Durst  his  villany 
Extend  to  thee  ? 

Bacha.  Nothing  but  heats  of  youth,  sir, 

Leon.  Upon  my  life,  he  sought  my  bed  ! 

Bacha.  I  must  confess  he  lovVl  me 
Somewhat  beyond  a  son  ;  and  still  pursued  it 
With  such  a  lust,  I  will  not  say  ambition, 
That,  clean  forgetting  all  obedience, 
And  only  following  his  first  heat  unto  me, 
He  hotly  sought  your  death,  and  me  in  marriage. 

Leon.  Oh,  villain ! 

Bacha.  But  I  forget  all ;  and  am  half  asham'd 
To  press  a  man  so  far. 

Enter  Timantus. 

Tim.  Where  is  the  duke  ?  for  God's  sake,  bring  me  to  him  ! 

Leon.  Here  I  am  : — each  corner  of  the  dukedom 
Sends  new  affrights  forth  : — what  wouldst  thou  ?  speak. 

Tim.  I  cannot,  sir,  my  fear  ties  up  my  tongue. 

Leon.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ?  take  thy  courage  to  thee, 
And  boldly  speak. — Where  are  the  guard  ? — In  the  gods'*  name. 
Out  with  it ! 

Tenter  the  Guard. 
Tim.  Treason,  treason  ! 
Leon.  In  whom  ? 
Bacha.  Double  the  guard  ! 

Tim.  There  is  a  fellow,  sir 

Leon.  Leave  shaking,  man. 

Tim.  'Tis  not  for  fear,  but  wonder. 


SCENE  II.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  425 

Leon.  Wein 

Tim.  There  is  a  fellow,  sir,  close  "'  i'  the  lobby  : — 
You  o''  the  guard,  look  to  the  door  there  ! 

Leon.  But  lot  me  know  the  business. 

Tim.  Oh,  that  the  hearts  of  men  should  be  so  harden'd 
Against  so  good  a  duke  ! — For  God's  sake,  sir, 
Seek  means  to  save  yourself  !  this  wretched  slave 
Has  his  sword  in  his  hand ;   I  know  his  heart : 
Oh,  it  hath  almost  kilFd  me  with  the  thought  of  it  ! 

Leon.  Where  is  he  ? 

Tim.  V  the  lobby,  sir,  close  in  a  corner: 
Look  to  yourselves,  for  Heaven"'s  sake  !  methinks, 
He  is  here  already. — Fellows  of  the  guard,  be  valiant  ! 

Leon.  Go,  sirs,  and  apprehend  him.     Treason  shall 
Never  dare  me  in  mine  own  gates.  \^Exeunt  the  Guard. 

Tim.  ""Tis  done. 
Bacha.  And  thou  shalt  find  it  to  thy  best  content. 

I^eon.  Are  these  the  comforts  of  my  age  ?     They're  happy 
That  end  their  days  contented  with  a  little, 
And  live  aloof  from  dang-ers  :  to  a  king 
Every  content  doth  a  new  peril  bring. 

Re-enter  the  Guard  tcith  Leucippus. 
Oh,  let  me  live  no  longer  ! — Shame  of  nature, 
Bastard  to  honour,  traitor,  murderer, 
Devil  in  a  human  shape  I — Away  with  him  ! 
He  shall  not  breathe  his  hot  infection  here. 

Leuc.  Sir,  hear  me. 

I^eon.  Am  I  or  he  your  duke  ?  away  with  him 
To  a  close  prison  ! — Your  highness  now  shall  know, 
Such  branches  must  be  cropt  before  they  grow. 

Leitc.  Whatever  fortune  comes,  I  bid  it  welcome  ; 
My  innocency  "  is  my  armour.     Gods  preserve  you  ! 

\^Exif.  ivith  the  Guard. 

Bacha.  Fare  thee  well  ! 
I  shall  never  see  so  brave  a  gentleman  : 
Would  I  could  weep  out  his  offences  ! 

""  close']  i.  e.  Hccretly  hid. 

"  innocrnct/]  The  modern  editors  print  "  innocence." 


426  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  iv. 

Tim.   Or 
I  could  weep  out  mine  eyes  ! 

Leon.   Come,  gentlemen  ; 
We'll  determine  presently  about  his  death  : 
We  cannot  be  too  forward  in  our  safety. 
I  am  very  sick  ;  lead  me  unto  my  bed.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  TIL— ^  Street. 


Enter  First  Citizen  and  Boy. 
First  Cit.  Sirrah,  go  fetch  my  fox  "  from  the  cutler's; 
There's  money  for  the  scouring  :  tell  him  I  stop 
A  groat,  since  the  last  great  muster,  he  had  in  stone-pitch 
For  the  bruise  he  took  with  the  recoiling  of  his  gun. 
Bo2/.  Yes,  sir. 

First  Cit.  And,  do  you  hear?  when  you  come,  take  down 
my  buckler, 
And  sweep  the  cobwebs  off,  and  grind  the  pick  °  on't, 
And  fetch  a  nail  or  two,  and  tack  on  bracers  ?: 
Your  mistress  made  a  pot-lid  on't,  I  thank  her, 
At  her  maid's  wedding,  and  burnt  off  the  handle. 

Bo7/.  I  will,  sir.  [Exit. 

First  Cit.  [knocking  at  a  door.']  Who's   within   here  ?    ho, 
neighbour  ! 
Not  stirring  yet  I 

Enter  Second  Citizen. 
Sec.  Cit.  Oh,  good  morrow,  good  morrow  : 
What  news,  what  news  l 

First  Cit.  It  holds,  he  dies  this  morning. 

Sec.  Cit.  Then  happy  man  be  his  fortune  !   I  am  resolv'd. 

"  fox]  Sec  note,  p.  314. 

"  the  pick'\  i.  c.  the  pike,  or  spike,  in  the  centre  of  the  buckler. 
P  bracers'\  i.  e.  straps,  to   pass  the   arm  through.     The  Editors  of  1778  and 
Weber  gave,  with  4to.  1()35,  "  the  bracers.^' 


SCENE  III.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  427 

First  Cit.  And  so  am  I,  and  forty  more  good  fellows, 
That  will  not  give  their  heads  for  the  washing  i,  I  take  it. 

Sec.  Cit.  'Sfoot,  man,  who  would  not  hang  in  such  good 
company, 
And  such  a  cause?  A  fire  o**  wife  and  children  ! 
'Tis  such  a  jest,  that  men  should  look  behind  'em 
To  the  world,  and  let  their  honours,  their  honours,  neigh- 
bour, slip. 

First  Cit.  I'll  give  thee  a  pint  of  bastard  '  and  a  roll 
For  that  bare  word. 

Sec.  Cit.  They  say  that  we  tailors  are 
Things  that  lay  one  another,  and  our  geese  hatch  us  : 
ril  make  some  of 'em  feel  they  are  geese  o'  the  game,  then. — 
Jack,  take  down  my  bill ' ;  'tis  ten  to  one  I  use  it. — 

\To  Boy  loitliin. 
Take  a  good  heart,  man  ;  all  the  low  ward  is  ours. 
With  a  wet  finger. — 
And  lay  my  cut-finger'd  gauntlet  ready  for  me, 

[To  ^oy  within. 
That  that  I  us'd  to  work  in  when  the  gentlemen 
Were  up  against  us,  and  beaten  out  of  town, 
And  almost  out  o'  debt  too, — for,  a  plague  on  'em  ! 
They  never  paid  well  since  :  and  take  heed,  sirrah, 
Your  mistress  hears  not  of  this  business. 
She's  near  her  time ;  yet,  if  she  do,  I  care  not ; 
She  may  long  for  rebellion,  for  she  has 
A  devilish  spirit. 

First  Cit.  Come,  let's  call  up 
The  new  iremonger ' :  he's  as  tough  as  steel. 
And  has  a  fine  wit  in  these  resurrections. — 
Are  you  stirring,  neighbour  ?  [Knockinr/  at  anotlier  door. 

'1  That  will  not  give  their  heads  for  the  washing]  "  This  provei'bial  pluase 
occurs  in  Hudibras  (Part  I.  Canto  III.  ver.  255).  "  Weber.  See  Nares's 
Gloss,  in  V.  Head, 

"  dastard]  Was  a  sweetish  wine,  (approaching  to  the  muscadel  wIikmu  flavour, 
and  pcrliaps  made  from  a  bastard  species  of  muscadine  grape,)  whicli  was 
brought  from  some  of  the  countries  bordering  the  Mediterranean.  There  were 
two  sorts,  white  and  brown.     See  Henderson's  Hist,  of  Wines,  pp.  2f)0-l. 

*  bill]   See  note,  vol.  1,  297. 

'  iremonger]  The   modern  editors  give,  with  Ito.  1(!35,  "  ironnion|:;er." 


428  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  iv. 

Third  Cit.  [loithiri]  Oh,  good  morrow,  neighbours  : 
I'll  come  to  you  presently, 

Sec.  Cit.   Go  to  *, 
This  is  his  mother's  doing  ;  she's  a  polecat. 

First  Cit.   As  any  is  in  the  world 

Sec.  Cit.  Then  say  I  have  hit  it,  and  a  vengeance  on  her, 
Let  her  be  what  she  w"ill ! 

First  Cit.  Amen,  say  I  : 
She  has  brought  things"  to  a  fine  pass  with  her  wisdom,  do 
you  mark  it  ? 

Sec.  Cit.  One  thing  I  am  sure  she  has,  the  good  old  duke ; 
She  gives  him  pap  again,  they  say,  and  dandles  him, 
And  hangs  a  coral  and  bells  about  his  neck, 
And  makes  him  believe  his  teeth  will  come  again  ; 
Which  if  they  did,  and  I  he,  I  would  worry  her 
As  never  cur  was  worried, — I  would,  neighbour, 
Till  my  teeth  met  I  know  where ;  but  that's  counsel "'. 

Enter  Third  Citizen. 

Third  Cit.  Good  morrow,  neighboui's :  hear  you  the  sad  news? 

First  Cit.  Yes  ;  would  we  knew  as  w'ell  how  to  prevent  it  ! 

Third  Cit.  I  cannot  tell :  methinks,  'twere  no  great  matter. 
If  men  were  men  ;  but 

Sec.  Cit.  You  do  not  twit  me  with  my  calling  "",  neighbour? 

Third  Cit.  No,  surely  ;  for  I  know  your  spirit  to  be  tall : 
Pray,  be  not  vexM. 

Sec.  Cit.  Pray,  forw^ard  with  3'our  counsel.    I  am  what  I  am. 
And  they  that  prove  me  shall  find  me  to  their  cost : 
Do  you  mark  me,  neighbour  ?  to  their  cost,  I  say. 

First  Cit.  Nay,  look  how  soon  you  are  angry  ! 

Sec.  Cit.  They  shall,  neighbours;  yes,  I  say  they  shall. 

'  Go  to]   Weber  put  a  dash  after  these  words,  wrongly  supposing  them  to  be 
addressed  to  the  Tliird  Citizen. 

"  She  has  brought  tilings^  i^-c]     Mr.  Darley  remarks  that   "  a  multitude  of 
elisions  would  give  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  works  the  unsightliest  aspect,  if 
the  lines  were  printed  as  they  must  be  pronounced."     Introd.  to  theii-  Works, 
p.  xliii.     The  present  line  of  course  is  to  be  shortened  thus  in  the  reading, — 
"  S'has  brought  things  to  a  fine  pass  with  her  wisdom,  d'ye  mark  it  ?" 

'  thaCs  counsel]  "  i.  e.  that  is  a  secret."  Weber. 

"   my  calling]  The  Sec.  Cit.  is  a  tailor  :  see  his  speech,  p.  427. 


SCENE  in.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  429 

Third  Cit.  I  do  believe  they  shall. 

First  Cit.  I  know  they  shall. 

Sec.  Cit.  Whether  you  do  or  no,  I  care  not  two-pence  : 
I  am  no  beast ;   I  know  mine  own  strength,  neighbours  : 
God  bless  the  king  !  your  companies  is  fair. 

First  Cit.  Nay,  neighbour,  now  ye  err  ;  I  must  tell  you  so, 
An  ye  were  twenty  neighbours. 

Third  Cit.  You  had  best 
Go  peach  ;  do,  peach. 

Sec.  Cit.  Peach  !   I  scorn  the  motion. 

Third  Cit.  Do,  and  see  what  follows  :   Til  spend  an  hundred 
pound 
(An't  be  two,  I  care  not),  but  I'll  undo  thee. 

Sec.  Cit.  Peach !  oh,  disgrace  ! 
Peach  in  thy  face  !  and  do  the  worst  thou  canst ! 
I  am  a  true  man,  and  a  free-man  :  peach  ! 

First  Cit.  Nay,  look,  you  will  spoil  all. 

Sec.  Cit.  Peach  ! 

First  Cit.  Whilst  you  two  brawl  together, 
The  prince  will  lose  his  life. 

Tliird  Cit.  Come,  give  me  your  hand  ; 
I  love  you  well.     Are  you  for  the  action  ? 

Sec.  Cit.  Yes ; 
But  peach  provokes  me  :  "'tis  a  cold  fruit ;   I  feel  it 
Cold  in  my  stomach  still. 

Third  Cit.  No  more  :  Fll  give  you  cake  to  disgest "  it. 

Entet^  Fourth  Citizen. 
Fourth  Cit.  Shut  up  my  shop,  and  be  ready  at  a  call,  boys  : 

[To  Boys  loithin. 
And  one  of  you  run  over  my  old  tuck  with  a  few  ashes 
('Tis  grown  odious  with  toasting  cheese),  and  burn 
A  little  juniper  in  my  murrin  -'  (the  maid  made  it 
Her  chamber-pot)  ;   an  hour  hence  I'll  come  again  : 
And,  as  you  hear  from  me,  send  me  a  clean  shirt ! 

»  disgest]  So  all  the  old  eds. — except  4to.  1635,  which  has  "  digest,"  and 
which  the  modern  editors  follow.  Even  supposing  disgest  to  be  a  vulgarism 
(which  formerly  it  was  not),  it  would  bo  unobjectionable  here. 

'■  murrin]  i.  e.  murrion,  morion, — eteel  cap,  plain  helmet. 


430  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  iv. 

Third  Cit.  The  chandler  by  the  wharf,  an  it  be  thy  will ! 

Sec.  Cit.  Gossip,  good  morrow. 

Fourth  Cit.  Oh,  good  morrow,  gossip, — 
Good  morrow,  all.     I  see  ye  of  one  mind, 
You  cleave  so  close  together.     Come,  'tis  time : 
I  have  prepar  d  an  hundred,  if  they  stand. 

First  Cit.  'Tis  well  done  :  shall  we  sever,  and  about  it  ? 

Third  Cit.  First,  let's  to  the  tavern ;  and  a  pint  a-piece 
Will  make  us  dragons. 

Sec.  Cit.  I  will  have  no  mercy, 
Come  what  will  of  it. 

Fourth  Cit.   If  my  tuck  hold,  I'll  spit 
The  guard  like  larks  with  sage  between  'em. 

Sec.  Cit.   I  have 
A  foolish  bill  to  reckon  with  'em,  will  make 
Some  of  their  hearts  ache,  and  TU  lay  it  on : 
Now  shall  I  fight,  'twill  do  you  good  to  see  me. 

Third.  Cit.  Come,  I'll  do  something  for  the  town  to  talk  of 
When  I  am  rotten  :  pray  God  there  be  enough 
To  kill!  that's  all.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  lY.— Before  the  Palace. 

Enter  Dorialus,  Agenor,  and  Nisus. 

Age.  How  black  the  day  begins  ! 

Dor.  Can  you  blame  it,  and  look  upon  such  a  deed  as  shall 
be  done  this  morning  ? 

Nisus.  Does  the  prince  suffer  to-day  ? 

Dor.  Within  this  hour,  they  say. 

Af/e.  Well,  they  that  are  most  wicked  are  most  safe : 
'Twill  be  a  strange  justice  and  a  lamentable  ; 
Gods  keep  us  from  the  too  soon  feeling  of  it ! 

Dor.  I  care  not  if  my  throat  were  next ;  for  to  live  still, 
and  live  here,  were  but  to  grow  fat  for  the  shambles. 

Nisus.  Yet   we  must  do  it,  and  thank  'em  too,  that   our 
lives  may  be  accepted. 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  431 

Age.  Faith,  I'll  go  starve  myself,  or  grow  diseased,  to  shame 
the  hangman;  for  I  am  sure  he  shall  be  my  herald,  and 
quarter  me. 

Dor,   Ay,  a  plague  on  him  !    he's  too  excellent  at  arms. 

Nisus.  Will  you  go  sec  this  sad  sight,  my  lord  Agenor  i 

Age.  I'll  make  a  mourner. 

Dor.  If  I  could  do  him  any  good,  I  would  go ; 
The  bare  sight  else  would  but  afflict  my  spirit : 
My  prayers  shall  be  as  near  him  as  your  eyes. 
As  you  find  him  settled. 
Remember  my  love  and  service  to  his  grace. 

Nisus.   We  will  weep  for  you,  sir.     Farewell. 

Dor.  Farewell:  \^Exeunt. 

To  all  our  happiness  a  long  farewell ! — 
Thou  angry  power,  whether  of  heaven  or  hell, 
That  lay'st  this  sharp  correction  on  our  kingdom 
For  our  offences,  infinite  and  mighty. 
Oh,  hear  me,  and  at  length  be  pleasM,  be  pleas'd 
With  pity  to  draw  back  thy  vengeance, 
Too  heavy  for  our  weakness  ;  and  accept 
(Since  it  is  your  discretion,  heavenly  wisdoms. 
To  have  it  so)  this  sacrifice  for  all, 
That  now  is  flying  to  your  happiness. 
Only  for  you  most  fit ;  let  all  our  sins 
Suffer  in  him  ! —  [^  shout  within. 

Gods,  what's  the  matter  I  I  hope 
^Tisjoy. 

Re-enter  Agenor  and  Nisus. 

How  now,  my  lords  I 
Nisus.  I'll  tell  you  with  that  ^  little  breath  I  have  : 
More  joy  than  you  dare  think  ;  the  prince  is  safe 
From  danger. 
Dor.  How  ! 

Age.  'Tis  true,  and  thus  it  was.     His  hour  was  come 
To  lose  his  life  ;  he,  ready  for  the  stroke, 
Nobly,  and  full  of  saint-like  patience, 

'  thai}   Altered  by  Weber  to  "  wliat." 


432  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  iv. 

Went  with  his  guard  ;   which  when  the  people  saw, 

Compassion  first  went  out,  mingled  with  tears, 

That  bred  desires,  and  whispers  to  each  other. 

To  do  some  worthy  kindness  for  the  prince  ; 

And  ere  they  understood  well  how  to  do, 

Fury  stepped  in,  and  taught  them  what  to  do, 

Thrusting  on  every  hand  to  rescue  him, 

As  a  white  innocent :   then  flew  the  roar, 

Through  all  the  streets,  of  "  Save  him,  save  him,  save  him  !  " 

And  as  they  cried,  they  did  ;  for  catching  up 

Such  sudden  weapons  as  their  madness  shew["'d]  them. 

In  short,  they  beat  the  guard,  and  took  him  from  'em. 

And  now  march  with  him  like  a  royal  army. 

Dor.  Heaven,  Heaven,  I  thank  thee  !  What  a  slave  was  I 
To  have  my  hand  so  far  from  this  brave  rescue  ! 
"'T  had  been  a  thing  to  brag  on  when  I  was  old. 
Shall  we  run  for  a  wager  to  the  next  temple, 
And  give  thanks  ? 

Nisus.  As  fast  as  wishes.  \ Exeunt. 


SCENE  Y.— A  Street. 


Enter  Leucippus  and  Ismenus. 

Leuc.  Good  friends,  go  home  again  !  there's  not  a  man 

[  To  the  people  within. 
Shall  go  with  me. 

Ism.  Will  you  not  take  revenge  ? 
I'll  call  them  on. 

Leuc.  All  that  love  me,  depart ! 
I  thank  you,  and  will  serve  you  for  your  loves ; 
But  I  will  thank  you  more  to  suffer  me 
To  govern  'em.     Once  more,  1  do  beg  ye, 
For  my  sake,  to  your  houses  ! 

All  [loithiri].  Gods  preserve  you  ! 

Ism.  And  what  house  will  you  go  to  ? 

Leuc.  Ismenus,  I  will  take  the  wariest  courses 


SCENE  v.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  433 

That  I  can  think  of  to  defend  myself, 
But  not  ofibnd. 

Ism.  You  may  kill  your  mother, 
And  never  offend  your  father,  an  honest  man  *. 

Leiic.  Thou  know'st  I  can  scape  now  ;  that's  all  1  look  i'or  : 
I'll  leave  ^ . 

Ism.  Timantus,  a  pox  take  him  !  would  I  had  him  here  !  I 
would  kill  him  at  his  own  weapon,  single  scythes  :  we  have 
built  enough  on  him.  Plague  on't  !  I'm  out  of  all  patience  : 
discharge  such  an  army  as  this,  that  would  have  followed  you 
without  paying  !  oh,  gods  I 

Lciic.  To  what  end  should  ''  I  keep  'em  I  I  am  free. 

Ism.  Yes,  free  o'  the  traitors  ;  for  you  are  proclaimed  one. 

Leuc.  Should  I  therefore  make  myself  one  ? 

Ism.  This  is  one  of  your  moral  philosophy,  is  it;  Heaven  bless 
me  from  subtilties  to  undo  myself  with  !  but  I  know,  if  Reason 
herself  were  here,  she  would  not  part  with  her  own  safety. 

Leuc.  Well,  pardon  ^,  Ismenus  ;  for  I  know 
My  courses  are  most  just ;  nor  will  I  stain  'em 
With  one  bad  action.     For  thyself,  thou  know'st 
That,  though  I  may  command  thee,  I  shall  be 
A  ready  servant  to  thee,  if  thou  necd'st : 
And  so  ril  take  my  leave. 

Ism.  Of  whom  ? 

Licnc.  Of  thee. 

Ism.  Heart,  you  shall  take  no  leave  of  me ! 

Leuc.  Shall  I  not  ? 

Ism.  No,  by  the  gods,  shall  you  not !  nay,  if  you  have  no 
more  wit  but  to  go  absolutely  alone,  I'll  be  in  a  little. 

Leuc.  Nay,  prithee,  good  Ismenus,  part  with  me  ! 

Ism.  1  wo'not,  i'faith  :  never  move  it  anymore  ;  for,  by  this 
good  light,  I  wo'not ! 

"  an  honest  maii]  Altered  by  Seward  to  "  or  any  honest  man  "  ;  and  so  the 
Editors  of  1778. 

•"  I'll  leave'\  So  all  the  old  eds.,  except  4to  163r»,  which  has  "  Ik  leave  thee." 
The  modern  editors  print  it  thus,  "  I  will  leave — '' 

<^  should]   The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  gave,  with  4to  1G35,  "  shall." 

•'  pardon]   The  author  most  probably  wrote  "pardon  me." 
VOL.  II.  F  F 


434  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  iv. 

Leuc.  This  is  an  ill  time  to  be  thus  unruly  : 
Israenus,  you  must  leave  me. 

Ism.  Yes,  if  you  can  beat  me  away  ;  else  the  gods  refuse 
me,  if  I  will  leave  you  till  I  see  more  reason  !  you  sha'nt 
undo  yourself. 

Leuc.  But  why  wilt  not  leave  me  ? 

Ism..  Why,  I'll  tell  you  :  because  when  you  are  gone,  then 
— life,  if  I  have  not  forgot  my  reason — hell  take  me  !  you  put 
me  out  of  patience  so — oh,  marry,  when  you  are  gone,  then 
will  your  mother — ^a  pox  confound  her !  she  never  comes  in 
my  head  but  she  spoils  my  memory  too.  There  are  a  hun- 
dred reasons. 

Leuc.  But  shew  me  one. 

Ism.  Shew  you  !  what  a  stir  here  is  !  why,  I  will  shew  you : 
do  you  think — well,  well,  I  know  what  I  know ;  I  pray,  come, 
come ;  'tis  in  vain,  but  I  am  sure — devils  take  'em  !  what  do 
I  meddle  with  'em  ? — you  know  yourself — soul,  I  think  I  am — 
is  there  any  man  i'  the  world — as  if  you  knew  not  this  already 
better  than  I  !   Pish,  pish,  I'll  give  no  reason  ! 

Leuc.  But  I  will  tell  thee  one  why  thou  shouldst  stay  : 
I  have  not  one  friend  in  the  court  but  thou. 
On  whom  I  may  be  bold  to  trust  to  send  me 
Any  intelligence  ;  and  if  thou  lov'st  me, 
Thou  wilt  do  this  ;  thou  need'st  not  fear  to  stay ; 
For  there  are  new-come  proclamations  out. 
Where  all  are  pardon'd  but  myself. 

Ism.  'Tis  true ;  and  in  the  same  proclamation  your  fine 
sister  Urania,  whom  you  used  so  kindly,  is  proclaimed  heir- 
apparent  to  the  crown. 

Leuc.  What  though?  thou  mayst  stay  at  home  without 
danger. 

Ism.  Danger  !  hang  danger  !  what  tell  you  me  of  danger  ? 

Leuc.  Why,  if  thou  wilt  not  do't,  I  think  thou  dar'st  not. 

Ism.  I  dare  not  !  If  you  speak  it  ^  in  earnest,  you  are  a 
boy. 

Leuc.  Well,  sir,  if  you  dare,  let  me  see  you  do't. 

'  it]  Omitted  by  Weber. 


SCENE  I.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  435 

Ism.  Why,  so  you  shall ;   I  will  stay. 

Leuc.  Why,  God-a-raercy  ! 

Ism.  You  know  I  love  you  but  too  well. 

Leuc.  Now  take  these  few  directions  ;  farewell  ^ ! 
Send  to  me  by  the  wariest  ways  thou  canst : 
I  have  a  soul  tells  me  we  shall  meet  often. 
The  gods  protect  thee  ! 

Ism.  Pox  o'  myself  for  an  ass  !  I'm  crying  now.  God  be 
with  you  I  if  I  never  see  you  again,  why,  then — pray,  get  you 
gone  ;  for  grief  and  anger  wo'not  let  me  know  what  I  say. 
I"'ll  to  the  court  as  fast  as  I  can,  and  see  the  new  heir-apparent. 

\^Exeunt.  severalb/. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — An  apartment  in  the  Palace^. 

Enter  Urania  in  hoy's  clothes^  and  Maid. 

Ura.   What,  hast  thou  found  him  ? 

Maid.  Madam,  he  is  coming  in. 

Ura.  Gods ''  bless  my  brother,  wheresoever  he  is  ! 
And  I  beseech  you,  keep  me  fro  the  bed 
Of  any  naughty  tyrant,  whom  my  mother 
Would  ha'  me  have  to  wrong:  him  ! 

Enter  Ismenus. 
Ism.  What  would  her  new  grace  have  with  me  ? 
Ura.  Leave  us  a  while.  yExii  Maid. 

My  lord  Ismenus, 
I  pray,  for  the  love  of  Heaven  and  God, 

^farewell]  The  modern  editors  print  "  and /arcjf>e//"  ,•    which  perhaps  the 
poet  wrote. 

B  An  apartment  in   the  Palace]  Weber  marked  this  scene,  "  A  Street," — 
wrongly,  as  the  second  speecli  sliews. 

i"   Gods]  Altered  by  Seward  and  Weber  to  "  God." 

1-  r  2 


436  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  v. 

That  you  would  tell  me  one  thing,  which  I  know 
You  can  do  weel. 

Ism.  \inoc1iing  Ae?'.]   Where"'s  her  fain  grace  ? 

Ura.  You  know  me  weel  enough,  but  that  you  mock  ; 
I  am  she  my  sen. 

Ism.  God  bless  him  that  shall  be  thy  husband  !  ifthouwearest 
breeches  thus  soon,  thou'lt  be  as  imjoudent  as  thy  mother. 

Ura.  But  will  you  tell  me  this  one  thing  I 

Ism.  What  is't  ?  if  it  be  no  great  matter  whether  I  do  or 
no,  perhaps  I  will, 

Ura.  Yes,  feth^,  'tis  matter. 

Ism.  And  what  is't  ? 

Ura.    I  pray  you, 
Let  me  know  whair  the  prince  my  brother  is. 

Ism.  I'faith,  you  shan  be  hanged  first  !  Is  your  mother 
so  foolish  to  think  your  good  grace  can  sift  it  out  of  me  I 

Ura.  If  you  have  any  mercy  left  i'  you 
To  a  poor  wench,  tell  me  ! 

Ism.  Why,  wouldst  not  thou  have  thy  brains  beat  out  for 
this,  to  follow  thy  mother's  steps  so  young  ? 

Ura.  But,  believe  me,  she  knows  none  of  this. 

Ism.  Believe  you  !  why,  do  you  think  I  never  had  wits  I  or 
that  I  am  run  out  of  them  I  how  should  it  belong  to  you  to 
know,  if  I  could  tell  ? 

Ura.  Why,  I  will  tell  you  ;  and,  if  I  speak  false, 
Let  the  devil '  ha'  me  !     Yonder 's  a  bad  man, 
Come  from  a  tyrant  J  to  my  mother,  and  what  name 
They  ha'  for  him,  good  feth,  I  cannot  tell. 

Ism.  An  ambassador  ? 

Ura.  That's  it :  but  he  would  caiTy  me  away. 
And  have  me  marry  his  master  ;  and  I'll  day 
Ere  I  will  ha'  him. 

Ism.  But  what's  this  to  knowing  where  the  prince  is  ? 

••  feth]  Here  (and  only  in  this  speech  of  Urania)  the  old  eds.  agree  in 
reading  "  faith." 

■  devil}  Altered  by  Seward  to  "de'il  "  ;  and  so  his  successors. 

i  tyrant]  The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  printed  "  tayrant,"  with  4to 
1635  ;  but  even  that  4  to  in  the  second  speech  of  Urania  in  this  scene  has 
"tyrant." 


SCENE  I.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  437 

Ura.  Yes  ;  for  you  know  all  my  mother  does 
Agen  the  prhice,  is  but  to  ma'  me  great. 

Ism.  Pray — I  know  that  too  well — what  ten ''  ? 

Ura.  Why,  I  would  go  to  the  good  marquis  my  brother, 
And  put  myself  into  his  hands,  that  so 
He  may  preserve  himself. 

Ism.  Oh,  that  thou  hadst  no  seed  of  thy  mother  in  thee, 
and  couldst  mean  this  now  ! 

Ura.   Why,  feth ',  I  do  ; 
Would  I  might  never  stir  more,  if  I  do  not  ! 

Ism.  I  shall  prove  a  ridiculous  fool,  Til  be  damned  else: 
hang  me,  if  I  do  not  half  believe  thee. 

Ura.  By  my  troth,  you  may. 

Ism.  By  my  troth,  I  do:  I  know  Fm  an  ass  for't,  but  I 
cannot  help  it. 

Ura.  And  won  you  tell  me,  then  ? 

Ism.  Yes,  faith,  will  I,  or  any  thing  else  i'  the  world  ;  for  I 
think  thou  art  as  good  a  creature  as  ever  was  born. 

Ura.  But  ail  go  i'this  lad's  reparrel '"  ;  but  you  mun  help  me 
To  silver. 

Ism.  Help  thee  !  why,  the  pox  take  him  that  will  not  help 
thee  to  any  thing  i'  the  world  !  I'll  help  thee  to  money,  and 
I'll  do't  presently  too :  and  yet,  soul,  if  you  should  play  the 
scurvy,  harlotry,  little  pocky  baggage  ,  now,  and  cozen  me, 
what  then ' 

Ura.  Why,  an  I  do,  would  I  might  ne'er  see  day  again  ! 

Ism.  Nay,  by  this  light,  I  do  not  think  thou  wilt :  I'll 
presently  provide  thee  money  and  a  letter.  \^Exit. 

Ura.  Ay,  but  I'll  ne'er  deliver  it. 
When  I  have  found  my  brother,  I  will  beg 
To  serve  him ;  but  he  shall  never  know  who  I  am  ; 
For  he  must  hate  me  then  for  my  bad  mother : 
I'll  say  I  am  a  country  lad  that  want  a  service. 
And  have  stray'd  on  him  by  chance,  lest  he  discover  me. 

^  ten]  The  4to  of  ll>35  lias  "  then  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors.     Ismenus 
is  still  mocking  Urania,  being  not  yet  convinced  of  her  sincerity. 
'  felh'\  Altered  by  Seward  and  the  Editors  of  1778  to  "  ifeth." 
"  reparrel]   Sewai'd  gave,  with  the  folio  of  1679,  "apparel." 


438  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  v. 

I  know  I  must  not  live  long ;   but  that  taime 

I  ha'  to  spend  shall  be  in  serving  him  : 

And,  though  my  mother  seek  to  take  his  life  away, 

In  ai  °  day  my  brother  shall  be  taught 

That  I  was  ever  good,  though  she  were  naught.  [Exit. 


SCENE  II. — Another  apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Bacha  and  Timantus. 

Bacha.  Run  away  !  the  devil  be  her  guide  ! 

Tim.  Faith,  she's  gone  :  there's  a  letter  ;  I  found  it  in  her 
pocket,  [Gives  letter  to  Bacha,  icho  reads  it.^ — Would  I  were 
with  her  !  she's  a  handsome  lady  :  a  plague  upon  my  bashful- 
ness  !  I  had  bobbed  her  long  ago  else.  [Aside. 

Bacha.  What  a  base  whore  is  this,  that,  after  all 
My  ways  for  her  advancement,  should  so  poorly 
Make  virtue  her  undoer,  and  choose  this  time, 
The  king  being  deadly  sick,  and  I  intending 
A  present  marriage  with  some  foreign  prince. 
To  strengthen  and  secure  myself !     She  writes  here, 
Like  a  wise  gentlewoman,  she  v^^ill  not  stay ; 
And  the  example  of  her  dear  brother  makes  her 
Fear  herself",  to  whom  she  means  to  fly. 

Tim.  Why,  who  can  help  it  I 

Bacha.  Now  poverty  and  lechery,  which  is  thy  end. 
Rot  thee,  where'er  thou  goest,  with  all  thy  goodness ! 

Tim.  By'r  lady,  they'll  bruise  her,  an  she  were  of  brass  ! 
I  am  sure  they'll  break  stone  walls  :  I  have  had  experience  of 
them  both,  and  they  have  made  me  desperate.  But  there's 
a  messenger,  madam,  come  from  the  prince  with  a  letter  to 
Ismenus,  who  by  him  returns  an  answer. 

"  ai]  "i.  e.  oue."     Ed.  1778. 

0  Fear  herself]  "Seward  reads,  'fear  for  herself ;  but  the  text  is  good 
sense,  according  to  the  idiom  prevailing  in  our  authors'  time."  Ed.  1778. 
See  note,  p.  209. — The  editors  of  1778  and  Weber  take  "  licr  "  from  the  end  of 
the  preceding  line,  and  place  it  at  the  beginning  of  this,  forgetting  that 
"fear  "  was  often  used  as  a  dissyllable. 


SCENE  II.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  439 

Bacha.  This  comes  as  pat  as  wishes.  Thou  shalt  presently 
Away,  Tiinantus. 

Tim.  Whither,  madam? 

Bacha.  To  the  prince  ;  and  take  the  messenger  for  guide. 

Tim.  AVhat  shall  I  do  there  ?  I  have  done  too  much 
mischief  to  be  believed  again ;  or,  indeed,  to  scape  with  my 
head  on  my  back,  if  I  be  once  known. 

Bacha.  Thou  art  a  weak  shallow  fool !    Get  thee  a  disguise ; 
And  withal,  when  thou  com'st  before  him,  have  a  letter 
FeignM  to  deliver  him  ;  and  then,  as  thou 
Hast  ever  hope  of  goodness  by  me  or  after  me. 
Strike  one  home-stroke  that  shall  not  need  another  ! 
Dar'st  thou  ?  speak,  dar'st  thou  l     If  thou  fallest  off, 
Go,  be  a  rogue  p  again,  and  lie  and  pandar 
To  procure  thy  meat !     Dar'st  thou  I  speak  to  me. 

Tim.  Sure,  I  shall  never  walk  when  I  am  dead,  I  have  no 
spirit.  ]\Iadam,  Fll  be  drunk,  but  I'll  do  it;  thafs  all  my  refuge. 

Bacha.  Away  !  no  moi-e,  then.  \^Exit  Timantus. 

I'll  raise  an  army  whilst  the  king  yet  lives. 
If  all  the  means  and  power  I  have  can  do  it ; 
I  cannot  tell. 

Enter  Ismenus,  Dorialds,  Age.nor,  and  Nisus. 

Ism.  Are  you  inventing  still  ?  we'll  ease  your  studies. 

Bacha.  Why,  how  now,  saucy  lords  I 

Ism.  Nay,  Y\\  shake  you  ;  yes,  devil,  I  will  shake  you  ! 

Bacha.  Do  not  you  know  me,  lords  I 

Nisus.  Yes,  deadly  sin,  wo  know  you  :  would  we  did  not ! 

Is7n.  Do  you  hear,  whore  ?  a  plague  o"*  God  upon  thee  ! 
The  duke  is  dead. 

Bacha.  Dead  ! 

Is}7i.  Ay,  wildfire  and  brimstone  take  thee  !  good  man,  he 
is  dead,  and  past  those  miseries,  which  thou,  salt  infection, 
like  a  disease'',  flungest  upon  his  head.      Dost  thou  hear  i  an 

«•  rogue]  "  Means  here  a  beggar,  as  it  frequently  does  in  these  plays."   Mason. 

f  infection,  like  a  disease^  Old  eds.,  "  infection-WkQ,  like  a  (liscasr."  "  The 
reduplication  of  like  is  evidently  accidental,  but  the  modern  editions  not  only 
retain  it,  but  introduce  another  tliou."     Weueii. 


440  CUPID'S  REVENUE.  [act  v. 

'twere  not  more  respect  to  womanhood  in  general  than  thee, 

because  I  had  a  mother, — who,  I  will  not  say  she  was  good, 

she  lived  so  near  thy  time, — 

I  would  have  thee,  in  vengeance  of  this  man, 

Whose  peace  is  made  in  heaven  by  this  time, 

Tied  to  a  post,  and  dried  i"*  the  sun,  and  after 

Carried  about,  and  shewn  at  fairs  for  money, 

With  a  long  story  of  the  devil  thy  father, 

That  taught  thee  to  be  whorish,  envious,  bloody  ! 

Bacha.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Ism.  You  fleering  harlot,  I'll  have  a  horse  to  leap  thee,  and 
thy  base  issue  shall  carry  sumpters  •". — Come,  lords,  bring  her 
along  :  we'll  to  the  prince  all,  where  her  hell-hood  shall  wait 
his  censure  ; — and  if  he  spare  thee,  she-goat,  may  he  lie  with 
thee  again  !  and  beside,  mayst  thou  lay  upon  him  some  nasty 
foul  disease,  that  hate  still  follows,  and  his  end  a  dry  ditch  ! 
Lead,  you  coi-rupted  whore,  or  Fll  draw  a  goad  shall  make 
you  skip  :  away  to  the  prince  ! 

Bacha.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
I  hope  yet  I  shall  come  too  late  to  find  him.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  UL—Tewple  o/Cupid. 

Cornets  tcithin.     Cupid  descends. 
Cupid.  The  time  now  of  my  revenge^  draws  near  ; 
Nor  shall  it  lessen,  as  I  am  a  god, 
AV^ith  all  the  cries  and  prayei's  that  have  been, 
And  those  that  be  to  come,  though  they  be  infinite 
In  need  and  number.  [Ascends. 

'  sumpters']  i.  e.  packs,  baggage,  burdens.  Nares  {Gloss,  in  v.)  citing  the 
present  passage,  says,  "  I  fancy  it  [sumpter']  originally  meant  the  pannier,  or 
basket,  which  the  sumpter-horse  carried."  Coles  has  "A  Sumptci'-saddle, 
Sagma."  Diet. — I  have  no  doubt  that  the  whole  of  this  and  of  the  preceding 
speech  of  Ismcnus  would  run  into  regular  blank  verse,  if  we  possessed  an 
uncorrupted  text. 

'  viy  revenge]  Qy.  "  w/y  full  revenge"  i—\n  the  old  cds.  this  speech  is 
placed  at  the  end  of  the  play. 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  441 


SCENE   IV. — A  Forest,  tvith  a  cave  in  the  bach-ground. 

Enter  Leucippus,  and  Urania*  in  loi/s  clothes. 

Leuc.  Alas,  poor  boy,  why  dost  thou  follow  rae  ? 
What  canst  thou  hope  for  ]  I  am  poor  as  thou  art. 
y-       Ura.  In  good  feth,  I  shall  be  weel  and  rich  enough, 
If  you  will  love  me,  and  not  put  me  from  you. 

Leuc.   Why  dost  thou  choose  out  me,  boy,  to  undo  thee  I 
Alas,  for  pity,  take  another  master, 
That  may  be  able  to  deserve  thy  love, 
In  breeding  thee  hereafter  !  Me  thou  know'st  not 
More  than  my  misery ;  and  therefore  canst  not 
Look  for  rewards  at  my  hands  :  would  I  were  able, 
My  pretty  knave,  to  do  thee  any  kindness  ! 
Truly,  good  boy,  I  would,  upon  my  faith  : 
Thy  harmless  innocence  moves  me  at  heart. 
Wilt  thou  go  save  thyself?  why  dost  thou  weep  I 
Alas,  I  do  not  chide  thee  ! 

Ura.   I  cannot  tell ; 
If  I  go  from  you,  sir,  I  shall  ne'er  dawn "  day  more  : 
Pray,  if  you  can — I  will  be  true  to  you — 
Let  me  wait  on  you.     If  I  were  a  man, 
I  would  fight  for  you  : 
Sure,  you  have  some  ill-willers ;   I  would  slay  'era. 

Leuc.  Such  harmless  souls  are  ever  prophets.     Well, 
I  take  thy  wish,  thou  shalt  be  with  me  still  : 
But,  prithee,  eat,  then ',  my  good  boy  ;  thou  wilt  die. 
My  child,  if  thou  fast  one  day  more  ;  this  four  days 
Thou  hast  tasted  nothing :  go  into  the  cave, 

'  and  Urania'I   Tlic  old  cds.  add,  "  Leucippus  tvith  a  Moody  handkerchief, — 
a  direction  intended  for  the  performer  of  that  part,  wlio  was  to  have  a  bloody 
handkerchief  ready  to  be  displayed  when  Urania  should  be  stabbed. 
"  dawn']   Seward  and  the  Editoi-s  of  1778  print  "  draw." 
"  then]    So   the   first   4to.     Omitted   in   other  eds.  ;   and   by  the   modern 
editors. 


442  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  v. 

And  eat ;  thou  shalt  find  something  for  thee'% 
To  bring  thy  blood  again  and  thy  fair  colour. 

Ura.  I  cannot  eat,  God  thank  you  !  but  Fll  eat  to-morrow. 

Leuc.  Thou't  be  dead  by  that  time. 

Ura.  I  should  be  well  then  ;  for  you  will  not  love  me. 

Leuc.  Indeed,  I  will. — 
This  is  the  prettiest  passion  that  e'er  I  felt  yet  ! — 
Why  dost  thou  look  so  earnestly  upon  me  I 

Ura.  You  have  fair  eyes,  master. 

Leuc.  Sure,  the  boy  dotes  ! — 
Why  dost  thou  sigh,  my  child  ? 

Ura.  To  think  that  such 
A  fine  man  should  live,  and  no  gay  lady  love  him. 

Leuc.  Thou  wilt  love  me  ? 

Ura.  Yes,  sure,  till  I  die  ; 
And  when  I  am  in  heaven,  Fll  e''en  wish  for  you. 

Leuc.  And  I'll  come  to  thee,  boy.     This  is  a  love 
I  never  yet  heard  tell  of. — Come,  thou  art  sleepy,  child  ; 
Go  in,  and  I'll  sit  with  thee. — Heaven,  what  portends  this  I 

Ura.  You  are  sad,  but  I  am  not  sleepy :  would  I  could 
Do  aught  to  make  you  merry  !  shall  I  sing  ? 

Leuc.  If  thou  wilt,  good  boy.     Alas,  my  boy,  that  thou 
Shouldst  comfort  me,  and  art  far  worse  than  I ! 

Enter  Timantus  disguised. 

Ura.  La,  master,  there's  one  !  look  to  yourself ""  ! 

Le7ic.  What  art  thou  that  in  [to]  this  dismal  place, 
Which  nothing  could  find  out  but  misery, 
Thus  boldly  step'st  I    Comfort  was  never  here ; 
Here  is  no  food,  nor  beds,  nor  any  house 
Built  by  a  better  architect  than  beasts ; 
And  ere  you  get  a  dwelling  from  one  of  them, 
You  must  fight  for  it :  if  you  conquer  him, 
He  is  your  meat ;  if  not,  you  must  be  his. 
Tim.  I  come  to  you  (for,  if  I  not  mistake, 

»■  for  thee]  Seward,  for  the  metre,  printed  "for  tine  there. " 
^  yourself]  Tlie  first  4  to,  "  your  sen." 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  443 

You  are  the  prince)  from  that  most  noble  lord 

Ismenus,  with  a  letter.  [Gives  letter. 

Ura.  Alas,  I  fear 
I  shall  be  discover'd  now  !  [Aside. 

Leiic.  Now  I  feel 
Myself  the  poorest  of  all  mortal  things  : 
Where  is  he  that  receives  such  courtesies 
But  he  has  means  to  shew  his  gratefulness 
Some  way  or  other ;  I  have  none  at  all ; 
I  know  not  how  to  speak  so  much  as  well 
Of  thee,  but  to  these  trees. 

Tim.  His  letters  speak  him,  sir. 

[  While  Leucippus  opens  the  letter,  Timantus  runs  at 
him  ;  JJnx'six  rushes  between,  and  receives  the  icound.     I"  ' 

Ura.  Gods  keep  him  but  from  knowing  me  till  I  die^ ! 
Aye  me,  sure,  I  cannot  live  a  day  ! — 
Oh,  thou  foul  traitor  ! — How  do  you,  master? 

Leuc.  How  dost  thou,  my  child  I — Alas,  look  on  this  ! 
It  may  make  thee  repentant,  to  behold 
Those  innocent  drops  that  thou  hast  drawn  from  thence. 

Ura.  'Tis  nothing,  sir,  an  you  be  well. 

Tim.  Oh,  pardon  me  !  [Kneels  and  discovers  himself. 

Know  you  me  now,  sir  I 

Leuc.  How  couldst  thou  find  me  out  I 

Tim.  We  intercepted 
A  letter  from  Ismenus,  and  the  bearer 
Directed  me. 

Leuc.  Stand  up,  Timantus,  boldly.  [Ti.m.  rises. 

The  world  conceives  that  thou  art  guilty 
Of  divers  treasons  to  the  state  and  me  : 
But,  oh,  far  be  it  from  the  innocence 
Of  a  just  man,  to  give  a  traitor  death 
Without  a  trial !   Here  thy  ''■  country  is  not 
To  purge  thee  or  condemn  thee ;  therefore, 

y  Gods  keep  him  but  from  knoiving  me  till  I  die]  Mason's  corrcctiou.  Old  cds. 
"  Gods  keep  me  but  from  knowing  him  till  I  die." 
In  the  old  eds  of  Pliilaster  (see  vol.  i.  286)  there  is  a  similar  error. 

'■  thy]  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  "the  "  ;  and  so  tlio  modern  editors. 


444  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  \ . 

(A  nobler  trial '"  than  thou  dost  deserve, 
Rather  than  none  at  all,)  here  I  accuse  thee, 
Before  the  face  of  Heaven,  to  be  a  traitor 
Both  to  the  duke  my  father  and  to  me, 
And  the  whole  land.     Speak ;  is  it  so,  or  no  ? 

Tini.  'Tis  true,  sir  :  pardon  me  ! 

Leuc.  Take  heed,  Timantus, 
How  thou  dost  cast  away  thyself:   I  must 
Proceed  to  execution  hastily 
If  thou  confess  it.     Speak  once  a^ain  ;  is't  so,  or  no  ? 

Tim.  I  am  not  guilty,  sir. 

Leuc.  Gods  and  thy  sword 
Acquit  thee  !  here  it  is.  [Delivers  him  his  sicord. 

Tim.  I  will  not  use 
Any  violence  against  your  highness. 

Leuc.  At  thy  peril,  then  ! 
For  this  must  be  thy  trial ;  and  from  henceforth 
Look  to  thyself ! 

Tim.  I  do  beseech  you,  sir. 
Let  me  not  fight.  [Kneels. 

Leuc.  Up,  up  again,  Timantus  !  [Tim.  rises. 

There  is  no  way  but  this,  believe  me.     Now,  if — 

[As  Leucippus  turns  aside,  Timantus  rims  at  him  ''. 
Fie,  fie,  Timantus  !  is  there  no  usage  can 
Recover  thee  from  baseness  \  Wert  thou  longer 

*  therefore, 

{A  nobler  trial,  &c.]  "  Seward  reads  [and  is  followed  by  the  Editors  of  1778], 

'  therefore  take 

A  nobler  trial,'  &e. 
But  there  is  no  occasion  for  this  addition,  if  we  substitute  a  comma  for  a  colon 
[which  the  two  preceding  editions  have]  after  the  words  '  at  all,'  as  Mason  directs, 
and  place  the  parentheses  as  in  the  text."  Weber.  This  gives  a  sense  to  the 
passage  ;  but,  as  the  play  is  corrupt  throughout,  the  loss  of  a  word  may  be  sus- 
pected here. 

''  As  Leucippus  turns  aside,  Timantus  runs  at  him]  In  this  stage-direction 
(which  I  have  slightly  altered)  the  words  "  turns  aside"  are  probably  to  be 
understood  of  the  prince  resuming  his  position  for  the  fight.  The  stage-direc- 
tions which  the  modern  editors  have  added  to  this  scone  are  altogether  wi'ong  : 
they  were  not  aware  that  hei-e  (as  often  elsewhere)  the  stage-directions  of  the 
old  eds.  are  placed  much  too  early, — being  merely  notices  to  the  performers, — 
to  warn  them  to  be  in  readiness. 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  445 

To  converse  with  men,  I  would  have  chid  thee  for  this. 

Be  all  thy  faults  forgiven  !  YThey  fight ;  TiMAXTU.sy«//-'. 

Tim.  Oh,  spare  me,  sir  !   I  am  not  fit  for  death. 

Leuc.  I  think  thou  art  not ;  yet,  trust  me,  fitter  than 
For  life.     Yet  tell  me,  ere  thy  breath  be  gone, 
Knowest  of  any  other  plots  against  me  \ 

Tim.  Of  none. 

Leuc.  What  course  wouldst  thou  have  taken,  when  thou 
hadst  kiird  me  ? 

77m.  I  would  have  ta'en  your  page,  and  married  her. 

Leuc.  ^Vhat  page  ? 

Tim.  Your  boy  there [  lyics. 

Leuc.  Is  he  fain  mad  in  death  ?  what  does  he  mean  ? 

[Urania  sivoons. 
Some  good  god  help  me  at  the  worst ! — How  dost  thou  ? 
Let  not  thy  misery  vex  me ;  thou  shalt  have 
What  thy  poor  heart  can  wish  :  I  am  a  prince, 
And  I  will  keep  thee  in  the  gayest  clothes, 
And  the  finest  things  that  ever  pretty  boy 
Had  given  him. 

Ura.  I  knov/  you  well  enough  ; 
Feth,  I  am  dying  ;  and  now  you  know  all  too. 

Leuc.  But  stir  up  thyself:  look  what  a  jewel  here  is,       |/ 
See  how  it  glisters  !  what  a  pretty  show  i 

Will  this  make  in  thy  little  ear  !  ha,  speak  !  / 

Eat  but  a  bit,  and  take  it. 

Ura.  Do  you  not  know  me  ? 

Leuc.  I  prithee,  mind  thy  health  :  why,  that's  well  said  " ; 
My  good  boy,  smile  still. 

Ura.  I  shall  smile  till  death, 
An  I  see  you.     I  am  Urania, 
Your  sister-in-law. 

Leuc.  How  ! 

Ura.  I  am  Urania. 

Leuc.  Dulness  did  seize  me ;  now  I  know  thee  well  : 
Alas,  why  cam'st  thou  hither  ? 

'  well  said]   See  note,  vol,  i.  328. 


446  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  v. 

Ura.   Feth,  for  love  : 
I  would  not  let  you  know  till  I  was  dying  ; 
For  you  could  not  love  me,  my  mother  was  so  naught.    \^Dies. 

Leuc.  I  will  love  thee,  or  any  thing  !  what,  wilt  thou 
Leave  me  as  soon  as  I  know  thee  ?  speak  one  word  to  me  ! — 
Alas,  she's  past  it !  she  will  ne'er  speak  more. — 
What  noise  is  that  ?  it  is  no  matter  who 
Comes  on  me  now. 

Enter  Ismenus,  Dorialus,  Agexor,  and  Nisus,  hnnging  in  Bacha. 

What  worse  than  mad  are  you 
That  seek  out  sorrows  ?  if  you  love  delights, 
Begone  from  hence  ! 

Ism.  Sir,  for  you  we  come. 
As  soldiers,  to  revenge  the  wrongs  you  have  suffer'd 
Under  this  naughty  creature  :  what  shall  be  done  with  her  I 
Say  ;  I  am  ready. 

Leuc.  Leave  her  to  Heaven,  brave  cousin  ^  ; 
They  shall  tell  her  how  she  has  sinn\l  against  'em  : 
My  hand  shall  never  be  stain'd  with  such  base  blood. — 
Live,  wicked  mother  !  that  reverend  title  be 
Your  pardon  !  for  I  will  use  no  extremity 
Against  you,  but  leave  you  to  Heaven. 

Bacha.  Hell  take  you  all !  or,  if  there  be  a  place 
Of  torment  that  exceeds  that,  get  you  thither  ! 
And,  till  the  devils  have  you,  may  your  lives 
Be  one  continued  plague,  and  such  a  one 
That  knows  no  friends  nor  ending  !  may  all  ages 
That  shall  succeed  curse  you,  as  I  do  !  and, 

**  Leave  her  to  Heaven,  brave  cousin,  &c.]  With  this  speech  (wliieli  is  no 
doubt  somewhat  corrupted)  Seward  took  his  usual  hberties,  inserting  "  And  " 
at  the  beginning  of  the  second  line,  and  throwing  out  "  for  "  in  the  fifth.  The 
following  arrangement  would  hardly  be  an  improvement ; 

"  Leave  her  to  Heaven,  brave  cousin  :  they  shall  tell  her 
How  she  has  sinn'd  against  'em  ;  my  hand  shall  never 
Be  stain'd  with  such  base  blood. —  Live,  wicked  mother  ! 
That  reverend  title  be  your  pardon  !  for 
I  will  use  no  extremity  against  you, 
But  leave  you  to  Heaven." 


SCENE  IV.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  447 

If  it  be  possible,  I  ask  it  Heaven, 
That  your  base  issues  may  be  ever  monsters. 
That  must,  for  shame  of  nature  and  succession, 
Be  drown 'd  like  dogs  !      Would  I  had  breath  to  poison  ^ 
you! 

Leiic.  Would  30U  had  love  within  you  and  such  grief 
As  might  become  a  mother  !  Look  you  there  ! 
Know  you  that  face  ?  that  was  Urania ; 
These  arc  the  fruits  of  those  unhappy  mothers 
That  labour  with  such  horrid  births  as  you  do  : 
If  you  can  weep,  there's  cause  ;  poor  innocent. 
Your  wickedness  has  kill'd  her  ;   Fll  weep  for  you. 

Isjji.  Monstrous  woman  !   Mars  would  weep  at  this, 
And  yet  she  cannot. 

Leitc.  Here  lies  your  minion  too,  slain  by  my  hand  : 
I  will  not  say  you  are  the  cause ;  yet  certain, 
I  know  you  were  to  blame  :  the  gods  forgive  you  ! 

Is)n,  See,  she  stands  as  if  she  were  inventing 
Some  new  destruction  for  the  world. 

Leuc.  Ismenus, 
Thou  art  welcome  yet  to  my  sad  company. 

Is}n.  I  come  to  make  you  somewhat  sadder,  sir. 

Leuc.  You  cannot ;  I  am  at  the  height  already. 

/5m.  Your  father 's  dead. 

Leuc.  I  thought  so  ;   Heaven  be  with  him  ! — 
Oh,  woman,  woman,  weep  now  or  never  !  thou 
Hast  made  more  sorrows  than  we  have  eyes  to  utter. 

Bacha.   Now  let  heaven  fall !   I  am  at  the  worst  of  evils  ; 
A  thing  so  miserably  WTetched  *,  that  every  thing. 
The  last  of  human  comforts,  hath  loft  me  ! 
I  will  not  be  so  base  and  cold  to  live, 

'  poison]  So  4to  1635.     Other  cds.  "please  "  ;  which  Seward  gave. 
'  A  thing  so  miserafily  wrclched,  &c.]  Seward  printed, — 
"  A  thing  so  miserably  tvr etched,  that 
Every  thing,  even  tltc  last  of  human  comforts"  &c. 
The  passage  is  corrupted.     The  sense  seems  to  require  something  like  this, — 
"  A  thing  so  miserahly  wretched,  that  even  ho|ie,"  &c. 


448  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  [act  v. 

And  wait  the  mercies  of  these  men  I  hate : 

No,  'tis  just  I  die,  since  Fortune  hath  left  me. 

My  steep »  descent  attends  me.     Hand,  strike  thou  home  ! 

I  have  soul  enough  to  guide  :  and  let  all  know, 

As  I  stood  l>  a  queen,  the  same  I  will  fall, 

And  one  with  me  !  iStabs  Leucippus,  and  then  herself. 

Leuc.  Oh ! 

Ism.  How  do  you,  sir  ? 

Leuc.  Nearer  my  health  than  I  think  any  here  : 
My  tongue  begins  to  falter.     What  is  man  ! 
Or  who  would  be  one,  when  he  sees  a  poor 
Weak  woman  can  in  an  instant  make  him  none ! 

Dor.  She  is  dead  already. 

Ism.  Let  her  be  damnM  already,  as  she  is ! 
Post  all  for  surgeons  ! 

Leuc.  Let  not  a  man  stir  ;  for  I  am  but  dead. 
I  have  some  few  words  which  I  would  have  you  hear, 
And  am  afraid  I  shall  want  breath  to  speak  'era. 
First  to  you,  my  lords  :  you  know  Ismenus  is 
Undoubtedly '  heir  of  Lycia  ;  I  do  beseech  you  all, 
When  I  am  dead,  to  shew  your  duties  to  him. 

Dor.    \ 

Age.     \  We  vow  to  do't. 

Nisus.  I 

Leuc.  I  thank  you. —  Next  to  you, 
Cousin  Ismenus,  that  shall  be  the  duke  : 
I  pray  you,  let  the  broken  image [s] 
Of  Cupid  be  re-edified  ;  I  know 
All  this  is  done  by  him. 

Ism.  It  shall  be  so. 

Leuc.  Last,  I  beseech  you  that  my  mother-in-law 
May  have  a  burial  according  to ^Diesi. 

Ism.  To  what,  sir  ? 

Dor.  There  is  a  full  point ! 

^  steep']  Theobald's  and  Sympson's  correction.     Old  eds.,  "  step." 
^  As  I  stood]   Seward,  for  the  metre,  printed  "As  I  have  stood.'" 
'   Undoubtedly]  The  modern  editors  print"  Undoubted,"— and  so  perhaps  the 
author  wrote. 


SCENE  III.]  CUPID'S  REVENGE.  449 

Ism.  I  will  interpret  for  him  :  she  shall  have 
Burial  according  to  her  own  deserts, 
With  dogs. 

Dor.  I  would  your  majesty  would  haste 
For  settling  of  the  people. 

Ism.  I  am  ready. — 
Agenor,  go,  and  let '  the  trumpets  sound 
Some  mournful  thing,  whilst  we  convey  the  body 
Of  this  unhappy  prince  unto  the  court, 
And  of  that  virtuous  virgin  to  a  grave  ; 
But  drag  her  to  a  ditch,  where  let  her  lie 
AccursM  whilst  woman  J  has  a  memory  !  \^Exe7int. 

'  Ism.  /  am  ready. — 
Agenor,  go,  and  let,  &c.]  So  the  first  4to.     Other  eds.  make  "Agenor  " 
the  prefix  to  "  Go,  and  let,"  &c. ;  and  so  the  modern  editors, — who,  though 
they  had  not  seen  the  first  4to,  ought  certainly  to  have  perceived  that  this 
speech  did  not  belong  to  Agenor. 

i  woman']  The  correction  of  Heath,  MS.  Notes.     Old  eds.,  "one  man"  ; 
and  so  the  modem  editors. 


THE   MASQUE 


THE    INNER-TEMPLE    AND   GRAY'S   INN. 


c;  G  2 


The  Masqve  of  the  Inner  Temple  and  Grapes  Inne ;  Grayes  Inne  and  the  Inner  Temple, 
vresented  before  his  Maicstie,  the  Qiieenes  Maiestie,  the  Prince,  Count  Palatine  and  the  Lady 
Elizabeth  their  Highnesses,  in  the  Banquetling  house  at  White-hall  on  Saturday  the  twentieth 
day  of  Februarie,  1612.  At  London,  Imprinted  by  F.  K.for  George  Norton,  and  are  to  be 
sold  at  Ms  shoppe  neere  Temple-bar.    4to.  n.  d. 

The  Maske  of  the  Gentlemen  of  Grayes-Inne,  and  the  Inner-Temple,  Performed  before 
the  King  in  the  Banqueting-house  at  White-hall,  at  the  marriage  of  the  Illustrious  Frederick 
and  Elizabeth,  Prince  and  Princesse  Palatine  of  the  Rhene.  Written  by  Francis  Beamont 
Gentleman,  in  the  folios  of  1647,  1679. 

Also  in  Beaumont's  Poems,  1G53,  !)vo. 

In  all  eds,,  except  the  4to.,  the  Masque  is  curtailed  of  the  Dedication  and  descriptive 
portions. 


This  masque  was  the  unassisted  production  of  Beaumont. 
*•*  The  marriage  of  the  Count  Palatine  of  the  Rhine  with  the  Lady 
Elizabeth,  daughter  to  James  I.,  was  celebrated  on  Valentine's  Day,  in 
the  year  1G13  [1G12-13].  The  ^lasque  then  exhibited  by  the  gentlemen  of 
Gray's  Inn  and  the  Inner-Temple  was  performed  with  much  splendour 
and  magnificence,  and  at  a  great  expense  to  both  those  Societies.  In  Dug- 
dale's  Origines  Juridiciales,  1071,  p.  286,  we  find  the  following  accounts 
of  the  charges  attending  this  representation,  extracted  from  the  records 
of  each  Society  :  '•Gray's  Inn.  In  the  10th  of  King  James,  the  Gentlemen 
of  this  house  were  (together  with  those  of  the  other  Innes  of  Court)  Actors 
in  that  great  Mask  at  White-hall,  at  the  marriage  of  the  Kings  eldest 
daughter  unto  Frederick  Count  Palatine  of  the  Rhene :  the  char^rc  in 
apparell  for  the  Actors  in  Avhich  mask  was  supported  by  the  Society  ; 
the  Readei"s  being  each  man  assessed  at  4/.,  the  Ancients,  and  such  as  at 
that  time  were  to  be  called  Ancients,  at  21.  Ws.  a  piece,  the  Barristers  at 
21.  a  man,  and  the  Students  at  20s. ;  out  of  which  so  much  was  to  be 
taken  as  the  Inner-Temple  did  then  allow. 

'  Which  being  performed,  there  was  an  Order  made,  18  ^laii  then 
next  following,  that  the  Gentlemen  who  were  Actors  in  that  Mask  should 
bring  in  all  their  Masking  Apparell,  so  provided  at  the  charge  of  the 
House.'  "     Reed. 

"In  Winwood's  Memorials,  (Vol.  III.  p.  4.35.)  Mr.  .fohn  Chamber- 
laine,  after  giving  an  account  of  the  successful  representation  of  the 
masque  provided  by  the  Middle-Temple  and  Lincoln's  Inn,  proceeds  in 
the  following  words  respecting  that  of  Beaumont : — '  But  the  next  day 
our  Gray's  Inn  men  and  the  Inner-Temple  had  not  the  same  fortune, 
though  they  deserved  no  less ;  for,  striving  to  vary  from  their  com- 
petitors, (and  their  device  being  the  marrying  of  the  Thames  to  the 
Rhine,)  they  made  choice  to  go  by  water  from  ^\'incliester-house  in 
Southwark,  with  their  boats  and  barges  exceedingly  trimed,  and  furniished 
with  store  of  lights  that  made   a  glorious  shew,  and  three    peale  of 


454 

ordinance  at  their  taking  water,  at  their  passing  by  the  Temple,  and  at 
their  landing ;  which  passage  by  water  cost  them  better  then  300/.  But 
when  they  were  landed  at  the  court,  by  what  mischance  I  know  not,  they 
were  feign  to  return  as  they  went  without  doing  any  thing ;  the  reason 
whereof  some  say  was,  because  the  hall  was  so  full  that  it  could  not  be 
avoided,  nor  room  made  for  them,  and  most  of  the  principall  ladyes  that 
were  in  the  galleries  to  see  them  land  excluded.  But  the  most  probable 
is,  that  the  king  was  so  satiated  and  overwearied  with  watching,  that  he 
could  hold  out  no  longer,  and  so  was  driven  to  put  it  off  till  Saturday ; 
when  it  was  very  well  performed  in  the  new  Bankquetting-house,  which, 
for  a  kind  of  amends,  was  granted  to  them,  though  with  much  repining 
and  contradiction  of  their  emulators.  The  next  day  the  king  made  them 
all  a  solemn  supper  in  the  new  Marriage- room,  and  used  them  so  well 
and  graciously,  that  he  sent  both  parties  away  well  pleased  with  this 
great  solemnity.'  "     Weber. 

See  also  an  account  of  the  present  masque  (differing  but  little  from  the 
descriptive  portions  of  our  text)  in  Howes's  continuation  of  Stow's  Anna/es, 
p.  917.  ed.  1615 ;  and  a  letter  from  Mr.  Chamberlain  to  Sir  Dudley 
Carleton  in  Nichols's  Prog,  of  King  James,  ii.  589. 


TO   THE   WORTHY   SIR  FRANCIS   BACON, 

HIS  majesty's  SOLfCITOR-GENEKAL,  AND  THE   GRAVE  AND  LEARNED   BENCH   OF   THE 

ANCIENTLY -AU-I ED  HOL'SES  OK  GRAy's  INN  AND  THE  INNER-TKMPLE, 

THE  INNKR-TBMPLE  AND  GRAY's  IXN. 


Ye  that  spared  no  time  nor  travail  in  the  setting  forth, 
ordering,  and  furnishing  of  this  Masque,  (being  the  first  fruits 
of  honour  in  this  kind  which  these  two  societies  have  offered 
to  his  majesty,)  will  not  think  much  now  to  look  back  upon 
the  effects  of  your  own  care  and  work  ;  for  that,  whereof  the 
success  was  then  doubtful,  is  now  happily  performed  and 
graciously  accepted  ;  and  that  which  you  were  then  to  think  of 
in  straits  of  time,  you  may  now  peruse  at  leisure  :  and  you. 
Sir  Francis  Bacon",  especially,  as  you  did  then  by  your 
countenance  and  loving  affection  advance  it,  so  let  your  good 
word  grace  it  and  defend  it,  which  is  able  to  add  value  to  the 
greatest  and  least  matters. 

»  Sir  Fraricis  Bacon]  In  the  letter,  referred  to  in  the  preceding  page,  from 
Mr.  Chamberlain  to  Sir  Dudley  Carleton,  Sir  Francis  Bacon  is  called  "  the 
chief  conti'iver  "  of  this  mas4ue. 


(I 


THE    MASQUE 


THE   INNER-TEMPLE   AND   GRAY'S   INN,  GRAY'S   INN 
AND   THE   INNER-TEMPLE, 

PRESENTED    BEFORE    HIS    MAJESTY,    THE    (JUEEn's    MAJESTY,    ETC. 


This  Masque  was  appointed  to  have  been  presented  the 
Shrove-Tuesday  before,  at  which  time  the  masquers,  with 
their  attendants,  and  divers  others,  gallant  young  gentlemen  of 
both  houses,  as  their  convoy,  set  forth  from  Winchester- house 
(which  was  the  rendezvous)  towards  the  court,  about  seven  of 
the  clock  at  night. 

This  voyage  by  water  was  performed  in  great  triumph:  the 
gentlemen-masquers  being  placed  by  themselves  in  the  king's 
royal  barge,  with  the  rich  furniture  of  state,  and  adorned  with 
a  great  number  of  lights,  placed  in  such  order  as  might  make 
best  show. 

They  were  attended  with  a  nuiltitude  of  barges  and  gallies, 
with  all  variety  of  loud  music,  and  several  peals  of  ordnance  ; 
and  led  by  two  admirals. 

Of  this  show  his  majesty  was  graciously  pleased  to  take 
view,  with  the  prince,  the  Count  Palatine  and  the  Lady 
Elizabeth  their  highnesses,  at  the  windows  of  his  privy  gallery, 
upon  the  water,  till  their  landing,  which  was  at  the  privy 
stairs ;  where  they  were  most  honourably  received  by  the 
lord-chamberlain,  and  so  conducted  to  the  vestry. 

The  hall  was  by  that  time  filled  with  company  of  very  good 
fashion,  but  yet  so  as  a  very  great  number  of  principal  ladiep 


45S 

and  other  noble  persons  were  not  yet  come  in,  whereby  it  was 
foreseen  that  the  room  would  be  so  scanted  as  might  have 
been  inconvenient ;  and  thereupon  his  majesty  was  most 
graciously  pleased,  with  the  consent  of  the  gentlemen-masquers, 
to  put  off  the  night  until  Saturday  following,  with  this  special 
favour  and  privilege,  that  there  should  be  no  let "  as  to  the 
outward  ceremony  of  magnificence  until  that  time. 

At  the  day  that  it  was  presented,  there  was  a  choice  room 
reserved  for  the  gentlemen  of  both  their  houses,  who,  coming 
in  troop  about  seven  of  the  clock,  received  that  special  honour 
and  noble  favour,  as  to  be  brought  to  their  places  by  the 
Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Northampton,  Lord- Privy 
Seal. 

"  let]  i.  e.  hindrance. 


THE    MASQUE,    Etc. 


THE    DEVICE    OR    ARGUMENT    OF    THE    MASQUE. 

Jupiter  and  Juno,  willing  to  do  honour  to  the  marriage  of  the  two 
famous  rivers  Thamesis  and  Rhine,  em'ploy  their  messengers  seve- 
rally. Mercury  and  Iris,  for  that  purpose.  They  meet  and  contend: 
then  Mercury,  for  his  part,  brings  forth  an  anti-masque  ^'  all  of 
spirits  or  divine  natures ;'  but  yet  not  of  one  kind  or  livery 
{because  that  had  been  so  much  in  use  heretofore),  but,  as  it  tcere,  in 
consort,  like  to  broken  music :  and,  preserving  the  propriety  of  the 
device,— for  that  rivers  in  nature  are  maintained  either  by  springs 
from  beneath  or  showers  from  above, — he  raiseth  four  of  the  Naiades 
out  of  the  fountains,  and  bringeth  down  five  of  the  Hyades  out  of 
tlie  clouds  to  dance.  Hereupon  Iris  scoffs  at  Mercury,  for  that  he 
had  devised  a  dance  but  of  one  se.x,  which  could  have  no  life :  but 
Mercury,  who  teas  provided  for  that  exception,  and  in  token  that 
the  match  should  be  blessed  both  with  love  and  riches,  calleth  forth 
out  of  the  groves  four  Cupids,  and  brings  dawn  from  Jupiter's 
altar  four  Statu,as '^  of  gold  and  silver  to  dance  with  the  Nymphs  and 
Stars :  in  which  dance,  the  Cupids  being  blind,  and  the  Statuas 

•>  an  anti-masque^  "  Is  something  directly  opposed  to  tlic  principal  masque. 
If  this  was  lofty  and  serious,  that  was  light  and  ridiculous.  It  admitted  of  the 
wildest  extravagancies  ...  it  should  be  added,  that  the  aiitimasques  were,  for 
the  most  pai-t,  performed  by  actors  hired  from  the  theatres."  GifiFord's  note 
on  Jouson's  Works,  vii.  25 1 . 

'  Statuas]  This  Latin  form  of  the  word  is  common  in  our  early  writers. 


460  A  MASQUE. 

having  hut  half  life  put  into  them,  and  trtaininr/  still  somewhat  uf 
their  old  nature,  glmth  Jit  occasion  to  new  and  strange  vai^ieiies 
both  in  the  music  and  jtaces.     This  was  thejirst  anti-masque. 

Then  Iris,  for  her  part,  in  scorn  of  this  high-flying  device,  and  in 
token  that  the  match  shall  likewise  he  blessed  with  the  love  of  the 
common  people,  calls  to  Flora,  her  confederate,— for  that  the  months 
of  jloicers  are  likewise  the  months  of  sweet  showers  and  rainhotcs, — 
to  bring  in  a  Mag-dance,  or  rural  dance,  consisting  likeicise  not  of 
any  suited  persons,  but  of  a  confusion  or  commixture  of  all  such 
persons  as  are  natural  and  proper  for  country  sports.  This  is  the 
second  anti-m,asque. 

Then  Mercury  and  Iris,  after  this  vying  one  upon  the  other,  seem  to 
leave  their  contention  ;  and  Mercury,  by  the  consent  of  Iris,  brings 
down  the  Olympian  knights,  intimating  that  Jupiter  having,  after 
a  long  discontinuance,  revived  the  Olympian  games,  and  summoned 
thereunto  from,  all  parts  the  liveliest  and  activest  perso7is  that  were, 
had  enjoined  them,,  before  they  fell  to  their  games,  to  do  honour  to 
these  nuptials.  The  Olympian  games  portend  to  the  match  cele- 
brity, victory,  and  felicity.      This  was  the  main  masque. 

The  fabric  was  a  mountain  with  two  descents,  and  severed  with  two 
traverses  ^. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  King, 

Thejirst  traverse  was  drawn,  and  the  lower  descent  of  the  tnountain 
discovered,  lohich  was  the  pendant  of  a  hill  to  life,  tcith  divers 
boscages  and  grovets  upon  the  steep  or  hanging  grounds  thereof; 
and  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  four  delicate  fountains,  running  with 
water  and  bordered  tcith  sedges  and  water-Jlowers. 

Iris  first  appeared;  and,  presently  after.  Mercury,  striving  to  over- 
take her. 

Iris  apparelled  in  a  robe  of  discoloured^  taf eta,  figured  in  variable 
colours,  like  the  rainbow,  a  cloudy  wreath  on  her  head,  and  tresses. 

Mercury  in  doublet  and  hose  of  white  taffeta,  a  white  hat,  tringson  his 
shoulders  and  feet,  his  caduceus  in  his  hand,  speaking  to  Iris  as 
followeth : — 

■^  traverses'\   i.  e.  curtains. 
'  discoloured]  i.  c.  various-coloured. 


A  MASQUE.  ^"^l 

Merc,  Stay,  stay  ' ! 
Stay,  light-foot  Iris  !   for  thou  striv'st  in  vain  ; 
My  wings  are  nimbler  than  thy  fe(>t. 

Iris.  Away, 
Dissembling  Mercury  !   my  messages 
Ask  honest  haste  ;  not  like  those  wanton  ones 
Your  thundering  father  sends. 

Merc.  Stay,  foolish  maid  ! 
Or  I  will  take  my  rise  upon  a  hill, 
When  I  perceive  thee  seated  in  a  cloud 
In  all  the  painted  glory  that  thou  hast, 
And  never  cease  to  clap  my  willing  wings, 
Till  I  catch  hold  of  thy  discolour'd  bow, 
And  shiver  it  beyond  the  angry  power 
Of  your  curst "  mistress  to  make  up  again. 

Iris.  Hermes,  forbear  ;  Juno  will  chide  and  strike. 
Is  great  Jove  jealous  that  I  am  employ'd 
On  her  love-errands  I  she  did  never  yet 
Clasp  weak  mortality  in  her  white  arms, 
As  he  hath  often  done  :   I  only  come 
To  celebrate  the  long-wish'd  nuptials 
Here  in  Olympia,  which  are  now  perform'd. 
Betwixt  two  goodly  rivers,  that ''  have  mixM 
Their  gentle-rising '  waves,  and  are  to  grow 
Into  a  thousand  streams,  great  as  themselves ; 
I  need  not  name  them,  for  the  sound  is  loud 
In  heaven  and  earth  ;  and  I  am  sent  from  her, 
The  queen  of  marriage,  that  was  present  here, 
And  smird  to  see  them  join,  and  hath  not  chid 
Since  it  was  done.     Good  Hermes,  let  me  go. 

Merc.  Nay,  you  must  stay  ;  Jovo's  message  is  the  same  ; 
Whose  eyes  are  lightning,  and  whose  voice  is  thunder. 

Whose  breath  is  any  wind  ho  will ;  who  knows 
How  to  be  first  in  earth  as  well  as  heaven. 

'  Stnij,  stay']  These  words  ai-c  found  only  in  tlie  4to.  In  other  eds.  tliis 
speech  is  preceded  by  a  stage-direction,  "  Enter  Iris  runninq,  Mrrrnry  follou-. 
ing  and  catching  hold  of  her." 

1  curst]  "i.e.  cross." /?^/.  1778.  So  the  4to.  Other  eds.  "mad"  ;  and  so  Seward. 

'■  that]  The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  give,  with  the  4to,  "which." 

'  rising'^  So  the  4to.     Other  eds.,  "  winding  "  ;  and  so  Seward. 


462  A  MASQUE. 

h-is.  But  what  hath  he  to  do  with  nuptial-rites  ? 
Let  him  keep  state  upon  his  starry  throne, 
And  fright  poor  mortals  with  his  thunderbolts, 
Leaving  to  us  the  mutual  darts  of  eyes. 

Merc.  Alas,  when  ever  offered  he  to  abridge 
Your  lady's  power,  but  only  now  in  these. 
Whose  match  concerns  the  ^  general  government  i 
Hath  not  each  god  a  part  in  these  high  joys  ? 
And  shall  not  he,  the  king  of  gods,  presume 
Without  proud  Juno's  licence  l  Let  her  know, 
That,  when  enamour'd  Jove  first  gave  her  power 
To  link  soft  hearts  in  undissolving  bands  ^, 
He  then  foresaw,  and  to  himself  reserv'd. 
The  honour  of  this  marriage.     Thou  shalt  stand 
Still  as  a  rock,  while  I,  to  bless  this  feast. 
Will  summon  up  with  my  all-charming  rod 
The  Nymphs  of  fountains,  from  whose  watery  locks 
(Hung  with  the  dew  of  blessing  and  increase) 
The  greedy  rivers  take  their  nourishment. — 
Ye  Nymphs,  who,  bathing  in  your  loved  springs, 
Beheld  these  rivers  in  their  infancy. 
And  joy'd  to  see  them,  when  their  circled  heads 
Refresh'd  the  air,  and  spread  the  ground  with  flowers  ; 
Rise  from  your  wells,  and  with  your  nimble  feet 
Perform  that  office  to  this  happy  pair. 
Which  in  these  plains  you  to  Alpheus  did. 
When  passing  hence,  through  many  seas,  unmixM, 
He  gain'd  the  favour  of  his  Arethuse  ! 

Imtnediately  upon  ichich  speech.,  four  Naiades  arise  gently  out  of  their 
several  fountains,  and  present  themselves  upon  the  stage,  attired  in 
long  habits  of  sea-green  taffeta.,  with  hubbies  of  crystal,  intermixt 
with  poiodering  of  silver,  resembling  drops  of  water,  bluish  tresses, 
on  tfieir  heads  garlands  of  water-lilies.  They  fall  into  a  measure^, 
dance  a  little,  then  make  a  stand. 
Iris.  Is  Hermes  grown  a  lover  ?  by  what  power, 
Unknown  to  us,  calls  he  the  Naiades  I 

«  the'\  The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  give,  with  the  4to,  "  his." 
*  undissolving  bands]  The  4to  has  "  undissolved  bonds." 
e  measure]  See  note,  vol.  i.  166. 


A  MASQUE.  -46^ 

Merc.  Presumptuous  Iris,  I  could  make  thee  dance. 
Till  thou  forgotfst  thy  lady's  messages, 
And  rann'st  back  crying  to  her.     Thou  shalt  know 
My  power  is  more  ;  only  my  breath  and  this 
Shall  move  fix'd  stars,  and  force  the  firmament 
To  yield  the  Hyades,  who  govern  showers 
And  dewy  clouds,  in  whose  dispersed  drops 
Thou  form'st  the  shape  of  thy  deceitful  bow.— 
Ye  maids,  who  yearly  at  appointed  times 
Advance  with  kindly  tears  the  gentle  floods, 
Descend  and  pour  your  blessing  on  these  streams, 
AVhich  rolling  down  from  heaven-aspiring  hills, 
And  now  united  in  the  fruitful  vales, 
Bear  all  before  them,  ravish'd  with  their  joy, 
And  swell  in  glory,  till  they  know  no  bounds  ! 

Five  Hyades  descend  softly  in  a  cloud  from  the  firmament  to  the 
midille  part  of  the  hill,  apparelled  in  sky-coloured  taffeta  robes, 
spangled  like  the  heavens,  golden  tresses,  and  each  a  fair  star  on 
their  head ;  from  thence  descend  to  the  stage  ;  at  whose  sight  the 
Naiades,  seeming  to  rejoice,  meet  and  join  in  a  dance. 

Iris.  Great  wit  and  power  hath  Hermes,  to  contrive 

A  lifeless  dance,  which  of  one  sex  consists  ! 
Merc.  Alas,  poor  Iris  !  Venus  hath  in  store 

A  Becret  ambush  of  her  winged  boys, 

Who,  lurking  long  within  these  pleasant  groves, 

First  struck  these  lovers  with  their  equal  darts ; 

Those  Cupids  shall  come  forth  and  join  with  these, 

To  honour  that  which  they  themselves  began. 

Enter  four  Cupids  from  each  side  of  the  boscage,  attired  in  fiame- 
coloxired  taffeta  close  to  their  body,  like  naked  hoys,  with  boic.% 
arrows,  and  wings  of  gold,  chaplets  offioicers  on  their  heads,  hood- 
winked with  tiffing  scarfs  ;  who  join  with  the  Nymphs  and  the 
Hyades  in  another  dance.     That  ended,  3Iercury  ^  speaks. 

Merc.  Behold  the  Statuas ',  which  wise  Vulcan  placM 

*'  jilercury]  The  4to  hero,  and  in  tlie  prefix  to  the  speech  which  follows,  Iia.s 
"  Iris."     Tlic  other  eds.  also  have  the  wrong  prefix. 

'  Slaluai,]  See  note,  p.  4b\).  So  the  4to.  Other  eds.  "statues  "  ;  and  so  the 
modern  editors. 


464  A  MASQUE. 

Under  the  altar  of  Olympian  Jove, 

And  gave  to  them  an  artificial  life, 

Shall  dance  for  joy  of  these  great  nuptials  J : 

See  how  they  move,  drawn  by  this  heavenly  joy. 

Like  the  wild  trees  which  followVl  Orpheus'  harp  ! 

The  Statiim  enter,  supposed  to  be  before  descended  from  Jove's  altar ^ 
and  to  have  been  prepared  in  the  covert  with  the  Cupids,  attending 
their  call. 

These  Statttas  were  attired  in  cases  of  gold  and  silver  close  to  their 
body,  faces,  hands,  and  feet,  nothing  seen  but  gold  and  silver,  as  if 
they  had  been  solid  images  of  metal,  tresses  of  hair,  as  they  had  been 
of  metal  embossed,  girdles  and  small  aprons  of  oaken  leaves,  as  if 
they  likezcise  had  been  carved  or  rnoulded  out  of  the  metal :  at  their 
coming,  the  m,usic  changed  from  violins  to  hautboys,  cornets,  S)X., 
and  the  air  of  the  music  was  utterly  turned  into  a  soft  titne,  tcith 
drawing  notes,  excellently  expressing  their  natures,  and  the  measure 
liketvise  icas fitted  unto  the  same,  and  the  Statuas  placed  in  such 
several  postures,  sometimes  all  together  in  the  centre  of  the  dance, 
and  sometimes  in  the  four  utmost  angles,  as  was  very  graceful, 
besides  the  novelty.     And  so  conchided  the  first  anti-masque. 

Merc.  And  what  will  Juno's  Iris  do  for  her  ? 

Iris.  Just  match  this  show,  or  my  invention  fails  : 
Had  it  been  worthier,  I  would  have  invok'd 
The  blazing  comets,  clouds,  and  falling  stars, 
And  all  my  kindred  meteors  of  the  air, 
To  have  excell'd  it ;  but  I  now  must  strive 
To  imitate  confusion  : — therefore,  thou. 
Delightful  Flora,  if  thou  ever  felt'st 
Increase  of  sweetness  in  those  blooming  plants 
On  which  the  horns  of  my  fair  bow  decline, 
Send  hither  all  the  rural  company 

Which  deck  the  May-games  with  their  clownish  ^  sports  ! 
Juno  will  have  it  so. 

i  And  gave  to  them  an  artificial  life. 
Shall  dance  for  joy  of  these  great  nuptials^  These  lines  are  transposed  by 
mistake  iu  the  4to.      The  second  Une  is  omitted  in  other  eds.  ;  and  by  Sewai'd. 
^  clownish]  The  Editors  of  177!5  and  Weber  give,  with  the  4to,  "  counti-y." 


A  MASQUE.  465 

The  second  Anti-masque  rush  in,  dance  their  measure,  and  as  rudely 
depart;  consisting  of  a  Pedant,^  May-Lord,  May-Lady;  Scr- 
vingman,  Chamhcrmaid ;  a  Country  Clown  or  Shepherd, 
Country  Wench;  an  Host,  Hostess;  a  He- Baboon,  She-Baboon  ; 
a  He-Fool,  She-Fool,  ushering  them  in. 

All  these  jyersons  apparelled  to  the  life,  the  men  issuing  out  of  one  side 
of  the  boscage,  and  the  icomen  from  the  other.  The  music  was 
extremely  well  fitted,  having  such  a  spirit  of  country  jollity  as  can 
liardly  be  imagined;  but  the  perpetual  laughter  and  appjlause  was 
above  the  mtisic. 

The  dance  likewise  teas  of  the  same  strain  ;  and  the  dancers,  or  rather 
actors,  cvpressed  every  one  their  part  so  naturally  and  aptly,  as 
when  a  man's  eye  was  caught  with  the  one,  and  then  passed  on  to  the 
other,  he  could  not  satisfy  himself  which  did  best.  It  pleased  his 
Majesty  to  call  for  it  again  at  the  end,  as  he  did  Ukeicise  for  the 
first  Anti-masque;  but  one  of  the  Statuas  by  that  time  was  lai- 
dressed. 

Merc.  Iris,  we  strive, 
Like  winds  at  liberty,  who  should  do  worst ' 
Ere  we  return.     If  Juno  be  the  queen 
Of  marriage,""  let  her  give  happy  way 
To  what  is  done  in  honour  of  the  state 
She  governs. 

Iris.  Hermes,  so  it  may  be  done 

•^  a  Pedant,  May-Lord,  May-Lady,  tkc^  "  Tlic  persons  enumerated  licro  as 
charactei-s  in  the  May-games,  were  no  doubt  selected  by  the  imagination  of  the 
poet,  as  most  of  them  do  not  appear  to  have  been  usual  at  these  country  festi- 
vities. The  Pedant  evidently  appeal's  in  the  same  character  as  Gerrold  in 
The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen."     Wkber. 

'  u^orsf^  "  The  sense  seems  to  require  us  to  read  most  for  worst  ;  unless  it 
means,  which  should  icorst  the  other."  Ed.  1778.  "As  the  text  cannot 
possibly  bear  this  meaning,  and  hardly  bears  any  at  all,  the  amendment  has 
been  adopted."  Weber.  Nichols,  who  reprinted  the  present  masque  in  his 
Prog,  of  King  James,  retained  the  old  reading,  and  observed  that  "  we  are  told 
in  the  introduction  [Argument]  Mercury  and  Iris  were  striving  which  should 
do  worst  in  producing  what  was  07itr^  and  ridiculous."  ii.  598.  The  words  of 
the  Argument  are  at  least  to  that  effect ;  and  "  tvorsl "  is  doubtless  the  right 
reading. 

■"  marriage]  So  the  4to,— the  word   being  used  here  as  a  trisyllable.     Other 
eds.  "  marriages  "  ;  and  so  the  modern  editors. 
VOL.  II.  H  II 


466  A  MASQUE. 

Merely  in  honour  of  the  state,  and  these 

That  now  have  provM  it ;  not  to  satisfy 

The  lust  of  Jupiter,  in  having  thanks 

More  than  his  Juno  ;  if  thy  snaky  rod 

Have  power  to  search  the  heavens,  or  sound  the  sea, 

Or  call  together  all  the  ends  of  earth, 

To  bring  in  any  thing  that  may  do  grace 

To  us  and  these  ;  do  it,  we  shall  be  pleasM. 

Merc.  Then  know,  that  from  the  mouth  of  Jove  himself, 
Whose  words  have  wings,  and  need  not  to  be  borne, 
I  took  a  message,  and  I  bare  it  through 
A  thousand  yielding  clouds,  and  never  stay'd 
Till  his  high  will  was  done  :  the  Olympian  games, 
Which  long  had"  slept,  at  these  wishM  nuptials 
He  pleas'd  to  have  renewed,  and  all  his  knights 
Are  gathered  hither,  who  within  their  tents 
Rest  on  this  hill ;  upon  whose  rising  head. 
Behold,  Jove's  altar,  and  his  blessed  priests 
Moving  about  it ! — Come,  you  holy  men, 
And  with  your  voices  draw  these  youths  along. 
That,  till  Jove's  music  call  them  to  their  games. 
Their  active  sports  may  give  a  blest  content 
To  those,  for  whom  they  are  again  begun. 

The  main  Masque. —  The  second  traverse  is  drawn^  and  the  higher 
ascent  of  the  mountain  is  discovered  j  wherein,  upon  a  level,  after 
a  great  rise  of  the  hill,  were  placed  two  pavilions,  open  in  the  front 
of  them :  the  jmvilions  were  to  sight  as  of  cloth  of  gold,  and  they 
were  trimmed  on  the  inside  with  rich  armour  and  military  furni- 
ture, hanged  up  as  upon  the  walls  ;  and  hehind  the  tents  there  were 
represented  in  prospective  the  tops  of  divers  other  tents,  as  if  it 
had  been  a  camp.  In  these  pavilions  were  placed  Jif  teen  Olympian 
Knights,  upon  seats  a  little  emhotced  near  the  form  of  a  croisant^  ; 
and  the  Knights  appeared  first,  as  consecrated  persons,  all  in  veils, 
like  to  copes,  of  silver  tiffiny^  gathered,  and  falling  a  large  compass 

'^  had]  The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  give,  with  the  4to,  "  have." 

°  croisant]    Altered  to  "  crescent  "  by  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber,  who 

were  not  aware  that  early  English  authors  i'rcquently  wrote  croisant  after  the 

French. 


A  MASQUE.  467 

ahovi  them,  and  over  their  heads  high  mitres,  with  long  pendants 
behind  falliwj  from  them ;  the  mitres  were  so  high  that  they 
received  their  hats  and  feathers,  that  nothing  was  seen  but  veil.  In 
the  midst  between  both  the  tents,  upon  tJie  very  top  of  the  hill,  being 
a  higher  level  than  that  of  the  tents,  was  placed  Jupiter  s  altar, 
gilt,  icith  three  great  tapers  upon  golden  candlesticks  burning  ujyon 
■it ;  and  the  four  Statuas,  two  of  gold  and  tivo  of  silver,  as 
supporters,  and  Jupiter  s  Priests  in  white  roles  about  it.  Upon 
the  sight  of  the  King,  the  veils  of  the  Knights  did  fall  easily  from 
them,  and  they  appeared  in  their  oicn  habit. 

The  Knights'  attire. — Arming  doublets  of  carnation  satm,  embroi- 
dered icith  blazing  stars  of  silver  plate,  with  powderings  of  smaller 
stars  betwixt  ;  gorgets  of  silver  mail ;  long  hose  of  the  same,  with 
the  doublets  laid  with  silver  lace  spangled,  and  enriched  with  em- 
broidery between  the  lace  ;  carnation  silk  stockings  embroidered  all 
over ;  garters  and  roses  i'  suitable ;  pumps  of  carnation  satin 
embroidered  as  the  doublets  ;  hats  of  the  same  stuf  and  embroidery, 
cut  like  a  helmet  before,  the  hinder  part  cut  into  scallops  ansicering 
the  skirts  of  their  doublets  ;  the  bands  of  the  hats  were  wreaths  of 
silver  in  form  of  garlands  of  wild  olives  ;  white  feathers,  toith  one 
fall  of  carnation  ;  belts  of  the  same  stuff,  and  embroidered  tcith  the 
doicblet ;  silver  sicords  ;  little  Italian  bands  and  cuffs  embroidered 
with  silver  ;  fair  long  tresses  of  hair. 

The  Priests'  habits. — Long  robes  of  white  taffeta ;  long  white  heads 
of  hair  ;  the  High- Priest  a  cap  of  white  silk  shag  close  to  his  head, 
with  two  labels  at  the  ears,  the  midst  rising  inform  of  a  pyramis, 
in  the  top  thereof  a  branch  of  silver  ;  every  Priest  playing  upon  a 
lute  ;  ttcelve  in  number. 

The  Priests  descend,  and  sing  this  song  follotcing  ;  after  tchom  the 
Knights  likewise  descend,  first  laying  aside  their  veils,  belts,  and 
sicords. 

THE  FIRST  SONG. 
Shako  off  your  heavy  trance, 
And  leap  into  a  dance, 
Such  as  no  mortals  use  to  tread, 

Fit  only  for  Apollo 
To  play  to,  for  the  moon  to  lead. 
And  all  the  stars  to  follow  ! 


P  roses'^  See  note,  p.  37 1 . 
ir  Tl  2 


468  A  MASQUE. 

The  Knights  hythis  time  are  all  descended  and  fallen  into  their  place, 
and  then  dance  their  Jirst  measure. 

THE  SECOND  SONG. 

On,  blessed  youths  !  for  Jove  doth  pause, 
Laying  aside  his  graver  laws 

For  this  device ; 
And  at  the  wedding  such  a  pair. 
Each  dance  is  taken  for  a  prayer. 

Each  song  a  sacrifice. 

The  Knights  dance  their  second  measure. 

THE  THIRD  SONG. 

SINGLE. 

More  pleasing  were  these  sweet  delights, 
If  ladies  mov'd  as  well  as  knights  : 
Run  every  one  of  you,  and  catch 
A  nymph,  in  honour  of  this  match  ; 
And  whisper  boldly  in  her  ear, — 
Jove  will  but  laugh,  if  you  forswear. 

ALL. 

And  this  day's  sins  he  doth  resolve 
That  we  his  priests  should  all  absolve  i. 

The  Knights  take  their  Ladies  to  dance  with  them  galliards,  durets, 
corantoes^,  S^c,  and  lead  them  to  their  places;  then  loud  music 
sounds,  supposed  to  call  them  to  their  Olympian  games. 

1  And  this  day's  sins  he  doth  resolve 

That  we  his  priests  should  all  absolve.]  "  From  the  debaucheries  committed 
at  court-masques,  the  necessity  of  such  an  absolution  of  sins  may  be  inferred." 
Weber.     See  note  p.  479,  and  A   Wife  for  a  Month,  act  ii.  sc.  4. 

"■  (/alliards,  durets,  corantoes.  ]      Sir  John  Davies  describes   the  galliard 
thus  ; 

"  But  for  more  diners  and  more  pleasing  show, 
A  swift  and  wandring  daunce  she  did  inuent. 
With  passages  vncertaine  to  and  fro. 
Yet  with  a  certaine  answere  and  consent 
To  the  quicke  musicke  of  the  instrument. 
*  *  •  •  #  • 

A  gallant  daunce,  that  liuely  doth  be%vray 
A  spirit  and  a  vertue  masculine, 

With  lofty  turnes  and  capriols  in  the  ajTe." 

Orchestra,  st.  67,  68. 


A  MASQUE.  469 

THE  FOURTH  SONG. 

Ye  should  stay  longer,  if  we  durst  : 

Away  !  Alas,  that  he  that  first 

Gave  Time  wild  wiugs  to  fly  away, 

Hath  now  no  power  to  make  him  stay  ! 

And  though  these  games  must  needs  be  play'd, 

1  would  this  pair,  when  they  are  laid, 

And  not  a  creature  nigh  'em. 
Could  catch  his  scythe,  as  he  doth  pass, 
And  clip'  his  wings,  and  break  his  glass, 

And  keep  him  ever  by  'em. 

The  Knights  dance  their  parting  measure,  and  ascend,  put  on  their 
sicords  and  belts ;  during  which  time  the  Priests  sing 

THE  FIFTH  AND  LAST  SONG. 

Peace  and  silence  be  the  guide 
To  the  man,  and  to  the  bride  ! 
If  there  be  a  joy  yet  new 
In  marriage,  let  it  fall  on  you, 

That  all  the  world  may  wonder  ! 
If  we  should  stay,  we  should  do  worse. 
And  turn  our  blessing  to  a  curse, 
V  By  keeping  you  asunder. 


Of  the  coi'anto  he  says  ; 

"  What  shall  I  name  those  currant  trauases 

That  on  a  triple  dactile  foot  doe  runne 
Close  by  the  ground  with  sliding  passages, 

Wherein  that  dauncer  greatest  praise  hath  wonne 
Which  with  best  order  can  all  orders  shunne  ; 
For  euery  where  he  wantonly  must  range. 
And  turne,  and  wind,  with  vnexpected  change  1 "     St.  G9. 
Concerning"  durets"  I  know  nothing. 
'  clip']  The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  give,  with  the  4to,  "cut." 


FOUR    PLAYS, 


OR    MORAL     REPRESENTATIONS. 


IN   ONE. 


Fovr  Playes,  or  Morall  Representations,  in  one. 
In  the  folios,  1C47,  ]fi79. 


At  what  date  these  Four  Flays  in  One  were  originally  produeed,  it  is 
impossible  to  ascertain. 

From  internal  evidence  Weber  concludes  that  Beaumont  furnished  the 
Induction  and  the  two  first  Triumphs,  and  that  Fletcher  was  the  writer 
of  the  other  two  :  there  is  at  least  every  reason  to  believe  that  both  poets 
were  concerned  in  the  composition  of  this  medley. 

Entertainments  of  a  similar  description  had  been  exhibited  on  the 
English  stage  anterior  to  the  appearance  of  the  present  piece.  In  the  Revels' 
Account  for  1584-5,  we  find,  "  An  Invention  called  Fyve  Flayes  in  one, 
presented  and  enacted  before  her  JVIa.""  on  Twelfe  daie  at  night  in  the 

hall  at  Grenewiche  by  her  highnes  servaunts." "  An  Invention  of 

three  playes  in  one  prepared  to  have  ben  shewed  before  her  highnes  on 
Shrove  sondaie  at  night,  and  to  have  ben  presented  by  her  Ma.'*  servaunts 
at  Somerset  Place."  JVIalone's  Shakespeare  (by  Boswell),  iii.  409 ;  in 
Henslowe's  memoranda,  "  iiii  playes  in  one,  the  G  of  marche  1591 " — "  7 
of  aprill,  1597,  at  v  plays  in  one."  Id.  iii.  298,  807  ;  and  the  second 
title  of  J  Yorkshire  Trayedy,  attributed  to  Shakespeare,  and  first  printed 
in  1608,  runs  as  follows, — yJH's  One,  or,  One  of  the  foure  Flaies  in  one, 
called  a  Yorkshire  tragedy,  &c." 

AVeber  conjectures  that  the  Trioufi  of  Petrarch  suggested  to  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher  the  idea  of  introducing  the  Triumplis  of  Honour,  Love 
Death,  and  Time. 

"  The  Triumph  of  Honour"  says  Langbaine,  "  is  founded  on  Boccacc 
his  Novels,  Day  10.  Nov.  5."  (^Account  of  Fnyl.  Dram.  Foets,  p.  209), 
which  AV^cber  epitomi/.es  nearly  as  follows.  "  Dianora,  the  wife  of 
Gilberto,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  the  importunities  of  her  lover  Ansaldo, 

•  "  The  siirae  design,"  says  Weber,  "  was  afterwards  adopted  by  Sir  William  Davcnant  in 
his  Plai/house  to  be  Let,  and  by  Jliittcux  in  The  Xovelli/,  or  Every  Act  a  Plat/.  One  of 
C'aldcron's  plays,  Los  Irea  mayorcs  prodigioi,  is  formed  un  a  similar  plan,  every  one  of  tlie 
three  jouruadas,  or  acts,  forming  a  separate  play.  The  subjects  arc  the  adventures  of  Jason, 
Hercules,  and  Theseus.    They  arc  not,  however,  connected  together  as  the  present  drama. 


474 

promised  to  gratify  his  desires,  if  he  would  present  her  with  a  garden 
hearing  flowers  and  fruit  in  the  month  of  January.  Ansaldo  realised  her 
wish  by  the  assistance  of  a  magician,  who,  to  the  astonishment  of  the 
whole  city  of  Udine,  produced  the  desired  miracle.  Dianora,  having 
confessed  to  her  husband  the  bargain  which  she  had  made  with  Ansaldo, 
was  enjoined  by  the  former  to  use  every  endeavour  to  procure  a  release 
from  her  engagement,  but,  if  she  found  that  impossible,  to  fulfil  the 
pledge.  When  the  lover  beheld  the  sorrow  of  Dianora,  and  learned  the 
generosity  of  Gilberto,  he  released  the  lady  from  her  promise." 

The  Triumph  of  Love,  observes  Langbaine,  is  founded  "on  the  same 
Author,  Day  5.  Nov.  7^  ;"  and  Weber  proceeds  with  an  abstract,  which 
I  have  altered  into  the  following  shape.  "•  In  the  reign  of  William,  King 
of  Sicily,  Amerigo,  a  rich  and  noble  gentleman,  dwelt  at  Trapani ; 
and  one  day  a  Genoese  vessel  coming  to  port  with  slaves,  who  had 
been  captured  in  a  Turkish  galley,  he  purchased  a  youth,  supposed 
to  be  a  Turk,  whom  he  caused  to  be  baptized  Pietro.  When  he 
grew  up,  a  strong  attachment  took  place  between  him  and  Violante, 
the  daughter  of  Amerigo.  As  the  family  were  once  returning  from 
theu"  country-house,  a  thunder-storm  forced  them  to  make  all  pos- 
sible haste  homewards.  The  young  slave  and  Violante  out-stripped 
the  rest  in  speed,  and  being  forced  into  an  old  ruinous  cottage  by  a  shower 
of  hail,  they  took  the  opportunity  to  consummate  their  wishes.  The 
effect  of  this  soon  became  apparent,  and  Pietro  would  have  avoided  the 
impending  danger  by  flight ;  but  Violante  promising  not  to  betray  him 
as  the  author  of  her  shame,  and  threatenmg  to  kUl  herself  if  he  left  her, 
he  consented  to  remain.  When  the  time  of  parturition  arrived,  she 
feigned  a  tale  to  her  mother,  who  in  order  to  conceal  her  condition  from 
Amerigo,  removed  her  to  their  country-house.  There,  however,  just  as 
Violante  had  been  delivered  of  an  infant,  Amerigo  unexpectedly  arrived ; 
and  his  wife  was  obliged  to  acquaint  him  with  what  had  happened.  He 
rushed  into  his  daughter's  apartment,  and  putting  his  sword  to  her 
breast,  extorted  from  her  the  whole  truth.  Pietro,  having  been  appre- 
hended, confessed  his  guilt;  and  was  sentenced  by  Currado,  the  governor 
of  Trapani,  to  be  whipped,  and  afterwards  to  be  hanged.  Amerigo  then 
gave  a  phial  of  poison  and  a  dagger  to  a  servant,  bidding  him  carry  them 
to  his  daughter,  that  she  might  choose  one  of  the  two  deaths,  and  threaten- 
ing to  burn  her  alive  in  case  of  refusal :  the  infant  he  ordered  to  be  killed, 
and  its  carcase  to  be  thrown  to  tlie  dogs.     When  Pietro,  having  been 

''  Langbaine  by  luibtake  lias  written  •■  8." 


475 

^Thipped,  was  conducted  to  the  gallows,  a  crimson  spot  upon  his  breast 
led  to  his  recognition  by  Fineo  (tlien  on  an  embassy  from  the  king  of 
Armenia  to  Rome)  as  his  son  Teodoro,  who,  fifteen  years  before,  had 
been  carried  off  by  pirates.  Fineo  immediately  made  the  circumstance 
known  to  Currado,  who  sent  for  Amerigo.  In  all  haste  Amerigo  de- 
spatched a  messenger  to  his  country-house,  to  prevent  the  execution  of 
his  former  orders,  who  fortunately  arrived  there  before  the  servant  had 
compelled  Molante  to  make  choice  of  dying  by  the  poison  or  the  sword. 
The  marriage  of  the  lovers  followed  of  course." 

"  The  Triumph  of  Death"  continues  Langbame,  "  [is  founded]  on  a 
Novel  in  The  Fortunate^  Deceiv'd,  and  Unfortunate  Lovers,  part  3.  Nov. 
3.  See  besides  Palace  of  Pleasure,  Nov.  40.  BeUeforest,  Sic. ;"  and 
Weber  adds,  "  The  original,  however,  is  the  first  novel  of  BandcUo, 
which  seems  to  have  been  founded  on  fact.  Buondelmonte,  of  one  of 
the  principal  families  in  Florence,  is  betrothed  to  one  of  the  Amadci.  A 
widow  of  the  femily  of  the  Donati,  ambitious  to  match  her  daugliter  to 
him,  puts  her  in  his  way,  and  he  is  immediately  so  struck  with  her 
beauty,  as  to  forget  his  pre-contract,  and  to  marry  her  ;  in  consequence 
of  which  he  is  murdered  by  the  two  great  fiimilies,  the  Uberti  and 
Amadei." 

M^ith  respect  to  The  Triumph  of  Time,  Langbaiue  is  forced  to  confess, 
that,  as  far  as  he  can  discover,  it  "'  is  wholly  the  Author's  Invention." 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 


Emanuel,  king  of  Portugal. 
Isabella,  his  queen,  daughter  to  the 
king  of  Castile. 


Frigoso. 

RlXALDO. 

Poet,  Lords,  Attendants,  Spectators. 


Marti  us,  a  Roman  general 
Valerius,  his  brother. 
Sophocles,  duke  of  Athens. 
NicoDEMUS,  a  corporal. 
Cornelius,  a  sutler. 


Scene,  Lisbon. 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   HONOUR. 

DIANA. 

Gentlemen  of  Athens,  Captains,  Sol- 
diers. 


DoRiGEN,  wife  to  Sophocles. 
Florence,  wife  to  Cornelius. 
Ladies. 


Scene,  Athens  and  its  neighbourhood. 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   LOVE. 

CUPID. 


Rinaldo,  duke  of  Milan. 
Gerrard,   whose    real   name    is 

Alphonso,  I  J 

Ferdinand,  whose  real  name  is  (  | 

ASCAMO,  ' 

Benvoglio  1    , 

(    brothers. 
Randulpho        J 

States,  Friar,  Secretary,  Guard,  Exe- 
cutioner, Attendants. 

Scene,  Milan 


Cornelia,    the  disguised    duchess   of 

Milan. 
Angelina,  wife  to  Benvoglio. 
Violante,  her  daughter. 
Dorothea,  attendant  on  Vioi,ante. 
Nurse. 


478 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   DEATH. 


Duke  of  Anjou. 
LAVi\LL,  his  nephew. 
Marine. 
Gentille. 
Perolot,  his  son. 
Two  Courtiers. 

Shalloon,  servant  to  Lavall. 
States,  Longaville,  Lords,  Attend- 
ants. 


Gabriella,  wife  to  Lavall. 
Helena,  daughter  to  Marine. 
Casta,  daughter  to  Gentille. 
Maria,  attendant  on  Gabriella. 
Ladies. 

A  Spirit. 


Scene,  Anglers. 


THE   TRIUMPH  OF   TIME. 

Jupiter.  Bounty. 

Mercury.  Poverty. 

Plutus.  Honesty. 

Time.  Simplicity. 

Anthropos.  Humility. 

Desire.  Fame. 

Vain-delight.  Industry. 

Pleasure.  Labour, 

Craft.  The  Arts. 

Lucre.  Indians. 
Vanity. 


FOUR    PLAYS, 

OR    MORAL    REPRESENTATIONS, 
IN    ONE. 


INDUCTION. 

A  Hall  hi  the  Palace.     Scaffolds,  croicded  with  Spectators. 

Enter  Frigoso.     Noise  within. 

Fri.  Away  with  those  bald-pated  rascals  there !  their  wits 

are  bound  up  in  vellum ;  they  are  not  current  here.     Down 

with  those  city -gentlemen  !  &c.  '^  out  with  those   [cuckolds], 

I  say,  and  in  with  their  wives  at  the  back-door  "^ ! — Worship 

•=  Down  with  those  city-gentlemen!  §-c.]  "I  do  not  know  what  the  ^c. 
here  alludes  to.  Perhaps  it  was  left  to  the  actor  to  add  similar  exclama- 
tions according  to  his  own  discretion.  [In  all  probability  so  :  "&c."  is  not 
uncommon  in  our  early  dramas.]  '  Cuckolds,"  in  the  next  line  [inserted  by  the 
Editors  of  1778]  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  old  folio [s],  but  a  bar  only  indicates 
the  omission  of  the  word.  So  again  Frigoso's  answer  farther  on  is  thus  ex- 
hibited : — '  No,  by  my do  I  not.'     To  such  an  extent  was  the  delicacy  of 

the  licensers  carried  ;  and  so  ludicrous  was  the  contrast  betwixt  the  gross 
improprieties  they  were  compelled  to  retain,  and  the  hai-mless  expletives  they 
thought  themselves  compelled  to  expunge  !  "  Webku. 

<>  in  with  their  wives  at  the  back-door.]  "  This  was  the  common  practice  at 
the  court-masques  in  King  James's  time,  and  of  course  led  to  the  most  gross 
debaucheries.  See  ^f  jn/e  for  a  Month,  act  ii.sc.  4.  In  Sir  Edward  Peyton's 
Divine  Catastrophe  of  the  Stuarts,  he  thus  reprehends  the  disgi-accful  conse- 
quences produced  by  these  practices  :  '  These  bawdy  transactions,  [as]  in  a  pro- 
spective glass,  may  bring  nearer  to  our  memories  the  fashion  of  Charles  his 
reignc,  how  sin  was  hatched  from  an  egg  to  a  dragon,  to  devoure  holiness  of  life  ; 
insomuch  that  the  masks  and  playes  at  Whitehal  were  used  ouely  for  incentives 


480  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

and  place,  I  am  weary  of  ye ;  ye  lie  on  my  shoulders  like  a 
load  of  gold  on  an  ass's  back.  A  man  in  authority  is  but  as 
a  candle  in  the  wind,  sooner  wasted  or  blown  out  than  under 
a  bushel. — How  now  !  what's  the  matter  ? 

Enter  Rinaldo. 
Who  are  you,  sir  ? 

Hin.  Who  am  I,  sir  !  why,  do  you  not  know  me  ? 

Fri.  No,  by  my  [faith],  do  I  not.     f 

Rin.  I  am  sure  we  dined  together  to-day. 

Fri.  That's  all  one  :  as  I  dined  with  you  in  the  city,  and 
as  you  paid  for  my  dinner  there,  I  do  know  you,  and  am 
beholding e  to  you;  but  as  my  mind  is  since  transmigrated 
into  my  office,  and  as  you  come  to  court  to  have  me  pay  you 
again,  and  be  beholding  to  me,  I  know  you  not,  I  know  you 
not. 

Rin.  Nay,  but  look  you,  sir — 

Fri.  Pardon  me  :  if  you  had  been  my  bedfellow  these  seven 
years,  and  lent  me  money  to  buy  my  place,  I  must  not  trans- 
gress principles ;  this  very  talking  with  yovi  is  an  ill  example. 

Ri7i.  Pish,  you  are  too  punctual  a  courtier,  sir  !  Why,  I 
am  a  courtier  too  ;  yet  never  understood  the  place  or  name 
to  be  so  infectious  to  humanity  and  manners,  as  to  cast  a  man 
into  a  burning  pride  and  arrogance,  for  which  there  is  no 
cure.  I  am  a  courtier,  and  yet  I  will  know  my  friends,  I 
tell  you. 

Fri.  And  I  tell  you,  you  will  thrive  accordingly,  I  warrant 
you. 

Rin.  But  hark  you,  signer  Frigoso  ;  you  shall  first  under- 
stand, I  have  no  friends  with  me  to  trouble  you. 

Fri.  Hum — that's  a  good  motive. 

Rin.  Nor  to  borrow  money  of  you. 

Fri.  That's  an  excellent  motive. 

to  lust  :  therefore,  the  courtiers  invited  the  citizens  wives  to  those  shews  on 
purpose  to  defile  them  in  such  sort.  There  is  not  a  lobby  nor  chamber  (if  it 
could  speak)  but  would  verify  this.'  [p.  47.  ed.  1652.]  From  the  present 
and  other  old  plays,  it  is  however  evident  that  the  origin  of  the  custom  was 
not  to  be  charged  to  King  Charles's  court,  as  it  was  equally  prevalent  in  that 
of  King  James."  Weber,  [qy.  Sir  W.  Scott  ?] 
'  beholding]  See  note,  p.  181. 


INDUCTION.  481 

Rin.  No,  my  sweet  don,  nor  to  ask  what  you  owe  me. 

Fri.  AV'hy,  that  is  the  very  motive  of  motives  why  I  ought 
and  will  know  thee  ;  and  if  I  had  not  wound  thee  up  to  this 
promise,  I  would  not  have  known  thee  these  fifteen  years,  no 
more  than  the  arrantest  or  most  foundered  Castilian  that 
followed  our  new  queen's  carriages  a-foot. 

Rin.  Nor  for  any  thing,  dear  don,  but  that  you  would 
place  me  conveniently  to  see  the  play  to-night. 

Fri.  That  shall  I,  signer  Rinaldo.  But  would  you  had 
come  sooner  !  you  see  how  full  the  scaffolds  are ;  there  is 
scant  room  for  a  lover's  thought  here. — Gentlewomen,  sit  close, 
for  shame  !  has  none  of  ye  a  little  corner  for  this  gentleman  ? 
— I'll  place  you,  fear  not.  And  how  did  our  brave  king  of 
Portugal,  Emanuel,  bear  himself  to-day  'I  you  saw  the 
solemnity  of  the  marriage, 

Rin.  ^V'^hy,  like  a  fit  husband  for  so  gracious  and  excellent 
a  princess,  as  his  worthy  mate  Isabella,  the  king  of  Castile's 
daughter,  doth,  in  her  very  external  lineaments,  mixture  of 
colours,  and  joining  dove-like  behaviour,  assure  herself  to  be. 
And  I  protest,  my  dear  don,  seriously,  I  can  sing  prophe- 
tically nothing  but  blessed  hymns  and  happy  occasions  ^  to 
this  sacred  union  of  Portugal  and  Castile,  which  have  so 
wisely  and  mutually  conjoined  two  such  virtuous  and  beauti- 
ful princes  as  these  are ;  and,  in  all  opinion,  like  to  multiply 
to  their  very  last  minute. 

F^ri.  The  king  is  entering  :  signer,  hover  hereabout,  and  as 
soon  as  the  train  is  set,  clap  in  to  me ;  we'll  stand  near  the 
state  -.  If  you  have  any  creditors  here,  they  shall  renew 
bonds  a  twelvemonth  on  such  a  sight :  but  to  touch  the  pommel 
of  the  king's  chair,  in  the  sight  of  a  citizen,  is  better  security 
for  a  thousand  double  ducats  than  three  of  the  best  merchants 
in  Lisbon.  Besides,  signer,  we  will  censure,''  not  only  the  king 
in  the  play  here,  that  reigns  his  two  hours,  but  the  king 
himself,  that  is  to  rule  his  lile-time.  Take  my  counsel,  I 
have  one  word  to  say  to  this  noble  assembly,  and  I  am  for  you. 

'  occasions]  i.  e.  circumstances,  occurrences. 
K  the  stale]   i.  e.  tlie  raised  chair,  or  tiiroiif. 
censure^  See  note,  p.  355. 
VOL.    II.  I  I 


482  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Rin.  Your  method  shall  govern  me. 

Fri.  Prologues  are  huishers  hare  '^  before  the  loise  ; 

Why  may  not,  then,  an  huisher  ■proloyuise  ? 

Heres  a  fair  sight ;  and  tcere  ye  oftcner  seen 

Thus  gather  d  here,  'twould  please  our  king  and  queen. 

Upon  my  conscience,  ye  are  ivelcome  all 

To  Lisbon  and  the  court  of  Portugal ; 

Where  your  fair  eyes  shall  feed  on  no  worse  sights 

Than  preparations  made  for  kings'  delights. 

We  loish  to  men  content,  the  manliest  treasure  ; 

And  to  the  icomen  their  oion  wisU'd-for  pleasure  !      \^Flourish. 

Enter  Emanuel  and  Isabella,  who  seat  themselves  ;  Lords  and 
Attendants. 

Eman.  Fair  fountain  of  my  life,  from  whose  pure  streams 
The  propagation  of  two  kingdoms  flows, 
Never  contention  rise  in  cither's  breast, 
But  contestation  whose  love  shall  be  best ! 

Isab.  Majestic  ocean,  that  with  plenty  feeds 
Me,  thy  poor  tributary  rivulet ; 
Sun  of  my  beauty,  that  with  radiant  beams 
Dost  gild  and  dance  upon  these  humble  streams  ; 
Curs'd  be  my  birth-hour  and  my  ending  day, 
When  back  your  love-floods  I  forget  to  pay  ! 
Or  if  this  breast  of  mine,  your  crystal  brook. 
Ever  take  other  form  in,  other  look 
But  yours,  or  e'er  produce  unto  your  grace 
A  strange  reflection,  or  another's  face. 
But  be  your  love -book  claspM,  open'd  to  none 
But  you,  nor  hold  a  story  but  your  own ; 
A  water  fixVl,  that  ebbs  nor  floods  pursue. 
Frozen  to  all,  only  dissolv\l  to  you  ! 

Eman.  Oh,  who  shall  tell  the  sweetness  of  our  love 
To  future  times,  and  not  be  thought  to  lie  I 
I  look  through  this  hour  like  a  perspective ', 

^  huishers  bare]  i.  c.  ushers  bare-headed. 

'  perspective. 1     Scot  gives  a  muiute  account  of  the  "  Strange  things  to  be 
doone  by  perspectiue  glasses,"  part  of  which  is  as  follows  :—  "  But  the  woonderous 


INDUCTION.  483 

And  far  off  see  millions  of  prosperous  seeds, 
That  our  reciprocal  affection  breeds. 
Thus,  my  white  ^  rib,  close  in  my  breast  with  me, 
Which  nought  shall  tear  hence  but  mortality. 

Lords.  Be  kingdoms  blest  in  you,  you  blest  in  them  ! 

[^Flourish. 

Fri.  Whist,  signor  !  my  strong  imagination  shews  me 
Love,  methinks,  bathing  in  milk  and  wine  in  her  cheeks.  Oh, 
how  she  clips  him,  like  a  plant  of  ivy  ! 

liin.  Ay  ;  could  not  you  be  content  to  be  an  owl  in  such  an 
ivy-bush,  or  one  of  the  oaks  of  the  city,  to  be  so  dipt  i 

Fri.  Equivocal  don,  though  I  like  the  clipping  well,  I  could 
not  be  content  either  to  be  your  owl,  or  your  ox  of  the  city. 
[Flovrish.^     The  play  begins. 

Enter  Poet,  as  Prologue-speaker,  with  a  garland^. 
Poet.     Low  at  your  sacred  feet  our  poor  Muse  lags 
Her  and  her  tliunder-fearless  verdant  hays. 
Four  several  Triumphs  to  your  princely  eyes., 
Of  Honour.,  Love,  Death  ',  and  Time,  do  rise 
From  our  approaching  subject ;  lohich  we  move 
Towards  you  with  fear,  since  that  a  sweeter  love^ 
A  brighter  honour,  purer  chastity, 
March  in  your  breasts  this  day  triumphantly 
Tlian  our  weak  scenes  can  sheio  :  then  hoiv  dare  we 
Present,  like  apes  and  zanies  ™,  things  that  be 
Exemplified  in  you,  but  that  ice  know 
We  ne'er  crav'd  grace  which  you  did  not  bestoic  ?         \^E.xit. 

deuises  and  miraculous  sights  and  coiiceipts  made  and  contcined  in  glassc,  do 
farre  exceed  all  other  ;  whereto  the  art  perspcctiuc  is  verie  necessaric.  For  it 
sheweth  the  illusions  of  them,  whose  experiments  be  scene  in  diuerse  sorts  of 
glasses  ....  for  you  may  Iiaue  glasses  so  made,  as  what  image  or  fauour  soeuer  you 
print  in  your  imagination,  you  shall  thinke  you  see  the  same  therein.  Others 
are  so  framed,  as  therein  one  may  see  what  others  doo  in  places  far  distant,"  &c. 
—  The  Discou.  of  Witchcraft,  B.  xiii.  c.  19,  p.  SKJ,  ed.  1584. 

J  white]  "  Was  a  very  general  epithet  of  endearment."    Webeu.     See  note, 
p.  13G. 

*  a  garland]   See  note,  vol.  i.  v. 

'   Death]  Seward,  for  the  metre,  printed  "and  Death." 

"■  zanies]   i.  e.  buffoons,  mimics. 

1   I  2 


484  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 


THE  TRIUMPH   OF   HONOUR. 


Scene  I, — Before  the  icalls  of  Athens. 

Enter  in  triumph,  icith  drums,  trumpets,  and  colours,  Martifs, 
Valerius,  Sophocles  hound,  Nicodemus,  Cornelius,  Captains, 
and  Soldiers. 

Mar.  What  means  proud  Sophocles  ? 

Soph.  To  go  even  with  JSIartius, 
And  not  to  follow  him  like  his  officer  : 
I  never  waited  yet  on  any  man. 

Mar.  Why,  poor  Athenian  duke,  thou  art  my"*  slave  ; 
My  blows  have  conquered  thee. 

Soph.  Thy  slave,  proud  Martius  ! 
Cato  thy  countryman  (whose  constancy. 
Of  all  the  Romans,  I  did  honour  most) 
Ripp'd  himself  twice  to  avoid  slavery, 
Making  himself  his  o^ti  anatomy  : 
But  look  thee,  Martius ;  not  a  vein  runs  here. 
From  head  to  foot,  but  Sophocles  would  unseam. 
And,  like  a  spring-garden  °,  shoot  his  scornful  blood 

™  art  my']  Weber  printed  "  martyr  "  ! 

°  Like  a  spring-garden.  Sec]  "  The  last  editors  [of  1778],  not  comprehending 
the  meaning  of  this  passage,  propose  to  amend  it  by  I'eading  spring-gun  instead 
of  spring -garden  ;  but  they  entii'ely  mistake  the  allusion.  It  was  the  fashion 
formerly  in  improvements,  where  there  was  a  command  of  water,  to  convey  it 
in  pipes  in  such  a  manner,  that,  when  you  trod  on  a  particular  spot,  the  water 
played  upon  you,  and  wet  you  severely  :  these  wei-e  called  spring-gardens. 
And  I  remember  to  have  seen  one  of  them  at  Chatsworth,  about  five-and-twenty 
years  ago,  which  has  probably  given  place  by  this  time  to  more  modern  and 
elegant  decorations  ;  such  practical  jokes  being  no  longer  in  fashion.  Spring- 
garden,  which  formerly  made  part  of  St.  James's  Park,  was  probably  a  garden 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR  485 

Into  their  eyes  durst  come  to  tread  on  him. 

As  for  thy  blows,  they  did  not  conquer  me  ; 

Seven  battles  have  I  met  thee  face  to  face, 

And  given  thee  blow  for  blow  and  wound  for  wound, 

And,  till  thou  taught'st  me  °,  knew  not  to  retire  : 

Thy  sword  was  then  as  bold,  thy  arm  as  strong  ; 

Thy  blows,  then,  Martins,  cannot  conquer  me. 

Val  What  is  it,  then  ? 

Soph.  Fortune. 

Val.  AVhy,  yet  in  that 
Thou  art  the  worse  man,  and  must  follow  him. 

Soph.  Young  sir,  you  err :  if  Fortune  could  be  called 
Or  his,  or  yours,  or  mine,  in  good  or  evil, 
For  any  certain  space,  thou  hadst  spoke  truth  ; 
But  she  but  jests  with  man,  and  in  mischance 
Abhors  all  constancy,  flouting  him  still 
With  some  small  touch  of  good,  or  seeming  good, 
Midst  of  his  mischief;  which  vicissitude 
Makes  him  straight  doff  his  armour  and  his  fence, 
He  had  preparM  before,  to  break  her  strokes : 
So  from  the  very  zenith  of  her  wheel. 
When  she  has  dandled  some  choice  favourite. 
Given  him  his  boons  in  women,  honour,  wealth. 
And  all  the  various  delicies''  of  earth. 
That  the  fool  scorns  the  gods  in  his  excess. 
She  whirls,  and  leaves  him  at  th'  Antipodes. 

Mar.  Art  sure  we  have  taken  him  I  is  this  Sophocles  ? 

of  tliis  kind.  It  is  to  this  that  Sophocles  alludes  :  spring-guns  would  be  a  strange 
anachronism,  and  destroy  both  metre  [accordingtotheold  arrangement]  and  sense. 
Paul  Hcntzner,  who  visited  England  in  1598,  in  his  description  of  Nonsuch,  the 
villa  of  Henry VI II.,  says,  '  There  is,  besides,  another  pyramid  of  marble,  full 
of  concealed  pipes,  which  spirt  upon  all  who  come  within  their  reach  '  [p.  84, 
ed.  1757]."  Mason.  "  Such  fopperies  are  still  to  be  seen  in  continental  gardens." 
Weber.  "  Such  a  garden,"  says  Nares,  "  is  still  [1822]  to  be  seen  at  Enstone, 
in  Oxfordshire."     Gloss,  in  v. 

o  thou  taught'st  tne]  "  The  context  seems  to  require  fate  taught  vie,  or 
words  to  that  effect."  Ed.  1778.  "This  is  a  most  needless  alteration. 
Sophocles  says  simply,  *  I  never  knew  how  to  retire  till  I  learnt  it  by  thy 
example.'"  Weber, — who  borrowed  this  note  from  Mason. 

p  delicies'\  Generally  written  delices, — i.  e.  delights. — So  the  first  fol.  The 
modern  editors  give,  with  the  sec.  folio,  "  delicacies." 


486  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

His  fetter'd  arms  say,  no  ;  his  free  soul,  ay  p  ; 
This  Athens  nurseth  arts  as  well  as  arras. 

Soph.  Nor  glory,  Martius,  in  this  day  of  thine  ; 
'Tis  behind  yesterday,  but  before  to-morrow  : 
Who  knows  what  Fortune  then  will  do  with  thee  I 
She  never  yet  could  make  the  bettor  man. 
The  better  chance  she  has :  the  man  that's  best 
She  still  contends  with,  and  doth  favour  least. 

Mar.  Methinks,  a  graver  thunder  than  the  skies"' 
Breaks  from  his  lips  :   I  am  amaz'd  to  hear  ; 
And  Athens'  words,  more  than  her  swords,  do  fear. — \^Asid€. 
Slave  Sophocles 

SojjIi.  Martius,  couldst  thou  acquire  'i, 
And  did  thy  Koman  gods  so  love  thy  prayers 
And  solemn  sacrifice,  to  grant  thy  suit, 
To  gather  all  the  valour  of  the  Caesars 
Thy  predecessors,  and  what  is  to  come, 
And  by  their  influence  fling  it  on  thee  now. 
Thou  couldst  not  make  my  mind  go  less'',  not^  pare 
With  all  their  swords  one  virtue  from  my  soul : 
How  am  I  vassalFd,  then  ?  Make  such  thy  slaves 
As  dare  not  keep  their  goodness  past  their  graves. 
Know,  general,  we  two  are  chances  on 

*  His  fettered  arms  say,  no  ;  his  free  soul,  ay]  "  Mason  says  we  should 
transpose  the  affirmative  and  the  negative  in  this  line,  because  the  question 
asked  by  Martius  is,  Whether  he  is  a  captive  or  not  ?  But  the  text  is  capable 
of  receiving  the  following  very  poetical  exj)lanation,  furnished  by  a  friend,  [Qy. 
Sir  Walter  Scott  ?],  which  proves  the  propriety  of  it  at  once :  '  Is  this  Sophocles  ? 
the  illustrious  Sophocles  ?  this  !  the  enslaved  being  before  me  ! — Regarding  his 
fetters  only,  I  should  say — No.  But  when  I  regard  his  '  free  soul,'  I  hear  it  pro- 
claim— Ay  !  he,  whose  great  soul  looks  down  upon  chains  and  captivity,  is  indeed 
Sophocles.'  "  Weber  (whose  note  I  have  somewliat  shortened  towards  the  end.) 

'I  Slave  Sophocles 

Soph.  Martius,  couldst  tliou  acquire,  &c.]     Old  eds., 

"  Soph.   Martius,  slave  Sophocles,  couldst  thou  acquire,"  &c. 
The  necessary  alteration  now  given  was  made  by  Seward,  who  also  very  un- 
uecossai'ily  changed  "  acg'wire  "  into  "aspire."     Mason  offers  some  unhappy 
conjectures  on  the  passage. 

^  go  less]  "  i.  e.  become  less,  be  valued  at  less."  Webkb.  A  wrong  ex- 
planation :  go  less  means  properly — adventure  a  smaller  sum  (see  Giff"ord's  note 
on  Jonson's  Works,  III.,  UG),  and  here  it  seems  to  be  equivalent  to — shrink, 
(juail.  '  nof]   Seward  printed  "  nor" — rightly  perhaps. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  487 

The  die  of  Fate  ;  now  thrown,  thy  six  is  up, 
And  my  poor  one  beneath  thee  ;  next,  the  throw ' 
May  set  me  upmost,  and  cast  thee  below. 

Mar.  Yet  will  I  try  thee  more ;  calamity 
Is  man's  true  touchstone.  \^Aside.'\ — Listen,  insolent  prince, 
That  dar'st  contemn  the  master  of  thy  life, 
Which  I  will  force  here  'fore  thy  city-walls 
With  barbarous  cruelty,  and  call  thy  wife 
To  see  it,  and  then  after  send  her 

Soph.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Mar.  And  then  demolish  Athens  to  the  ground, 
Depopulate  her,  fright  away  her  fame. 
And  leave  succession  neither  stone  nor  name. 

Soph.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Mar.  Dost  thou  deride  me  ? 

Val.  Kneel,  ask  Martins 
For  mercy,  Sophocles,  and  live  happy  still  ! 

Soph.  Kneel,  and  ask  mercy  !     Roman,  art  a  god  i 
I  never  knecFd  or  begg'd  of  any  else. 
Thou  art  a  fool ;  and  I  will  lose  no  more 
Instructions  on  thee,  now  I  find  thy  ears 
Are  foolish,  like  thy  tongue.  [Solemn  music. 

Enter  Dorigen,  and  Ladies  hearing  a  sword  and  wreath. 

My  Dorigen  ! 
Oh,  must  she  see  me  bound  ? 

First  Capt.  There's  the  first  sigh 
He  breath'd  since  he  was  born,  I  think. 

Sec.  Copt.  Forbear, 
All  but  the  lady  his  wife  ! 

Soph.  How  my  heart  chides 
The  manacles  of  my  hands,  that  let  them  not 
Embrace  my  Dorigen  ! 

Val.  Turn  but  thy  face, 
And  ask  thy  life  of  Martins  thus,  and  thou, 
With  thy  fair  wife,  shalt  live  ;   Athens  shall  stand. 
And  all  her  privileges  augmented  be. 

'  neal,  the  throw]   So  the  soc.  folio.     Weber  gave,  with  the  first  folio,  "next 
thy  throiv."     Seward,  fdllowing  his  own  devices,  printed,  "  and  next  throw." 


488  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Soph.  'Twere  better  Athens  perish'd,  and  my  wife, — 
Which,  Romans,  I  do  know  a  worthy  one, — 
Than  Sophocles  should  shrink  of  Sophocles, 
Commit  profane  idolatry,  by  giving 
The  reverence  due  to  gods  to  thee,  blown  ^  man  ! 

Mar.  Rough,  stubborn  cynic  ! 

Soph.  Thou  art  rougher  far, 
And  of  a  coarser  wale\  fuller  of  pride, 
Less  temperate  to  bear  prosperity. 
Thou  seest  my  mere  neglect  hath  rais"'d  in  thee 
A  storm  more  boisterous  than  the  ocean's ; 
;My  virtue,  patience,  makes  thee  vicious.  [Dorigex  kneels. 

Mar.  Why,  fair-ey'd  lady,  do  you  kneel  ? 

Dor.  Great  general, 
Victorious,  godlike  jMartius,  your  poor  handmaid 
Kneels,  for  her  husband  will  not,  cannot ;  speaks 
Thus  humbly  that  he  may  not.     Listen,  Roman ; 
Thou  whose  advanced  front  doth  speak  thee  Roman 
To  every  nation,  and  whose  deeds  assure  ""t ; 
Behold  a  princess,  whose  declining  head, 
Like  to  a  drooping  lily  after  storms, 
Bows  to  thy  feet,  and  playing  here  the  slave, 
To  keep  her  husband's  greatness  unabated  : 
All  which  doth  make  thy  conquest  greater  ;  for, 
If  he  be  base  in  aught  whom  thou  hast  taken, 
Then  Martius  hath  but  taken  a  base  prize ; 
But  if  this  jewel  hold  lustre  and  value, 
Martins  is  richer  then  in  that  he  hath  won. 
Oh,  make  him  such  a  captive  as  thyself 
Unto  another  wouldst,  great  captain,  be  ! 
Till  then,  he  is  no  pi'isoner  fit  for  thee. 

Mar.  Valerius,  here  is  harmony  would  have  brought 
Old  crabbed  Saturn  to  sweet  sleep,  when  Jove 
Did  first  incense  him  with  rebellion. 
Athens  doth  make  women  philosophers ; 
And,  sure,  their  children  chat  the  talk  of  gods. 

'  bloivn'\  i.  e.  swelled  with  pi'ide,  insolent. 

'  wale']  i.  e.  texture,  (propei-ly, — the  ridge  of  thi-eads  in  the  doth.) 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  489 

Vol.  Rise,  beauteous  Dorigen. 

Dor.  Not  until  I  know 
The  general's  resolution. 

Val.  One  soft  word 
From  Sophocles  would  calm  him  into  tears, 
Like  gentle  showei's  after  tempestuous  winds. 

Dor.  To  buy  the  world,  he  will  not  give  a  word, 
A  look,  a  tear,  a  knee,  'gainst  his  own  judgment, 
And  the  divine  composure  "  of  his  mind  : 
All  which  I  therefore  do  ;  and  here  present 
This  victor's  wreath,  this  rich  Athenian  sword. 
Trophies  of  conquest,  which,  great  jMartius,  wear. 
And  be  appeas'd !  let  Sophocles  still  live  ! 

Mar.  He  would  not  live. 

Dor.  He  would  not  beg  to  live  : 
When  he  shall  so  forg-et,  then  I  begin 
To  command,  Martius ;  and  when  he  kneels, 
Dorigen  stands  ;  when  he  lets  fall  a  tear, 
I  dry  mine  eyes,  and  scorn  him. 

Mar.  Scorn  him  now,  then. 
Here  in  the  face  of  Athens  and  thy  friends. — 
Self-wiird,  stiff  Sophocles,  prepare  to  die,  [Dorigen  rises. 

And  by  that  sword  thy  lady  honourM  me, 
With  which  herself  shall  follow. — Romans,  friends, 
Who  (lares  but  strike  this  stroke,  shall  part  with  me 
Half  Athens  and  my  half  of  victory. 

Cajytains.  By  [heaven],  not  we  I 

^    '    f  We  two  will  do  it,  sir. 

Co?'7l.  3 

Soph.  Away,  ye  fish-fac'd  rascals  ! 

Val.   Martius, 
To  eclipse  this  great  eclipse  labours  thy  fame ', 
Valerius  thy  brother  shall  for  once 
Turn  executioner  :  give  mo  the  sword. — 

"  composure^   i.  c.  composition,  framo. 

"  To  eclipse  this  great  eclipse  labourt  thy  fame,  &c.]  "  i.  e.  to  clispel  tliis 
great  eclipse,  which  obscures  thy  fame  [makes  thy  fame  labour,  Hke  the 
moon  in  an  eclipse],  I,  youi'  brother,  will  act  the  part  of  executioner." 
Mason. 


490  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Now,  Sophocles,  Til  strike  as  suddenly 
As  thou  dar'st  die. 

Soph.  Thou  canst  not :  and,  Valerius, 
'Tis  less  dishonour  to  thee  thus  to  kill  me 
Than  bid  me  kneel  to  Martins ;  'tis  to  murder 
The  fame  of  living  men,  which  great  ones  do  ; 
Their  studies  sti'angle  ;   poison  makes  away  " , 
The  wretched  hangman  only  ends  the  play. 

Val.  Art  thou  prepared  ? 

Sopk.  Yes. 

Val.  Bid  thy  wife  farewell. 

Soph.  No  ;   I  will  take  no  leave. — My  Dorigen, 
Yonder  above,  'bout  Ariadne's  crown, 
My  spirit  shall  hover  for  thee ;  prithee,  haste  ! 

Dor.  Stay,  Sophocles  !  with  this  tie  up  my  sight ; 

[Soph,  puts  a  scarf  over  her  eyes. 

''  'tis  to  murder 

The  fame  of  living  men,  which  great  ones  do  ; 

Their  studies  strangle  ;  poison  makes  away,  &c.]  "  By  making  the  first  part  of 
the  sentence  end  at  strangle,  the  following  sense  may  be  deduced  from  it.  To 
make  their  fellow-creatures  kneel  to  them,  as  great  men  frequently  do,  is  worse 
than  murdering  them ;  it  renders  them  servile  and  slavish,  debases  them  below 
the  dignity  of  their  nature,  murders  therefore  their  fame,  and  fetters  and 
strangles  their  studies,  i.  e.  the  free  exertions  of  their  rational  faculties. 
Whereas  poison  makes  away  or  destroys  a  man  without  injuring  his  fame,  or 
diminishing  the  dignity  of  his  soul  ;  and  the  wretched  despicable  hangman  only 
puts  an  end  to  the  part  we  act  upon  the  stage  of  this  world.  This  sentiment  is 
continued  and  improved  in  Sophocles's  next  speech  upon  death."     Seward. 

"  Probably  we  should  point, 

which  great  ones  do 

Their  studies  strangle. 
The  sense  is, '  You  will  dishonour  me  less  by  killing  me,  than  bidding  me  kneel 
to  Martins.     Great  men  exert  themselves  to  murder  the  fame  of  the  living  ; 
which  is  greater    cruelty  than    poison  or  hanging,  which   but  concludes  our 
misei'y.'  "     Ed.  1778  (where  this  pointing  is  given  in  the  text). 

"  I  should  read, 

'lis  to  murder 
The  fame  of  living  men,  when  great  ones  do 
Their  studies  strangle,  Sec. 
and  the  meaning  may  possibly  be  this  :  that  when  great  men,  by  their  power, 
force  others  to  depart  from  the  principles  they  have  formed,  from  their  studies, 
they  destroy  theu'  fame."     Mason. 

Weber  adopted  the  alteration  pi'oposed  by  Mason.     Amid  so  much  uncer- 
tainty, I  prefer  following  the  old  eds. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  491 

Let  not  soft  nature  so  transformed  be, 

And  lose  her  gentler-sexM  humanity, 

To  make  me  see  my  lord  bleed  ! — So  ;  'tis  well : 

Never  one  object  underneath  the  sun 

Will  T  behold  before  my  Sophocles. 

Farewell !  now  teach  the  Romans  how  to  die. 

Mar.  Dost  know  what  'tis  to  die  ? 

Soph.  Thou  dost  not,  Martius, 
And  therefore  not  what  'tis  to  live.     To  die 
Is  to  begin  to  live ;  it  is  to  end 
An  old  stale  weary  work,  and  to  commence 
A  newer  and  a  better ;  'tis  to  leave 
Deceitful  knaves  for  the  society 
Of  gods  and  goodness  :  thou  thyself  must  part 
At  last  from  all  thy  garlands,  pleasures,  triumphs, 
And  prove  thy  fortitude,  what  then  'twill  do. 

Vol.  But  art  not  griev'd  nor  vex'd  to  leave  life  thus  ? 

Soph.  Why  should  1  grieve  or  vex  for  being  sent 
To  them  I  ever  lov'd  best?     Now  I'll  kneel; 
But  with  my  back  toward  thee  :  'tis  the  last  duty 
This  trunk  can  do  the  gods.  \Kneeh. 

Mar.  Strike,  strike,  Valerius, 
Or  Martius'  heart  will  leap  out  at  his  mouth  ! — 
This  is  a  man  !  a  woman  ! — Kiss  thy  lord, 
And  live  with  all  the  freedom  you  were  wont. — 

[Soph,  rises,  takes  the  scajf  off  DomGE^''s  et/es,  and  kisses  he?'. 
Oh,  Love,  thou  doubly  hast  afflicted  me, 
A\'ith  virtue  and  with  beauty  !     Treacherous  heart, 
My  hand  shall  cast  thee  quick  into  my  urn. 
Ere  thou  transgress  this  knot  of  piety. 

Fal.  What  ails  my  brother  ? 

Soph.  Martius,  oh,  Martius, 
Thou  now  hast  found  a  way  to  conquer  me  ! 

Dor.  Oh,  star  of  Rome,  what  gratitude  can  speak 
Fit  words  to  follow  such  a  deed  as  this  ! 

Mar.  Doth  Juno  talk,  or  Dorigren  ! 

Val.  You  are  observ'd. 

Mar.  This  admirable  duke,  Valerius, 


492  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE, 

With  his  disdain  of  fortune  and  of  death, 
Captiv'd  himself,  hath  captivated  me  ; 
And  though  my  arm  hath  ta'en  his  body  here, 
His  soul  hath  subjugated  Martius'  soul  : 
By  Romulus,  he  is  all  soul,  I  think  ! 
He  hath  no  flesh,  and  spirit  cannot  be  gyvM : 
Then  we  have  vanquish'd  nothing  ;  he  is  free, 
And  Martins  walks  now  in  captivity. 

Soph.  How  fares  the  noble  Roman  ? 

Mar.   Why? 

Dor.  Your  blood 
Is  sunk  down  to  your  heart,  and  your  bright  eyes 
Have  lost  their  splendour. 

Mar.  Baser  fires  go  out 
When  the  sun  shines  on  ""em.     I  am  not  well ; 
An  apoplectic  "^  fit  I  use  to  have. 
After  my  heats  in  war  carelessly  cool'd. 

Scqyli.  Martins  shall  rest  in  Athens  with  his  friends, 
Till  this  distemper  leave  him.     Oh,  great  Roman, 
See  Sophocles  do  that  for  thee  he  could  not 
Do  for  himself,  weep  !     Martins,  by  the  [gods], 
It  grieves  me  that  so  brave  a  soul  should  suffer 
Under  the  body's  weak  infirmity. — 
Sweet  lady,  take  him  to  thy  loving  charge, 
And  let  thy  care  be  tender. 

Dor.  Kingly  sir, 
I  am  your  nurse  and  servant. 

Mar.  Oh,  dear  lady, 
My  mistress,  nay,  my  deity  ! — Guide  me.  Heaven  !  — 
Ten  wreaths  triumphant  Martins  will  give. 
To  change  a  IMartius  for  a  Sophocles. — 
Can't  not  be  done,  Valerius,  with  this  boot  ^  ? — 
Inseparable  affection  ever  thus 
Colleague  with  Athens  Rome  ! 

Dor.  Beat  warlike  tunes, 

"  apoplectw\  Was  altered  to  "epileptic  "  by  Seward,  who  says,  "  to  make  a 
man  accustomed  to  apoplectic  fits,  seems  improper,  since  the  third  stroke  is 
generally  held  fatal."  !  ^  boot]  "  i.  e.  advantage."     Ed.  1778. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  493 

Whilst  Dorigen  thus  honours  Martius'  brow 
With  one  victorious  wreath  more  ! 

Soph.  And  Sophocles 
Thus  girds  his  sword  of  conquest  to  his  thigh, 
Which  ne'er  be  drawn  but  cut  out  victory  ! 

Captains.  For  ever  be  it  thus  ! 

[Exeunt  all  except  Nicodemus  and  Cornelius. 

Corn.  Corporal  Nicodemus,  a  word  with  you. 

Nic.  ;My  worthy  sutler  Cornelius,  it  befits  not  Nicodemus 
the  Roman  officer  to  parley  with  a  fellow  of  thy  rank  ;  the 
affairs  of  the  empire  are  to  be  occupied. 

Corn.  Let  the  affairs  of  the  empire  lie  a  while  unoccupied, 
sweet  Nicodemus  :  I  do  require  the  money  at  thy  hands  which 
thou  dost  owe  me ;  and  if  fair  means  cannot  attain,  force  of 
arms  shall  accomplish.  \^D rates, 

Nic.  Put  up,  and  live. 

Corn.  I  have  put  up  too  much  already,  thou  corporal  of 
concupiscence  !  for  I  suspect  thou  hast  dishonoured  my  flock- 
bed,  and  with  thy  foolish  eloquence  and  that  bewitching  face 
of  thine  drawn  my  wife,  the  young  harlotry  baggage,  to 
prostitute  herself  unto  thee.  Draw,  therefore ;  for  thou  shalt 
find  thyself  a  mortal  corporal. 

Nic.  Stay  thy  dead-doing  hand,  and  hear !  I  will  rather  de- 
scend from  my  honour,  and  argue  these  contumelies  with  thee, 
than  clutch  thee,  poor  fly,  in  these  eaglet  [talons  ''j  of  mine,  or 
draw  my  sword  of  fate  on  a  peasant,  a  besognio  ^,  a  cocoloch  '', 

»  [talons']  Seward  printed  "  claws  ;  "  and  so  his  successors.  The  context 
would  seem  to  shew  that  the  omitted  word  must  have  been  a  harmless  one  ;  and 
yet  the  mark  of  omi.ssion  (a  dash  thus  — )  is  the  same  here  as  in  passages  of  the 
play  which  wore  undoubtedly  mutilated  by  the  licenser. 

•  bpsognio']  i.  e.  beggar,  needy  fellow. 

•»  cocoloch]  Gifford  says  that  "a  couple  of  cockloches"  in  Shirley's  Witti/  Fair 
One,  act  ii.  sc.  2,  "appears  to  mean  a  couple  of  silly  coxcombs  ;  but  the  word  is 
of  rare  occurrence  in  our  old  writers.  It  is  pure  French, — Coquelnche,  a  sort 
of  spoiled  child."  Note  on  Works,  I.  307.  In  a  tract  entitled  Bartholomew 
Faire,  1641,  4to,  I  find:  "on  the  other  side,  Hocus  Pocus  with  three  yards 
of  tape  or  ribbin  in's  hand,  shewing  his  art  of  Legerdemainc,  to  the  admira- 
tion and  astonishment  of  a  company  o(  cockoloaches."  p.  4, — where  the  term  is 
evidently  equivalent  to — simpletons. 


494  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

as  thou  art.  Thou  shalt  first  understand,  this  foolish 
eloquence  and  intolerable  beauty  of  mine  (both  which,  I 
protest,  are  merely  natural)  are  the  gifts  of  the  gods,  with  which 
I  have  neither  sent  bawdy  sonnet  nor  amorous  glance,  or 
(as  the  vulgar  call  it)  sheep's  eye  to  thy  betrothed  Florence. 

Corn.  Thou  liest. 

Nic.  Oh,  gods  of  Rome,  was  Nicodemus  born 
To  bear  these  braveries  from  a  poor  provant  ^  'I 
Yet,  when  dogs  bark,  or  when  the  asses  bray, 
The  lion  laughs ;  not  roars,  but  goes  his  way. 

Coim.  A  [pox]  o'  your  poetical  vein  !  this  versifying  my 
wife  has  hornified  me.  Sweet  corporal  Cod's-head,  no  more 
standing  on  your  punctilios  and  punkettos  of  honour,  they 
are  not  worth  a  louse :  the  truth  is,  thou  art  the  generaFs 
by-gamy  '^,  that  is,  his  fool,  and  his  knave  ;  thou  art  miscreant 
and  recreant ;  not  an  horse-boy  in  the  legions  but  has  beaten 
thee;  thy  beginning  was  knapsack,  and  thy  ending  will  be 
halter-sack  ^'. 

Nic.  Methinks  I  am  now  Sophocles  the  wise,  and  thou  art 
Martins  the  mad. 

Corn.  No  more  of  your  tricks,  good  corporal  Leatlier-chops. 
I  say,  thou  hast  dishonoured  me  ;  and  since  honour  now-a- 
days  is  only  repaired  by  money,  pay  me,  and  I  am  satisfied  ; 
even  reckoning  keeps  long  friends. 

Nic.  Let  us  continue  friends,  then,  for  I  have  been  even 
with  thee  a  long  time ;  and  though  I  have  not  paid  thee,  I 
have  paid  thy  wife. 

Corn.  Flow  forth,  my  tears  !  Thou  hast  deflowered  her, 
Tarquin  !  the  garden  of  my  delight,  hedged  about,  in  which 
there  was  but  one  bowling-alley  for  mine  own  private  pro- 
creation, thou  hast,  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  leaped  the  hedge, 

"=  provant]  Means  properly,  provender,  provisions,  and  is  here  applied  con- 
temptuously to  Cornelius,  because  he  is  a  sutler. 

^  the  general's  by-gamy']  i.  e.  one  who  affords  by-game  to  the  general, — as 
seems  to  be  proved  by  what  immediately  follows, — "  that  is,  his  fool."  Yet  the 
Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  print  "  bigamy  "! 

«  thy  ending  zvill  be  halter-sack]  i.  c.  thy  ending  will  be  hanging  :  see  note, 
p.  149. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  405 

entered  my  alley,  and,  without  my  privity,  played  tbine  own 
rubbers. 

Nic.  How  long  shall  patience  thus  securely  snore  I 
Is  it  my  fault,  if  these  attractive  eyes, 
This  budding  chin,  ox*  rosy-colour'd  cheek, 
This  comely  body,  and  this  waxen  Heg, 
Have  drawn  her  into  a  fool's  paradise  ? 
By  Cupid's  [godhead]  I  do  swear  (no  other?), 
She's  chaster  far  than  Lucrece,  her  grandmother ; 
Pure  as  glass-window,  ere  the  rider  dash  l'  it ; 
Whiter  than  lady's  smock,  when  she  did  wash  it, — 
For  well  thou  wott'st,  though  now  my  heart's  commandress, 
I  once  was  free,  and  she  but  the  camp's  laundress. 

Corn.  Ay  ;  she  then  came  sweet  to  me  ;  no  part  about  her 
but  smelt  of  soap-suds  ;  like  a  Dryad  i  out  of  a  wash-bowl. 
Pray,  or  pay  ! 

Nic.  Hold! 

Coim.  Was  thy  cheese  mouldy,  or  thy  pennyworths  small  i 
was  not  thy  ale  the  mightiest  of  the  earth  in  malt,  and  thy 
stoop  ^  filled  like  a  tide  ?  was  not  thy  bed  soft,  and  thy  bacon 
fatter  than  a  dropsy  ?     Come,  sir. 

Nic.  Mars,  then,  inspire  me  with  the  fencing  skill 
Of  our  tragedian  actors  ! — Honour  pricks  ; — 
And,  sutler,  now  I  come  with  thwacks  and  thwicks  ! 
Grant  us  one  crush,  one  pass,  and  now  ii  high  lavolta-fall '' ; 
Then  up  again,  now  down  again,  yet  do  no  harm  at  all ! 

{Thn/fghf. 
Enter  Florence. 

Flor.  Oh,  that  ever  I  was  born  ! — Why,  gentlemen — 

'  waxiri]  i.  e.  well  made,  as  if  it  had  been  modelled  in  wax. 

K  By  Cupid's  [tjodliead]  I  do  swear  (no  other)']   Seward  chose  to  print, 
"  By  Cupid's  bow  (I  do  swear  by  no  other)." 
The  word  *^  godhead  "  was  inserted  by  the  Editors  of  1778,  who,  Weber  says, 
"  filled  up  the  hiatus  properly  "  :  decently,  at  any  ivatc. 

••  danh]   i.  e.  splash,  bespatter. 

'  Dryad]  "  Was  probably  a  designed  mistake  for  '  Naiad,'  &c."  Skwaiui. 
Of  course,  it  was. 

J  sloop]   See  note,  p.  221. 

^^  lavolta-fall]  Sec  note,  y.  V.>C,.     <Hdeds.    "  Cavalto /«//." 


496  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Corn.  Messaline  of  Rome  !  away,  disloyal  concubine  ! 
I  will  be  deafer  to  thee  than  thou  art  to  others :  I  will 
have  my  hundred  drachmas  he  owes  me,  thou  arrant 
whore ! 

Flor.  I  know  he  is  an  hundred  drachmas  o'  the  score ;  but 
what  o'  that  ?  no  bloodslied,  sweet  Cornelius  !  Oh,  my  heart ! 
o'  my  conscience,  'tis  fallen  thorow  the  bottom  of  my  belly ! 
Oh,  my  sweet  Didymus,  if  either  of  ye  miskill  one  another, 
what  will  become  of  poor  Florence  I  pacify  yourselves,  I  pray  ! 

Co7'n.  Go  to,  my  heart  is  not  stone  ;  I  am  not  marble  :  dry 
your  eyes,  Florence. — The  scurvy  ape's-face  knows  my  blind 
side  well  enough  \^Aside\. — Leave  your  puling :  will  this 
content  you  I  let  him  taste  thy  nether  lip  [Nic.  kisses  Ae?-]  ; 
which,  in  sign  of  amity,  I  thus  take  off  again  [kissing  lier\  Go 
thy  ways,  and  provide  the  cow's  udder. 

Nic.  Lily  of  concord  !  [Exit  Flokexce.] — And  now,  honest 
sutler,  since  I  have  had  proof  as  well  of  thy  good  nature  as 
of  thy  wife's  before,  I  will  acquaint  thee  with  a  project  shall 
fully  satisfy  thee  for  thy  debt.  Thou  shalt  understand,  I  am 
shortly  to  be  knighted. 

Corn.  The  devil  thou  art ! 

Nic.  Renounce  me  else  !  For  the  sustenance  of  which 
worship  (which  worship  many  times  wants  sustenance),  I  have 
here  the  general's  grant  to  have  the  leading  of  two  hundred 
men. 

Corn.  You  jest,  you  jest. 

Nic.  Refuse  me  else  to  the  pit  ! 

Corn.  ISIercy  on  us!  ha'  you  not  forgot  yourself!  by  your 
swearing,  you  should  be  knighted  alread}-. 

Nic.  Damn  me,  sir,  here's  his  hand  ;  read  it.  [Offers  a  paper. 

Corn.  Alas,  I  cannot ! 

Nic.  I  know  that.  [Aside.^ — It  has  pleased  the  general  to 
look  upon  my  service.  Now,  sir,  shall  you  join  with  me  in 
petitioning  for  fifty  men  more,  in  regard  of  my  arrearages  to 
you  ;  which  if  granted,  I  will  bestow  the  whole  profit  of 
those  fifty  men  on  thee  and  thine  heirs  for  ever,  till  Atropos 
do  cut  this  simple  thread. 

Corn.  No  more,  dear  corporal ;   Sir  Nicodemus  that  shall 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  497 

be,  I  cry  your  worship^s '  mercy  !  I  am  your  servant,  body 
and  goods,  moveables  and  immoveables  ;  use  my  house,  use 
my  wife,  use  me,  abuse  me,  do  what  you  list. 

Nic.  A  figment  is  a  candid  lie'":    this   is   an  old    pass. 
Mark  what  follows.  [Aside.]  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. — A  rocky  place  near  the  city. 

Enter  Martius  and  two  Captains. 
Mar.  Pray,  leave  me  :  you  are  Romans,  honest  men  ; 
Keep  me  not  company  ;   I  am  turn'd  knave, 
Have  lost  my  fame  and  nature.  [Exeunt  Captains. 

Athens,  Athens, 
This  Dorigen  is  thy  Palladium  ! 
He  that  will  sack  thee  must  betray  her  first, 
Whose  words  w^ound  deeper  than  her  husband's  sword  ; 
Her  eyes  make  captive  still  the  conqueror. 
And  here  they  keep  her  only  to  that  end. 
Oh,  subtle  devil,  what  a  golden  ball 
Did  tempt,  when  thou  didst  cast  her  in  my  way  ! 
\V^hy,  foolish  Sophocles,  brought 'st  thou  not  to  field 
Thy  lady,  that  thou  mightst  have  overcome  ? 
Martius  had  kneelM,  and  yielded  all  his  wreaths 
That  hang  like  jewels  on  the  seven-fold  hill, 
And  bid  Rome  send  him  out  to  fight  with  men, 
(For  that  she  knew  he  durst,)  and  not  'gainst  Fate 
Or  deities  ;  what  mortal  conquers  them  ? 
Insatiate  Julius,  when  his  victories 
Had  run  o'er  half  the  world,  had  ho  met  her, 
There  he  had  stopt  the  legend  of  his  deeds, 

'  worship's'^  Old  eds.  "wishes."  The  alteration  was  made  by  Seward,  who 
observes,  "he  calls  him  afterwards  before  Martius,  'his  worship  Sir  Nico- 
demus'  ":  and  see  a  preceding  speech  of  Nicodemus  in  the  present  scene,  "For 
the  sustenance  of  which  worship"  tVc. 

'"  a  candid  /le]  i.  e.  a  white  lie.  The  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  print  "a 
candied  lie  "'  ! 

vol,.  II.  K   K 


498  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Laid  by  his  arms,  been  overcome  himself, 
And  let  her  vanquish  th"*  other  half;  and  fame 
Made  beauteous  Dorigen  the  greater  name. 
Shall  I  thus  fall  I  I  will  not :  no ;  my  tears, 
Cast  on  my  heart,  shall  quench  these  lawless  fires  : 
He  conquers  best,  conquers  his  lewd  desires. 

Enter  Dorigen  with  Ladies. 

Dor.  Great  sir,  my  lord  commands  me  visit  you ; 
And  thinks  your  retired  melancholy  proceeds 
From  some  distaste  of  worthless  entertainment. 
Wiirt  please  you  take  your  chamber  ?  how  d'ye  do,  sir  ? 

Ma7\  Lost,  lost  again  !  the  wild  rage  of  my  blood 
Doth  ocean-like  o"'erflow  the  shallow  shore 
Of  my  weak  virtue  :  my  desire's  a  vane. 
That  the  least  breath  from  her  turns  every  way.  [Aside. 

Dor.  What  says  my  lord  ? 

Mar.  Dismiss  your  women,  pray. 
And  I'll  reveal  my  grief. 

Dor.  Leave  me.  [Exeunt  Ladies. 

Mar.  Long  tales  of  love  (whilst  love  itself 
Might  be  enjoy'd)  are  languishing  delays. 
There  is  a  secret  strange  lies  in  my  breast, 
I  will  partake  wi'  you,  which  much  concerns 
Your  lord,  yourself,  and  me.     Oh  ! 

Dor.  Strange  secrets,  sir, 
Should  not  be  made  so  cheap  to  strangers  ;  yet. 
If  your  strange  secret  do  no  lower  lie 
Than  in  your  breast,  discover  it. 

Mar.  I  will. 
Oh  !  can  you  not  see  it,  lady,  in  my  sighs  ? 

Dor.  Sighs  none  can  paint,  and  therefore  who  can  see  ? 

Mar.  Scorn  me  not,  Dorigen,  with  mocks :  Alcides, 
That  mastered  monsters,  was  by  beauty  tam'd  ; 
Omphale  smil'd  his  club  out  of  his  hand. 
And  made  him  spin  her  smocks.     Oh,  sweet,  I  love  you  ! 
And  I  love  Sophocles :  I  must  enjoy  you ; 
And  yet  I  would  not  injure  him. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  499 

Dor.  Let  go  ! 
You  hurt  me,  sir.     Farewell. — Stay;  is  this  Martius? 
I  will  not  tell  my  lord  :  he'll  swear  I  lie  ; 
Doubt  my  fidelity,  before  thy  honour. 
How  hast  thou  vex'd  the  gods,  that  they  would  let  thee 
Thus  violate  friendship,  hospitality, 
And  all  the  bonds  "  of  sacred  piety  ? 
Sure,  thou  but  triest  me,  out  of  love  to  him, 
And  wouldst  reject  me,  if  I  did  consent. 
Oh,  Martins,  Martins  !  wouldst  thou  in  one  minute 
Blast  all  thy  laurels,  which  so  many  years 
Thou  hast  been  purchasing  with  blood  and  sweat  ? 
Hath  Dorigen  never  been  written,  read, 
Without  the  epithet  of  chaste,  chaste  Dorigen, 
And  wouldst  thou  fall  upon  her  chastity. 
Like  a  black  drop  of  ink,  to  blot  it  out  ? 
When  men  shall  read  the  records  of  thy  valour, 
Thy  hitherto-brave  virtue,  and  approach 
(Highly  content  yet)  to  this  foul  assault 
Included  in  this  leaf,  this  ominous  leaf. 
They  shall  throw  down  the  book,  and  read  no  more. 
Though  the  best  deeds  ensue,  and  all  conclude 
That  ravell'd  the  whole  story  °,  whose  sound  heart 
(Which  should  have  been)  prov'd  the  most  leprous  part. 

Mar.  Oh,  thou  confut'st  divinely,  and  thy  words 
Do  fall  like  rods  upon  me  !  but  they  have 
Such  silken  lines  and  silver  hooks,  that  T 
Am  faster  snar'd  :  my  love  has  ta'cn  such  hold. 
That,  like  two  wrestlers,  though  thou  stronger  be, 
And  hast  cast  me,  I  hope  to  pull  thee  after ; 
I  must,  or  perish. 

Dor.  Perish,  Martins,  then  ! 

"  bonds'\  Old  eds.  "  bounds." 

0  That  ravell'd  the  whole  story]  He.itli  (MS.  Notes)  conjectures  "  Thou'st 
ravell'd  the  whole  story."  Mason  proposed  to  read,  "  That  ravell'd  thy  whole 
story", — an  alteration  which  Weber  adopted.  The  text  may  be  cori-upted :  but 
passages  which  can  hardly  be  reconciled  to  grammar  occur  elsewhere  in  these 
plays. 


500  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

For  I  here  vow  unto  the  gods,  these  rocks, 
These  rocks  we  see  so  fix'd,  shall  be  removVl, 
Made  champion  p  field,  ere  I  so  impious  prove, 
To  stain  my  lord's  bed  with  adulterous  love  ! 

Enter  Valerius. 

Val.  The  gods  protect  fair  Dorigen  ! 

Dor.  Amen, 
From  all  you  wolvish  Romans  !  ^Exit. 

Val.  Ha  !  what's  this  ? — 
Still,  brother,  in  your  moods  ? — Oh,  then,  my  doubts 
Are  truths.     Have  at  it !  I  must  try  a  way 
To  be  resolv'd  ''.  [Aside. 

Mar.  How  strangely  dost  thou  look  ! 
What  ail'st  thou  ? 

Val.  What  ail'st  thou  ? 

Mar.  Why,  I  am  mad. 

Val.  Why,  I  am  madder.     Martins,  draw  thy  sword. 
And  lop  a  villain  from  the  earth ;  for,  if 
Thou  wilt  not,  on  some  tree  about  this  place 
I'll  hang  myself :   Valerius  shall  not  live 
To  wound  his  brother's  honour,  stain  his  country. 
And  branded  with  ingratitude  to  all  times. 

Mar.  For  what  can  all  this  be  ? 

Val.  I  am  in  love. 

Mar.  Why,  so  am  I.     With  whom  ?  ha  ! 

Val.  Dorigen. 

Mar.  With  Dorigen  !  how  dost  thou  love  her  ?  speak. 

Val.  Even  to  the  height  of  lust ;  and  I  must  have  her, 
Or  else  I  die. 

Mar.  Thou  shalt,  thou  daring  traitor  ! 
On  all  the  confines  T  have  rid  my  horse, 
Was  there  no  other  woman  for  thy  choice 
But  Dorigen  ?    Why,  villain,  she  is  mine : 

P  champion]  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  and  Weber  to  "  champain." 
They  were  not  aware  that  tlie  other  form  of  the  word  is  very  common  in  our 
early  writers. 

9  resolved}  i.  e.  satisfied,  convinced. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  501 

She  makes  me  pine  thus,  sullen,  mad,  and  fool ; 
'Tis  I  must  have  her,  or  I  die. 

Val.  Oh,  all  ye  gods, 
With  mercy  look  on  this  declining  rock 
Of  valour  and  of  virtue  !  breed  not  up 
From  infancy,  in  honour,  to  full  man. 
As  you  have  done  him,  to  destroy ! — Here,  strike  ! 
For  I  have  only  searchM  thy  wound  ;  despatch  ! 
Far,  far  be  such  love  from  Valerius  ! 
So  far,  he  scorns  to  live  to  be  call'd  brother 
By  him  that  ■"  dares  own  such  folly  and  such  vice. 

Mar.  'Tis  truth  thou  speak'st ;  but  I  do  hate  it :  peace  ! 
If  Heaven  will  snatch  my  sword  out  of  my  hand, 
And  put  a  rattle  in  it,  what  can  I  do  ? 
He  that  is  destin'd  to  be  odious 
In  his  old  age,  must  undergo  his  fate. 

Enter  Cornelius  and  Nicodbmus. 

Com.  If  you  do  not  back  me,  I  shall  never  do't. 

Nic.  I  warrant  you. 

Corn,  Hum,  hum sir,  my  lord,  my  lord 

Mar.  Ha  !  what's  the  matter  I 

Corn.    Hum concerning   the  odd  fifty,    my  lord,   an't 

please  your  generality,  his  worship  Sir  Nicodemus 

Mar.  What's  here  I  a  pass  ?  you   would  for  Home  I  you 
lubbers  ! 
Doth  one  day's  laziness  make  ye  covet  home  ? 
Away,  ye  bearish  rogues  !  ye  dogs,  away  !  [Strikes  them. 

Enter  Florence. 

Com.  Oh,  oh,  oh  *  \ 

Flor.  How  now,  man  ?  are  you  satisfied  ? 

Corn.  Ay,  ay,  ay;  a  [pox]  o'  your  corporal!  I  am  paid 
soundly  ;  I  was  never  better  paid  in  all  my  life. 

Fior.  Marry,  the  gods'  blessing  on  his  honour's  heart ! — 
You  have  done  a  charitable  deed,  sir  ;  many  more  such  may 

'  that]  Omitted  by  Seward, — riglitly  jicrliaps. 

'  Oh,  oh,  oh]  Given  in  the  old  eds.  to  "  Wife."  This  obviously  necessary 
correction  was  made  by  Seward. 


502  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

you   live  to  do,  sir  !    the  gods  keep  you,  sir,  the  gods  protect 
you  !  [Exit  with  Cornelius  and  Nicodemus. 

Mar.  These  peasants  mock  me,  sure. — Valerius, 
Forgive  my  dotage,  see  my  ashes  urnM, 
And  tell  fair  Dorigen,  (she  that  but  now 
Left  me  with  this  harsh  vow, — sooner  these  rocks 
Should  be  remov'd  than  she  would  yield,)  that  I 
Was  yet  so  loving,  on  her  gift  to  die. 

Vol.  Oh,  Jupiter  forbid  it,  sir,  and  grant 
This  my  device  may  certify  thy  mind  ! 
You  are  my  brother,  nor  must  perish  thus  : 
Be  comforted.     Think  you  fair  Dorigen 
Would  yield  your  wishes,  if  these  envious  rocks 
By  skill  could  be  removed,  or  by  fallacy 
She  made  believe  so  1 

Mar.  Why,  she  could  not  choose  ; 
The  Athenians  are  religious  in  their  vows 
Above  all  nations. 

Val.  Soft ;  down  yonder  hill 
The  lady  comes  this  way :  once  more  to  try  her ; 
If  she  persist  in  obstinacy,  by  my  skill, 
LearnVl  from  the  old  Chaldean  was  my  tutor, 
Who  train'd  me  in  the  mathematics,  I  will 
So  dazzle  and  delude  her  sight,  that  she 
Shall  think  this  great  impossibility 
Effected  by  some  supernatural  means. 
Be  confident ;  this  engine  shall  at  least. 
Till  the  gods  better  order,  still  this  breast. 

Mar.  Oh,  my  best  brother,  go  !  and  for  reward 
Choose  any  part  o'  the  world,  I'll  give  it  thee.  \^Exit  Valerius. 
Oh,  little  Love  %  men  say  thou  art  a  god  ! 
Thou  mightst  have  got  a  fitter  fool  than  I. 

Re-enter  Dorigen. 
Dor.  Art  thou  there,  basilisk  ?  remove  thine  eyes  ; 
For  I  am  sick  to  death  with  thy  infection. 

'  Love'^  Old  eds.,  "  Rome." — The  alteration  was  made  by  Seward,  who 
observes  that  the  error  perhaps  arose  from  the  compositor's  eye  liaving  been 
caught  by  the  words  "  all  Rome  "  in  the  fifth  line  after. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  503 

Mar.  Yet,  yet  have  mercy  on  rae  !  save  him,  lady, 
Whose  single  arm  defends  all  Rome,  whose  mercy 
Hath  sav'd  thy  husband's  and  thy  life  ! 

Dor.  To  spoil 
Our  fame  and  honours  ?     No ;  my  vow  is  fixM, 
And  stands,  as  constant  as  these  stones  do,  still. 

Mar.  Then,  pity  me,  ye  gods  !  you  only  may 
Move  her  by  tearing  these  firm  stones  away, 

[^Solemn  music.     A  mist  arises  ;  the  rocks  seem  to  remove. 

Re-eiiter  Valerius,  habited  like  Mercury. 

Val.  [sings.']  Martius,  rejoice  !  Jove  sends  me  from  above. 
His  messenger,  to  cure  thy  desperate  love  : 
To  shew  rash  vows  cannot  bind  destiny. 
Lady,  behold,  the  rocks  transplanted  be  ! 
Hard-hearted  Dorigen,  yield  !  lest,  for  contempt. 
They  fix  thee  here  a  rock,  whence  they're  exempt '. 

\^Exit. 

Dor.  What  strange  delusion  's  this  ?  what  sorcery 
Affrights  me  with  these  apparitions  I 
My  colder  chastity  's  nigh  turn'd  to  death.— 
Hence,  lewd  magician  !  dar'st  thou  make  the  gods 
Bawds  to  thy  lust  ?  will  they  do  miracles 
To  further  evil  I  or  do  they  love  it  now  I 
Know,  if  they  dare  do  so,  I  dare  hate  them. 
And  will  no  longer  serve  'em. — Jupiter, 
Thy  golden  shower,  nor  thy  snow-white  swan. 
Had  I  been  Lcda,  or  bright  Danae, 
Had  bought  mine  honour.     Turn  me  into  stone 
For  being  good,  and  blush  when  thou  hast  done  !  \^Exit. 

Re-enter  Valerius. 

Mar.  Oh,  my  Valerius,  all  yet  will  not  do  ! 
Unless  I  could  so  draw  mine  honesty 
Down  to  the  lees  to  be  a  ravisher  : 
She  calls  me  witch  and  villain. 

'  They  fix  thee  here  a  rock,  whence  they're  exempt. '\  "  i.  e.  they  fix  you  a 
rock  in  this  place,  from  whence  the  other  rocks  are  taken  away  ;  for  that  is  the 
meaning  of  the  word  exempt,  from  the  Latin  eximere."     Mason. 


504  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Val.  Patience,  sir ; 
The  gods  will  punish  perjury.     Let  her  breathe, 
And  ruminate  on  this  strange  sight. — Time  decays 
The  strongest,  fairest  buildings  we  can  find  : 
But  still,  Diana,  fortify  her  mind  !   \Aside.^  [Exewit. 


SCENE  III. — A  room  hi  the  house  of  Sophocles. 

Enter  Sophocles  and  Dorigen. 
Soph.  Weep  not,  bright  Dorigen  ;  for  thou  hast  stood 
Constant  and  chaste,  it  seems,  'gainst  gods  and  men, 
When  rocks  and  mountains  were  remov'd. — These  wonders 
Do  stupify  my  senses.     Martins, 
This  is  inhuman.     A\'as  thy  sickness  lust  ? 
Yet,  were  this  truth,  why  weeps  she  l  Jealous  soul, 
What  dost  thou  thus  suggest ;     Yows,  magic,  rocks! — 
Fine  tales  ! — and  tears  ! — she  ne'er  complain'd  befoi'e  : 
I  bade  her  visit  him  ;  she  often  did, 
Had  many  opportunities — hum — ^"tis  naught :  oh  ! 
No  way  but  this.    \^Aside.^ — Come,  weep  no  more;    I  have 

ponder'd 
This  miracle,  the  anger  of  the  gods, 
Thy  vow,  my  love  to  thee  and  Martins  : 
He  must  not  perish,  nor  thou  be  forsworn, 
Lest  worse  fates  follow  us.     Go,  keep  thy  oath  ; 
For  chaste  and  ichore  are  words  of  equal  length  : 
But  let  not  Martius  know  that  I  consent. — 
Oh,  I  am  puird  in  pieces  !  ^Aside. 

Dor.  Ay,  say  you  so  I 
I'll  meet  you  in  your  path.     Oh,  wretched  men, 
With  all  your  valour  and  your  learning,  bubbles  ! —      \^Aside. 

[^Kneels. 
Forgive  me,  Sophocles  ! — yet  why  kneel  I 
For  pardon,  having  been  but  over-diligent, 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  .    50.5 

Like  an  obedient  servant,  antedating 

My  lord's  command  ?  [Bises. 

Sir,  I  liave  often  and  already  given 

This  bosom  up  to  his  embraces,  and 

Am  proud  that  my  dear  lord  is  pleasM  with  it ; 

Whose  gentle  honourable  mind  I  see 

Participates  even  all,  his  wife  and  all, 

Unto  his  friend.     You  are  sad,  sir  !  Martius  loves  me. 

And  I  love  Martius,  with  such  ardency 

As  never  married  couple  could  :  I  must 

Attend  him  now.     My  lord,  when  you  have  need 

To  use  your  own  wife,  pray,  sir,  send  for  me  ; 

Till  then,  make  use  of  your  philosophy.  [Exit 

Soph.  Stay,  Dorigen  ! — Oh,  me,  inquisitive  fool ! — 
Thou  that  didst  order  this  congested  heap. 
When  it  was  chaos,  'twixt  thy  spacious  palms 
Forming  it  to  this  vast  rotundity, 
Dissolve  it  now ;  shuffle  the  elements, 
That  no  one  proper  by  itself  may  stand  ! 
Let  the  sea  quench  the  sun,  and  in  that  instant 
The  sun  drink  up  the  sea  !     Day,  ne''er  come  down, 
To  light  me  to  those  deeds  that  must  be  done  !  [Exit. 


SCENE   IV. —  The  Human  Camp  before  tlie  city. 

Enter  jNLvrtius,  Valerius,  Captains  and  Soldiers,  tcith  drums  and 
colours,  on  one  side  ;  and  Dorigen  icilh  Ladies  on  the  other. 

Dor.  Hail,  general  of  Rome  !  from  Sophocles, 
That  honours  Martius,  Dorigen  presents 
Herself  to  be  dishonoui-'d.     Do  thy  will ; 
For  Sophocles  commands  me  to  obey  : 
Come,  violate  all  rules  of  holiness, 
And  rend  the  consecrated  knot  of  love. 

Mar.   Never,  Valerius,  was  1  blest  till  now  ; 
Behold  the  end  of  all  my  weary  steps, 


506  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

The  prize  of  all  my  battles  !     Leave  us,  all ; 
Leave  us  as  quick  as  thought.     Thus  joy  begin  ! 
In  zealous  love  a  minute's  loss  is  sin. 

Vol.  Can  Martins  be  so  vile  ?  or  Dorigen  ? 

Dor.  Stay,  stay  ! — and,  monster,  keep  thou  further  off ! 
I  thought  thy  brave  soul  would  have  much,  much  loath'd 
To  have  gone  on  still  on  such  terms  as  this. 
See,  thou  ungrateful,  since  thy  desperate  lust 
Nothing  can  cure  but  death,  I'll  die  for  thee, 
Whilst  my  chaste  name  lives  to  posterity. 

[Offers  to  stab  herself. 

Mar.  [kneeling .'I  Live,  live, — thou  angel  of  thy  sex,  forgive !  — 
Till  by  those  golden  tresses  thou  be'st  snatchM 
Alive  to  heaven  ;  for  thy  corruption's 
So  little  that  it  cannot  suffer  death  ! 
Was  ever  such  a  woman  I     Oh,  my  mirror, 
How  perfectly  thou  shew'st  me  all  my  faults. 
Which  now  I  hate  !  and  when  I  next  attempt  thee. 
Let  all  the  fires  in  the  zodiac 
Drop  on  this  cursed  head  ! 

All.  Oh,  blest  event ! 

Dor.  Rise,  like  the  sun  again  in  all  his  glory 
After  a  dark  eclipse  ! 

Mar.  Never,  without 
A  pardon. 

Enter  Sophocles  and  two  or  three  Gentlemen  of  Athens. 

Dor.  Sir,  you  have  forgiven  yourself. 

Soph.  Behold  their  impudence  !  are  my  words  just  ? — 
Unthankful  man,  viper  to  arms,  and  Rome 
Thy  natural  mother  !  have  I  warm'd  thee  here 
To  corrode  even  my  heart  ?  Martins,  prepare 
To  kill  me,  or  be  kilFd. 

Mar.  Why,  Sophocles, 
Then,  prithee,  kill  mo  ;   I  deserve  it  highly  ; 
For  I  have  both  transgressed  ""gainst  men  and  gods  ; 
But  am  repentant  now,  and  in  best  case 
To  uncase  my  soul  of  this  oppressing  flesh  ; 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  507 

Which,  though  (gods  witness)  ne'er  was  actually 
Injurious  to  thy  wife  and  thee,  yet  "'twas 
Her  goodness  that  restrained  and  held  me  now  : 
But  take  my  life,  dear  friend,  for  my  intent, 
Or  else  forgive  it ! 

Val.  By  the  gods  of  Athens, 
These  words  are  true,  and  all  direct  again ! 

Sopli.  Pardon  rae,  Dorigen  ! 

Mar.  Forgive  me,  Sophocles, 
And  Dorigen  too,  and  every  one  that's  good  ! 

Dor.  Rise,  noble  Roman. — Beloved  Sophocles, 

[Maktius  rises. 
Take  to  thy  breast  thy  friend  ! 

Mar.  And  to  thy  heart 
Thy  matchless  wife  !   Heaven  has  not  stuff  enough 
To  make  another  such  ;  for,  if  it  could, 
Martins  would  marry  too.     For  thy  blest  sake, 
Oh,  thou  infinity  of  excellence ! 
Henceforth  in  men's  discourse  Rome  shall  not  take 
The  wall  of  Athens  as  to-fore  ;  but  when 
In  their  fair  honours  we  to  speak  do  come, 
We'll  say,  'twas  so  in  Athens  and  in  Rome.    [Exeunt  in  pomp. 

Diana  descends. 
Diana.  Honour,  set  ope  thy  gates.,  and  with  thee  bring 
My  servant  and  thy  friend,  fair  Dorigen  : 
Let  hcrl^e"]  triumph  tvith  her  her  lord  and  friend  ", 
Who  though  misled,  still  honour  xoas  their  end.      [Flourish. 

Enter  the  Show  of  Honour  s  Triumph  :  a  great  flourish  of  trumpets 
and  drunvs  within  ;  then  enter  a  noise  of  trumpets  ^'  sounding  clieer- 
fxdly  ;  then  follows  an  armed  Knight  hearing  a  crimson  banneret 
in  hand,  tcith  the  inscription  Valour  ;  by  his  side  a  Lady  bearing 

"'  Lei  /ter[e]  triumph  with  her  her  lord  and  friend}   Sewaixl  printed, 
"  Let  her  triumph  tvith  him,  her  lord  and  friend," 
and  so  his  successors.     They  seem  not  to  have  perceived  that  the  *^  friend  " 
means  Martins. 

"  a  noise  of  trtimpets]  i.  e.  a  company,  band  of  trumpeters. 


508  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

a  watchei  '"  banneret,  the  inscription  Clemency ;  next,  Martius 
and  Sophocles  tcith  coronets ;  next,  t%m  Ladies,  one  hearing  a 
white  lamieret,  the  inscription  Chastity,  the  other  a  Hack,  the 
inscription  Constancy;  then  Dorigen  croicned ;  last,  a  chariot 
drawn  ly  two  Moors,  in  it  a  p)(^rson  crowned,  with  a  sceptre,  on 
the  top,  in  an  antic  scutcheon,  is  written  Honour.  As  they  j)ass 
over,  Diana  ascends. 


Rin.  How  like  you  it  ? 

Fri.  Rarely ;  so  well,  I  would  they  would  do  it  again  ! 
How  many  of  our  wives  now-a-days  would  deserve  to  triumph 
in  such  a  chariot  I 

Rin.  That's  all  one  ;  you  see  they  triumph  in  caroches. 
Fri.  That  they  do,  by  the  mass ;  but  not  all  neither  ;  many 
of  them  are  content  with  carts.       But,  signor,  I  have  now 
found  out  a  great  absurdity,  i'faith. 
Rin.  What  was't  ? 

Fri.  The  Prologue,  presenting  four  Triumphs,  made  but 
three  legs  "^  to  the  king  :  a  three-legged  Prologue  !  'twas 
monstrous. 

Rin.  'T  had  been  more  monstrous  to  have  had  a  four-legged 
one.     Peace  !  the  king  speaks. 

Eman.  Here  was  a  woman,  Isabel ! 
Isab.  Ay,  my  lord. 
But  that  she  told  a  lie  to  vex  her  husband  ; 
Therein  she  faiFd. 

Eman.  She  serv'd  him  well  enough ; 
He  that  was  so  much  man,  yet  would  be  cast 
To  jealousy  for  her  integrity. 
This  teacheth  us,  the  passion  of  love 
Can  fight  with  soldiers  and  with  scholars  too. 

Isah.  In  Martius  clemency  and  valour  shewn, 
In  the  other  courage  and  humanity ; 

'*'  watchet]  i.  e.  pale  blue. 
"  legs}  "  i.  e.  bows."     Ed.  1778. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR.  509 

And  therefore  in  the  Triumph  they  were  usherVl 
By  Clemency  and  Valour. 

Eman.  Rightly  observM ; 
As  she  by  Chastity  and  Constancy. 
What  hurt's  now  in  a  play,  'gainst  which  some  rail 
So  vehemently  ^  I  thou  and  I,  my  love, 
Make  excellent  use,  methinks  :  I  learn  to  be 
A  lawful  lover  void  of  jealousy, 
And  thou  a  constant  wife.     Sweet  poetry's 
A  flower,  where  men,  like  bees  and  spiders,  may 
Bear  poison,  or  else  sweets  and  wax  away : 
Be  venom-drawing  spiders  they  that  will ; 
I'll  be  the  bee,  and  suck  the  honey  still.  [Flourish. 

Cupid  descends. 
Cupid.  Stay ,  clouds  !  ye  rack  ^  too  fast.    Bright  Phoebus^  see. 
Honour  has  triumplid  with  fair  Chastity  ! 
Give  Love  note  leave,  in  purity  to  shew 
Unchaste  affections  Jly  not  from  his  how  : 
Produce  the  siceet  example  of  your  youth, 
Whilst  I  provide  a  Triumph  for  your  truth.  [Flourish. 

[Ascends. 

y  'gainst  which  some  rail 

So  vehemently.]  "  In  allusion  to  the  puritans,  who  preached  and  wrote  in 
the  most  venomous  and  inflammatory  terms  against  the  wickedness  of  stage- 
playing."  Weber.  In  the  next  line,  "  use  "  is  a  term  borrowed  from  the 
pui'itans,  who  employed  it  in  the  sense  of — practical  application  of  docti'ines. 

'  rack]  i.  e.  move  like  vapour,  or  smoke  :  see  note,  p.  120. 


510  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF  LOVE. 


Scene  I. — A  room  in  Benvoglio's  house. 

Enter  Violante  and  Gerrard. 

Vio.  Why  does  my  Gerrard  grieve  ? 

Ger.  Oh,  my  sweet  mistress  ! 
It  is  not  life  (which,  by  our  Milan  law, 
My  fact  hath  forfeited)  makes  me  thus  pensive  ; 
That  I  would  lose  to  save  the  little  finger 
Of  this  your  noble  burden  from  least  hurt, 
Because  your  blood  is  in''t :  but  since  your  love 
Made  poor  incompatible  me  the  parent. 
Being  we  are  not  married,  your  dear  blood 
Falls  under  the  same  cruel  penalty  ; 
And  can  Heaven  think  fit  you  die  for  me  ? 
For  Heaven's  sake,  say  I  ravishM  you  !  Fll  swear  it, 
To  keep  your  life  safe  and  repute  unstained. 

Vio.  Oh,  Gerrard,  thou'rt  my  life  and  faculties, 
(And  if  I  lose  thee,  I'll  not  keep  mine  own,) 
The  thought  of  whom  sweetens  all  miseries ! 
Wouldst  have  me  murder  thee  beyond  thy  death  ? 
Unjustly  scandal  thee  with  ravishment  ? 
It  was  so  far  from  rape,  that.  Heaven  doth  know. 
If  ever  the  first  lovers,  ere  they  fell, 
Knew  simply  in  the  state  of  innocence, 
Such  was  this  act,  this,  that  doth  ask  no  blush. 

Ger.  Oh,  but,  my  rarest  Violante,  when 
My  lord  Randulpho,  brother  to  your  father, 
Shall  understand  this,  how  will  he  exclaim 
At  ^  ray  poor  aunt,  and  me,  which  his  free  alms 

"  At]   Old  eds,  "  That."     The  correction  is  Mason's. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE.  511 

Hath  nursM,  since  Milan  by  the  duke  of  Mantua, 
Who  now  usurps  it,  was  surprisVl  !  that  time 
My  father  and  my  mother  were  both  slain, 
With  my  aunt's  husband,  as  she  says,  their  states 
Despoird  and  seiz'd  ;  'tis  past  my  memory, 
But  thus  she  told  me  :  only  this  I  know, 
Since  I  could  understand,  your  honoured  uncle 
Hath  given  me  all  the  liberal  education 
That  his  own  son  might  look  for,  had  he  one  ; 
Now  will  he  say,  "  Dost  thou  requite  me  thus  ? " 
Oh,  the  thought  kills  me  ! 

Fio.  Gentle,  gentle  Gerrard, 
Be  cheer'd,  and  hope  the  best.     My  mother,  father, 
And  uncle,  love  me  most  indulgently. 
Being  the  only  branch  of  all  their  stocks  : 
But  neither  they,  nor  he  thou  wouldst  not  grieve 
With  this  unwelcome  news,  shall  ever  hear 
Violante's  tongue  reveal,  much  less  accuse, 
Gerrard  to  be  the  father  of  his  own ; 
I'll  rather  silent  die,  that  thou  mayst  live 
To  see  thy  little  offspring  grow  and  thrive. 

Enter  Dorothea. 

Dor.  Mistress,  away  !  your  lord  and  father  seeks  you, — 
I'll  convey  Gerrard  out  at  the  back-door, — 
He  has  found  a  husbarid  for  you,  and  insults 
In  his  invention,  little  thinking  you 
Have  made  your  own  choice,  and  possessed  him  too. 

Vio.  A  husband  I  't  must  be  Gerrard,  or  my  death. 
Farewell !  be  only  true  unto  thyself, 
And  know,  Heaven's  goodness  shall  prevented  be. 
Ere  worthiest  Gerrard  suffer  harm  for  me. 

Ger.  Farewell,  my  life  and  soul  ! — Aunt,  to  your  counsel 
I  flee  for  aid. — Oh,  unexpressible  love,  thou  art 
An  undigested  heap  of  mix'd  extremes, 
Whose  pangs  are  wakings,  and  whose  pleasures  dreams  ! 

[  Exeunt. 


512  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 


SCENE  11.— Another  room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Benvoglio,  Angelina,  and  Ferdinand. 
Benv.  My  Angelina,  never  didst  thou  yet 
So  please  me  as  in  this  consent ;  and  yet 
Thou  hast  pleas'd  me  well,  I  swear,  old  wench,  ha,  ha  !  — 
Ferdinand,  she's  thine  own  ;  thou'st  have  her,  boy  ; 
Ask  thy  good  lady  else. 

Ferd.  Whom  shall  I  have,  sir  ? 
Benv.  Whom  d'ye  think,  i'  faith  ? 
Ang.  Guess. 
Ferd.  Noble  madam, 
I  may  hope  (prompted  by^  shallow  merit). 
Through  your  profound  grace,  for  your  chambermaid. 
Benv.  How's  that  I  how's  that  ? 
Ferd.  Her  chambermaid,  my  lord. 
Benv.  Her  chamber-pot,  my  lord  !     You  modest  ass ! 
Thou  never  shew'd'st  thyself  an  ass  till  now  : 
'Fore  Heaven,  I  am  angry  with  thee  !  sirrah,  sirrah. 
This  whitemeat-spirit's  not  yours  legitimate  : 
Advance  your  hope,  an't  please  you  ;  guess  again. 

An(/.  And  let  your  thoughts  flee  higher ;  aim  them  right, 
Sir,  you  may  hit ;  you  have  the  fairest  white  ^. 

Ferd.  If  I  may  be  so  bold,  then,  my  good  lord, 
Your  favour  doth  encourage  me  to  aspire 
To  catch  my  lady's  gentlewoman. 

Be7iv.   Where  ? 
Where  would  you  catch  her  ? 
Do  you  know  my  daughter  Violante,  sir  I 
Ang.  Well  said  ;  no  more  about  the  bush. 
Ferd.   My  good  lord, 
I  have  gaz'd  on  Violante,  and  ^'  the  stars. 
Whose  heavenly  influence  I  admir'd,  not  knew ; 

'^  by]  The  Editors  of  1 778  printed  "  %  ray  "  ;  and  so  Weber. 
»  you  have  the  fairest  white.]  A  punning  allusion  to  the  white  in  archery,- 
the  central  part  of  the  mark. 
^  and]  Qy.  «  as  "  ? 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE.  513 

Nor  ever  was  so  sinful  to  believe 
I  might  attain 't. 

Benv.  Now  you  are  an  ass  again  ; 
For,  if  thou  ne'er  attain'st,  'tis  only  'long 
Of  that  faint  heart  of  thine,  which  never  did  it. 
She  is  your  lord's  heir,  mine,  Benvoglio's  heir, 
My  brother's  too,  E-andulpho's ;  her  descent 
Not  behind  any  of  the  !Millanois. 
And,  Ferdinand,  although  thy  parentage 
Be  unknown,  thou  know'st  that  I  have  bred  thee  up 
From  five  years  old  ;  and  (do  not  blush  to  hear  it) 
Have  found  thy  wisdom,  trust,  and  fair  success. 
So  full  in  all  my  affairs,  that  I  am  fitter 
To  call  thee  master  than  thou  me  thy  lord  : 
Thou  canst  not  be  but  sprung  of  gentlest  blood  ; 
Thy  mind  shines  thorough  thee,  like  the  radiant  sun. 
Although  thy  body  be  a  beauteous  cloud. 
Come,  seriously  this  is  no  flattery ; 
And  well  thou  know'st  it,  though  tliy  modest  blood 
Rise  like  the  morning  in  thy  cheek  to  hear't. 
Sir,  I  can  speak  in  earnest :   virtuous  service. 
So  meritorious,  Ferdinand,  as  yours. 
Yet  bashful  still  and  silent,  should  extract 
A  fuller  price  than  impudence  exact ; 
And  this  is  now  the  wages  it  must  have, — 
My  daughter  is  thy  wife,  my  wealth  thy  slave. 

Ferd.  Good  madam,  pinch  !  I  sleep !  does  my  lord  mock, 
And  you  assist  ?     Custom  's  inverted  quite  ; 
For  old  men  now-a-days  do  flout  the  young. 

Benv.  Fetch  Violantc. — As  I  intend  this    \^Exit  Angelina. 
Religiously,  let  my  soul  find  joy  or  pain  ! 

Ferd.  My  honour'd  lord  and  master,  if  I  hold 
That  worth  could  merit  such  felicity. 
You  bred  it  in  me,  and  first  purchas'd  it ; 
It  is  your  own,  and  what  productions 
In  all  my  faculties  my  soul  begets. 
Your  very  mark  is  on  ;  you  need  not  add 
Rewards  to  him  that  is  in  debt  to  you. 

VOL.  II.  L  L 


514  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

You  sav'd  my  life,  sir,  in  the  massacre ; 
There  you  begot  me  new,  since  fostered  me  : 
Oh,  can  I  serve  too  much,  or  pray  for  you  ? 
Alas,  'tis  slender  payment  to  your  bounty  ! 
Your  daughter  is  a  paradise,  and  I 
Unworthy  to  be  set  there  :  you  may  choose 
The  royal'st  seeds  of  Milan. 

Benv.  Prithee,  peace ; 
Thy  goodness  makes  me  weep  ;  I  am  resolvM : 
I  am  no  lord  o'  the  time,  to  tie  my  blood 
To  sordid  muck ;   I  have  enough ;  my  name, 
My  state,  and  honours,  I  will  store  in  thee, 
Whose  wisdom  will  rule  well,  keep,  and  increase : 
A  knave  or  fool,  that  could  confer  the  like. 
Would  bate  each  hour,  diminish  every  day. 
Thou  art  her  prize-lot,  then,  drawn  out  by  fate  : 
An  honest  wise  man  is  a  princess  mate. 

Ferd.  Sir,  Heaven  and  you  have  over-chargVl  my  breast 
With  grace  beyond  my  continence  ;   I  shall  burst : 
The  blessing  you  have  given  me,  witness  saints, 
I  would  not  change  for  Milan  !     But,  my  lord, 
Is  she  preparM  ? 

Benv.  What  needs  preparative, 
Where  such  a  cordial  is  prescrib'd  as  thou  ? 
Thy  person  and  thy  virtues,  in  one  scale. 
Shall  poise  hers  with  her  beauty  and  her  wealth ; 
If  not,  I  add  my  will  unto  thy  weight  : 
Thy  mother  's  with  her  now.     Son,  take  my  keys ; 
And  let  thy  '^  preparation  for  this  marriage, 
This  welcome  marriage,  long  determinM  here. 
Be  quick  and  gorgeous. — Gerrard  ! 

Enter  Gerrard. 
Ger.  My  good  lord, 
My  lord  your  brother  craves  your  conference 
Instantly,  on  affairs  of  high  import. 

^  thy'\  So  the  modern  editors.  Old  eds,"  this."  Compare,  p.  517,  "/n .5^  wedding 
preparation." 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE,  515 

Benv.  Why,  what  news  I 

Gcr.  The  tyrant,  my  good  lord, 
Is  sick  to  death  of  his  old  apoplexy  ; 
Whereon  the  states  advise  that  letters  missive 
Be  straight  despatched  to  all  the  neighbour-countries, 
And  schedules  too  divulg\l  on  every  post, 
To  enquire  the  lost  duke  forth  :  their  purpose  is 
To  re-instate  him. 

Benv.   'Tis  a  pious  deed. — 
Ferdinand,  to  my  daughter  :  this  delay, 
Though  to  so  good  a  purpose,  angers  mc  ; 
But  ril  recover  it.     Be  secret,  son  : 
Go,  woo  with  truth  and  expedition.  \^Exit. 

Ferd.  Oh,  my  unsounded  joy  ! — How  fares  my  Garrard, 
ISIy  noble  twin-friend  1     Fie,  thy  look  is  heavy, 
Sullen,  and  sour  !  blanch  it :  didst  thou  know 
My  cause  of  joy,  thou'dst  never  sorrow  more, 
I  know  thou  lov'st  me  so.     How  dost  thou  ? 

Ger.   Well; 
Too  well :  my  fraught  of  health  my  sickness  is  ; 
In  life  I  am  dead ;  by  living,  dying  still. 

Ferd.   What  sublunary  mischief  can  predominate 
A  wise  man  thus  ?  or  doth  thy  friendship  play 
In  this  antipathous  extreme  with  mine. 
Lest  gladness  suffocate  me  ?  I,  I,  I  do  feel 
My  spirit 's  turn'd  to  fire,  my  blood  to  air. 
And  I  am  like  a  purified  essence 
Tried  from  all  drossy  parts  ! 

Ger.  Were  ""t  but  my  life. 
The  loss  were  sacrificed  "^ ;   but  virtue  must 
For  mo  be  slain,  and  innocence  made  dust. 

Ferd.  Farewell,  good  Gerrard. 

Ger.  Dearest  friend,  stay  ! 

Ferd.  Sad  thoughts  arc  no  companions  for  mo  now, 
Much  less  sad  words :  thy  bosom  binds  some  secret, 

■=  sacrijic' d'\  Altered  by  Seward  to  "sacrifice  '' ;  and  so  his  successors.    But 
little  is  gained  by  the  alteration. 

r,  I.  2 


516  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Which  do  not  trust  me  with  ;  for  mine  retains 
Another,  which  I  must  conceal  from  thee, 

Gei\  I  would  reveal  it ;  'tis  a  heavy  tale  : 
Canst  thou  be  true  and  secret  still  I 

Ferd.   Why,  friend, 
If  you  continue  true  unto  yourself, 
I  have  no  means  of  falsehood.     Lock  this  door; 
Come,  yet  your  prisoner 's  sure. 

Ger.  Stay,  Ferdinand  ! 

Ferd.  What  is  this  trouble  ?  love  ? 
Why,  thou  art  capable  of  any  woman. 
Doth  want  oppress  thee  I  I  will  lighten  thee. 
Hast  thou  offended  law  ?  my  lord  and  thine, 
And  I,  will  save  thy  life.     Does  servitude 
Upbraid  thy  freedom,  that  she  suffers  it  ? 
Have  patience  but  three  days,  and  I  will  make  thee 
Thy  lord's  companion.     Can  a  friend  do  more  ? 

Ger.  Lend  me  the  means.     How  can  this  be  ? 

Ferd.   First,  let 
This  cabinet  keep  your  pawn,  and  I  will  trust : 
Yet,  for  the  form  of  satisfaction, 
Take  this  my  oath  to  boot;  by  my  presum""!! 
Gentry,  and  sacred  known  Christianity, 
I'll  die,  ere  I  reveal  thy  trust  ! 

Ger.  Then  hear  it : 
Your  lord's  fair  daughter,  Violante,  is 
My  betroth'd  wife,  goes  great  with  child  by  me ; 
And  by  this  deed  both  made  a  prey  to  law. 
How  may  I  save  her  life  ?  advise  me,  friend. 

Ferd.    What   did    he   say?      Gerrard,    whose   voice   was 
that  ? 
Oh,  death  unto  my  heart,  bane  to  my  soul ! 
My  wealth  is  vanished  like  the  ricli  man's  store  ; 
In  one  poor  minute,  all  my  dainty  fare 
But  juggling  dishes,  my  fat  hope  despair. 

Ger.  Is  this  so  odious  l  where  's  your  mirth? 

Ferd.  Why,  thou 
Hast  robb'd  me  of  it.     Gerrard,  draw  thy  sword ; 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE.  517 

And  if  thou  lov'st  my  mistress'  chastity, 
Defend  it,  else  Til  cut  it  from  thy  heart. 
Thy  thievish  heart  that  stale  it,  and  restore  't ; 
Do  miracles  to  gain  her  ! 

Ger.  AVas  she  thine  ? 

Ferd.  Never,  but  in  my  wish,  and  her  father's  vow, 
AVhich  now  he  left  with  me ;  on  such  sure  terms. 
He  caird  me  son,  and  will'd  me  to  provide 
My  wedding-preparation, 

Ger.  Strange  ! 

Ferd.  Come,  let 's 
Kill  one  another  quickly  ! 

Ger.  Ferdinand, 
My  love  is  old  to  her,  thine  new  begot  : 
I  have  not  wrong'd  thee  ;  think  upon  thine  oath. 

Ferd,  It  manacles  me,  Gerrard  ;  else  this  hand 
Should  bear  thee  to  the  law.     Farewell  for  ever  ! 
Since  friendship  is  so  fatal,  never  more 
Will  I  have  friend.     Thou  hast  put  so  sure  a  plea, 
That  all  my  weal 's  litigious  made  by  thee. 

Ger.  I  did  no  crime  to  you.  \^Exit  Ferdinand. 

His  love  transports  him. 
And  yet  I  mourn  that  cruel  destiny 
Should  make  us  two  thus  one  another's  cross. 
We  have  lovM  since  boys  ;   for  the  same  time  cast  him 
On  lord  Benvoglio,  that  my  aunt  and  I 
Were  succour'd  by  Randulpho  :  men  have  calFd  us 
The  parallels  of  Milan  ;  and  some  said 
We  were  not  much  unlike.     Oh,  Heaven  divert 
That  we  should  ever  since  that  time  be  breeding 
Mutual  destruction  ! 

Filter  Dorothea, 
Dor.  Oh,  where  arc  you  I  you  have  made  a  fair  hand  !  By 
[[heaven^,  yonder  is  your  aunt  with  my  lady  :  she  came  in  just 
as  she  was  wooing  your  mistress  for  another  ;  and  what  did 
me  she  but  out  with  her  purse,  and  shewed  all  the  naked 
truth,  i'faith.     Fie  upon  you  !  you  should  never  trust  an  old 


518  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

woman  with  a  secret ;  they  cannot  hold,  they  cannot  hold  so 
well  as  we,  an  youM  hang  'em.  First,  there  was  swearing  and 
staring  ;  then  there  was  howling  and  weeping,  and  "  Oh,  my 
daughter  " !  and  "  Oh,  my  mother  !  " 

Ger.  The  effect,  the  effect  ? 

Dor.  INIarry,  no  way  but  one  with  you. 

Gej'.  Why,  welcome  !   Shall  she  scape  ? 

Dor.  Nay,  she  has  made  her  scape  already. 

Ger.  Why,  is  she  gone  ? 

Dor.  The  scape  of  her  virginity,  I  mean.  You  men  are  as 
dull,  you  can  conceive  nothing ;  you  think  it  is  enough  to 
beget. 

Ger.  Ay  ; 
But  surely,  Dorothea,  that  scap'd  not ; 
Her  maidenhead  suffer'd. 

Dor.  And  you  were  the  executioner. 

Ger.  But  what's  the  event  ?  Lord,  how  thou  starv'st  me, 
Doll! 

Dor.  "  Lord,  how  thou  starv'st  me,  Doll  !  "  By  [heaven],  I 
would  fain  see  you  cry  a  little.  Do  you  stand  now,  as  if  you 
could  get  a  child  ?  Come,  I'll  rack  you  no  more  ;  this  is  the 
heart  of  the  business — always  provided,  signer,  that,  if  it  please 
the  Fates  to  make  you  a  lord,  you  be  not  proud,  nor  forget 
your  poor  handmaid  Doll,  who  was  partly  accessary  to  the 
incision  of  this  Holofernian  maidenhead. 

Ger.  I  will  forget  my  name  first.     Speak. 

Dor.  Then  thus.  My  lady  knows  all;  her  sorrow  is 
reasonably  well  digested  ;  has  vowed  to  conceal  it  from  my 
lord,  till  delay  ripen  things  better ;  wills  you  to  attend  her 
this  evening  at  the  back-gate, — Fll  let  you  in, — where  her  own 
confessor  shall  put  you  together  lawfully,  ere  the  child  be 
born ;  which  birth  is  very  near,  I  can  assure  you.  All  your 
charge  is  your  vigilance ;  and  to  bring  with  you  some  trusty 
nurse,  to  convey  the  infant  out  of  the  house. 

Ger.  Oh,  beam  of  comfort !   Take.  [^Gives  money. 

Go,  tell  my  lady 
I  pray  for  her  as  I  walk.     JNIy  joys  so  flow, 
Tliat  what  I  speak  or  do,  I  do  not  know  !     ^Exeunt  severally. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE.  519 

Dumb  Show. 
Enter  Violante  on  one  side,  weeping,  supported  hy  Cornelia  and  a 
Friar;  on  the  other,  ksovAA-s^.  weeping,  attended  hj  Doixoiimx. 
Violante  kneels  doicn  for  pardon.  Angelina,  shewing  remorse  ^, 
takes  her  up,  and  cheers  her ;  so  doth  Cornelia.  Angelina 
sends  Dorothea  for  Gerrard.  Enter  Gerrard  ^mth  Doro- 
thea. Angelina  and  Cornelia  seem  to  chide  him,  shewing 
Violante's  heavg  plight.  Violante  rejoiceth  in  him.  He  makes 
signs  of  sorroic,  entreating  pardon.  Angelina  brings  Gerrard 
and  A^'ioLANTE  to  the  Friar  :  he  joins  them  hand  in  hand,  takes  a 
ring  from  Gerrard,  puts  it  on  Yiolante's  finger,  Uesseth  them  ; 
Gerrard  kisseth  her  ;  the  Friar  takes  his  leave.  Violante  makes 
shoic  of  great  j)ain,  is  instantly  conveyed  in  by  the  women  :  Ger- 
rard is  bid  stay;  he  icalks  in  meditation,  seeming  to  pray. 
Re-enter  Dorothea,  tchisj^ers  him,  sends  him  out.  Re-enter  Ger- 
■  RARD,  with  a  Nurse  blindfold  ;  gives  her  a  purse.  To  them  re-enter 
Angelina  and  Cornelia  icith  an  infant ;  they  jtresent  it  to  Ger- 
rard, he  kisseth  and  Uesseth  it,  puts  it  into  the  Nurse's  arms, 
kneels,  and  takes  his  leave.     Exeunt  all  severally. 


SCENE  III. — A  room  in  Benvoglio's  house,  icith  a  curtain  in 
the  hack-ground. 

Enter  Benvoglio  atul  Randulpuo. 

Benv.  He's  dead,  you  say,  then  ? 

Rand.  Certainly  ;  and  to  hear 
The  people  now  dissect  him,  now  he's  gone, 
Makes  my  cars  burn,  that  lov'd  him  not :  such  libels, 
Such  elegies,  and  epigrams,  they  have  made, 
More  odious  than  he  was.     Brother,  groat  men 
Had  need  to  live  by  love,  meting  their  deeds 
AV^ith  virtue's  rule  ;  sound  with  the  weight  of  judgment 
Their  privat'st  action  :  for  though,  while  they  live, 
Their  power  and  policy  mask  their  villanies, 
Their  bribes,  their  lust,  pride,  and  ambition, 

"*  rfHiorse]  i.  c.  |)ity. 


520  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

And  make  a  many  slaves  to  worship  ""em, 
That  are  their  flatterers  and  their  bawds  in  these  ; 
These  very  slaves  shall,  when  these  great  beasts  die, 
Publish  their  bowels  to  the  vulgar  eye. 

Ben.  'Fore  heaven,  'tis  true.     But  is  Rinaldo,  brother. 
Our  good  duke,  heard  of  living  ? 

Rand.  Living,  sir, 
And  will  be  shortly  with  the  senate ;  has 
Been  close  conceal'd  at  Mantua,  and  reliev'd  ; 
But  what 's  become  of  his,  no  tidings  yet : 
But,  brother,  till  our  good  duke  shall  arrive. 
Carry  this  news  here.     Where  ""s  your  Ferdinand  ? 

Benv.  Oh,  busy,  sir,  about  this  marriage  ; 
And  yet  my  girl  o'  the  sudden  is  fain  sick : 
You'll  see  her  ere  you  go  I 

Band.  Yes.     Well  I  love  her  ; 
And  yet  I  wish  I  had  another  daughter 
To  gratify  my  Gerrard,  who,  by  [heaven]. 
Is  all  the  glory  of  my  family, 
But  has  too  much  worth  to  live  so  obscure  : 
I'll  have  him  secretary  of  estate 
Upon  the  duke's  return  ;  for,  credit  me, 
The  value  of  that  gentleman 's  not  known  ; 
His  strong  abilities  are  fit  to  guide 
The  whole  republic  ;  he  hath  learning,  youth, 
Valour,  discretion,  honesty  of  a  saint. 
His  aunt  is  wondrous  good  too. 

Benv.  You  have  spoke 
The  very  character  of  Ferdinand  : 
One  is  the  other's  mirror. 

The  curtain  is  draion  ^',  and  Violante  is  discovered  in  a  bed, 
Angelina  and  Dorothea  sitting  by  her. 
How  now,  daughter  ? 
Rand.  How  fares  my  niece  ? 

«  The  curtain  is  draicn,  c^c]  Tliis  stage-direction  is  Weber's  ;  and  perhaps 
it  is  preferable  to  any  other.  The  old  eds.  have  "  Enter  Violanta  in  a  bed,' 
&c.,  which  means — that  here  a  bed,  with  Violante  lying  on  it,  was  thrust  upon 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE.  521 

Tlo.  A  little  better,  uncle,  than  I  was, 
T  thank  you. 

Rand.  Brother,  a  mere  cold. 

Ang.  It  was 
A  cold  and  heat,  I  think ;  but,  heaven  be  thankM, 
AVe  have  broken  that  away. 

Benv.  And  yet,  Violante, 
You'll  lie  alone  still,  and  you  see  what 's  got. 

Dor.  Sure,  sir,  when  this  was  got,  she  had  a  bed-fellow. 

\^Aside. 

Rand.  What,  has  her  colic  left  her  in  her  belly  ? 

Dor.  'T  has  left  her,  but  she  has  had  a  sore  fit. 

Rajid.  Ay,  that  same  colic  and  stone  's  inherent  to  us 
O'  the  woman's  side ;  our  mothers  had  them  both. 

Dor.  So  has  she  had,  sir.— How  these  old  fornicators  talk  ! 
she  had  more  need  of  mace-ale  and  Rhenish-wine  caudles. 
Heaven  knows,  than  your  aged  discipline.  \^Aside. 

Benv.  Say. 

Ang.  She  will  have  the  man  ;  and,  on  recovery, 
Will  wholly  be  dispos'd  by  you. 

Benv.  That's  my  wench  ! 

Enter  Ferdinand  in  mourning. 

How  now  !  what  change  is  this  l  Why,  Ferdinand, 

Are  these  your  robes  of  joy  should  be  indued  ^l 

Doth  Hymen  wear  black  I  I  did  send  for  you 

To  have  my  honourable  brother  witness 

The  contract  I  will  make  'twixt  you  and  her. 

Put  off  all  doubt ;  she  loves  you  :  what  d'ye  say  ? 
Rand.  Speak,  man  :  why  look  you  so  distractedly  I 
Ferd.  There  are  your  keys,  sir:   I'll  no  contracts,  I. 

Divinest  Violante,  I  will  serve  you 

the  stage,  the  audience  having  now  to  suppose  that  the  scene  was  changed,  and 
that  they  beheld  Violante's  bed-chamber.  Seward  gave  the  stage-direction  of 
the  old  eds. ;  the  Editors  of  1778  "  Violante  discovered  in  a  bed,"  &c. 

f  should  be  indued]  "  That  is,  with  which  you  should  bo  indued,  that  is,  en- 
dowed or  furnished,"  says  Weber,— whose  note  (occupying  half  a  page)  only 
shews  how  strangely  he  contrived  to  mistake  the  very  plain  meaning  of  "  indued," 
viz.  put  on. 


522  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Thus  on  my  knees,  and  pray  for  you. 
Juno  Lucina^  fer  opem  ! 
My  inequality  ascends  no  higher  : 
I  dare  not  marry  you. 

Benv.  How 's  this  ? 

Ferd.  Good  night. 
I  have  a  friend  has  almost  made  me  mad  : 
I  weep  sometimes,  and  instantly  can  laugh ; 
Nay,  I  do  dance,  and  sing,  and  suddenly 
Roar  like  a  storm.     Strange  tricks  these,  are  they  not  I 
And  wherefore  all  this  I  shall  I  tell  you  I  no  : 
Thorough  mine  ears  my  heart  a  plague  hath  caught ; 
And  I  have  vow'd  to  keep  it  close,  not  shew 
My  grief  to  any,  for  it  has  no  cure. — 
On,  wandering  steps,  to  some  remote  place  move  ! 
I'll  keep  my  vow,  though  I  have  lost  my  love.  \^Exit. 

Benv.  'Fore  Heaven,  distracted  for  her  !  Fare  you  well : 
ril  watch  his  steps ;  for  I  no  joy  shall  find, 
Till  I  have  found  his  cause,  and  calni'd  his  mind.  [Exit. 

Rand.  He 's  overcome  with  joy. 

Aug.  'Tis  very  strange. 

Band.  Well,  sister,  I  must  leave  you  ;  the  time  's  busy. — 
Violante,  cheer  you  up  :  and  I  pray  Heaven 
Restore  each  to  their  love  and  health  again  !  [  Exit. 

Vio.  Amen,  great  uncle  ! — Mother,  what  a  chance 
Unluckily  is  added  to  my  woe. 
In  this  young  gentleman  ! 

Aug.  True,  Violante  ; 
It  grieves  me  much. — Doll,  go  you  instantly. 
And  find  out  Gerrard  :  tell  him  his  friend's  hap. 
And  let  him  use  best  means  to  comfort  him  ; 
But,  as  his  life,  preserve  this  secret  still. 

Vio.  Mother, — I'd  not  oiffend  you, — might  not  Gerrard 
Steal  in,  and  see  me  in  the  evening  ? 

Ang.  Well; 
Bid  him  do  so. 

Vio.  Heaven's  blessing  o'  your  heart  !     \^Exit  Dorothea. 
Do  you  not  call  child-bearing  travel,  mother  l 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE.  523 

Ang.  Yes. 

Via.  It  well  may  be  :  the  bare-foot  traveller, 
That 's  born  a  prince,  and  walks  his  pilgrimage, 
Whose  tender  feet  kiss  the  remorseless  stones 
Only,  ne'er  felt  a  travel  like  to  it. 
Alas,  dear  mother,  you  groanVl  thus  for  me  ! 
And  yet  how  disobedient  have  I  been  ! 

Ang.  Peace,  Violante  ;  thou  hast  always  been 
Gentle  and  good. 

Vio.  Gerrard  is  better,  mother : 
Oh,  if  you  knew  the  implicit  innocency 
Dwells  in  his  breast,  you'd  love  him  like  your  prayers  ! 
I  see  no  reason  but  my  father  might 
Be  told  the  truth,  being  pleased  for  Ferdinand 
To  woo  himself;  and  Gerrard  ever  was 
His  full  comparative  :  my  uncle  loves  him, 
As  he  loves  Ferdinand. 

Ang.  No,  not  for  the  world, 
Since  his  intent  is  cross'd  ;  lov'd  Ferdinand 
Thus  ruin'd,  and  a  child  got  out  of  wedlock. 
His  madness  would  pursue  ye  both  to  death. 

Vio.  As  you  please,  mother.     I  am  now,  methinks, 
Even  in  the  land  of  ease  ;  111  sleep. 

Ang.  Draw  in 
The  bed  nearer  the  fire. — Silken  rest 
Tie  all  thy  cares  up  !  [Scene  closes  ^. 

K  Scene  closes.]  "  Violante's  pi*attle  is  so  very  pretty  and  so  natural  in  her 
situation,  tbat  I  could  not  resist  giving  it  a  place.  Juno  Lucina  was  never 
invoked  with  more  elegance.  Pope  has  been  praised  for  giving  dignity  to  a 
game  at  cards.  It  required  at  least  as  much  address  to  ennoble  a  lying-in." 
Lamb  {Spec,  of  Dram.  Poets,  p.  34 G). 


524  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 


SCENE  IV.— ^  n^od. 

Enter  Ferdinand,  a7id  Benvoglio  behind. 

Ferd.  Oh,  blessed  solitude  !    here  my  griefs  may  speak  ; 
And.  Sorrow,  I  will  argue  with  thee  now. 
Nothing  will  keep  me  company  :  the  flowers 
Die  at  my  moan ;  the  gliding  silver  streams 
Hasten  to  flee  my  lamentations  ; 
The  air  rolls  from  'em ;  and  the  golden  sun 
Is  smother'd  pale  as  Phoebe  with  my  sighs  : 
Only  the  earth  is  kind,  that  stays  ;  then,  Earth, 
To  thee  will  I  complain.     Why  do  the  Heavens 
Impose  upon  me  love  what  I  can  ne'er  enjoy  ^  I 
Before  fruition  was  impossible, 
I  did  not  thirst  it.     Gerrard,  she  is  thine, 
SeaPd  and  delivered  ;  but  'twas  ill  to  stain 
Her  virgin-state,  ere  ye  were  married. 
Poor  infant,  what 's  become  of  thee  ?  thou  know'st  not 
The  woe  thy  parents  brought  thee  to.     Dear  Earth, 
Bury  this  close  in  thy  sterility  ; 
Be  barren  to  this  seed,  let  it  not  grow ; 
For  if  it  do,  'twill  bud  no  violet, 
Nor  gilly-flower,  but  wild  brier,  or  rank  rue, 
Unsavoury  and  hurtful. 

Be7iv.   \_advancing.~\   Ferdinand, 
Thy  steel  hath  digg'd  the  earth,  thy  words  my  heart. 

Ferd.  Oh,  I  have  violated  faith,  betray 'd 
My  friend  and  innocency  ! 

Benv.  Desperate  youth, 
Violate  not  thy  soul  too  !   I  have  showers 
For  thee,  young  man  ;  — but,  Gerrard,  flames  for  thee  ! 
Was  thy  base  pen  made  to  dash  out  mine  honour, 

^  Imjiose  upon  vi"  love  what  I  can  ne'er  enjoy']  Seward,  at  Sympson's  sug- 
gestion, omitted  "upon  "  as  an  interpolation.  The  editors  of  1778  retained  it, 
and  asserted  (in  spite  of  Seward's  note,  where  "  love  "  is  explained  (o  love)  that 
their  predecessors  had  printed  "love"  as  a  substantive.  Weber  removed 
"  enjoy  "  from  the  end  of  this  line  to  the  beginning  of  the  next. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE,  525 

And  prostitute  my  daughter?  bastard,  whore? — 

Come,  turn  thy  female  tears  into  revenge, 

Whicli  I  will  quench  my  thirst  with,  ere  I  see 

Daughter  or  wife,  or  branded  family. 

By  [heaven'],  both  die  !  and,  for  amends, 

Ferdinando,  be  my  heir !  Til  to  my  brother  ; 

First  tell  him  all ;   then  to  the  duke  for  justice  ; 

This  morning  he  's  rcceiv'dJ,     Mountains  nor  seas 

Shall  bar  my  flight  to  vengeance  :  the  foul  stain, 

Printed  on  me,  thy  blood  shall  rinse  again.  {_Exit. 

Ferd.  I  have  transgressed  all  goodness,  witlessly 
RaisM  mine  own  curses  from  posterity. 
I'll  follow,  to  redress  in  what  I  may  ; 
If  not,  your  heir  can  die  as  well  as  they.  \_Exit. 

Dumb  Show. 

Enter  duke'Ri^XLHO  icith  attendants^ on  one  side  ;  States,  Randulpho, 
and  Gerrard,  on  the  other :  they  kneel  to  the  duke,  he  accepts  their 
obedience,  and  raises  them  up  ;  they  prefer  Gerrard  to  the  duke, 
who  entertains  him  ;  they  seat  the  duke  in  state.  Enter  Benvoglio 
and  Ferdinand  :  Benvoglio  kneels  for  justice ;  Ferdinand 
seems  to  restrain  him.  Benvoglio  gives  the  duke  a  paper  ;  duke 
reads,  froirns  071  Gerrard,  shews  the  paper  to  the  States;  they 
seem  sorry,  consult,  cause  the  Guard  to  apprehend  him ;  they 
go  off  with  him.  Then  Randulpho  and  Benvoglio  seem  to  crave 
justice  ;  duke  vows  it,  and  exit  with  his  attendants.  Randulpho, 
Benvoglio,  and  Ferdinand  confer.  Enter  to  them  Cornelia,  with 
two  servants ;  she  seems  to  ^postulate ;  Randulpho  in  scorn 
causeth  her  to  be  thrust  out  poorly.  Exit  Randulpho.  BfiNvboLio 
beckons  Ferdinand  to  him  with  much  seeming  passion,  sicears 
him,  then  stamps  with  his  foot.  Enter  Dorothea,  ^cith  a  cup, 
weeping  ;  she  delivers  it  to  Ferdinand,  who  tcith  discontent  exit  ; 
and  exeunt  Benvoglio  and  Dorothea. 

'  [heaven]  Was  first  inserted  by  the  Editors  of  1 778  ;  but  the  metre  requires 
something  more, — qy.  "  heaven  and  hell  "  ? 

J  received.}  "  Mr.  Sympson  would  read  *  arriv'd  '  ;  but  surely  *  received  '  is 
infinitely  more  expressive,  as  it  not  only  speaks  his  arrival,  but  his  being  recog- 
nized by  all  his  subjects  as  duke  of  Milan."     Seward. 


526  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 


SCENE  V. — A  room  in  Benvoglio's  house. 

Enter  Violante. 

Vio.  Gerrard  not  come  ?  nor  Dorothy  returnM  ? 
What  adverse  star  ruPd  my  nativity  I 
The  time  to-night  hath  been  as  dilatory 
As  languishing  consumptions.     But  till  now 
I  never  durst  say  my  Gerrard  was  unkind. 
Heaven  grant  all  things  go  well  !  and  nothing  does, 
If  he  be  ill,  which  I  much  fear.     My  dreams 
Have  been  portentous  :  I  did  think  I  saw 
My  love  array'd  for  battle  with  a  beast, 
A  hideous  monster,  arni'd  with  teeth  and  claws, 
Grinning  and  venomous,  that  sought  to  make 
Both  us  a  prey  ;  on  's  tail  was  lash'd  in  blood 
Laic  ;  and  his  forehead  I  did  plainly  see 
Held  characters  that  spell'd  Authority. 
This  rent  my  slumbers  ;  and  my  fearful  soul 
Ran  searching  up  and  down  my  dismay'd  breast, 
To  find  a  port  to  escape.     Good  faith,  I  am  cold ; 
But  Gerrard's  love  is  colder:  here  I'll  sit, 
And  think  myself  away. 

Enter  Ferdinand,  with  a  cup  and  a  letter. 

Ferd.  The  peace  of  love 
Attend  the  sweet  Violante  !     Read  ; 
For  the  sad  news  I  bring  I  do  not  know ; 
Only,  I  am  sworn  to  give  you  that  and  this. 

Vio.  Is  it  from  Gerrard  I     Gentle  Ferdinand, 
How  glad  am  I  to  see  you  thus  well  restor'd  ! 
In  troth,  he  never  wrongM  you  in  his  life, 
Nor  I,  but  always  held  fair  thoughts  of  you ; 
Knew  not  my  father's  meaning  till  of  late ; 
Could  never  have  known  it  soon  enough  :  for,  sir, 
Gerrard's  and  my  affection  began 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE.  527 

In  infancy ;  my  uncle  brought  him  oft 

In  long  coats  hither, — you  were  such  another  ; 

The  little  boy  would  kiss  me  being  a  child, 

And  say  he  lov'd  me,  give  me  all  his  toys. 

Bracelets,  rings,  sweetmeats,  all  his  rosy  smiles  : 

I  then  would  stand  and  stare  upon  his  eyes, 

Play  with  his  locks,  and  swear  I  lov'd  him  too, 

For,  sure,  methought,  he  was  a  little  Love ; 

He  woo'd  so  prettily  in  innocence, 

That  then  he  warm'd  my  fancy ;  for  I  felt 

A  glimmering  beam  of  love  kindle  my  blood, 

Both  which,  time  since  hath  made  a  flame  and  flood. 

Ferd.     Oh,  gentle  innocent !  methinks  it  talks 
Like  a  child  still,  whose  white  simplicity 
Never  arriv'd  at  sin.     Forgive  me,  lady  ! 
I  have  destroyed  Gerrard  and  thee  ;  rebelFd 
Against  Heaven's  ordinance ;  dis-pair'd  two  doves. 
Made  'em  sit  mourning  ;  slaughter'd  love,  and  cleft 
The  heart  of  all  integrity.     This  breast 
Was  trusted  with  the  secret  of  your  vow 
By  Gerrard,  and  reveaPd  it  to  your  father. 

Vio.  Ha! 

Ferd.  Read,  and  curse  me  ! 

Vio.  Neither  ;   I  will  never 
Nor  write  nor  read  again. 

Ferd.  My  penance  be  it ! 
\Ileads\    Your  labyrinth  is  found,  your  lust  proclaim  d. 

Vio.  Lust !  hum — 
My  mother,  sure,  felt  none  when  I  was  got. 

Ferd.  [reads.]  1  and  the  lata  implacably  offended  ; 
Gerrard 's  imprison  d^  and  to  die 

Vio.  Oh,  Heaven  ! 

Ferd.  [reads.]  Ajid  you  to  suffer,  xvith  reproach  and  scoffs, 
A  public  execution.     I  have  sent  you 
An  antidote  'gainst  shame,  poison,  by  him 
You  have  most  ivrom/d :  yive  him  your  penitent  tears. 

Vio.  Hum — 'tis  not  truth. 

Ferd.  [reads.]  Drink,  and  farewell  for  ever  ! 


528  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

And,  though  thy  ichoredom  blemish  thy  whole  line, 
Prevent  the  hangman  s  stroke^  and  die  like  mine. 

Vio.  Oh,  woe  is  me  for  Gerrard  !  I  have  brought 
Confusion  on  the  noblest  gentleman 
That  ever  truly  lov'd.     But  we  shall  meet 
Where  our  condemnors  shall  not,  and  enjoy 
A  more  refin'd  affection  than  here  : 
No  law  nor  father  hinders  marriage  there 
'Twixt  souls  divinely  affied,  as,  sure,  ours  were  ; 
There  we  will  multiply  and  generate  joys, 
Like  fruitful  parents. — Luckless  Ferdinand, 
Where's  the  good  old  gentlewoman,  my  husband's    aunt ! 
Ferd.  Thrust  from  you  [r]  uncle  to  all  poverty. 
Vio.  Alas,  the  pity  !     K,each  me,  sir,  the  cup  : 
I'll  say  my  prayers,  and  take  my  father's  physic. 

Ferd.  Oh,  villain  that  I  was,  I  had  forgot 
To  spill  the  rest,  and  am  unable  now 

To  stir  to  hinder  her  !  [Aside. 

Vio.  What  ail  you,  sir  ? 
Ferd.  Your  father  is  a  monster,  I  a  villain. 
This  tongue  has  kill'd  you.     Pardon,  Yiolante  ! 
Oh,  pardon,  Gerrard  !  and  for  sacrifice 
Accept  my  life,  to  expiate  my  fault : 
I  have  drunk  up  the  poison. 

Vio.  Thou  art  not  so 
Uncharitable  !   a  better  fellow  far, 
Thou'st  left  me  half.     Sure  Death  is  now  a-dry, 
And  calls  for  more  blood  still  to  quench  his  thirst. 
I  pledge  thee,  Ferdinand,  to  Gerrard's  health  !  [Drinks. 

Dear  Gerrard,  poor  aunt,  and  unfortunate  friend  ! 
Aye  me,  that  love  should  breed  true  lovers'  end  ! 

Ferd.  Stay,  madam,  stay  !— Help,  ho  !  for   Heaven's  sake, 
help  !— 
Lnprovident  man  !  that  good  I  did  intend 
For  satisfaction,  saving  of  her  life. 
My  equal  ^  cruel  stars  made  me  forget. 

^  eqv.al'^  "  I  undei-stand  e^wa/ adverbially."     Seward. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE.  529 

Enter  Angelina,  with  two  Servants. 

Anff.  What  spectacle  of  death  assaults  mel  oh  ! 

Fio.  My  dearest  mother,  I  am  dead :  I  leave 
Father,  and  friends,  and  life,  to  follow  love. 
Good  mother,  love  my  child,  that  did  no  ill. 
Fie,  how  men  lie,  that  say,  death  is  a  pain  ! 
Or  has  he  changed  his  nature  ?  like  soft  sleep 
He  seizes  me.  Your  blessing  !  last,  I  crave 
That  I  may  rest  by  Gerrard  in  his  grave.  [Falls 

Ferd.  There  lay  me  too.     Oh,  noble  mistress,  I 
Have  caus'd  all  this,  and  therefore  justly  die  ! 
That  key  will  open  all.  [Gives  letter,  and  falls 

Ang.  Oh,  viperous  father  !  — 
For  Heaven"'s  sake,  bear  'em  in  !  run  for  physicians 
And  medicines  quickly  ! — Heaven,  thou  shalt  not  have  her 
Yet ;  'tis  too  soon  :  alas,  I  have  no  more  ; 
And,  taking  her  away,  thou  robb'st  the  poor  ! 

[Exeunt,  carrying  out  Violante  and  Ferdinano. 


SCENE  VI. — An  open  place  in  the  city. 

Flourish.      Enter  Rinaldo,  States,  Randdlpho,  Benvoglio, 
Gerhard,  Secretary,  Executioner,  Guard,  and  Attendants. 

Rin.  The  law,  as  greedy  as  your  red  desire, 
Benvoglio,  hath  cast  this  man :   'tis  pity 
So  many  excellent  parts  are  swallow'd  up 
In  one  foul  wave.     Is  Violante  sent  for  ? 
Our  justice  must  not  lop  a  branch,  and  let 
The  body  grow  still. 

Benv.  Sir,  she  will  be  here, 
Alive  or  dead,  I  am  sure. 

Ger.  How  cheerfully  my  countenance  comments  death  ! 
That  which  makes  men  seem  horrid,  I  will  wear 
Like  to  an  ornament.     Oh,  Violante  ! 
Might  my  life  only  satisfy  the  law, 

VOL.    II.  M  M 


530  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

How  jocundly  my  soul  would  enter  heaven  ! 

Why,  shouldst  thou  die,  thou '  wither'st  in  thy  bud, 

As  I  have  seen  a  rose,  ere  it  was  blown. —  [Aside. 

I  do  beseech  your  grace,  the  statute  may, 

In  this  case  made,  be  read  ;  not  that  I  hope 

To  extenuate  my  offence  or  penalty, 

But  to  see  whether  it  lay  hold  on  her  : 

And  since  my  death  is  more  exemplary 

Than  just,  this  public  reading  will  advise 

Caution  to  others. 

11171.  Read  it. 

Hand.  Brother,  does  not 
Your  soul  groan  under  this  severity  ? 

Sec.  [reads.]  A  statute  provided  in  case  of  unequal  matches, 
marriages  against  parents^  consent,  stealing  of  heirs,  rapes, 
prostitutions,  and  such  like  :  That  if  any  person  meanly  descended, 
or  ignorant  of  his  own  parentage,  ichich  implies  as  much,  shall, 
with  afoul  intent,  unlawfully  solicit  the  daughter  of  any  peer  of 
the  dukedom,  he  shall  for  the  same  offence  forfeit  his  right  hand  ; 
hut  if  he  further  jyrostitute  her  to  his  lust,  he  shall  frst  have  his 
right  hand  cut  off,  and  then  suffer  death  hy  the  common  executioner  : 
after  ichom,  the  lady  so  offending  shall  likewise  the  next  day,  in 
the  same  manner,  die  for  the  fact. 

Ger.  This  statute  has  more  cruelty  than  sense : 
I  see  no  ray  of  mercy.     Must  the  lady 
Suffer  death  too  ?  suppose  she  were  inforc'd, 
By  some  confederates  borne  away,  and  ravish'd  ; 
Is  she  not  guiltless  ? 

Rin.  Yes,  if  it  be  provM. 

Ger.  This  case  is  so :  I  ravish'd  Violante. 

State.  Who  ever  knew  a  rape  produce  a  child  ? 

Benv.  Pish,  these  are  idle.     Will  your  grace  command 
The  executioner  proceed  I 

Rin.  Your  office  ! 

Ger.  Farewell  to  thy  enticing  vanity, 
Thou  round  gilt  box,  that  dost  deceive  man's  eye ! 

■  Why,  ahonldst  thou  die,  thou,  i^r.J  The  modern  editors  point,  with  folio 
1679,  "  Whij  shouldsl  thou  die?  thou,"  &c. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE.  531 

The  wise  man  knows,  when  open  thou  art  broke, 

The  treasui'e  thou  includ*'st  is  dust  and  smoke  : 

Even  thus,  T  cast  thee  by. — INIy  lords,  the  law 

Is  but  the  great  man's  mule ;  he  rides  on  it. 

And  tramples  poorer  men  under  his  feet : 

Yet,  when  they  come  to  knock  at  yond  bright  gate. 

One's  rags  shall  enter  'fore  the  other's  state. 

Peace  to  ye  all ! — Here,  sirrah,  strike  !  this  hand 

Hath  Violante  kiss'd  a  thousand  times  ; 

It  smells  sweet  ever  since  :  this  was  the  hand 

Plighted  my  faith  to  her ;  do  not  think  thou  canst 

Cut  that  in  sunder  with  my  hand. — My  lord, 

As  free  from  speck  as  this  arm  is,  my  heart 

Is  of  foul  lust,  and  every  vein  glides  here 

As  full  of  truth. — Wh}'  does  thy  hand  shake  so? 

"ris  mine  must  be  cut  off,  and  that  is  firm, 

For  it  was  ever  constant. 

Enter  Cornelia  veiled. 

Cor.  Hold  !  your  sentence 
Unjustly  is  pronouncVl,  my  lord.     This  blow 
Cuts  your  hand  off ;  for  his  is  none  of  yours. 
But  Violante's,  given  in  holy  marriage 
Before  she  was  dolivcr'd,  consummated, 
With  the  free  will  of  her  mother,  by  her  confessor, 
In  lord  Benvoglio's  house. 

Ger.  Alas,  good  aunt, 
That  helps  us  nothing  !  else  I  had  reveal'd  it. 

Rin.  What  woman's  this  ? 

Benr.  A  base  confederate 
In  thi.s  proceeding,  kept  of  alms  long  time 
By  him ;  who  now,  cxpos'd  to  misery, 
Talks  tluis  distractedl}'. — Attach  her,  guard  ! 

Rand.    Your  cruelty,  brother,  will  have  end. 

Cor.  You'd  best 
Let  them  attach  my  tongue. 

Rin.  Good  woman,  peace  ; 

M    M    2 


532  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

For,  were  this  truth,  it  doth  not  help  thy  nephew : 
The  law 's  infringed  by  their  disparity  ; 
That  forfeits  both  their  lives. 

Cor.  Sir,  with  your  pardon, 
Had  your  grace  ever  children  ? 

Rin.  Thou  hast  put 
A  question,  whose  sharp  point  toucheth  my  heart. 
I  had  two  little  sons,  twins,  who  were  both, 
With  my  good  duchess,  slain,  as  I  did  hear. 
At  that  time  when  my  dukedom  was  surprisM. 

Cor.  I  have  heard  many  say,  my  gracious  lord, 
That  I  was  wondrous  like  her.  [  Unveils. 

All.  Ha! 

Rin.  By  all  man's  joy,  it  is  Cornelia, 
My  dearest  wife  ! 

Cor.  To  ratify  me  her, 
Gome  down,  Alphonso,  one  of  those  two  twins, 
And  take  thy  father's  blessing  !  thou  hast  broke 
No  law,  thy  birth  being  above  thy  wife''s. 
Ascanio  is  the  other,  nam'd  Fernando, 
Who,  by  remote  means,  to  my  lord  Benvoglio 
I  got  preferr  d  ;   and  in  poor  habits  clad, 
(You  fled,  and  the  innovation^-  laid  again) 
I  wrought  myself  into  Randulpho's  service. 
With  my  eldest  boy ;  yet  never  durst  reveal 
What  they  and  I  were,  no,  not  to  themselves. 
Until  the  tyrant's  death. 

Rin.  My  joy  has  fiU'd  me 
Like  a  full-winded  sail ;   I  cannot  speak. 

Ger.  Fetch  Violante  and  my  brother. 

Benv.  Run, 
Run  like  a  spout,  you  rogue  .'  [Exit  Attendant. 

A  [poxj  o'  poison  ! 
That  little  whore  I  trusted  will  betray  me.  [Aside. 

^  innovation'i  Mason  in  a  note  on  Hamlet,  act  ii.  sc.  2.,  says  that "  innovation'' 
means  there,  as  also  in  Shirley's  Coronation,  act  v.  sc.  1.,  and  in  the  present 
passage — change  of  govermnent. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE.  533 

Stay,  hangman  !  I  have  work  for  you  :  there's  gold  ; 
Cut  off  my  head,  or  hang  me,  presently  ! 

^■0^  music.  Enter  Angelina,  witJt  the  bodies  of  Ferdinand  and 
VioLANTE  on  a  bier ;  Dorothea  carrying  tJie  cup  and  letter, 
which  sJie gives  to  Rinaldo;  he  reads,  seems  sorrowful;  s/iews  it  to 
Cornelia  and  Gerrard,  they  lament  over  the  bier.  Randulpho 
and  Benvoglio  seem  fearful,  and  seem  to  report  to  Angelina  and 
Dorothea  ivhat  hath  passed  before. 

Rand.  This  is  your  rashness,  brother  ! 

Rin.  Oh,  joy,  thou  wert  too  great  to  last  ! 
This  was  a  cruel  turning  to  our  hopes  ! 
Unnatural  father  !  poor  Ascanio  ! 

Ger.  Oh,  mother,  let  me  be  Gerrard  again. 
And  follow  Violante  ! 

Cor.  Oh,  my  son  ! 

Rin.  Your  lives  yet,  bloody  men,  shall  answer  this. 

Dor.  I  must  not  see  'em  longer  grieve  [Aside'l. — My  loid. 
Be  comforted  ;  let  sadness  generally 
Forsake  each  eye  and  bosom  ;  they  both  live  : 
For  poison,  I  infusM  mere  opium. 
Holding  compulsive  perjury  less  sin 
Than  such  a  loathed  murder  would  have  bin '. 

All.  Oh,  blessed  maiden  ! 

Dor.   Music,  gently  creep 
Into  their  ears,  and  fright  hence  lazy  sleep  !  [Music. 

Morpheus,  command  thy  servant  Sleep, 

In  leaden  chains  no  longer  keep 

Tliis  prince  and  lady.     Rise,  %cake,  rise. 

And  round  about  convey  your  eyes  ! 

Rise,  prince  ;  go,  greet  thy  father  and  thy  mothei  ! 

Rise  thou,  to  embrace  thy  husband  and  thy  brother ! 

Rin.  Son  ! 
Cor.  Daughter  ! 

'  bin']  Altered  by  tlio  niodcrii  editors  to  "  been,"— improperly,  as  a  rliyiue 
is  intended. 


534  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Ferd.  Father,  mother,  brother  ! 

Ger.  Wife™! 

Vio.  Are  we  not  all  in  heaven  ? 

Ger.  Faith,  very  near  it. 

Ferd,  How  can  this  be  I 

Rin.  Hear  it. 

Dor.  If  I  had  serv'd  you  right,  I  should  have  seen 
Your  old  pate  off,  ere  I  had  reveaFd. 

Benv.  Oh,  wench. 
Oh,  honest  wench  !  if  my  wife  die,  Til  marry  thee ; 
There's  my  reward  ". 

Rin''.  'Tis  true. 

Ferd.  'Tis  very  strange. 

Ger.  Why  kneel  you,  honest  master  ? 

Ferd.  My  good  lord  ! 

Ger.  Dear  mother  ! 

Rin.  Rise,  rise  ;  all  are  friends.     I  owe  ye 
For  all  their  boards  :  and,  wench,  take  thou  the  man 
Whose  life  thou  saved'st ;  less  cannot  pay  thy  merit. 

"  Ferd.  Father,  mother,  brother  ! 

Ger.  Wife  .']  "  According  to  this  reading,  Ferdinand,  wliose  senses  were 
but  just  recovered,  knows  perfectly  all  that  has  passed  whilst  he  was  asleep, 
although  he  afterwards  asks  how  can  this  be.  I  first  thought  a  note  of  interro- 
gation might  solve  it,  by  supposing  Cornelia  to  have  informed  him  in  a  whisper, 
and  then  he  might  ask  the  question, 

Father  ?  mother  9  brother  9 

But  putting  the  whole  into  Gerrard's  mouth  takes  away  the  difficulty  much 
more  easily."     Seward. 

"  We  think  the  old  reading  best,  and  don't  understand  the  objection."  Ed. 
1778. 

"  Seward's  objection  is  not  so  frivolous  as  the  last  editors  seem  to  suppose  ; 
but  I  presume  the  poets  are  to  be  charged  with  inadvertence,  forgetting  that 
Ferdinand  was  as  yet  unacquainted  with  his  relationship  to  Rinaldo,  Cornelia, 
and  Gerrard.  His  asking  '  How  can  this  be?'  without  any  intermediate  expla- 
nation to  him,  countenances  this  charge  of  inadvertence,  and  proves  the  impro- 
priety of  Seward's  variation."     Weber. 

"  my  reward]  i.  e.  the  rewai'd  which  I  give  you.  Altered  by  Seward  to  "  thy 
reward.''' 

°  Rin,]  The  oldeds.  have"  Ferd."  and  prefi.v  to  the  nc.\t  speech  "  Duke." 
The  transposition  was  made  by  Seward,  and  rightly,  as  appears  from  what 
precedes. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE.  53^ 

How  shall  I  part  my  kiss  ?  I  cannot :  let 

One  generally  therefore  join  our  cheeks. 

A  pen  of  iron,  and  a  leaf  of  brass, 

To  keep  this  story  to  eternity, 

And  a  Promethean  wit !  —  Oh,  sacred  Love, 

Nor  chance  nor  death  can  thy  firm  truth  remove  ! 

[Exeunt.     Flourish. 

Eman.  Now,  Isabella  ! 

Isah.  This  can  true  love  do. 
I  joy  they  all  so  happilj'  are  pleas'd  : 
The  lady  p  and  the  brothers  must  triumph. 

Eman.  They  do; 
For  Cupid  scorns  but  to  have  his  Triumph  too.          [Flourish. 

The  Triumph.  Enter  divers  Mmicians  ;  then  certain  Singers,  hearing 
lannerets,  inscribed  Truth,  Loyalty,  Patience,  Concord;  next, 
Gerrard  and  Ferdinand  tcith  garlands  of  roses  ;  then  Violante  ; 
last,  a  chariot  drawn  hy  two  Cupids,  and  a  Cupid  sitting  in  it. 

Flourish.     Enter  Poet,  as  Prologue-speaker. 

Poet.  Love  and  the  strength  of  fair  affection. 
Most  royal  sir,  lohat  ^  long  seenid  lost,  have  icon 
Their  perfect  ends,  and  crown  d  those  constant  hearts 
With  lasting  triumph,  whose  most  virtuous  parts, 
Worthy  desires,  and  love,  shall  never  end. 
Now  turn  we  round  the  scene :  and,  great  sir,  lend 
A  sad  and  serious  eye  to  this  of  Death  ; 
Thi.f  black  and  dismal  Triumph,  where  maris  breath. 
Desert,  and  guilty  blood,  ascend  the  stage  ; 
And  view  the  tyrant  ruin'd  in  his  rage.         [Exit.     Flourish. 

p  lady'\  Old  eds.  "ladies"  (a  misprint  for  "ladie");  and  so  tlic  modern 
editors.  Violante,  of  course,  is  meant :  the  otlier  females  have  no  pai't  in  "  the 
Triumph." 

1  what\  Mason,  unnecessarily,  would  read,  "  that"  or  "which." 


536  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 


THE  TRIUMPH   OF   DEATH. 


Scene  I. — A7i  apartment  in  the  house  o/'Gabriella. 

Enter  Lavall,  Gabriella,  and  Maria. 

Gab.  No,  good  my  lord,  I  am  not  now  to  find 
Your  long  neglect  of  me  :  all  those  affections 
You  came  first  clad  in  to  my  love,  like  summer, 
Lusty  and  full  of  life  ;  all  those  desires 
That,  like  the  painted  spring,  bloomM  round  about  you. 
Giving  the  happy  promise  of  an  harvest. 
How  have  I  seen  drop  off,  and  fall  forgotten  ! 
With  the  least  lustre  of  another's  beauty, 
How  oft,  forgetful  lord,  have  I  been  blasted ! 
Was  I  so  easily  won  I  or  did  this  body 
Yield  to  your  false  embraces,  with  less  labour 
Than  if  you  had  carried  some  strong  town  ? 

Lav.  Good  Gabriella — 

Gab.  Could  all  your  subtilties  and  sighs  betray  me, 
The  vows  you  shook  me  with,  the  tears  you  drown'd  me, 
Till  I  came  fairly  off  with  honoured  marriage  ? 
Oh,  fie,  my  lord  ! 

Lav.  Prithee,  good  Gabriella — 

Gab.  Would  I  had  never  known  you,  nor  your  honours  ! 
They  are  stuck  too  full  of  griefs.     Oh,  happy  women. 
That  plant  your  love  in  equal  honest  bosoms. 
Whose  sweet  desires,  like  roses  set  together, 
Make  one  another  happy  in  their  blushes, 
Growing  and  dying  without  sense  of  greatness, 
To  which  I  am  a  slave  !  and  that  blest  sacrament 
That  daily  makes  millions  of  happy  mothers, 
Link'd  me  to  this  man's  lust  alone,  there  left  me  : 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  537 

I  dare  not  say  I  am  his  wife, — 'tis  dangerous  ; 

His  love,  I  cannot  say, — alas,  how  many 

Lav.  You  grow  too  warm  :    pray  you,  be    content ;    you 
best  know 
The  time's  necessity,  and  how  our  marriage, 
Being  so  much  unequal  to  mine  honour. 
While  the  duke  lives,  I  standing  high  in  favour, 
(And,  whilst  I  keep  that  safe,  next  to  the  dukedom,) 
Must  not  be  known,  %\ithout  my  utter  ruin. 
Have  patience  for  a  while,  and  do  but  dream,  wench, 
The  glory  of  a  duchess. — How  she  tires  me  ! 
How  dull  and  leaden  is  my  appetite 
To  that  stale  beauty  now  !     Oh,  I  could  curse 
And  crucify  myself  for  childish  doting 
Upon  a  face  that  feeds  not  ^^'ith  fresh  figures 
Every  fresh  hour  !  she  is  now  a  surfeit  to  me. —  [Aside. 

Enter  Gentille. 

Who"'s  that  ?  Gentille  ? — I  charge  ye,  no  acquaintance, 

[Aside  to  Gabriella. 
You  nor  your  maid,  with  him.  nor  no  discourse. 
Till  times  are  riper. 

GeTit.  Fie,  my  noble  lord, 
Can  you  be  now  a  stranger  to  the  court. 
When  your  most  virtuous  bride,  the  beauteous  Helena, 
Stands  ready,  like  a  star,  to  gild  your  happiness  ? 
When  Hymen''s  lusty  fires  are  now  a-lighting, 
And  all  the  flower  of  Anjou 

Lav.  Some  few  trifles. 
For  matter  of  adornment,  have  a  little 
Made  me  so  slow,  Gentille  ;  which  now  in  readiness, 
I  am  for  court  immediately. 

Gcjit.  Take  heed,  sir  : 
This  is  no  time  for  trifling,  nor  she  no  lady 
To  be  now  entertain'd  \vith  toys ;  'twill  cost  you — 

Lav.  You're  an  old  cock,  Gentille. 

Gent.  By  your  lordship's  favour 

Lav.  Prithee,  away  !  'twill  lose  time. 


538  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Gent.  Oh,  my  lord, 
Pardon  me  that,  by  all  means  ! 

I^av.  We  have  business 
A -foot,  man,  of  more  moment. 

Gent.  Than  my  manners  ? 
I  know  none,  nor  I  seek  none. 

Lav.  Take  to-morrow. 

Gent.    Even   now,    by   your   lordship's    leave. — Excellent 
beauty, 
My  service  here  I  ever  dedicate, 
In  honour  of  my  best  friend,  your  dead  father, 
To  you,  his  livino;  virtue  ;  and  wish  heartily, 
That  firm  affection  that  made  us  two  happy 
May  take  as  deep  undying  root,  and  flourish 
Betwixt  my  daughter  Casta,  and  your  goodness. 
Who  shall  be  still  your  servant. 

Gah.  I  much  thank  you. 

Lav.  [Pox]   o""  this  dreaming  puppy  !   \^Aside\ — Will  you 
go,  sir? 

Gent.  A  little  more,  good  lord. 

Lav.  Not  now,  by  Qheaven]  ! 
Come,  I  must  use  you. 

Gent.  Goodness  dwell  still  with  you  ! 

\Lxeunt  Lav  all  and  Gentille. 

Gab.  The  sight  of  this  old  gentleman,  Maria, 
Pulls  to  mine  eyes  again  the  living  picture 
Of  Perolot  his  virtuous  son,  my  first  love. 
That  died  at  Orleans. 

Maria.   You  have  felt  both  fortunes. 
And  in  extremes,  poor  lady  !  for  young  Perolot, 
Being  every  way  imable  to  maintain  you. 
Durst  not  make  known  his  love  to  friend  or  father  ; 
My  lord  Lavall,  being  powerful,  and  you  poor. 
Will  not  acknowledge  you. 

Gab.  No  more  ;  let's  in,  wench  : 
There  let  my  lute  speak  my  laments  ;  they  have  tir'd  me. 

\^Exeunt. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  539 


SCENE  II.-  Before  the  Palace. 

Enter  two  Courtiers. 

First  Court.  I  grant,  the  duke  is  wondrous  provident 
In  his  now  planting  for  succession  ; 
I  know  his  care  as  honourable  in  the  choice  too, 
Marine"'s  fair  virtuous  daughter  :  but  what's  all  this  i 
To  what  end  excellent  arrives  this  travel, 
AVhen  he  that  bears  the  main  roof  is  so  I'otten  ? 

Sec.  Court.  You  have  hit  it  now,  indeed  ;  for,  if  fame  lie  not, 
He  is  untemperate. 

First  Court.  You  express  him  poorly, 
Too  gentle  sir  ;  the  most  deboist  '^  and  barbarous, 
Believe  it,  the  most  void  of  all  humanity, 
Howe'er  his  cunning  cloak  it  to  his  uncle. 
And  those  his  pride  depends  upon. 

Sec.  Court.  I  have  heard  too, 
Given  excessively  to  drink. 

First  Court,  ]Most  certain, 
And  in  that  drink  most  dangerous  :  I  speak  these  things 
To  one  I  know  loves  truth,  and  dares  not  wrong  her. 

Sec.  Court.  You  may  speak  on. 

First  Court.  Uncertain  as  the  sea,  sir, 
Proud  and  deceitful  as  his  sin's  great  master  ; 
His  appetite  to  women  (for  there  he  carries 
His  main-sail  spread)  so  boundless  and  abominable  •■, 
That  but  to  have  her  name  by  that  tongue  spoken. 
Poisons  the  virtue  of  the  purest  virgin. 

Sec.  Court.  I  am  sorry  for  young  Gabriella,  then, 
A  maid  reputed  ever  of  fair  carriage  ; 
For  he  has  been  noted  visiting. 

First  Court.  She  is  gone,  then  ; 

■>  deloisf^  i.  e.  debauched.  This  form  of  the  word  is  not  uncommon  ;  see 
Richardson's  Diet,  in  v.  Debauch.  Seward  printed  "deboisht,"  his  successors 
"  debosh'd." 

'  abominable]  Old  eds.  "  abominably." 


540  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Or  any  else,  that  promises  or  power, 
Gifts  or  his  guileful  vows,  can  work  upon  : 
But  these  are  but  poor  parcels. 

Sec.  Court.  'Tis  great  pity. 

First  Court.  Nor  want  these  sins  a  chief  saint  to  befriend  'em : 
The  devil  follows  him  ;  and,  for  a  truth,  sir, 
Appears  in  visible  figure  often  to  him  ; 
At  which  time  he's  possessed  with  sudden  trances, 
Cold  deadly  sweats,  and  griping  of  the  conscience, 
Tormented  strangely,  as  they  say. 

Sec.  Court.  Heaven  turn  him  ! 
This  marriage-day  mayst  thou  well  curse,  fair  Helen. — 
But  let's  go  view  the  ceremony. 

First  Court.  I'll  walk  with  you.  \^Exeunt. 


SCENE  III. — A  street  before  the  house  of  Gabriella. 

Gabriella  and  Maria  at  a  window.     Mzisic. 

Maria.  I  hear  'em  come. 

Gab.  Would  I  might  never  hear  more  ! 

Enter  in  solemn  procession,  Lavall,  Helena,  the  Ddke,  Marine, 
LoNGAViLLE,  Ladics  and  Gentlemen  :  thet/  pass  over  the  stage, 
and  exeunt. 

Maria.  I  told  you  still ;  but  you  were  so  incredulous — 
See,  there  they  kiss  ! 

Gab.  Adders  be  your  embraces  ! 
The  poison  of  a  rotten  heart,  oh,  Helen, 
Blast  thee  as  I  have  been  !     Just  such  a  flattery, 
With  that  same  cunning  face,  that  smile  upon't, — 
Oh,  mark  it,  Mary,  mark  it  seriously ! — 
That  master-smile  caught  me. 

Maria.  There's  the  old  duke, 
And  Marine  her  father. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  54 1 

Gah.  Oh  ! 

Maria.  There  Longaville ; 
The  ladies  now. 

Gah.  Oh,  I  am  murder'd,  Mary  !  — 
Beast,  most  inconstant  beast ! 

Maria.   There 

Gah.  There  I  am  not ! 
No  more — I  am  not  there! — Hear  mc,  oh.  Heaven! 
And,  all  you  powers  of  justice,  bow  down  to  me ! 
But  you,  of  pity,  die.     I  am  abus'd  ; 
She  that  depended  on  your  providence. 
She  is  abus'd  ;  your  honour  is  abu-s^d  ; 
That  noble  piece  ye  made,  and  call'd  it  man, 
Is  turnM  to  devil ;  all  the  world's  abus'd  : 
Give  me  a  woman's  will  provok'd  to  mischief, 
A  two-edg'd  heart ;  my  suffering  thoughts  to  wildfires, 
And  my  embraces  to  a  timeless  grave  turn  ! 

Maria.  Hese  FU  step  in  ;  for  'tis  an  act  of  merit. 

Gah.  I  am  too  big  to  utter  more. 

Maria.  Take  time,  then.  [Exeunt  above. 

Enter  Gentille  and  Casta. 

Gent.  This  solitary  life  at  home  undoes  thee  ; 
Obscures  thy  beauty  first,  which  should  prefer  thee, 
Next,  fills  thee  full  of  sad  thoughts,  which  thy  years 
Must  not  arrive  at  yet, — they  choke  thy  sweetness. 
Follow  the  time,  my  girl ;  and  it  will  bring  thee 
Even  to  the  fellowship  of  the  noblest  women  : 
Helen  herself,  to  whom  I  would  prefer  thee. 
And  under  whom  this  poor  and  private  carriage 
(Which  I  am  only  able  yet  to  reach  at,) 
Being  cast  off,  and  all  thy  8we(3t8  at  lustre. 
Will  take  thee  as  a  fair  friend,  and  prefer  thee. 

Casta.  Good  sir,  be  not  so  cruel  as  to  seek 
To  kill  that  sweet  content  you've  bred  me  to. 
Have  I  not  here  enough  to  thank  Heaven  for, — 
The  free  air,  uncorrupted  with  new  flattery  ; 


542  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

The  water  that  I  touch,  unbrib'd  with  odours 
To  make  me  sweet  to  others  ;  the  pure  fire, 
Not  smother'd  up.  and  chokM  with  lustful  incense 
To  make  my  blood  sweat,  but,  burning  clear  and  high, 
Tells  me  my  mind  must  flame  up  so  to  heaven  ? 
What  should  I  do  at  court  1  wear  rich  apparel  I 
Methinks  these  are  as  warm,  and,  for  your  state,  sir. 
Wealthy  enough  :  is  it,  you  would  have  me  proud, 
And,  like  a  pageant,  stuck  up  for  amazements  ? 
Teach  not  your  child  to  tread  that  path  ;  for  fear,  sir. 
Your  dry  bones,  after  death,  groan  in  your  grave 
The  miseries  that  follows 

Ge7it.  Excellent  Casta  ! 

Casta.  When  shall  I  pray  again,  a  courtier  ? "" 
Or,  when  I  do,  to  what  god  ?  what  new  body 
And  new  face  must  I  make  me,  with  new  manners, — 
For  I  must  be  no  more  myself^  whose  mistress 
Must  I  be  fii'st  ?  with  whose  sin-offering  seasoned  ? 
And  when  I  am  grown  so  great  and  glorious 
With  prostitution  of  my  burning  beauties, 
That  great  lords  kneel,  and  princes  beg  for  favours. 
Do  you  think  Fll  be  your  daughter,  a  poor  gentleman"'s, 
Or  know  you  for  my  father  ? 

Ge7it.  My  best  Casta  ! 
Oh,  my  most  virtuous  child.  Heaven  reigns  within  thee  ! 
Take  thine  own  choice,  sweet  child,  and  live  a  saint  still. 

Re-enter  Lavall. 
The  lord  Lavall :  stand  by,  wench. 

Lav.  Gabriella — 
She  cannot  nor  she  dares  not  make  it  known ; 
My  greatness  crushes  her,  whene"'er  she  offers  : 
Why  should  I  fear  her,  then  ? 

Gent.  Come,  let's  pass  on,  wench. 

Lav.  Gentille,  come  hither.      \Vho"'s  that  gentlewoman  ? 

Gent.  A  child  of  mine,  sir,  who,  observing  custom, 
Is  going  to  the  monastery  to  her  prayers. 

Lav.  A  fair  one,  a  most  sweet  one !  fitter  far 

'  a  courtier']  "  i.  e.  if  I  commence  courtier."     JMaso.n'. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  543 

To  beautify  a  court  than  make  a  votarist. — 
Go  on,  fair  beauty,  and  in  your  orisons 
Remember  me  :  will  you,  fair  sweet  ? 

Casta.  Most  humbly.  \^Exit  loitli  Gentille. 

Lav.  An  admirable  beauty  !  how  it  fires  me  ! 
But  she's  too  full  of  grace,  and  I  too  wicked. — 

Enter  Spirit. 
I  feel  my  wonted  fit :  defend  me,  goodness  ! 
Oh,  it  grows  colder  still  and  stiffer  on  me  ; 
!My  hair  stands  up,  my  sinews  shake  and  shrink  ! 
Help  me,  good  Heaven,  and  good  thoughts  dwell  within  me! 
Oh,  get  thee  gone,  thou  evil,  evil  spirit ; 
Haunt  me  no  more,  1  charge  thee  ! 

Spirit.  Yes,  Lavall; 
Thou  art  my  vassal,  and  the  slave  to  mischief : 
I  blast  thee  with  new  sin.     Pursue  thy  pleasure  : 
Casta  is  rare  and  sweet,  a  blowing  beauty  ; 
Set  thy  desires  a-fire,  and  never  quench  ""em 
Till  thou  enjoy'st  her ;  make  her  all  thy  heaven, 
And  all  thy  joy,  for  she  is  all  true  happiness. 
Thou  art  powerful ;  use  command  ;  if  that  prevail  not, 
Force  her :   I'll  bo  thy  friend. 

Lav.  Oh,  help  me,  help  mc  ! 

Spirit.  Her  virtue,  like  a  spell,  sinks  me  to  darkness.    [Exit. 

Re-enter  Gentille  and  Casta. 

Gent.  He's  here  still. — How  is't,  noble  lord  ?  methinks,  sir. 
You  look  a  little  wildly. — Is  it  that  way? 
Is"'t  her  you  stare  on  so  i  I  have  spied  your  fire,  sir, 
But  dare  not  stay  the  flaming  \^Aside\ — Come. 

Lav.  Sweet  creature, 
Excellent  beauty,  do  me  but  the  happiness 
To  be  your  humblest*  servant.  Oh,  fair  eyes  ! 
Oh,  blessed,  blessed  sweetness,  divine  virgin! 

Casta.  Oh,  good  my  lord,  retire  into  your  honour  ! 
You're  spoken  good  and  virtuous,  placM  at  helm 

•  humblest]   Weber  chose  to  print  "  humble." 


544  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

To  govern  others  from  mischances :  from  example 

Of  such  fair  chronicles  as  great  ones  are, 

We  do,  or  sure  we  should,  direct  our  lives. 

I  know  youVe  full  of  worth ;  a  school  of  virtue. 

Daily  instructing  us  that  live  below  you, 

I  make  no  doubt,  dwells  there. 

Lav.  I  cannot  answer  ; 
She  has  struck  me  dumb  with  wonder.  [^Aside. 

Casta.  Goodness  guide  you  !  [^Exit  ivith  Gentille. 

Lav.  She"'s  gone,  and  with  her  all  light,  and  has  left  me 
Dark  as  my  black  desires.     Oh,  devil  lust, 
How  dost  thou  hug  my  blood,  and  whisper  to  me, 
There  is  no  day  again,  no  time,  no  living, 
Without  this  lusty  beauty  break  upon  me  ! 
Let  me  collect  myself ;   I  strive  like  billows 
Beaten  against  a  rock,  and  fall  a  fool  still. 
I  must  enjoy  her,  and  I  will :  from  this  hour 
My  thoughts  and  all  my  business  shall  be  nothing, 
My  eating  and  my  sleeping,  but  her  beauty,' 
And  how  to  work  it. 

Enter  Maria. 

Maria.  Health  to  my  lord  Lavall ! 
Nay,  good  sir,  do  not  turn  with  such  displeasure ; 
I  come  not  to  afflict  your  new-born  pleasures. 
My  honourM  mistress — neither  let  that  vex  you, 
For  nothing  is  intended  but  safe  to  you. 

Lav.  What  of  your  mistress  I  I  am  full  of  business. 

Maria.  I  will  be  short,  my  lord.     She,  loving  lady, 
Considering  the  unequal  tie  between  ye, 
And  how  your  ruin  with  the  duke  lay  on  it. 
As  also  the  most  noble  match  now  made. 
By  me  sends  back  all  links  of  marriage, 
All  holy  vows,  and  rites  of  ceremony, 
All  promises,  oaths,  tears,  and  all  such  pawns 
You  left  in  hostage  ;  only  her  love  she  cannot, 
For  that  still  follows  you,  but  not  to  hurt  you ; 
And  still  beholds  you,  sir,  but  not  to  shame  you : 
lu  recompense  of  which,  this  is  her  suit,  sir. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  545 

Her  poor  and  last  petition,  but  to  grant  her. 

When  weary  nights  have  cloy'd  you  up  with  kisses, 

(As  such  must  come,)  the  honour  of  a  mistress. 

The  honour  but  to  let  her  see  those  eyes, 

(Those  eyes  she  dotes  on  more  than  gods  do  goodness,)  * 

And  but  to  kiss  you  only  ;  with  this  prayer, 

(A  prayer  only  to  awake  your  pity,) 

And  on  her  knees  she  made  it,  that  this  night 

You'd  bless  her  with  your  company  at  supper. 

IjUv.  I  like  this  well ;  and,  now  I  think  on't  better, 
I'll  make  a  present  use  from  this  occasion —  [Jside. 

Maria.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  be  not  so  cruel  to  her. 
Because  she  has  been  yours. 

Lav.  And  to  mine  own  end 
A  rare  way  I  will  work.  [Aside. 

Maria.  Can  love  for  ever, 
The  love  of  her,  my  lord,  so  perish  in  you  ? 
As  you  desire  in  your  desires  to  prosper  ! 
What  gallant  under  heaven  but  Anjou's  heir,  then, 
Can  brag  so  fair  a  wife,  and  sweet  a  mistress  ? 
Good,  noble  lord  ! 

Lav.   You  misapply  me,  Mary  ; 
Nor  do  I  want  true  pity  to  your  lady  : 
Pity  and  love  tell  me,  too  much  T  have  wrong'd  her 
To  dare  to  see  her  more  ;  yet  if  her  sweetness 
Can  entertain  a  mediation, 
(And  it  must  be  a  great  one  that  can  cure  me,) 
My  love  again,  as  far  as  honour  bids  me. 
My  service,  and  myself 

Maria.  That's  nobly  spoken  ! 

Lav.  Shall  hourly  see  her ;   want  shall  never  know  her  ; 
Nor  where  she  has  bestow'd  her  love,  repent  her. 

Maria.  Now  whither  drives  he?  [Aside. 

Lav.  I  have  heard,  ^laria, 
That  no  two  women  in  the  world  more  lov'd 
Than  thy  good  mistress  and  Gentille's  fair  daughter. 

Maria.  What  may  this  mean  ?  [Aside] — You  have  heard 
a  truth,  my  lord  ; 

"  <7orf.s-  do  goodness]  Seward  and  his  successors  print  "  gods  on  goodness." 
VOL.  IF.  N  N 


546  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

But  since  the  secret  love  betwixt  you  two, 
My  mistress  durst  not  entertain  such  friendship  : 
Casta  is  quick  and  of  a  piercing  judgment, 
And  quickly  will  find  out  a  flaw. 

Lav.  Hold,  Mary;  [Gives  rnoneij. 

Shrink  not ;  'tis  good  gold,  wench  :  prepare  a  banquet. 
And  get  that  Casta  thither ;  for  she's  a  creature 
So  full  of  forcible  divine  persuasion, 
And  so  unwearied  ever  with  good  office, 
That^  she  shall  cure  my  ill  cause  to  my  mistress. 
And  make  all  errors  up. 

Maria.  I'll  do  my  best,  sir  : 
But  she's  too  fearful,  coy,  and  scrupulous. 
To  leave  her  father's  house  so  late  ;  and  bashful 
At  any  man's  appearance,  that,  I  fear,  sir, 
'Twill  prove  impossible. 

Lav.  There's  more  gold,  Mary;  [^Gives  money. 

And  feign  thy  mistress  wondrous  sick,  to  death,  wench. 

Maria.  I  have  you  in  the  wind  now,  and  I'll  pay  you.  [Aside. 

Lav.  She  cannot  choose  but  come  ;  'tis  charity. 
The  chief  of  her  profession  :  undertake  this. 
And  I  am  there  at  night ;  if  not,  I  leave  you. 

Maria.  I  will  not  lose  this  offer,  though  it  fall  out 
Clean  cross  to  that  we  cast  *  lAside']. — I'll  undertake  it  ; 
I  will,  my  lord ;  she  shall  be  there. 

Lav.  By  [heaven]  ? 

Maria.   By  [^heaven],  she  shall. 

Lav.  Let  it  be  something  late,  then, 
For  "  being  seen. — Now  force  or  favour  wins  her. 
My  spirits  are  grown  dull :  strong  wine,  and  store, 
Shall  set  'em  up  again,  and  make  me  fit 
To  draw  home  at  the  enterprize  I  aim  at.        [Aside,  and  exit. 

Maria.  Go  thy  ways,  false  lord  !  if  thou  hold'st,  thou  pay'st 
The  price  of  all  thy  lusts.     Thou  shalt  bo  there. 
Thou  modest  maid,  if  I  have  any  working, 

'  That'\  Old  eds., "  And."    In  this  line  "  ray  "  should  most  probably  be  "  thy." 
*  cast^  i.  e.  contrive,  project. 

"  For'\  i.  e.,  according  to  the  usual  explanation  of  the  word  in  such  pas- 
sages,— for  fear  of  ;  but  see  Richardson's  Diet,  in  v. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  547 

And  yet  thy  honour  safe  ;  for  which  this  thief, 
I  know,  has  set  this  meeting ;  but  V\\  watch  him. 

Enter  Perolot. 

Per.  Maria! 

Maria.  Are  mine  eyes  mine  own?  or— bless  me  ! — 
Am  I  dehided  with  a  flying  shadow  ? 

Per.  Why  do  you  start  so  from  me  ? 

Maria.  It  speaks  sensibly, 
And  shews  a  living  body ;  yet  1  am  fearful. 

Per.  Give  me  your  hand,  good  Maria. 

Maria.  He  feels  warm  too. 

Per.  And  next,  your  lips. 

Maria.  He  kisses  perfectly  : 
Nay,  an  the  devil  be  no  worse — you  are  Perolot  ! 

Per.  I  was,  and  sure  I  should  be  :  can  a  small  distance. 
And  ten  short  months,  take  from  your  memory 
The  figure  of  your  friend,  that  you  stand  wondering? 
Be  not  amaz'd :  I  am  the  self-same  Perolot, 
Living  and  well,  son  to  Gentillc,  and  brother 
To  virtuous  Casta  ;  to  your  beauteous  mistress 
The  long-since  poor  betrothed  and  still-vow'd  servant. 

Maria.    Nay,  sure  he  lives. —  My  lord  Lavall,  your  master, 
Brought  news  long  since  to  your  much-mourning  mistress, 
You  died  at  Oi'leans ;  bound  her  with  an  oath  too, 
To  keep  it  secret  from  your  aged  father, 
Lest  it  should  rack  his  heart. 

Per.  A  pretty  secret, 
To  try  my  mistress'  love,  and  make  my  welcome 
From  travel  of  more  worth  ;  from  whence.  Heaven  thank'd, 
My  business  for  the  duke  despatch'd  to  the  purpose, 
And  all  my  money  spent,  I  am  come  home,  wench. 
How  docs  my  mistress  ?  for  I  have  not  yet  seen 
Any,  nor  will  I,  till  I  do  her  service. 

Maria.  But  did  the  lord  Lavall  know  of  your  love,  sir, 
Before  you  ^'  went  ? 

"  t/ou]  The  first  folio  has  "  ye "  (the  word  being  often  printed  so,  because 
the  transcribers  had  adopted  that  form  for  tlic  sake  of  shortness).  The  sec. 
folio  has  "  he  "  ;  and  so  tlio  modern  editors  ! 

N  N  2 


548  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Per.  Yes  ;  by  much  force  he  got  it, 
But  none  else  knew ;  upon  his  promise  too, 
And  honour,  to  conceal  it  faithfully 
Till  my  return  :  to  further  which,  he  told  me, 
My  business  being  ended,  from  the  duke 
He  would  procure  a  pension  for  my  service, 
Able  to  make  my  mistress  a  fit  husband. 

Maria.  But  are  you  sure  of  this  ? 

Per.  Sure  as  my  sight,  wench. 

Maria.  Then  is  your  lord  a  base  dissembling  villain, 
A  devil-lord,  the  damn'd  lord  of  all  lewdness, 
And  has  betrayM  you,  and  undone  my  mistress, 
My  poor  sweet  mistress, — oh,  that  lecher-lord  ! — 
Who,  poor  soul,  since  was  married  ! 

Per.  To  whom,  Maria  ? 

Maria.  To  that  unlucky  lord, — a  [pox]  upon  him  ! — 
Whose  hot  horse-appetite  being  allay'd  once 
With  her  chaste  joys,  married  again  (scarce  cooFd, 
The  torches  yet  not  out  the  yellow  Hymen 
Lighted  about  the  bed,  the  songs  yet  sounding) 
jSIarine's  young  noble  daughter  Helena, 
Whose  mischief  stands  at  door  next.     Oh,  that  recreant ! 

Per.  Oh,  villain  !  oh,  most  unmanly  falsehood  ! 
.Nay,  then,  I  see  my  letters  were  betrayVl  too. 
Oh,  I  am  full  of  this,  great  with  his  mischiefs, 
Loaden  and  burst !     Come,  lead  me  to  my  lady. 

Maria.  I  cannot,  sir  ;   Lavall  keeps  her  concealM  : 
Besides,  her  griefs  are  such,  she  will  see  no  man. 

Per.  I  must  and  will  go  to  her  ;   I  will  see  her  : 
There  be  ray  friend,  or  this  shall  be  thy  furthest. 

\^Puts  his  hand  on  his  sword. 

Maria.  Hold,  and  I'll  help  you  !    but  first  you  shall  swear 
to  me, 
As  you  are  true  and  gentle,  as  you  hate 
This  beastly  and  base  lord,  where  I  shall  place  you, 
(\Vniich  shall  be  within  sight,)  till  I  discharge  you, 
Whate'er  you  see  or  hear,  to  make  no  motion. 

Per.  I  do,  by  [heaven]  ! 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  549 

Maria.  Stay  here  about  the  house,  then. 
Till  it  be  later ;  yet,  the  time's  not  perfect : 
There  at  the  back-door  V\\  attend  you  truly. 

Per.  Oh,  monstrous,  monstrous,  beastly  villain !  \Exit. 

Maria.  How  cross  this  falls,  and  from  all  expectation  ! 
And  what  the  end  shall  be.  Heaven  only  yet  knows  : 
Only  I  wish  and  hope.     But  I  forget  still ; 
Casta  must  be  the  bait,  or  all  miscarries.  [Exit. 


SCENE  IV, — A  street  before  the  house  of  Lavall. 

Enter  Gentille  with  a  torch. 

Gent.  Holla,  Shalloon  ! 

Shal.  [appearing  at  a  loindoiv.^   Who's  there  ? 

Gent.  A  word  from  the  duke,  sir. 

Shal.  Your  pleasure  ; 

Gent.  Tell  your  lord  he  must  to  court  straight. 

Shal.  He  is  ill  at  ease,  and  prays  he  may  be  pardon'd 
The  occasions  of  this  night. 

Gent.  Belike  he  is  drunk,  then. 
He  must  away ;  the  duke  and  his  fair  lady. 
The  beauteous  Helena,  are  now  at  cent "  ; 
Of  whom  she  has  such  fortune  in  her  carding, 
The  duke  has  lost  a  thousand  crowns,  and  swears 
He  will  not  go  to  bed,  till  by  Lavall 
The  tide  of  loss  be  turn'd  again.     Awake  him  ; 
For  'tis  the  pleasure  of  the  duke  he  must  rise. 

Shal.  Having  so  strict  command,  sir,  to  the  contrary, 
I  dare  not  do  it :   I  beseech  your  pardon. 
Gent.  Are  you  sure  he  is  there  \ 
Shal.  Yes. 
Gent.  And  asleep  ? 
Shal.  I  think  so. 

^  cent'\  A  game  at  cards,  which  seems  to  have  resembled  picquet.     It  was 
called  cent  because  100  was  the  game. 


550  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Gent.  And  are  you  sure  you  will  not  tell  him,  Shalloon  ? 

Shah  YeSj  very  sure. 

Gent.  Then,  I  am  sure,  I  will. 
Open,  or  I  must  force 

Slial.  Pray  you,  stay ;  he  is  not, 
Nor  will  not  be  this  night :  you  may  excuse  it. 

Gent.  I  knew  he  was  gone  about  some  woman's  labour  : 
As  good  a  neighbour,  though  I  say  it,  and  as  comfortable ! 
Many  such  more  we  need,  Shalloon. — Alas,  poor  lady. 
Thou  art  like  to  lie  cross-legg'd  to-night. — Good  monsieur, 
I  will  excuse  your  master  for  this  once,  sir, 
Because  sometimes  I  have  lov'd  a  wench  myself  too. 

Slial.  'Tis  a  good  hearing,  sir. 

Gent.  But  for  your  lie.  Shalloon, 
If  I  had  you  here,  it  should  be  no  good  hearing ; 
For  your  pate  I  would  pummel. 

Shal.  A  fair  good-night,  sir.  [^Exit  above. 

Gent.  Good-night,  thou  noble  knight,  Sir  Pandarus '' !  — 
My  heart  is  cold  o""  the  sudden,  and  a  strange  dulness 
Possesses  all  my  body :  thy  will  be  done.  Heaven !  [Exit. 


SCENE  V. — A  room  in  the  house  o/'Gabriella,  icith  a  gallcri/. 

Enter  Gabriella,  Casta,  and  Maria  icith  a  taper. 

Casta.  Faith,  friend,  I  was  even  going  to  my  bed. 
When  your  maid  told  me  of  your  sudden  sickness  : 
But  from  my  grave  (so  truly  I  love  you) 
I  think  your  name  would  raise  me.     You  look  ill. 
Since  last  I  saw  you,  much  decay'd  in  colour ; 
Yet,  I  thank  Heaven,  I  find  no  such  great  danger 
As  your  maid  frighted  me  withal.     Take  courage, 
And  give  your  sickness  course  :  some  grief  you  have  got, 
That  feeds  within  upon  your  tender  spirits, 

'^   Sir  Pandarus.']  "  See  [Shakespeare's]  TroUus  and  Crcssida.'^     Reed. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  551 

And,  wanting  open  way  to  vent  itself, 

Murders  your  mind,  and  chokes  up  all  your  sweetness. 

Gab.  It  was  my  maid's  fault,  worthy  friend,  to  trouble  you, 
So  late,  upon  so  light  a  cause :  yet,  since  I  have  you. 
Oh,  my  dear  Casta 

Casta.  Out  with  it,  [i']  God''s  name  ! 

Gab.  The  closet  of  my  heart  I  will  lock  here  '',  wench, 
And  things  shall  make   you  tremble. — ^Vho  ""s  that  knocks 
there  i  \^Knocking  tvithin. 

Maria.  'Tis  Lavall. 

Gab.  Sit  you  still. — Let  him  in. —  [^Exit  Maria. 

I  am  resolv'd ;  and,  all  you  wronged  women, 
You  noble  spirits  that,  as  I,  have  suffered 
Under  this  glorious  beast,  insulting  man. 
Lend  me  your  causes,  then  3'our  cruelties, 
For  I  must  put  on  madness  above  women  : 

Casta.  Why  do  you  look  so  ghastly  ? 

Gab.  Peace ;  no  harm,  dear. 

Enter  Lavall  icith  Maria. 

Lav.  There,  take  my  cloak  and  sword.      Where  is  this 
banquet  ? 

Maria.  In  the  next  room. 

Ca^ta.  How  came  he  here  ?  Heaven  bless  me  ! 

Lav.  Give  mo  some  wine,  wench  ;  fill  it  full  and  sprightly 

Gab.  Sit  still,  and  be  not  fearful. 

Lav.  Till  my  veins  swell. 
And  my  strong  sinews  stretch,  like  that  brave  Centaur 
That  at  the  table  snatch'd  the  bride  away 
In  spite  of  Hercules. 

Casta.  I  am  betray 'd  ! 

Lao.  Nay,  start  not,  lady ;  'tis  for  you  that  I  come. 
And  for  your  beauty  :  'tis  for  you,  Lavall 
Honours  this  night ;  to  you,  the  sacred  shrine, 
I  humbly  bow,  offering  my  vows  and  prayers ; 
To  you  I  live. 

*   The  closet  of  my  heart  I  tvill  lock  here.']  Tlie  meaning,  as  Seward  right!  v 
explains  it,  is — I  will  lock  up  my  secrets  in  your  breast. 


552  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE, 

Gab.  [To  Maria.]  In  with  the  powder  quickly  !  — 
So  ;  that  and  the  wine  will  rock  you.  [Aside. 

Lav.  Here,  to  the  health 
Of  the  most  beauteous  and  divine  fair  Casta, 
The  star  of  sweetness  !  [Drinks. 

Gab.  Fear  him  not ;   FU  die  first.— 
And  who  shall  pledge  you  ? 

Lav.  Thou  shalt,  thou  tann'd  gipsy  ! 
And  worship  to  that  brightness  give,  cold  Tartar  !  — 
By  [heaven],  you  shall  not  stir  !  you  are  my  mistress, 
The  glory  of  my  love,  the  great  adventure, 
The  mistress  of  my  heart,  and  she  my  whore  ! 

Gab.  Thou  liest,  base,  beastly  lord,  drunker  than  anger  ! 
Thou  sousM  lord,  got  by  a  surfeit,  thou  liest  basely  ! 
Nay,  stir  not;   I  dare  tell  thee  so. — Sit  you  still. — 
If  I  be  whore,  it  is  in  marrying  thee, 
That  art  so  absolute  and  full  a  villain. 
No  sacrament  can  save  that  piece  tied  to  thee. 
How  often  hast  thou  wooed  in  those  flatteries, 
Almost  those  very  words,  my  constancy  1 
What  goddess  have  I  not  been,  or  what  goodness  I 
What  star,  that  is  of  any  name  in  heaven 
Or  "  brightness  ?  which  of  all  the  virtues 
(But  drunkenness  and  drabbing,  thy  two  morals) 
Have  not  I  reachM  to  t  what  spring  was  ever  sweeter  I 
What  Scythian  snow  so  white  ?  what  crystal  chaster  ? 
Is  not  thy  new  wife  now  the  same  too!  Hang  thee. 
Base  bigamist,  thou  honour  of  ill  women  ^  ! 

Casta.  How's  this  ?  Oh,  Heaven  defend  me  ! 

Gab.  Thou  salt-itch. 
For  whom  no  cure  but  ever-burning-brimstone 
Can  be  imagin'd  ! 

Lav.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

"  Or]  Qy.  "  Or  any  "  ? 

y  thou  honour  of  ill  women']  Altered  by  Seward  to  "  thou  horror  of  all 
women." — "  Seward's  alteration,  which  Mr.  Mason  wishes  [is  "  rather  inclined"] 
to  restore,  is  vei*y  tame,  and  what  is  more,  incorrect,  for  Lavall  is  far  from 
being  detested  bv  all  women."     Weber. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  553 

Gab.  Dost  thou  laugh,  thou  breaker 
Of  all  law,  all  religion  :  of  all  faith 
Thou  foul  contemner  ? 

Lav.  Peace,  thou  paltry  woman  ! — 
And  sit  by  me,  sweet. 

Gab.  By  the  devil  I 

Lav.  Come, 
And  lull  me  with  delights. 

Gab.  It  works  amain  now.  \  Aside. 

Lav.  Give  me  such  kisses  as  the  queen  of  shadows 
Gave  to  the  sleeping  boy  she  stole  on  Iiatmus  ; 
Lock  round  about,  in  snaky  wreaths  close -folded, 
Those  rosy  arms  about  my  neck,  oh  Venus ! 

Gab.  Fear  not,  I  say. 

Lav.  Thou  admirable  sweetness, 
Distil  thy  blessings  like  those  silver  drops, 
That,  falling  on  fair  grounds,  rise  all  in  roses  ; 
Shoot  me  a  thousand  darts  from  those  fair  eyes. 
And  through  my  heart  transfix  'era  all,  I'll  stand  'em  ; 
Send  me  a  thousand  smiles,  and  presently 
ril  catch  'em  in  mine  eyes,  and  by  love''s  power 
Turn  'em  to  Cupids  all,  and  fling  'em  on  thee. 
How  high  she  looks  and  heavenly  !-  More  wine  for  me  ! 

Gab.  Give  him  more  wine; — and,  good  friend,  be  not  fearful. 

Lav.  Here  on  my  knee,  thou  goddess  of  delights. 
This  lusty  grape  I  offer  to  thy  beauties  : 
See,  how  it  leaps  to  view  that  perfect  redness 
That  dwells  upon  thy  lips  !  now,  how  it  blushes 
To  be  out-blush'd  !  Oh,  let  me  feed  my  fancy, 
And  as  I  hold  the  purple  god  in  one  hand, 
Dancing  about  the  brim  and  proudly  swelling, 
DeckM  in  the  pride  of  nature,  young  and  blowing, 
So  let  me  take  fair  Semcle  in  the  other, 
And  sing  the  loves  of  gods,  then  drink  !  their  nectar 's 
Not  yet  desir'd. 

Casta.  Oh  ! 

Lav.  Then,  like  lusty  Tarquin, 
Tunrd  into  flames  with  Lucrece''  coy  denials, 


554  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

His  blood  and  spirit  equal!}'  ambitious, 
I  force  thee  for  mine  own. 

Casta.  Oh,  help  me,  justice  ! 
Help  me,  my  chastity  ! 

Lav.  Now  I  am  bravely  quarried^. 

Enter  Perolot,  above. 

Per.  'Tis  my  sister!  [^ Aside. 

Gab.  No,  bawdy  slave,  no,  treacher^,  she  is  not  carried. 

[Exit  Casta. 

Per.  She's  loose  again,  and  gone.     Fll  keep  my  place  still. 

[Aside. 

Maria.  Now  it   works   bravely.     Stand ;    he    cannot  hurt 
you. 

Lav.  Oh,  my  sweet  love,  my  life  !  [Falls. 

Maria.  He  sinks. 

Lav.  My  blessing  !  [Sleeps. 

Maria.  So  ;  now  he  is  safe  a  while. 

Gab.  Lock  all  the  doors,  wench  ; 
Then  for  my  wrongs  ! 

Per.  Now  Fll  appear  to  know  all.  [Aside. 

Gab.  Be  quick,  quick,  good  Maria,  sure  and  sudden. 

Per.  Stay ;   I  must  in  first. 

[Comes  down  from  the  gallery  into  the  room. 

Gab.  Oh,  my  conscience, 
It  is  young  Perolot  !    oh,  my  stung  conscience. 
It  is  my  first  and  noblest  love  ! 

Maria.  Leave  wondering, 
And  recollect  yourself:  the  man  is  living  ; 
Equally  wrong'd  as  you,  and  by  that  devil. 

Per.  ""Tis  most  true,  lady  ;  your  unhappy  fortune 
I  grieve  for  as  mine  own  ;   your  fault  forgive  too, 
If  it  be  one  :  this  is  no  time  for  kisses. 
I  have  heard  all  and  known  all,  which  mine  ears 
Are  crack'd  a-pieces  with,  and  my  heart  perish'd  : 
I  saw  him  in  your  chamber,  saw  his  fury, 

'  quarried]    i.  c.  provided  with  prey  (the  quarry  being  the  game  or  prey 
pursued  by  dogs,  hawks,  &c.) 
"  trcacher]  i.  o.  traitor. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  555 

And  am  a-fire  till  I  have  found  his  heart  out. 
What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  for  Fll  make  one. 

Gab.  To  make  his  death  more  horrid, — for  he  shall  die — 

Pei\  He  must,  he  must. 

Gah.  We'll  watch  him  till  he  wakes, 
Then  bind  him,  and  then  torture  him. 

Per.  'Tis  nothing  : 
No  ;  take  him  dead-drunk ''  now,  without  repentance, 
His  lechery  inseani'd  '^  upon  him. 

Gab.  Excellent! 

Per.  Fll  do  it  myself;  and,  when  'tis  done,  provide  you; 
For  we'll  away  for  Italy  this  night. 

Gah.  We'll  follow  thorough  all  hazards. 

Per.  Oh,  false  lord, 
Unmanly,  mischievous  !  how  I  could  curse  thee  ! 
But  that  but  blasts  thy  fame :  have  at  thy  heart,  fool  ! 
Loop-holes  I'll  make  enough  to  let  thy  life  out. 

Lav.  Oh  !  does  the  devil  ride  me  ? 

Per.  Nay,  then  !  \Stabs  him. 

Lav.  Murder  ! 
Nay,  then,  take  my  share  too.  [Stabs  Perolot. 

Per.  Help !  oh,  he  has  slain  me  ! 
Bloody  intentions  must  have  blood. 

Lav.  Ha  ! 

Per.  Heaven [Dies. 

Gah.  He  sinks,  he  sinks,  for  ever  sinks  !     Oh,  fortune  ! 
Oh,  sorrow,  how  like  seas  thou  flow'st  upon  me  ! 
Here  will  I  dwell  for  ever.     Weep,  Maria, 
Weep  this  young  man's  misfortune.     Oh,  thou  truest ! 

*>  take  him  dead-drunk  now,  &c.]  "  This  horrid  seutinient  seems  to  have  been 
adopted  from  a  similar  one  in  Hamlet,  where  that  prince,  debating  on  the 
purposed  death  of  the  king,  says, 

'  When  he  is  drunk,  asleep,  or  in  his  rage, 
Or  in  the  incestuous  pleasures  of  his  bed,  &c.' — Reed. 
The  sentiment  occurs  in  many  other  old  plays."     Weber. 
•^  inseam'd'\  Stcevons,  in  his  note  on  the  line  of  Ilamlet,  act  iii.  sc.  4., — 
"  In  the  rank  sweat  of  au  cnscamed  bed," — 
says  that  "  inseam^d"  in  our  te.xt  has  the  same  nuaning,  viz.  greased.    Richard- 
son, again,   (Diet,  in   v.   In-^enin)   refers  the   present  i)aHtJage  to  the  usual 
signification  of  the  word. 


556  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Enter  Spirit. 

Lav.  What  have  I  done  ? 

Spirit.  That  that  has  mark'd  thy  soul,  man. 

Lav.  And  art  thou  come  again,  thou  dismal  spirit  ? 

Spirit.  Yes,  to  devour  thy  last. 

Lav.  Mercy  upon  me  ! 

Spirit.  Thy  hour  is  come ;  succession,  honour,  pleasure. 
And  all  the  lustre  thou  so  long  hast  look'd  for, 
Must  here  have  end :    summon  thy  sins  before  thee. 

Lav.  Oh,  my  affrighted  soul ! 

Spirit.  There  lies  a  black  one, — 
Thy  own  best  servant  by  thy  own  hand  slain ; 
Thy  drunkenness  procur'd  it, — there  's  another  ; 
Think  of  fair  Gabriella, — there  she  weeps, 
And  such  tears  are  not  lost. 

Lav.  Oh,  miserable  ! 

Spirit.  Thy  foul  intention  to  the  virtuous  Casta. 

Lav.  No  more,  no  more,  thou  wildfire  ! 

Spirit.  Last,  thy  last  wife, 
Think  on  the  wrong  she  suffers. 

Lav.  Oh,  my  misery  ! 
Oh,  whither  shall  I  fly  I 

Spirit.  Thou  hast  no  faith,  fool. 
Hark  to  thy  knell !  l^Sin^s,  and  exit. 

Lav.  Millions  of  sins  muster  about  mine  eyes  now  ; 
^Murders,  ambitions,  lust,  false  faiths  :  oh,  horror, 
In  what  a  stormy  form  of  death  thou  rid'st  now  ! 
Methinks  I  see  all  tortures,  fires,  and  frosts, 
Deep-sinking  caves,  where  nothing  but  despair  dwells, 
The  baleful  birds  of  night  hovering  about  'em  ; 
A  grave,  methinks,  now  opens,  and  a  hearse, 
Hung  with  my  arms,  tumbles  into  it.     Oh  ! 
Oh,  my  afflicted  soul  !   1  cannot  pray ; 
And  the  least  child,  that  has  but  goodness  in  him, 
May  strike  my  head  off,  so  stupid  are  my  powers : 
ril  lift  mine  eyes  up  though. 

Maria.  Cease  these  laments ; 
They  are  too  poor  for  vengeance  :   Lavall  lives  yet. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  557 

Gah.  Then  thus  I  dry  all  sorrows  from  these  eyes  ; 
Fury  and  rage  possess  'em  now  ! — Damned  devil ! 

Lav.  Ha  ! 

Gah.  This  for  young  Perolot !  [^Stabs  him. 

Lav.  Oh,  mercy,  mercy  ! 

Gah.  This  for  my  wrongs  !  \^Stahs  him. 

Lav.   But  one  short  hour  to  cure  me  ! 
Oh,  be  not  cruel  !     Oh  !  oh  !  \^Knockinp  tvithin. 

Maria.   Hark,  they  knock  ! 
Make  haste,  for  Heaven''s  sake,  mistress  ! 

Gah.  Tliis  for  Casta  !  \^Stahs  him. 

Lav.  Oh,  oh,  oh,  oh  !  \^Dies. 

Maria.  He's  dead  ;  come,  quickly  let's  away  with  him, 
•  'Twill  be  too  late  else. 

Gah.  Help,  help,  up  to  the  chamber ! 

\^Exeunt  with  Lavall's  body. 

Enter  the  Duke,  Helena,  Gentille,  Casta,  Lords,  ayid  Attendants 

with  lights. 

Duke.  What  frights  are  these  \ 

Gent.  I  am  sure  here 's  one  past  frighting, — 
Bring  the  lights  nearer, — I  have  enough  already. 
Out,  out,  mine  eyes  ! — Look,  Casta  ! 

First  Lord.  'Tis  young  Perolot ! 

Duke.  When  came  he  over  I — Hold  the  gentlewoman  ; 
She  sinks  ;  and  bear  her  off. 

Casta.  Oh,  my  dear  brother  ! 

\^Exit  with  First  Lord  and  Attendants. 

Gent.  There  is  a  time  for  all  ;  for  me,  1  hope,  too, 
And  very  shortly.     Murder'd  I 

Enter  above  Gabriella  and  IMaria,  with  Lavall's  body. 
Duke.  ^Vho  's  above  there  ? 
Gab.   Look  up,  and  see. 
Duke.  What  may  this  mean  i 
Gab.  Behold  it ; 
Behold  the  drunken  •'  murderer 

'^  flitinken]    Another    epithet    ("  lecherous"   perhaps)    appeal's    to    have 
dropped  out. 


558  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Of  that  young  gentleman ;  behold  the  rankest, 
The  vilest,  basest  slave  that  ever  flourishM  ! 

Duke.  Who  killM  him  \ 

Gab.  I ;  and  there's  the  cause  I  did  it : 
Read,  if  your  eyes  will  give  you  leave. 

[^Throws  doicn  a  paper. 

Hel.  Oh,  monstrous ! 

Gab.  Nay,  out  it  shall :  there,  take  this  false  heart  to  ye, 

[  TTiroics  dow7i  his  heart. 
The  base  dishonour  of  a  thousand  women  ! 
Keep  it  in  gold,  duke  ;  'tis  a  precious  jewel. 
Now  to  myself ;  for  I  have  liv'd  a  fair  age. 
Longer  by  some  months  than  I  had  a  mind  to. 

Duke.  Hold! 

Gab.  Here,  young  Perolot,  my  first-contracted  ! 
True  love  shall  never  go  alone.  \^Stabs  herself. 

Duke.  Hold,  Gabriella ! 
I  do  forgive  all. 

Gab.  I  shall  die  the  better. 
Thus  let  me  seek  my  grave,  and  my  shames  with  me.     [Dies. 

Maria.  Nor  shalt  thou  go  alone,  my  noble  mistress  : 
Why  should  I  live,  and  thou  dead  I  [Stabs  herself. 

Sec.  Lord.  Save  the  wench  there  ! 

Maria.  She  is,  I  hope  ;  and  all  my  sins  here  written.  [Dies. 

Duke.  This  was  a  fatal  night. 

Gent.  Heaven  has  his  working, 
Which  we  cannot  contend  against. 

Duke.  Alas ! 

Gent.  Your  grace  has  your  alas  too. 

Duke.  Would  'twere  equal  ! 
For  thou  hast  lost  an  honest  noble  child. 

Gent.  'Tis  heir  enough  h'as  left  ^\  a  good  remembrance. 

Duke.  See  all  their  bodies  buried  decently, 

Re-enter  First  Lord. 
Though  some  deserv'd  it  not. — How  do  you,  lady  ? 

Hel.  Even,  with  your  grace's  leave,  ripe  for  a  monastery ; 

•"  left']  Sjmpson's  correction.     Old  eds.  "  lost." 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH.  559 

There  will  I  wed  ray  life  to  tears  and  prayers, 
And  never  know  what  man  is  more. 

Duke.  Your  pleasm'e. — 
How  does  the  maid  within  ? 

First  Lord.  She  is  gone  before,  sir, 
The  same  course  that  my  ^  lady  takes. 

Gent.  And  my  course 
Shall  be  my  beads  at  home,  so  please  your  grace 
To  give  me  leave  to  leave  the  court. 

Duke.  In  peace,  sir  ; 
And  take  my  love  along. 

Gent.  I  shall  pray  for  you. 

Duke.  Now  to  ourselves  retire  we,  and  begin 
By  this  example  to  correct  each  sin  !  [Exe^int.     Flourish. 


Eman.  By  this  we  plainly  view  the  two  imposthumes 
That  choke  a  kingdom's  welfare, — ease  and  wantonness  ; 
In  both  of  which  Lavall  was  capital : 
For,  first,  ease  stole  away  his  mind  from  lionour, 
That  active  noble  thoughts  had  kept  still  working  ; 
And  then  delivered  him  to  drink  and  women. 
Lust  and  outrageous  riot ;  and  what  their  ends  are. 
How  infamous  and  foul,  we  see  example. 
Therefore,  that  great  man  that  will  keep  his  name, 
And  gain  his  merit  out  of  virtue's  schools. 
Must  make  the  pleasures  of  the  world  his  fools.         [Flourish. 

The  Triumph.  Enter  Mzisicians  ;  next  them.  Perolot,  7rith  the 
wound  he  died  of ;  then  Gabriella  and  Maria,  icith  their 
icounds ;  after  them.,  four  Furies  with  bannerets,  inscribed 
Revenge,  Murder,  Lust,  and  Drunkenness,  singiny ;  next  them, 
Lavall  wounded ;  then  a.  chariot  with  Death,  dratcn  by  the 
Destinies.  [Flourish. 

•=  my'\  Altered  by  the  Editors  of  1778  to  "  her ; "  and  so  Weber  (who  wTongly 
attributes  the  "  correction"  to  Seward).  But  to  make  Helena  ''  the  huly  "  of 
Casta  contradicts  an  earlier  scene,  pp.  .541 — 2,  where,  after  Casta  has  expressed 
her  utter  dislike  of  being  "preferred  to  Helen  "  and  becoming  "a  courtier," 
her  father  says, 

"  Take  thine  own  choice,  sweet  child,  and  live  a  saint  still." 


560  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Enter  Poet  as  Prologue-speaker. 

Poet.  From  this  sad  sight  ascpMcl  your  noble  eye., 
And  see  old  Time  helping  triumphantly. 
Helping  his  master.,  Man  :  vieio  here  his  vanities  ; 
And  see  his  false  friends  ^  like  those  glutted  fiies., 
That,  when  they've  suck'd  their  Jill,  fall  off,  and  fade 
From  all  remembrance  of  him,  like  a  shade  ; 
And  last,  vieio  loho  relieves  him  :  and,  that  gone, 
We  hope  your  favour  ;  and  our  play  is  done.  [Flourish. 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   TIME. 


Scene  I. — A  City. 

Enter  Anthropos,  Desire,  Vain-delight,  and  Bounty. 

Anth.  What  hast  thou  done,  Desire,  and  how  employ'd 
The  charge  I  gave  thee  about  levying  wealth 
For  our  supplies  ? 

Desire.   I  have  done  all,  yet  nothing ; 
Tried  all,  and  all  ray  ways,  yet  all  miscarried  : 
There  dwells  a  sordid  dulness  in  their  minds, 
Thou  son  of  Earth,  colder  than  that  thou  art  made  of. 
I  came  to  Craft ;  found  all  his  hooks  about  him 
And  all  his  nets,  baited  and  set '' ;  his  sly  self 

"^ all  his  hooks  about  him 

And  all  his  nets,  baited  and  set.\  "  Mr.  SjTupson  says,  that  to  bait 
and  set  nets  is  inaccui'ate,  and  therefore  would  have  hooks  and  nets  change 
places  ;  but  nets  are  sometimes  baited  and  set  as  well  as  hooks,  as  for  cray-fish, 
grigs,  &c.  so  that  the  change  is  not  necessary." — Seward.  The  later  editors 
have  reprinted  this  preposterous  note  without  any  comment,  evidently  thinking 
it  quite  satisfactory.  What  can  be  plainer  than  that  the  epithet  "baited  "  belongs 
to  «  hooks  ",  and  «  set "  to  "  nets  "  ? 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME.  561 

And  greedy  Lucre  at  a  serious  conference, 
Which  way  to  tie  the  workl  within  their  statutes  ; 
Business  of  all  sides  ^  and  of  all  sorts  swarming, 
Like  bees  broke  loose  in  summer  :  I  declared 
Your  will  and  want  together,  both  inforciug. 
With  all  the  power  and  pains  I  had,  to  reach  him; 
Yet  all  fell  short. 

Antk.  His  answer  I 

Desire.  This  he  gave  me. 
Your  wants  are  never  ending ;  and  those  supplies 
That  came  ^  to  stop  those  breaches,  are  ever  lavished, 
Before  they  reach  the  main,  in  toys  and  trifles, 
Gewgaws,  and  gilded  puppets  :   Vain-Delight, 
He  says,  has  ruin'd  you,  with  clapping  all, 
That  comes  in  for  support,  on  clothes  and  coaches. 
Perfumes  and  powderM  pates  ;  and  that  your  mistress, 
The  lad}'  Pleasure,  like  a  sea,  devours 
At  length  both  you  and  him  too  :  if  you  have  houses, 
Or  land,  or  jewels,  for  good  pawn,  he'll  hear  you, 
And  will  be  ready  to  supply  occasions ; 
If  not.  he  locks  his  ears  up,  and  grows  stupid. 
From  him  I  went  to  Vanity,  whom  I  found 
Attended  by  an  endless  troop  of  tailors. 
Mercers,  embroiderers,  feather-makers,  fumers*^, 
All  occupations  opening  like  a  mart. 
That  serve  to  rig  the  body  out  with  bravery  * ; 
And  through  the  room  new  fashions  flew,  like  flies, 
In  thousand  gaudy  shapes  ;   Pride  waiting  on  her. 
And  busily  surveying  all  the  breaches 
Time  and  decaying  ^  Nature  had  wrought  in  her. 
Which  still  with  art  she  picc'd  again  and  strengthen'd : 

•>  of  all  sides]  "Is  the  same  in  oM  language  as  '  on  all  sides.'  The  expla- 
nation is  only  given  because  former  editors  have  conceived  alterations  to  be 
requisite."  Weber, — who  borrowed  this  remark  from  Mason, — having  himself 
elsewhere  made  the  very  "  alterations  "  which  he  now  censures. 

<■  came]  Qy.  "  come  "  ? 

^  furriers']  "i.  e.  perfumers."     Weber. 

'  bravery]  i.  e.  finery. 

'  decaying]  Old  cds.  "delaying." 

VOL.    11.  O  O 


562  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

I  told  your  wants ;  she  shew'd  me  gowns  and  head-tires, 
Embroider'd  waistcoats,  smocks  seam'd  thorough  with  cut- 

works**, 
Scarfs,  mantles,  petticoats,  muffs,  powders,  paintings, 
Dogs,  monkeys,  parrots,  which  all  seem'd  to  shew  me 
The  way  her  money  went.     From  her  to  Pleasure 
I  took  my  journey. 

Anth.  And  what  says  our  best  mistress  ? 

Desire.  She  dane'd  me  out  this  answer  presently  : 
Revels  and  masques  had  drawn  her  dry  already. 
I  met  old  Time  too,  mowing  mankind  down, 
Who  says  you  are  too  hot,  and  he  must  purge  you. 

Anth.  A  cold  quietus  !  Miserable  creatures, 
Born  to  support  and  beautify  your  master. 
The  godlike  ]\Ian,  set  here  to  do  me  service. 
The  children  of  my  will,  why,  or  how  dare  ye, 
Created  to  my  use  alone,  disgrace  me  ? 
Beasts  have  more  courtesy  ;  they  live  about  me, 
Offering  their  warm  wool  to  the  shearer  s  hand 
To  clothe  me  with,  their  bodies  to  my  labours ; 
Nay,  even  their  lives  they  daily  sacrifice, 
And  proudly  press  with  garlands  to  the  altars. 
To  fill  the  gods'  oblations.     Birds  bow  to  me, 
Striking  theii*  downy  sails  to  do  me  service. 
Their  sweet  airs  ever  echoing  to  mine  honour. 
And  to  my  rest  their  plumy  softs  they  send  me. 
Fishes,  and  plants,  and  all  where  life  inhabits. 
But  mine  own  cursed  kind,  obey  their  ruler  ; 
Mine  have  forgot  me,  miserable  mine, 
Into  whose  stony  hearts  neglect  of  duty, 
Squint-eyM  Deceit,  and  Self-love,  are  crept  closely  ! 
None  feel  my  wants  ?  not  one  friend  with  me  ^^  ? 

Desire.  None,  sir. 

<i  cut-works,1  i.  e.  "  open  works  in  linen,  stamped  or  cut  by  hand."  Nares's 
Gloss,  in  V.     Or  wrought  with  the  needle  :  see  Holme's  Ac.  of  Arm.  B.  iii.  98. 

e  friend  with  mel  Old  cds.  "  mend  xvith  me."  I  give,  as  Weber  did,  a  con- 
jectui-al  emendation  of  Seward,  who,  however,  printed  in  the  text  "  befriend  me" 
wiiich  the  Editors  of  1778  also  preferred 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME.  563 

Anth.  Thou  hast  forgot,  Desire,  thy'  best  friend  Flattery; 
He  cannot  fail  me. 

Vain-Del.  Fail !   he  will  sell  himself, 
And  all  within  his  power,  close  to  his  skin,  first. 

Desire.  I  thought  so  too,  and  made  him  my  first  venture ; 
But  found  him  in  a  young  lord's  ear  so  busy. 
So  like  a  smiling  shower  pouring  his  soul 
In  at  his  portals ;  his  face  in  thousand  figures, 
Catching  the  vain  mind  of  the  man :   I  pulPd  him. 
But  still  he  hung  like  bird-lime ;  spoke  unto  him  ; 
His  answer  still  was,    "  By  the  Lord,  sweet  lord," 
And,  "  By  my  soul,  thou  master-piece  of  honour  !" 
Nothing  could  stave  him  off:  he  has  heard  your  flood"'s  gone, 
And  on  decaying  things  he  seldom  smiles,  sir. 

Anth.  Then  here  I  break  up  state,  and  free  my  followers. 
Putting  my  fortune  now  to  Time  and  Justice  : 
Go,  seek  new  masters  now ;  for  Anthropos, 
Neglected  by  his  friends,  must  seek  new  fortunes. 
Desire,  to  Avarice  I  here  commend  thee, 
Where  thou  mayst  live  at  full  bent  of  thy  wishes. 
And,  Vain- Delight,  thou  feeder  of  my  follies. 
With  light  Fantastickness  be  thou  in  favour. 
To  leave  thee.  Bounty,  my  most  worthy  servant. 
Troubles  me  more  than  mine  own  misery ; 
But  we  must  part :  go,  plant  thyself,  my  best  friend, 
In  honourable  hearts  that  truly  know  thee, 
And  there  live  ever  like  thyself,  a  virtue ; 
But  leave  this  place,  and  seek  the  country  ; 
For  Law  and  Lust,  like  fire,  lick  all  up  here. 
Now  none  but  Poverty  must  follow  me, 
DespisM,  patch'd  Poverty;  and  we  two,  married. 
Will  seek  Simplicity,  Content,  and  Peace  out, 
And  live  with  them  in  exile. 

Enter  Povekty. 

How  uncaird  on 
My  true  friend  comes  ! 

'  thy'\  Scwarrl  and  his  successors  print,  unnecessariiv,  "  my." 


564  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Poe.  Here,  hold  thee,  Anthropos ; 
Thou  art  almost  arriv'd*  at  rest ;  put  this  on, 
A  penitential  robe,  to  purge  thy  pleasures  : 
Off  with  that  vanity  ! 

Anth.  Here,  Vain-Delight,  [Gives  his  rich  cloak  to 

Vain-Delight,  and  puts  on  the  penitential  robe. 
And,  with  this,  all  my  part  to  thee  again 
Of  thee  I  freely  render. 

Pov.  Take  this  staff  now. 
And  be  more  constant  to  your  steps  hereafter  : 
The  staff  is  Staidness  of  Affections. — 
Away,  you  painted  flies,  that  with  man's  summer 
Take  life  and  heat,  buzzing  about  his  blossoms  ! 
When  growing  full,  ye  turn  to  caterpillars. 
Gnawing  the  root  that  gave  you  life.     Fly,  shadows  ! 

[Exeunt  Desire  and  Vain-Delight. 
Now  to  Content  I'll  give  thee,  Anthropos, 
To  Rest  and  Peace  :  no  Vanity  dwells  there. 
Desire,  nor  Pleasure,  to  delude  thy  mind  more  ; 
No  Flattery's  smooth-fiPd  tongue  shall  poison  thee. 

Anth.  Oh,  Jupiter,  if  I  have  ever  offered 
Upon  thy  burning  altars  but  one  sacrifice 
Thou  and  thy  fair-eyM  Juno  smiFd  upon ; 
■  If  ever,  to  thine  honour,  bounteous  feasts, 
Where  all  thy  statuas  S  sweat  '^  with  wine  and  incense. 
Have  by  the  son  of  Earth  been  celebrated  ; 
Hear  me,  the  child  of  Shame  now,  hear,  thou  helper. 
And  take  my  wrongs  into  thy  hands,  thou  justice, 
Done  by  unmindful  man,  unmerciful. 
Against  his  master  done,  against  thy  order ; 
And  raise  again,  thou  father  of  all  honour, 
Hie  poor,  despis'd,  but  yet  thy  noblest  creature  ! 
Kaise  from  his  ruins  once  more  this  sunk  cedar, 
That  all  may  fear  thy  power,  and  I  proclaim  it ! 

[Exeunt. 

'  urriv''d]  S^inpson's  correction.  Old  eds.  "arm'd,"  (the  original  compositor 
having  mistaken  iu  for  m.) 

«  staluas]  The  modern  editors  print  "  statues."  See  note,  p.  459. 

''  .sweat]   Weber  gave,  with  the  sec.  folio,  "  sweet  "  ! 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME.  565 


SCENE    U.—OIpJipus. 
Jupiter  and  Mercury  descend  severally  to  soft  music. 

Jup.  Ho,  Mercury,  my  winged  son  ! 

Merc.  Your  servant. 

Jup.  Whose  powerful  prayers  w'ere  those  that  reachM  our 
ears, 
ArmM  in  such  spells  of  pity  '  now  ? 

Merc.  The  sad  petitions 
Of  the  scorn'd  son  of  Earth,  the  god-like  Anthropos  ; 
He  that  has  swelled  your  sacred  fires  with  incense, 
And  pil'd  upon  your  altars  thousand  heifers ; 
He  that,  beguil'd  by  Vanity  and  Pleasure, 
Desire,  Craft,  Flattery,  and  smooth  Hypucrisy, 
Stands  now  despis'd  and  ruin'd,  left  to  Poverty. 

Jup.  It  must  not  be  ;  he  was  not  raisM  for  ruin  ; 
Nor  shall  those  hands  heavM  at  mine  altars  perish  : 
He  is  our  noblest  creature.     Flee  to  Time ; 
And  charge  him  presently  release  the  bands 
Of  Poverty  and  Want  this  suitor  sinks  in ; 
Tell  him,  among  the  sun-burnt  Indians, 
That  know  no  other  wealth  but  peace  and  pleasure. 
He  J  shall  find  golden  Plutus,  god  of  riches. 
Who  idly  is  adorVl,  the  innocent  people 
Not  knowing  yet  what  power  and  weight  he  carries ; 
Bid  him  compel  him  to  his  right  use,  honour. 
And  presently  to  live  with  Anthropos. 
It  is  our  will.     Away  ! 

Merc.  I  do  obey  it. 

\_Ascend  severally  to  soft  music. 

'spells  of  pity.]  "i.e.,  spells  fitted  to  move  compassion;  and  is  a  more 
natural  and  poetical  expression  than  spells  of  piely,  which  Seward  proposes  to 
read  [j)rints]."     Mason. 

J  He]  Old  eds.  "  She  "  ;  and  so  Seward  ! 


566  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE, 


SCENE  III. — A  wild  Indian  region. 
Enter  Plutus,  ivith   a  troop    of  Indians  singing  and  dancing 
icildly  about  him,  and  bowing  to  him  ;  lohich  ended,  ew^erTiME. 

Time.  Rise,  and  away  I   'tis  Jove's  command. 

Plutus.    I  will  not  : 
You  have  some  fool  to  furnish  now  ;  some  Midas, 
That  to  no  purpose  I  must  choke  with  riches. 
Who  must  I  go  to  ? 

Time.  To  the  son  of  Earth ; 
He  wants  the  god  of  wealth. 

Plutus.  Let  him  want  still. 
I  was  too  lately  with  him,  almost  torn 
Into  ten  thousand  pieces  by  his  followers  : 
I  could  not  sleep,  but  Craft  or  Vanity 
Were  filing  off  my  fingers ;  not  eat,  for  fear 
Pleasure  would  cast  herself  into  my  belly. 
And  there  surprise  my  heart. 

Time.  These  have  forsaken  him  : 
Make  haste,  then  ;  thou  must  with  me.     Be  not  angry, 
For  fear  a  greater  anger  light  upon  thee. 

Plutus.  I  do  obey,  then  ;  but  change  ^  my  figure  ; 
For  when  I  willingly  befriend  a  creature, 
Goodly  and  full  of  glory  I  shew  to  him  ; 
But  when  I  am  compell'd,  old  and  decrepit, 
I  halt,  and  hang  upon  my  staff.— Farewell,  friends ; 
I  will  not  be  long  from  ye ;  all  my  servants 
I  leave  among  ye  still,  and  my  chief  riches. 

\^Exeunt  Indians.,  icith  a  dance. 
Oh,  Time,  what  innocence  dwells  here,  what  goodness ! 
They  know  me  not,  nor  hurt  me  not,  yet  hug  me. 
Away  !  I'll  follow  thee :  but  not  too  fast,  Time  !         [_Exeunt. 

k  but  change]  Seward  and  his  successors  print  *'  but  will  change." 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME.  507 

SCENE  IV. — A  rocky  country. 

Enter  Anthropos,  Honesty,  Simplicity,  Humility, 

and  Poverty. 

Hum.  Man,  be  not  sad  ;  nor '  let  this  divorce 
From  Mundus,  and  his  many  ways  of  pleasure, 
Afflict  thy  spirits ;  which,  considerM  rightly 
With  inward  eyes,  makes  thee  arrive  at  happy. 

Pov.  For  now  what  danger  or  deceit  can  reach  thee  ? 
What  matter  left  for  Craft  or  Covetise 
To  plot  against  thee  ?  what  Desire  to  burn  thee  ? 

Hon.  Oh,  son  of  Earth,  let  Honesty  possess  thee  ! 
Be  as  thou  wast  intended,  like  thy  Maker ; 
See  thorough  those  gaudy  shadows,  that,  like  dreams, 
Have  dwelt  upon  thee  long ;  call  up  thy  goodness, 
Thy  mind  and  man  within  thee,  that  lie  shipwrecked  ; 
And  then  how  thin  and  vain  these  fond  affections. 
How  lame  this  worldly  love,  how  lump-like,  raw, 
And  ill-digested,  all  these  vanities 
Will  shew,  let  Reason  tell  thee. 

Simpl.  Crown  thy  mind 
With  that  above  the  world's  wealth,  joyful  suffering, 
And  truly  be  the  master  of  thyself, 
Which  is  the  noblest  empire ;  and  there  stand 
The  thing  thou  wert  ordainVl  and  set  to  govern. 

Pov.   Come,    let    us    sing    the   world's    shame :     hear    us, 
Anthropos. 

Song :  after  which.,  enter  Time  and  Plutus. 
Hon.  Away  !  we  are  betray'd. 

\^Iixit  with  Simplicity  and  Humility. 
Time.  Got  thou  too  after. 
Thou  needy,  bare  companion  !  go  I'or  ever, 
For  ever,  I  conjure  thee  !  make  no  answer.      [E.tit  Poverty. 
Antli.  What  mak'st  thou  here.  Time?  thou  that  to  this 
minute 
Never  stood'st  still  by  me. 

'  710)-]  Sc\va.rd  and  tlio  Editors  of  1778  print  "  nritlior." 


568  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Time.  I  have  brought  thee  succour  ; 
And  now  catch  hold,  I  am  thine.     The  god  of  riches, 
Compeird  by  him  that  saw  thy  miseries, 
The  ever-just  and  wakeful  Jove,  at  length 
Is  come  unto  thee  ;  use  him  as  thine  own, 
For  'tis  the  doom  of  Heaven ;  he  must  obey  thee. 

Anth.  Have  I  found  pity,  then  ? 

Time.  Thou  hast,  and  justice 
Against  those  false  seducers  of  thine  honour. — 
Come,  give  him  present  helps.  \^Exit- 

Pluius.  Come,  Industry, 

[Industry  and  the  Arts  discovered. 
Thou  friend  of  life  !  and,  next  to  thee,  rise,  Labour  ! 

[Plutus  stamps,  and  Labour  rises. 
Rise  presently  :  and  now  to  your  employments  ! 
But  first  conduct  this  mortal  to  the  rock. 

\_They  carry  Anthropos  to  a  rock,  and  fall  a-digging. 
Plutus  strikes  the  rock.,  andjiamesjiy  out. 
What  see^st  thou  now  ? 

Anth.  A  glorious  mine  of  metal. — 
Oh,  Jupiter,  my  thanks  ! 

Plutus.  To  me  a  little. 

Anth.  And  to  the  god  of  wealth,  my  sacrifice  ! 

Plutus.  Nay,  then,  I  am  rewarded.     Take  heed,  now,  son. 
You  are  afloat  again,  lest  Mundus  catch  you. 

Anth.  Never  betray  me  more  ! 

Plutus.  I  must  to  India, 
From  whence  I  came,  where  my  main  wealth  lies  buried. 
And  these  must  with  me.     Take  that  hook"'  and  mattock. 
And  by  those  know  to  live  again. 

Anth.  I  shall  do. 

[Exeunt  Plutus,  Industry,  Labour,  S^-c. 

■"  hook,  <<j-c.]  Old  eds.  "book,"&c.  "Mr.  Sympson  would  read 'liook  awrf 
■mattock,'  as  the  two  emblems  of  industry  ;  but  knowledge  and  virtue  being  as 
noeessaiy  to  Anthropos  as  industi'y,  1  understand  book  as  an  emblem  of  them." 
Seward, — whose  successors,  satisfied  with  this  note,  also  retained  the  mis- 
print of  the  old  eds.  Knowledge  and  virtue,  however  necexsar;/  they  might 
be  to  Anthropos,  were  certainly  not  tiie  gifts  f)f  Plutus  :  what  liad  he  to  do 
with  books  ? 


THE   TRIUMPH  OF   TIME.  569 


Enter  Fame,  sounding. 

Fame.  Thorough  all  the  world  the  fortune  of  great  Anthropos 
Be  known,  and  wonder'd  at ;  his  riches  envied 
As  far  as  sun  or  time  is;  his  power  fear'd  too  !  \_Exit. 


Enter  Vain-Delight,  Pleasure,  Craft,  Lucre,  Vanity,  4'c. 
dancing,  and  masked,  towards  the  rock.,  offering  service  to 
Anthropos.  Mercury  from  above.  Music  heard.  One  half 
of  a  cloud  drawn,  Singers  are  discovered ;  then  the  other  half 
draicn,  Jupiter  seeii  in  glory. 

Merc.  Take  heed,  weak  man  !  those  are  the  sins  that  sunk 
thee; 
Trust  'em  no  more  ;  kneel  and  give  thanks  to  Jupiter. 

Anth.   Oh,  mighty  power ! 

Jup.  Unmask,  ye  gilded  poisons  !  — 

[Vaix-Delight,  Pleasure,  8fc.  unmask. 
Now  look  upon  'em,  son  of  Earth,  and  shame  'em ; 
Now  see  the  faces  of  thy  evil  angels  : 
Lead  'em  to  Time,  and  let  'cm  fill  his  triumph  ; 
Their  memories  be  here  forgot  for  ever  ! 

Anth.  Oh,  just,  great  god  !  how  many  lives  of  service. 
What  ages  only  given  to  thine  honour. 
What  infinites  of  vows  and  holy  prayers 
Can  pay  my  thanks  ? 

Jup.  Rise  up  :  and,  to  assure  thee 
That  never  more  thou  shalt  feel  want, —  strike,  Mercury, 
Strike  him ;  and  by  thp,t  stroke  he  shall  for  ever 
Live  in  that  rock  of  gold,  and  still  enjoy  it : 
Be't  done,  I  say  !   Now  sing  in  honour  of  him. 


VOL.     II. 


570  FOUR  PLAYS  IN  ONE. 

Song. 

Enter  the  J'riumph^^.  First.,  the  Musicians:  Mew  Vain-Delight, 
Pleasure,  Craft,  Lucre,  Vanity,  and  other  of  the  Vices:  then 
a  chariot  tcith  the  person  of  Time  sitting  hi  it,  drawn  hy  four 
persons,  representing  Hours,  singing.  [Exeunt.     Flourish. 

Email.  By  this  we  note,  sweetheart,  in  kings  and  princes 
A  weakness,  even  in  spite  of  all  their  wisdoms, 
And  often  to  be  mastered  by  abuses  ; 
Our  natures  here  describ'd  too,  and  what  humours 
Prevail  above  our  reasons  to  undo  us ; 
But  this  the  last  and  best, — when  no  friend  stands. 
The  gods  are  merciful,  and  lend  their  hands. 

\_Flourish.     Exeunt. 

"  Enter  the  Triumph,  ^c]  This  stage-direction  of  the  old  eds.  is  hardly 
correct.  It  appears  from  a  preceding  speech  of  Jupiter  that,  after  Time  has 
entered,  Anthropos  leads  up  to  hira  Vain-Delight,  Pleasure,  &c. 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF   TIME.  571 


EPILOGUE. 

Now,  as  the  husbandman,  whose  costs  and  pain, 

Whose  hopes  and  helps,  He  buried  in  his  grain, 

Waiting  a  happy  spring  to  ripen  full 

His  long\l-for  harvest  to  the  reaper^s  pull. 

Stand  we  expecting  (having  sown  our  ground 

With  so  much  charge,  the  fruitfulness  not  found) 

The  harvest  of  our  labours  ;  for  we  know 

You  are  our  spring,  and  when  you  smile,  we  grow  : 

Nor  charge  °  nor  pain  shall  bind  us  from  your  pleasures, 

So  you  but  lend  your  hands  to  fill  our  measures. 

"  charge'}  Weber  prints  "  change  "  ! 


END    OF    VOL.    II. 


LONDON: 
BIMIIBURV    AND    K.VANS,   PRINTERS,    WHIIFFBIABS. 


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PR  Beaumont,   Francis 

2A21  The  works  of  Beaumont  & 

D8  Fletcher 

18A3 

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