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THE TUDOR
TRANSLATIONS

EDITED BY

W. E. HENLEY
VI

CELESTINA

OR THE TRAGICKE-COMEDY OF

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

ENGLISHED FROM THE SPANISH
OF FERNANDO DE ROJAS BY

JAMES MABBE

ANNO 1631

With an Introduction by
JAMES FITZMAURICE- KELLY

LONDON

Published by DAVID NUTT

IN THE STRAND

1894.

Edinburgh : T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE

THIS ENGLISHING OF

A RENOWNED FORERUNNER

INTRODUCTION

PARENT source of what is called realism, The Book
the Celestina has for its most striking
characteristic a quality of perennial fresh-
ness, beside which the most of Calderdn,
howbeit a hundred and fifty years younger,
shows withered and scentless and stale.
The book, indeed, is near four centuries old, but its youth
is well-nigh unabated ; and so much will be admitted even
by those ' rigid reprehenders '' — if any there be left — whose
censure Mabbe encountered with defiance. Its vogue,
immense from the outset, is wofully diminished now ; but
its authority rather waxes than dwindles with time. ' Le
^Jruict que produict ce livre^ said the old French trans-
lator, ' pour vieillir ne perd iamais saison ' ; and he said
true. Fernando de Rojas belonged to no existing ^chpol. The Writer
nor did he found one : his distinction lies in his having
given coherency and impulse to certain tendencies which
he found scattered and inert. He brought into letters
not so much a new theory as a new inteiUigence and a
new method ; and, from simple adequacy of execution, he
endures not only as an influence but also as an artist of

vii

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

INTRO- high accomplishment. His survival is justified by the pos-
DUCTION session of qualities which do not age — as delicate analysis, m
acute observation, severe felicity of phrase. From the event
of his appearance in 1499 (if that be the real date) is to be
noted the entrance into literature of a treatment which,
despite the freaks and the eccentricities of its practitioners,
has grown continually in completeness, in serviceableness,
and in charm ; so that, from this point of view at least, his
achievement remains imperishable.

Novel or The questions of ascription and classification are hard to

^^' answer. The very form of the Celestina has varied more
than that of most. In its earliest edition, as in its second,
the thing is but sixteen scenes long. In its final shape it
consists of the twenty-one divisions here ' put into English
' cloathes ' by James Mabbe ; but at least three sixteenth-
century reprints present an additional scene for Traso and
his bezonians — discarded, probably, as the work of another
hand. Critics have argued about this matter and about :
these holding the book a novel, those a drama. But a
novel in dialogue, a novel without narrative, is almost a
contradiction in terms ; and though the length of the
Celestina makes it impossible to play, the spirit of the
dialogue, the transitions of incident, and the build of the
plot are essentially dramatic. All the same, its imitators
and its plagiaries apart, its effect is marked to far stronger
purpose in the Spanish novel than in the Spanish drama.
The work of Lope de Rueda and Juan de Timoneda is an
viii

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

exception ; but after Timoneda's time the Spanish theatre INTRO-
drew its chief inspiration from such lofty sentiments as DUCTION
honour, loyalty to the King, devotion to the Church ; and
even where it was more in touch with life, as in the case of
Moreto or the greater Tirso, its adoption of verse as the
general vehicle of expression helped to check the advance
of the Celestina's master-tendency, at least at home and for
the time. On the other hand, the book's survey of life is i
wider, its range of emotion and its intensity of passion are
ampler, than the scope of the picaresque novelist allows.
And the controversy does not end with these tithes of mint
and anise and cummin : there are weightier matters of the
law. The authorship of the first act is variously ascribed The First
to Juan de Mena, to Rodrigo Cota de Maguaque, and to -^^^

Fernando de Rojas aforesaid. In an unsigned prefatory
letter (omitted by Mabbe), the las I; named says that the
first act was attributed by some to Mena and by some
to Cota, but the remainder was written by himself; and
with this curt report he passes on. Now, Mena, Principe Juan de
de los Poetas de Castilla, holds much the same position ^"^

among the courtly makers grouped round John the Second
as Ronsard, Prince des Poetes, among the writers of
the Pleiad. With all the ingenuity and much of the extra-
vagant emphasis of the Cordovan school, his elaborate Latin-
ised style is as unlike as may be to the luminous, idiomatic
brevity of the Tragic-Comedy, which — assuredly — he would i
have banned as written in the humilde y haja lengua. The \
flaccid, pompous hyperbaton of such of his prose as remains
to us exaggerates the defects of his verse, and is still more
remote from the concentrated energy and the austere sim-
h ix

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

INTRO- plicity of Rojas. Only by a literary miracle could one
DUCTION man be master of two methods thus essentially and dia-
metrically opposed : nor would it be less marvellous that
Mena, in his endeavour to foist a set of obsolete Roman
models on his native tongue, should have hit as by a happy
accident on the terse, entirely autochthonic style of fifty
years later. He could not if he would ; and, as to do so was
to renounce his own ideals, he would not if he could. The
Rodrigo Cota claim set up for Cota is more embarrassing, partly because so
little is known of him and his writings. A converted Jew,
suspected of backsliding, he is one of three reputed authors
of the Coplas de Mingo Revulgo ; but his sole authentic
piece is the beautiful and famous Dialogo entre el Amor y un
Viejo, a lyric incomparably better than the tags of verse im-
bedded in the doubtful fragment of the Celestina; while
of prose by him on which a judgment might be formed no
jot nor tittle is extant. That he may have written this first
act is possible : that he has left nothing at all resembling it
is certain. Moreover, the work has such a unity of language
^ and design as wholly discredits the theory of divided author-
ship. Juan de Valdes, indeed, upheld that theory ; but the
weight of his name and opinion is more than balanced by
the combined authority of Wolf and Blanco White, and
of late his hypothesis has been demolished by the most
learned and the most brilliant among living experts,
Seiior Menendez y Pelayo. Last of all, it has been argued
Fernando de that Fernando de Rojas never was in the flesh. But the
Rojas Solar Myth School of criticism has had its day, and it may
be taken as positive that Rojas wrote more than three-
fourths of the Celestina ; while it is much more than pro-

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

bable, on internal evidence, that he wrote the initial act. INTRO-
Unless it be assumed that he rewrote that act, and so DUCTION
metamorphosed it as to make it entirely his own, his so-
called continuation shows an identity of conception, develop-
ment, and language unique in literary history ; for it is a fact
that no parallel to such an exploit can be found in any
other second part avowedly from a second hand. Nor need
we take too literally the man's own utterances in the con-
trary sense. His statement, that he wrote his share of the His
book during a fortnight's holiday, leaves it doubtful whether Confession
he should be held to mean the fifteen acts which follow in
the earlier form or the twenty-one of the book as we have it
now. The only existing copy of the first edition — which,
moreover, is of doubtful authenticity — lacks the title-page.
This may, or may not, have set forth a prefatory letter on
the reverse of the leaf ; but in its absence the point must be
left unsettled. It matters little : for the lesser performance
would still be incredible, even were the work the merest
improvisation, instead of being the model of condensed,
deliberate form it is.

The vague reference to Mena and to Cota was doubtless
intended as a blind ; but the trick is less baffling than dis-
creet. Indeed, the mystification is obvious : no reader could
mistake Mena's style for Cota's ; the two are poles asunder.
But though the example was not happily chosen, there was
clearly need for precaution, when such a man as Vives was to
be found denouncing the book as nequitiarum parens, career
aniorum : a work as pestilent as Amadis, or as Pope Pius the
Second's Euryalus and Lucretia! Years later the philo-
sopher revised his opinion, and, unphilosophically enough.

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

INTRO- found praise for the Celesthia's moral teaching. But, once
DUCTION started, a hue-and-cry goes on: there must always be, in
Mabbe's phrase, ' some detractors, who like dogges that barke
' by custome, will exclaime against the whole worke ' because
some part chances to be freer ' then may sute with a civill
' stile/ The hubbub helps to explain the author's silence
after his unexampled success. Unlike ^abbe, who testily
compares the cavillers to ' nothing better then the Scarabee,
' who over-flying the most fragrant flowers, chooseth rather
' to settle in a Cow-shard, then to light upon a Rose,' Rojas
paid no heed, and, his book having taken its definite form,
contented himself with amending here and there. From
His Life some prefatory acrostic verses, reproduced by a tour de force
and Circum- \^ ^^^ Italian and French versions of Orddiiez and Lavigne,
and rightly unattempted by Mabbe, it is gathered that he
was a Bachelor of Laws and a native of Montalban in the
province of Toledo. With this announcement of ' su nombre,
' su tierra, sic clara nacion^ he vanishes out of literature as
suddenly and furtively as he came into it. The old legend of
his being in orders is now disproved : thanks to Gallardo, it
is known that he became AlcaldeMayor of Salamanca, and
that he married, was the father of a family, and died at
Talavera de la Reina. He wrote no more : there was perhaps
no special reason why he should. He had given a permanent
impulse to all European literature after him, and his work
was done. Yet to this day no personality of any time
remains more interesting and more enigmatic than that of
the Spanish country lawyer who took up his pen to write a
masterpiece, and, having written it, having seen it canonised
as a classic in his own lifetime, buried himself behind his
xii

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

writs, fathered a part of his great achievement on two INTRO-
dead poets, and courted obscurity as strenuously as the DUCTION
most of men court fame.

Some touches he borrowed from Ovid's Amoi-es^ some from His Origins
the Satyrkon of Petronius ; and his ruffian Centurio springs
from the loins of the Plautine bully who served under Bum-
bomachides. A fuller suggestion of his stp^y «s- a.^iqIp
has been traced to the De Amove of an Auvergnat monk of De Amove
the tenth or twelfth century, called Pamphilus Maurjliaaus.
But the nationality, the date, the name of this clerk are all
uncertain ; and it would seem that here is the case of an
author's being confounded with one of his own personages.
In this comedy — for comedy it is — the characters of Pam-
philus, Galatea, and Anus correspond closely to those of
Calisto, Melibea, and Celestina. But if Rojas did not read
it, he may have found the germ of his story in the Libro
de Cantares of Juan Ruiz^ who names his sources with Juan Ruiz
characteristic candour : lo feo del estoria dis Panfilo e Nason :
indeed the Trota-conventos of the Arch priest of Hita,
mentioned by Parmeno in the second act, is as surely the
rough sketch of the Bawd as Don Melon de la Uerta and
Doila Endrina de Calatayud are anticipations of the lovers.
And from the Corbacho of a second learned cleric, Alfonso
Martinez de Talavera, Rojas not merely lifted some passages Martinez de
bodily but, further, conveyed the usage of popular pro- Talavera
verbs and catchwords, which he developed with a skill and
a profusion unsurpassed by Cervantes himself. But Rojas,
if he lack equally the debonair gaiety of Ruiz and the

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

INTRO- splenetic wit_jifL...^lartjnez, is^a:_jjoundercraftsmaii_^
DUCTION ^ither. Ruiz outshines him as a lyrist and in richness and

Rojas the variety of temperament, but Rojas has a rarer mastery of
Artist Y\is instrument than Ruiz, and, though he work mainly in
prose, he produces a deeper, rounder tone. A great but
unequal artist, he is better in execution and expression than
in composition and invention. He eliminates, but in such
frugal measure that there is warrant for Moratin's remark :
that you might remove every fault from the Celestina without
i adding a syllable to the text. At times the writer in him is
His Pedantry mastered by the pedant: as when Parmeno talks of 'Apuleius
' and the Asse,'' or when his fellow-varlet, Sempronio, babbles
on end of Alexander, Minerva, Virgil, and Seneca, But this
ostentation of learning is a darling vice with writers, great
and little ; and Rojas was no more free from it than Balzac.
Also, what lettered Spaniard could avoid the reference to
Seneca, and what reader would not miss it, were it away ?
What mediaeval writer could resist the mention of Virgil,
and ' how in a wicker basket hee was hung out from a Towre,
' all Rome looking upon him "* ? Melibea fortifies herself with
a host of historic instances, 'gathered and collected out
' of those ancient bookes, which for the bettering of my wit
' and understanding, you willed me to reade ' ; and Celestina
and her apprentices are scarce less copious. But these are
concessions to the pseudo-cultured taste of an age which
loved to example each digression by some weighty precedent :
• they are in no wise essential to the method of a writer whose
self-restraint is exceptional for his time. And if the man''s
learning be mostly second-hand, superficial, and popular, the
man himself had thought much and suffered more, while his
xiv

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

picture of life is given in definite and unfaltering outline
with an impersonal ease, a certainty, an amplitude which
mark the entrance of a new ideal. His prudent parsimony
of epithet^ adds greatly to his translator's difficulties, and
lends force to Mabbe's rueful avowal : ' Yet have I made it
' as naturall as our language will give leave, and have more
' beaten my braines about it in some places then a man would
' beate a Flint to get fire.' Still, Rojas never condenses to
excess, never overcharges his weapon, never tries to impose
upon words a heavier burden of meaning than they can
bear. His dialogue, compact and trenchant, contrived
I to illuminate the situation and the characters of his
[personages, follows the steady current of his story without
haste and without stay. He avoids exceptions or eccen-
tricities: his (^ntral U}eme_ls__the ejementa^^
throbs through .the_-geJieral life of man ; and, from sheer
truth of drawing, his creations pass beyond the stage of
t3^es to become individual, representative figures of all
kinds and degrees— lovers, parents, nobles, servants, bilks,
decoys. ^ U artiste doit s' arranger de fa^on a faire croire
' a la posth-ite qii'il ria pas vecu,'' says Flaubert ; and in
Rojas's case the consummation has in fact been wrought.
Still, no piece of art is so impersonal as to dissemble
utterly the cardinal features of the artist. In Rojas's pre-
sentation, workmanship apart, the dominating quahties are
sincerjtT^and creative_ppwer ; the humour is of the dry
Spanish savour ; there is little verbal wit, and there is still
less seeking after effect. The work is the product of a
mind vigorous, grave, lucid, shackled by few prejudices or
opinions, alert to impressions, stored with a large experi-

INTRO-
DUCTION

His Method
and Style

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

INTRO- ence of life and of men, their occasions, foibles, and pitfalls.

DUCTION Synthetic in its present application, but innately critical,
the writer's talent is that of a man whose gaze is firmly
fixed upon the present, whose intelligence is prompt with
checks upon imagination. Richly dowered with the sense
of the romance, the mystery, and the passion of existence,
Rojas stands apart from the buoyant hope of youth and
from the ecstasy of love : he describes and analyses from
without. As in the great Catalan poet of the generation
before his own, his tear is readier than his smile — amich de
plor € desamich de riure. Perhaps it is to this attitude of
sombre reserve that he owes that unaccountable reputation
as a moral teacher which Mabbe labours with superfluous
antithesis : ' Her life is foule, but her Precepts faire ; her
' example naught, but her Doctrine good ; her Coate ragged,
' but her mind inriched with many a golden Sentence.' All
this is beside the mark. Rojas's end is distinct : there is no '
other-worldliness in him : he is an artist, not a moralist.
He aims at giving an impression of very life, and by his

His Modern accomplishment he stands or falls. The writer nearest akin
Parallel ^^ j^jj^-^ ^^ modern literature is Guy de Maupassant. Both
are too thoroughly disillusionised to believe in men, are
too far detached to hate them ; both have the same pre-
cision of form, the same intuition of motive, the same
intellectual disdain, the same plangent note of pessimism,
the same retrospect of desires turned to regrets ; both
brood from the_jam^,,_angle upon the comedy of human
action and the tragedy of human hearts ; and as the
mechanism of each is consciously simple, so The performance
of each is, after its kind, complete.

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

If the learned be right in connecting AWs Well That INTRO-
Ends Well with Accolti's Virg'iriia, the relation between DUCTION
Rojas and Shakespeare is but once removed. In any case it
is scarce an exaggeration to say that, after the creation of
Calisto and Melibea, the appearance of Romeo and Juliet
was but a question of time. Where in the Plautine and
Terentian comedy there was appetite, where in their late
derivatives there was rank lubricity, where in the writers
who immediately preceded Rojas there were symbolism and
mystical transport, the Celestina strikes the note of rapture. His Central .
pasjion, the love of love. A famous living poet, a country- Theme
man of Rojas, has summed up the modern doctrine in two
striking lines : —

Es propio del amor^ si es verdadero^
compendiar en un ser el mundo entero.

The idea is comparatively new. Love in its later sense,
love, the most puissant of sentiments, the focus of emotion,
comes into literature, as M. Gaston Paris has shown, with
the story of Tristan and Ysolt ; and it may be claimed for
Rojas that he brought it forth from the fantastic dusk of
romance, the home of shadowy kings and queens, into that
light of common day which shines on men and women. That
he did thus much in the creation of his sad-starred lovers
were of itself enough for fame ; but his other personages are
no whit less imposing. The fine unscrupulousness, the liberal His Char-
mendacity, the splendid brag of Sempronio and Parmeno and
Centurio are given with such vivacity and truth that no picar-
esque writer has ventured to depart from the model. Elicia
and Areusa and Doll Tearsheet are worthy sisters, while
Celestina herself, the daughter of Dipsas and the mother of

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

INTRO- Macette, eclipses the creations of Ovid and Regnier by virtue
DUCTION of a power which compels conviction. Even in the conjura-
tion scene, weird almost as tlie orgy of apes in the Witch's
Kitchen, her natural quality remains constant. So pre-
eminent is she among her compeers that the original title of
the Tragic-Comedy of Calisto and Melibea has been sup-
planted by the name of the great wise Bawd. Last of all,
His Art the writer's craft is on a level with his material. His note
is reticence : the fire in him throws off few sparks ; there is
little waste, there is no sort of love of the conceit for its own
sake. As befits him who may be styled the father of his
country''s prose, his passion is centred rather on the capture
of the just expression, the exact shade, the inevitable word.
Master of his means, equal to any stress, he superseded the
unreflecting profusion of Ruiz by an art no longer local, no
longer even national, but universal. He cannot, perhaps,
be called a great man of letters : his credentials are too
few. But he is a commanding literary figure. He comes
before the world, not of his own seeking, but reluctantly
and coyly, a single small book in his hand. But that small
book is a study of the tragi- comedy of human life — its
heats and agues, its strength and weakness, its exaltation
and despair : it is instinct with observation and with art ;
and, as its interest is permanent, so its influence has proved
more fertilising than that of not a little greater work.

James Mabbe In the diffusion of its lesson of loyalty to truth, to life
and to distinction of form, no man, in the measure given to
a translator, has played a braver part than its admiring

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

lover, Don Diego Puede-Ser. Much of the vigour, the INTRO-

passion, the fire of Rojas, much of the gravitas et probitas DUCTION

which stirred Earth's transports, is successfully transfused

in his copy ; and if its colours be not in all respects the

same as his originaFs, they are of uncommon brilliancy and

beauty. The ideal translator of a masterpiece must be of

the same mould and of well-nigh the same metal as his

original. In default of this supreme endowment, it may be

said of Mabbe that he possessed the main qualification upon

which Dryden insisted : ' a mastery of the language he Credentials

' translates out of and that he translates into.' ' A trans-

' lator,' says Glorious John, ' that would write with any force

' or spirit of an original, must never dwell on the words of his

' author. He ought to possess himself entirely, and perfectly

' comprehend the genius and sense of his author, the nature

' of the subject, and the terms of the art or subject treated

' of; and then he will express himself as justly, and with as

' much life, as if he wrote an original ; whereas, he who copies

' word for word, loses all the spirit in the tedious transfusion.'

Mabbe would seem to have anticipated this canon. As a

translator he holds a most distinguished place ; and in the

present instance his triumph is the greater since his manner

and the manner of Rojas are parasangs apart. Judging from

his prefaces, Mabbe's style was deeply tinged with both culter-

anismo and conceptismo : tendencies, or, if you will, defects,

most incident in a student of contemporary Spanish letters. Differences

Nor was the magnificent Armado himself more charmed with

' ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antique, or firework.'

His love of the 'congruent epitheton' breaks out in his eulogy

on his text, wherein, as he pledges himself, ' you shall find

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

INTRO- ' Sentences worthy to be written, not in fragile paper, but in
DUCTION ' Cedar, or lasting Cypresse, not with the quill of a Goose, but
' the feather of a Phoenix ; not with inke, but Balsalmum ;
' not with letters of a blacke tincture, but with Characters of
' Gold and Azure ; and deserving to be read, not only of a
' lascivious Clodius, or effeminate Sardanapalus, but of the
' gravest Cato or severest Stoick." Not Guevara, not Gdngora
Euphuism himself, could better it ! For an interpreter of Rojas, the
omen is disquieting; but Mabbe, dear as the effort must
have cost him, strove manfully to follow Sempronio's counsel
as to style. ' Leave off these circumlocutions ; leave off
' these poeticall fictions," is easily said ; but if he never quite
mastered the lesson, it was simply that his temperament was
too strong for him. His conscience is in his work ; and,
when he turns to his author, his metaphors sit shy, and
much of his bizarre cultilatiniparla disappears. And if his
self-effacement be not absolute, he yet approves himself a
master in his art by fastening on the salient points of his
original, by distilling from it the essential secret of its mean-
ing, and by rendering the close construction of a Spanish
phrase through some happy ' quillet or quirke ' of his
own devising. He rarely blunders ; still more rarely are his
blunders bad ; at the worst, he is guilty rather of perversity
than of defective scholarship. Partly from an invincible
Scruples foppery, partly from sectarian scruples more or less respect-
able, he constantly puts a pseudo-classical gloss on the
simplest phrase. Where Rojas writes '^Por cierto los gloriosos
' sanctos que se deleitan en la vision divina^ Mabbe turns it by
' Certainly, if sublunary bodies can give a celestiall reflection or
' resemblance.'' Again, where the Spaniard speaks of 'estaciones,

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

' procesiones de noche, misas del g-allo, misas del alba y otras INTRO-
' secretas devociones^ the Englishman awkwardly paraphrases DUCTION
him into ' Their most mysterious celebration of the feasts of
' their Vesta, nay, and that most strictly solemnized day of
' Bona Dea, where it is death to admit men/ Rojas makes
Celestina beg for Melibea's girdle, which has touched the
relics at Rome and at Jerusalem : whereby Mabbe is pro-
voked to ramble into mythology, and to travesty the
passage into ' That same admirable girdle of yours, which is
' reputed to have beene found and brought from Cumag the
' Cave there, and was worne, 'tis thought, by the Sibilla, or
' Prophetesse of that place/ With the same narrow consis-
tency, he will convert a visit to Saint Mary Magdalen's
church into ' My wonted retirement to the Mirtle-grove,' an
Abbot into a ' Flamin,' nuns into ' Vestalls,' a saint into
' Venus Sonne,' sober ano Dios into ' Cupid.' Nay : with a Whimsies
stroke of the pen he transforms you Guadalupe from a place
to a person ! His consistency, moreover, is purely superficial.
If he drew the line at admitting the existence of saints,
relics, monks, and nuns, it might pass as an amusing pre-
judice ; as it is, the line is not drawn straight, or, at least, is
drawn so capriciously that a reference to ' that fat Fryers
' wench ' is rendered with all the precisian's sourness. (It is
diverting to find that in the hands of Rojas's French trans-
lator, whose pious scruples work from the opposite pole, the
fat friar becomes a bon officier.) These and a score of such
passages Mabbe misconstrues, not from carelessness but
from conscientious motives. Such rigid orthodoxy, ob-
jectionable only inasmuch as it destroys the atmosphere of
the original, is the more surprising in one who, two years

xxi

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

INTRO- earlier, in his version of Fonseca's Sermoiies de Qua?'esma,
DUCTION had lulled his reader's qualms with the assurance that ' there
' is not so great a distance between Hierusalem and Samaria,
' as some imagine."

In transplanting a proverb or resolving an idiom, Mabbe
seldom stumbles. Such renderings as 'These papers with
' all ages ** for Estos j)(^P^^^s con todas las edades, or, ' This
'foole is fallen into his thirteenes"* for En sus trece esta
este necio, are the exception with him ; just as such mis-
translations as 'needles' for aguijones and 'injuries' for
injurias are simple oversights. Still more seldom is the
nuance lost; as where a varonil, a 'lusty' wench, is set
down as ' manly.' At times a droll social distinction in-
trudes itself: the expression mala landre te mate, uttered
by Elicia and Celestina, is given with a violent crudity
which forbids quotation, but in the mouth of a great
lady like Melibea's mother, it is refined demurely into
Simplicity ' beshrew thy fingers.' But with all his love for vehement
antithesis and grandiose rhetoric, Mabbe never shrinks
from homeliness if it but lend a glint of colour to his
prose. He will as lief write 'treacle' as balm, nor will
he shrink from saying ' Our solace is in the suds.' On
occasion he will overstep the bounds of mere quaintness and
will plunge into the banal and the grotesque : as in ' To fry
' in the liveliest flames of love.' A like lack of humour follows
him when he allows Melibea to lament ' that powerful love
' of that late deceased gentleman.' Again, in transcribing
the heroine's wail over ' the onely Patterne and Paragon of
' courtesie, of gallant inventions, of witty devices,' the nixie
of interpreters drives him to add, as a translation of the
xxii

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

words, de atavios y hordaduras, the stupefying anticlimax * of INTRO -
' neatnesse and decency in his cloathes.' As an example of DUCTION
his oddity of expression, his Melibea ' hurling and rowling
' her eyes on every side ' will serve. Of coining words he is Vocabulary
more chary : perhaps because his author's own sobriety in the
matter gives him few openings, ' Pompeans,"" ' retchles,'' and
' Fistick-nuts ' are no doubt printers' variants ; Sempronio's
determination to forbear till Calisto's 'angry fit be over-
' past, and that his hat be come again to his colour"" may
perhaps be explained in the same way ; but ' Copes-mates '
and ' similiancy ' are possibly inventions. Exquisitely sus-
ceptible to the rhythm of prose, in his verse Mabbe scarce
troubles to distinguish assonant from rhyme. Rojas's songs
have a certain mannered note of simplicity which has won
them a place in the anthologies ; and like most good things
they are better in their context than out of it. But they
clearly failed to interest Mabbe, who, with dogged adherence
to the Spanish, rhymes 'colours' with 'odours' as equi-
valents for colores and odores.

The gravest objection which can be taken to Mabbe's
version does not concern his delightful bizarreries so much
as his dilution of his original's concentration. It is very
doubtful if this could have been avoided at any time ; but,
however this be, the exuberance of Mabbe himself, and of
Mabbe's epoch, made it inevitable. In amplifying, he is
not shirking a difficulty : he is conforming, not only to his
personal standard but, to the taste of the Elizabethans,
Jacobites, and Carolines, to whom the Spaniard's unadorned
directness must have seemed bald. It is to Mabbe's credit
that he withstood so stoutly as he did the strong tempta-

A Chief
Defect

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

INTRO- tion which he had to deform his text with arabesques,
DUCTION and to stifle it in wreaths. As it is, his virtue cannot be
pressed too far : he is constantly expanding, now on com-
pulsion and now from choice. Where Rojas writes the two
words ' Convidan^ despiden^'' Mabbe uses two dozen, and beats
the ore into the thinnest leaf : ' They will give you rost-
' meate, and beate you with the spit. They will invite you
' unto them, and presently send you packing with a flea in
' your eare.' Again, where the original gives ' A?ida, pase^
Mabbe translates : ' Well, let the world slide, and things be
' as they may be, when they cannot be as they should be.'
At whiles tha redundancy becomes fanfaronade. Celestina,
speaking of fate, says simply, 'wo rne sera contraria'' : but
Mabbe — in the very spirit of the tenor who adds a long
roulade to the coda, not because it is fitting, but because
he wants to show off* his technique — spins out her utter-
ance into ' It cannot but goe well with us ; it is impos-
' sible wee should misse of our purpose ; All is Cock-sure."
Pleonasms A kindred fault is his tendency to pleonasm. In such
parisonic combinations as ' thy disdainnesse, thy pleasing coy-
' nesse,' ' affiance and confidence,' ' curses and maledictions,'
' diminished and lessened,' ' lessen and mitigate,' ' force and
' strength,' though a distinction of some subtlety may be
established between each member, the general effect is to sacri-
fice the intensity of the original to the caprice of a virtuoso.
In some instances the expansion degenerates into interpola-
tion bordering desperately near the ludicrous. ' Yo no se nada
* de mi arte^ vsrites Rojas ; and Mabbe, after translating cor-
rectly by, ' I am no body in this my Art,' adds cheerfully, ' a
' meere bungler, an Idiot, an Asse.' Celestina's declaration that

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

'Every strong sent is good: as Penny-royall, Rue, Worme- INTRO-

' wood, smoake of Partridge, of Rosemary,"" is completed DUCTION

by a prescription of Mabbe's own — 'of the Soles of old

' shooes.' Equally whimsical, though much more infrequent. Ellipses

are his ellipses. Where Rojas speaks of ' un torzal para

' el bonete,' Mabbe drily sets down ' a hat "" ; ^los devotos

' de femplos, monasterios^ iglesias,'' shrivels into ' your penny-

' fathers ' ; and the details of ' con todos cumple, y a todos

' muestra huena cara, y todos piensan que son muy queridos,

' y cada uno piensa que no hay otro, y que el solo es el

' privado, y el solo es el que le da lo qu£ ha menester^ are

curtly dismissed as 'and yet hath given good satisfaction

' to them all.'

But Mabbe can better afford than most translators to have
his shortcomings microscopised ; and when all that man can
do in the way of carping has been done, his slips remain
astonishingly few and unimportant. His understanding is
as clear as his utterance is happy. The fine simplicity, the Distinction of
rhythm and the music of his version are pregnant with otyle
the amplitude and the urbanity which stamp the prose of
the heroic age. No man excels him as a writer of direct
description ; no man has an ear more subtly attuned to the
ripple and the cadence of a phrase : ' Looke on the Moone,'
he writes, ' and see how bright shee shines upon us : looke on
' the Cloudes, and see how speedily they racke away : barken
' to the gurgling waters of this fountaine : how sweet a
' murmure, and what a pretty kind of purling they make,
' rushing along these fresh herbes, and pleasant flowres :
' barken to these high Cypresses, how one bough makes peace
' with another by the intercession of a milde, gentle, and

d XXV

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

INTRO- ' temperate wind, which moves them to and fro/ It would
DUCTION }jQ impossible to convey with loftier distinction and rarer
Loyalty to precision the subdued melody of the original ; and the
his Original achievement might be matched from page on page. Mabbe
had grasped, indeed, the essential principle of translation :
that a translator''s chief duty is to translate. So far as the
Celestina was concerned, the examples he may have had
before him were mostly bad, and there were plausible reasons
for following them. Lavardin, the best known of the
French translators, plumes himself on his impertinent im-
provements : ' Le repurgeant en plusieurs endroicts scandal-
' eux,^ he says, ' qui pouvoient offenser les religieuses oreilles,
' et y adioustant du mien en plusieurs endroicts qui me
' semhloient manques.'' Mabbe has a higher and a juster view
of his office. Apart from omissions made on principle, his
respect for the substance of his original is complete. He is
singularly free from the vanity which leads the translator to
imagine that he knows an author"'s intention better than
that author himself. With Puritanism rising everywhere
round him, it would not have been strange had he tampered
with Rojas's natural candour ; yet he stands staunchly by
his text, nor suffers himself to be dismayed by any ' Criticall
' companions, being of a depraved disposition, and apt in
' themselves to be evill.' His adoption of the pseudonym of
Don Diego Diego Puede-Ser may look like a concession to vulgar pre-
1 uede-Ser judice, a desire to avoid open responsibility; and it is
probably true that he had no very special vocation for
martyrdom. The fact, however, is that he had taken the
name eiglit years before, and its transparency left his
identity an open secret. His Spanish apodo would come to

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

him recommended by its own conceit, for a conceit was INTRO-

always infinitely attractive to his mind. As in his preface DUCTION

he talks of ' unsavory meates mended by their own sauces,'

and hastens to add, ' I am too saucie in my desire,' so his

delight in a quip is irrepressible in his text : ' Why

' what,' says his Parmeno, ' were all the joy I now injoy, did

' I not injoy her ?' Again and again his respect for Rojas's

meaning is helped out by gusts of fine fearlessness, triumph- His Victories

ant in the result. ' La cruda y rigurosa muestra de aquel

' gesto angelico ' is admirably turned by 'that cruell and sterne

' looke of that impious face ' : yet one can imagine the horror

of the stickler for exact scholarship, spoon-fed from Percival

and dandled by Minsheu, on seeing angelico construed

' impious.' In this way, time upon time, Mabbe equals, and

even outshines, his text. The movement and sound of

Elizabethan speech ring back from line on line. ' Cudl fat

' tan cojitrario acontescimiento?'' writes Rojas; and 'What

' contrarious accident,' Mabbe echoes him, ' what squint-ey'd

' starre .? ' His verbal resource, his opulence of epithet, his

variety, his capacity for reproducing the effect of his original

by the simplest means, may be judged from such a passage

as that where ' rmcon de mi secreto y consejo y dnima mia ' is

delivered as ' Thou that art the Clozet of my secrets, the

' Cabinet of my Counsell, and Councell of my soule,' His

faults themselves are turned to virtues when his hyperbole

answers to his call : as when the commonplace ^Increihle cosa

prometes'' becomes 'Thou speakest of Matters beyond the

' Moone.' In both the severer and the lighter vein he is ever

prompt with a word of happy rarity. Thus, in his hands a

jerkin grows glorious as a ' Mandillion ' ; thus where Rojas,

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

INTRO- describing a servant's lot, writes, ' Y tras esto mil chapinazoSy
DUCTION 'Besides all this/ Mabbe tells you, 'her pantofles shall
*' walke about her eares a thousand times a day ' ; and thus
you shall hear him talk of 'that great Captaine Vlysses'
who strove 'to shunne the Trojane warre, that he might lie
' dulcing at home with his wife Penelope." He delights in
his list of ' lustrifications, clarifications, pargetings, fardings,
' waters for the morphewes, and a thousand other slibber
' slabbers' — in his mysterious catalogues 'of Axenuz or Melan-
' thion, of Lupines, of Pease, of Carilla and Paxarera.' Long
His Delight as the Celestina is, he never wearies of it, never flags like the
in his Work common hack. To the end he still esteems it, in his own
words, ' as Gold, amongst metalls ; as the Carbuncle amongst
' stones ; as the Rose amongst flowers ; as the Palme amongst
' trees ; as the Eagle amongst Birds ; and as the Siuine
' amongst inferior Lights.' To the end he does his part by
keeping an almost unbroken level of adequate and numerous
prose. The passages of declamatory eloquence show him at
his best and stateliest, his solemn music lending dignity to
the commonplaces of death : ' There is not any thing that
' flyes so swift, as the life of man : Death still followes us,
' and hedges us in on every side ; whereunto we our selves
' now draw nigh. Wee are now (according to the course of
' nature) to be shortly under his banner ; this wee may plainely
' perceive if wee will but behold our equals, our brethren and
' our kinsfolke round about us ; the grave hath devoured
' them all ; they are all brought to their last home. . . . Let
' us therefore prepare our selves, and packe up our fardles,
' for to goe this inforced journey which cannot be avoyded.
' Let not that cruell and dolefull sounding trumpet of death,

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

* summon us away on the sudden and unprovided.' In such INTRO-
flights, where no differences of temperament separate the DUCTION
translator from his author, Mabbe recaptures and almost
overtops the force and dignity of the original. His identi-
fication with the I. M. of the First Folio of Shakespeare is Mabbe and
conjectural; though the conjecture carried conviction with Shakespeare
it to Dyce's mind. Still, were it proved that he did not
write the verses attributed to him by Bolton Corney — ' Wee
' wondred (Shake-spere) that thou wenfst so soon ' — his
intimacy with Shakespeare would be suggested by the marked
influence of the melody of Shakespeare's prose on his own
at its highest level.

According to Wood, Mabbe came ' of genteel parents in His Life
* the county of Surrey and diocese of Winchester."* His
father, James Mabbe, was the son of John Mabbe, a jeweller
who carried on business in Goldsmiths' Row until the eve of
his appointment as Chamberlain of London in 1577. Born
in 1572, the younger James Mabbe (the name is also written
Mab and Mabb) matriculated at Magdalen in the Lent term
of 1586-7, was elected to a Fellowship in 1594, and served
the usual round of college offices. In 1605 he is found
speaking 'an eloquent oration' before Henry, Prince of
Wales, on the occasion of the Prince's matriculation at
Magdalen, when 'the gates and walls were covered with
' verses.' Four years later he begged the congregation of
regents to admit him to the degree of Bachelor of Civil
Law ; ' but whether he was really admitted, it appears not.'

xxix

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

INTRO- In 1611 he was attached as Secretary to the Spanish embassy
DUCTION of Sir John Digby, afterwards Earl of Bristol ; and, on his
return to England, some two years later, he became a Lay
Prebendary of Wells. As late as 1630 he was Bursar of Mag-
dalen for the sixth time ; but three years after that he seems
to have left Oxford and to have settled with the family of
his friend, Sir John Strangwayes, at Abbotsbury in Dorset-
shire, and here he is thought to have died, and to have been
buried about the year 1642. He left the reputation of 'a
' learned man, good orator and a facetious conceited wit.'
On Wood's authority, — ' being then in orders,' he says in con-
nection with the Wells appointment, — Mabbe is thought to
have been a clergyman ; but a Lay Prebendary, who is also
a priest, is something of a monster, and it seems possible
that the word ' not ' has dropped out of Wood's description.
His Prebend What is known is that Mabbe was Prebendary of Wanstrow,
near Frome, in 1613 ; that at the visitation of Bishop
Montague to Wells Cathedral in July 1615, opposite the
name of ^Jacobus Mabh artium magister prehendarius de
' Wanstrow^ the clerk has written the word dispensatus ;
that on December 11, 1638, Mabbe resigned his 'canonical
' house' to Roger Wood; and that on December 7, 1642,
Anthony Madox was instituted to the Wanstrow prebend in
his room. This agrees with the accomit of him which was
given to Wood — evidently by Colonel Giles Strangwayes ;
His Death but the date of his death cannot be more exactly determined,
inasmuch as at Abbotsbury, for the years 1637-1666, the
parish registers have been destroyed, while the cathedral
records at Wells are blank from 1641 to 1660. The
absence of any record of his institution to his prebend

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

is, so far as it goes, against the theory of his being in INTRO-
orders.i DUCTION

His earliest pubhshed writing is a copy of Latin verses
prefixed to Florio's Italian dictionary, called Queen Anna's
Nexo World of Words, issued in 1611, and here his ancient
love of a conceit is shown by his anagramatising ' Joannes
' Florio ' into ori fons alieno. His visit to Spain gave him
a new source of interest in Spanish literature : an interest
which was stimulated by his friendship with Leonard Digges His Literary
of University College, an Oxford man, ' highly esteemed as a Friendships
' perfect understander of the French and Spanish,' and now
best remembered for his version of the once popular Gerardo
of Cespedes y Meneses. With Digges he would seem to
have contributed eulogistic verses to the First Folio of
Shakespeare in 1623. In a surviving manuscript entitled
Observations Touching some of the more solemne Tymes and
Jestivall Dayes of the yeare, dated December 1626, ' From
' my chamber at St. Mary Magdalen College,' ' I dare
' promise you,' he says, addressing his ' worthy frend, Mr.
' Jhon Browne,' ' that this hand of myne, hath beene so
' carefuU in the Limning of this little peece, that there is
' very little odds betwixt the Originall, and yt.' The same
pleasant note of self-complacency is struck in his Spanish
preface to The Rogue : ' El picaro esta trasladado. Plega
' a Dios, que de mi mano no sea mal tratado. Traducido,
' si ; Si traslucido bien esta.'' In his introduction to the
Celestina he seems for the first time wanting in self-confi-

1 For help in verifying these details I have to thank the Earl of Ilchester,
Canon Church of Wells, and the Rev. W. D. Macray, Fellow of Magdalen
College.

xxxi

INTRO-
DUCTION

His Achieve-
ment

Cervantes

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

dence : ' nor am I any wliit ashamed that any worke of
' mine should not be absolutely perfect." If he piqued him-
self on his performance, he had good reason ; and if he knew
his powers, he also recognised his limitations. He never
attempted original work, but went on thriving on the results
of his one great expedition. The taste for Spanish mira-
bolanes never left him. Besides the Celestina, the third in
order of his printed versions, he translated Guzman de
Alfarache in 1623, under the title of The Rogue ; six years
later he gave in English the Augustinian Fray Cristobal de
Fonseca's Devout Contemplations Expressed In Two and
Fortie Sermons upon all y^ Quadragesimall Gospels ; and in
1640 he published a rendering of Cervantes' Exemplarie
Novells, eulogised by Godwin as ' the best translation in the
' English language.' Short of Godwin's superlatives, the
work undoubtedly deserves the highest praise ; yet, as it
happens, Mabbe's dealings with Cervantes are unlucky. No
translation of the Novelas Ejeviplares can be satisfactory
which omits such masterpieces in their kind as Rinconete y
CortadiUo, El Licenciado Vidriera, El Casamiento EnganosOy
and El Coloquio de los Perros. A still worse omission than
that of Cervantes' six best novels is that Mabbe in his
preface tells us nothing of Cervantes himself. He would
seem to have lived in Madrid for at least two years without
setting eyes on the immortal whom he styles 'one of the
' prime Wits of Spaine for his rare Fancies and wittie
' Inventions.' The curiosity of the French embassy as to all
that concerned the famous writer and hero is historic ; and
Mabbe's friend, Ben Jonson, in The Silent Woman and
elsewhere, shows that the interest extended to England.
xxxii

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

But the Secretary of the English Envoy is blind and deaf in INTRO-

Spain, or in England he is dumb and dull. On the other DUCTION

hand, from internal evidence, we sliould never know that

Mabbe had visited Spain. He was reserved in all that His Reticence

touches himself. His friendships can be divined only from

his dedications, and from the names of those who wrote

him laudatory verses ; and with the exception of the

Celestina, all his publications are dedicated to some member

of the Strangwayes family.

The popularity of the Celestina is shown by the number The Celestina :
of editions in the original, and of translations in divers its -Enemies
, . 1 ,M ^T- -11 • -, ^^^ Friends

tongues. A great thinker like Vives might denounce it and

repent ; the Inquisition might frown on it ; a charlatan like
Cornelius Agrippa might join the hue-and-cry ; Vanegas
de Busto might jape and dub it the Scelestina. But at
home and abroad its reputation grew until it rivalled the
Decamerone in favour. Whole pages of a catalogue might be
filled to overflowing with the names of stage arrangements,
versified versions, continuations — a Second, a Third, perhaps
a Fourth, Celestina — the work of Sedeno, Urrea, Silva, a host
more. Sancho Muiion's Lisandro y Roselia^ one of the rarest
of books, is one of the best among imitations. Lope de Vega
condescended to exploit the Bawd in his Dorotea. Its
partisans did not lack courage. Urrea publicly dedicated
his fine version of the first act to his mother ; and Ordonez,
boldly signing himself ' Familiare della sanctita di nostra

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

INTRO- ' signore iullo papa secondo^ did the whole book into Italian
DUCTION at the request of a great lady, ' Madonna gentile^ Feltria di
Campo Fregoso. Clement Marot, as good a security as
Bardolph, ironically goes bail for it : —

Or Qa, le livre de Flammette^
Formosum pastor, Celestine,
Tout cela est bonne doctrine
Et n'y a rien de deffendu.

Huuado
de Mendoza

Some

Foreign

Translators

Robert
Burton

The famous soldier and diplomatist, Hurtado de Mendoza,
journeying as Ambassador to Rome, cut down his tra-
velling library to two books — the Amadis and the
Celesthia. Bonaventure des Periers, in the sixteenth
tale of the Nouvelles Recreations et Joyeiix Devis, completes
the list of his young Parisian's accomplishments by adding :
'' Et avec cela il avoit leu Bocace et Celestine.'' The best
known of the French versions is that made from the Italian
by the Tourangeau Jacques de liavardin, Sieur du Plessis-
Bourrot ; and it seems certain that when Mabbe was in
difficulties he consulted Lavardin. Dutch and German
renderings were followed by Kaspar Earth's excellent
Latin translation, Pornohoscodidascalus Latiiius, issued
with prolegomena, commentaries, all the bedizenments
of a Greek tragedy. ' Liber plane divinus^ says Barth
enthusiastically : unconsciously echoing the ' Lihro en mi
' opinion divi'' — the phrase wherein Cervantes records his
verdict in the clipped verses which precede Do?i Quixote.
Robert Burton was plainly a fervent admirer, but though
it is hard to believe that he was ignorant of Spanish, he
seems to have read the Celestina in Latin only : he quotes it
xxxiv

Carnifices
Anglici

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

for the first time in his third edition, issued in 1628, four INTRO-
years after the publication of Barth. Clearly there was DUCTION
need for an Englishing of the book. As far back, probably,
as 1530 a versified English adaptation of the Celestina was
anonymously published ' with a morall conclusion and

* exhortacyon to vertew.'' This wretched and lying piece of
work fell dead on the town, and, like the first edition of the
Spanish original, is believed to survive in one sole copy.
On October 5, 1598, William Aspley of ' the Tigers Head in
' Saint Paul's Church-yard, afterward at the Parrat,"" took out
a licence to print ' a book intituled The Tragicke Comedye
' of Celestina.'' But it was never issued, and no more is
heard of the book until February 27, 1630, when the fol-
lowing record was made in the Register of the Stationers'"
Company under the name of ' Ralph Mabb,' our translator's
brother : ' Entred of his copie under the handes of Sir Henry

* Herbert and Master Purfoote, A play Called The Spannish

* Bawde vj'V In 1707 a dramatic arrangement in five
acts, filched from Mabbe by John Savage, was published
and forgotten. In the same year Captain John Stevens, a
famous pirate and botcher of other men's work, did his worst
in a compilation called The Spanish Libertines. And as late
as fifty years ago Germond de Lavigne and Eduard von
Billow issued new translations, the one in French, the other
in German, faithful and inglorious both. Published in
1631, Mabbe's work appeared at an unlucky moment. It
was not that the king sought any more to ' put a hook in
' the nostrils of Spain ' : it was that the public interest had
turned from letters to internal politics. As Emaucc et
Camees almost perished in the crisis of the Coup d'Etdt, so

XXXV

Mabbe's 111
Hap

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

INTRO- Mabbe's venture — a most comely folio — fomidered in the
DUCTION storm of the Civil War ; and in 1634 the remainder copies
were bound up with a third edition of The Rogue. He
must have thought it worthy of a happier fate ; and pos-
terity has ruled with him. J. F.-K.

THE SPANISH BAWD

REPRESENTED IN

CELESTINA

OR, THE TRAGICKE-COMEDY OF

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

WHEREIN IS CONTAINED, BESIDES THE
PLEASANTNESSE AND SWEETENESSE OF
THE STILE, MANY PHILOSOPHICALL
SENTENCES, AND PROFITABLE INSTRUC-
TIONS NECESSARY FOR THE YOUNGER
SORT : SHEWING THE DECEITS AND
SUBTILTIES HOUSED IN THE BOSOMES
OF FALSE SERVANTS
AND CUNNY-CATCHING BAWDS

1631

To my worthy and much esteemed friend
SIR THOMAS RICHARDSON

KNIGHT.

IR, I now send you your long since
promised Celestina, put into
EngUsh cloathes ; I shall intreate
you to give her a friendly welcome,
because she is a stranger, and come
purposely out of Spaine into these
parts, to see you, and kisse your hands. I would
not accompany her with my letters of recommen-
dation, whereby she might finde the better recep-
tion. For, I must ingeniously confesse, that this
your Celestina is not sine scelere ; yet must I tell
you withall, that she cannot be harboured with
you, sine utilitate. Her life is foule, but her Pre-
cepts faire ; her example naught, but her Doctrine
good ; her Coate ragged, but her mind inriched
with many a golden Sentence : And therefore
take her not as she seemes, but as she is ; and
the rather, because blacke sheepe have as good
Carcasses as white. You shall finde this booke to

THE
EPISTLE
DEDICA-
TORY

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

be like a Court-lack, which though it be blacke,
yet holds as good liquor as your fairest Flagon
of silver or like the Rod that Brutus offred
to Apollo, which was rough and knottie with-
out, but within, all of furbusht gold. The barke
is bad, but the tree good.

Vouchsafe then (gentle Sir) to take a little of
this coorse and sowre bread ; it may be, your
stomack being glutted with more delicate Gates,
may take some pleasure to restore your appetite
with this homely, though not altogether unsavoury
food. It is good plaine houshold-bread, honest
messeline ; there is a great deale of Rye in it, but
the most part of it is pure Wheate.

Our Author is but short, yet pithy : not so full
of words as sense ; each other line, being a Sen-
tence ; unlike to many of your other Writers,
who either with the luxury of their phrases, or
superfluity of figures, or superabundancie of orna-
ments, or other affected guildings of Rhetorick,
like undiscreet Cookes, make their meats either too
sweet, or too tarte, too salt, or too full of pepper ;
whence it hapneth, that like greedy Husbandmen,
by inlarging their hand in sowing, they make the
harvest thin and barren. It is not as many of your
Pamphlets be, like a tree without sap ; a bough
without fruit ; a nut without a kernell ; flesh with-

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

out bones ; bones without marrow ; prickles with- the

T<'PTST'T F

out a Rose ; waxe without honey ; straw without j^edica-
wheate ; sulfure without Gold ; or shels without TORY
pearle. But you shall find Sentences worthy to be
written, not in fragile paper, but in Cedar, or last-
ing Cypresse, not with the quill of a Goose, but
the feather of a Phoenix ; not with inke, but
Balsalmum ; not with letters of a blacke tincture,
but with Characters of Gold and Azure ; and de-
serving to be read, not only of a lascivious Clodius,
or effeminate Sardanapalus, but of the gravest
Cato, or severest Stoick.

All which, though I know to be true, yet doubt
I not, but it will meete with some detractors, who
like dogges that barke by custome, will exclaime
against the whole worke, because some part of it
seemeth somewhat more obscene, then may sute
with a civill stile : which as I do not deny ; so
sithence it is written reprehensively, and not
instructively, I see no reason why they should
more abstaine from reading a great deale of good,
because they must picke it out of that which is
bad ; then they should refuse Pearle, because it is
fisht for in a froathy sea ; or contemne Gold, be-
cause it is drawn from a dirty myne ; or hate honey,
because it is hived in straw ; or loath silke, because
it is lapt in soultage. Which kinde of men I can

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liken to none better, then those of whom Plutarke
complainth, who are of so nice a delicacie, that
they will not drinke a wholesome potion, unlesse
it be given them in a Golden cup, nor weare a
winter garment unlesse it bee woven of Athenian
woolL

The LacedEemonians, who were as strict livers,
and as great lovers of vertue, as any Nation what-
soever, would make benefit even out of vices. But
these Criticall companions, being of a depraved
disposition, and apt in themselves to be evill, I can
compare to nothing better, then the Scarabee, who
over-flying the most fragrant flowers, chooseth
rather to settle in a Cow-shard, then to light upon
a Rose : or Noahs Crow, which flew forth of the
Arke, and preying upon carrion, returned no more.
Howsoever therfore these rigid reprehenders will
not sticke to say of Celestina, that she is like a
Crow amongst so many Swans ; like a Grashopper
amongst so many Nightingales ; or like a Paper-
blurrer amongst so many famous Writers ; yet they
that are learned in her language, have esteemed it
(in comparison of others) as Gold, amongst metalls ;
as the Carbuncle amongst stones ; as the Hose
amongst flowers ; as the Palme amongst trees ; as
the Eagle amongst Birds ; and as the Sunne
amongst inferior Lights ; In a word, as the choisest

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

and chiefest. But as the light of that great Planet
doth hurt sore eies, and comfort those that are
sound of sight : So the reading of Celestina, to
those that are prophane, is as poyson to their
hearts ; but to the chaste, and honest minde, a
preservative against such inconveniences as occurre
in the world.

And for mine owne part, I am of opinion that
Writers may as well be borne withall, as Painters,
who now and then paint those actions that are
absurd. As Timomachus painted Medea kiUing
her children ; Orestes, murthering his mother
Theo, and Parrhasius ; Ulysses counterfaited mad-
nes, and Cherephanes, the immodest imbracements
of women with men. Which the Spectators behold-
ing, doe not laudare 7^em, sed art em ; not commend
the matter which is exprest in the imitation, but
the Art and skill of the workeman, which hath so
lively represented what is proposed. In like sort,
when wee reade the filthy actions of whores, their
wicked conditions, and beastly behaviour, wee are
neither to approve them as good, nor to imbrace
them as honest, but to commend the Authors
judgement in expressing his Argument so fit and
pat to their dispositions.

Nor doe I see any more reason, why a man
should prove a Villaine by reading of other mens

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villanies, then a man should grow hard-favored,
by looking TMrsites in the face, or a foole, for view-
ing Will Summers picture : But might rather grow
as the Lacedaemonians did by their slaves drunken-
nesse, to a detestation of so foule a sinne. When
therefore thou shalt reade of Celestina, as of a
notorious Bawd ; of Sempronio and Parmeno, as
of false servants ; of Elicia and Areusa, as of cun-
ning queanes and profest whores ; of Centurio, as
of a swaggring Ruffian, and common whoremaster;
of Calisto and JNIelibea, as of undiscreet and foolish
Lovers. And so in the rest, learne thereby to dis-
tinguish betweene good and bad, and praise the
Author, though not the practice ; for these things
are written more for reprehension, then imitation.
And the minde that comes so instructed, can never
take harme ; for it will take the best, and leave the
worst : But he that reads all things alike, and
equally entertaines them in his thought, that
Reader shall easily shew himselfe obnoxious to
many vices : And it shall happen unto him, as it
did unto those who imitated Plato's crookednes, or
Demosthenes stammering. But when a Reader
shall light upon unworthy lines, I would have him
cry out as a Philosopher adviseth on the like occa-
sion ; Male hoc, et inconvenient e7\ But when he
meets with good ; Recte hoc et decore. As the Bee
8

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

feeds upon flowers, and the Goat on the tops of
herbs ; so would I have him that reades Celestina,
graze Hke a horse on that which is sweet and whole-
some grasse ; and not like a hungrie dog, which
snatches and bites at every thing that comes in his
way. Socrates, when he saw a dishonest woman,
would either turne his head aside, or cover his eyes
with his cloake ; taking whores to bee like coales,
which either blacke or burne. Indeede, it was the
wisest way for Socrates ; for though he were a
Philosopher, yet withall he was a wanton : and
therefore, for such as cannot looke, but must offend
in viewing of the looser Lines, I would have them
imitate the Lightning, which vanisheth, before it
scarce appeares ; or your Abortives, which die, be-
fore they be borne. But for as those that are truely
honest, and of that perfit temper of goodnes, that
nothing can make them decline from the rule of
vertue, I would wish them to do with some pieces
in this booke (yet to reade all, and where they finde
any thing unseemly) as the Priests of old were wont
to do, who in their sacrifices unto luno, took forth
the garbage of their beasts, and threw it behinde
the Altar. If any phrase savor of immodesty,
blame not me, but Celestina. If any Sentence
deserve commendation, praise not the Translator,
but the Author ; for I am no more to be repre-
B 9

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THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

hended, or commended, then the poore Parrat, who
accents but other folkes words, and not his owne.

If there be any, that is either a Parmeno, or a
Sempronio, an Ehcia, or an Areusa, a Celestina, or
a Centurio, I would have them to behold them-
selves in this glasse ; not doubting, but that as
Narcissus, viewing himselfe in that pure cleare
Fountaine, wherein he saw his own most beautiful!
Image, dyed overcome with a (JuXavTLa, or self-love ;
so these men will either die, or their vices in them,
through an auro/xto-ta, or hate of themselves ; at
least make other mens miserable ends, serve as so
many sea-markes, that they may not run them-
selves upon the like rocks in the sea of this life ;
wherein all they are miserably drowned, who strike
against them.

But to leave Celestina to a favourable censure, I
must now come to intreate some favor for my selfe,
who am so farre from pleading my excuse, that I
must wholy submit my selfe to your favourable
interpretation ; for I must ingeniously confesse,
that I have in the undergoing of this transla-
tion, shewn more boldnesse then judgement. For
though I doe speake like Celestina, yet come I
short of her ; for she is so concisely significant, and
indeede so differing is the Idiome of the Spainish
from the English, that I may imitate it, but not

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

come neere it. Yet have I made it as naturall, as
our language will give leave, and have more beaten
my braines about it in some places, then a man
would beate a Flint to get fire ; and, with much
adoe, have forced those sparkes, which increasing
to a greater flame, gave light to my dark under-
standing ; wherein if I have been wanting to give it
it's true life, I wish, my industry heerein may awake
some better wit, and judgement to perfect my im-
perfections, which as I shall alwaies be wilhng to
acknowledge ; so I desire to have them mended by
some better hand ; nor am I any whit ashamed
that any worke of mine should not be absolutely
perfect. For it is the Statute and Decree of
Heaven, that every composition heere beneath, as
well framed by the hand of Art, as fashioned by
the helpe of Nature, should sustaine some imper-
fection : For Glasse hath it's lead ; Gold it's drosse;
Corne it's chaffe ; Helene her mole ; the Moone
her spots, and the Sunne its shade. My expression
is but like a picture drawne with a coale, wanting
those lively colours, which others more skilfull
might give it ; and might better it as much, if
they would undergo the paines ; as bad faces
are bettered by painting, and unsavory meates
mended by their sauces. But I am too saucie in
my desire ; howsoever, I will notwithstanding shew

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TORY

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

THE my selfe a good Christian ; that though my workes

EPISTLF

DEDICA- ^^^ ^^^ merit any reward, yet my faith and assur-
TORY ance is such in you, that I make no question, but
my workes shall be well accepted by you. In re-
quitall whereof, I will ever love you, and rest

Your friend and servant,

Don Diego Puede-ser.

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

THE PROLOGUE

T is the sayi7ig of that great and wise
Philosopher Heraclitus ; That all things
are created in manner of a contention,
or hattell. His words are these. Omnia
secundum litem fiunt. A Sentence in my
opinion, xvorthy perpetuall memorie ; and,
for that most certaine it is, that every
zvord of a wise man, is pregnant, and
fidl ; of this it may he said, that through too miichfidnesse
it is readie to hurst, shooting forth such spi-eading, and well-
growne houghs and leaves, that out of the smallest SucJcer, or
least Sprig thereof, fruit enough may he gathered hy men of
discretion and judgement. But because my poore understand-
is not able to doe any more, then to nihhle on the drie

harli and rugged rinde of the wise sayings of those, who for
the clearnesse and excellencie of their xoits, deserved to he
approved ; zoith that little which I shall plucke from thence, I
will satisfe the intent and purpose of this short Prologue.
This Sentence did I fnde to he strengthened by that great
Orator, and Poet Lauriat Francisco Petrarca, who tells us,
Sine lite atq ; ofFensione nihil genuit natura parens : That
Nature, who is the mother of all things, ingendred nothing
without strfe and contention. Furthermore saying. Sic est
enim, et sic propemodun universa testantur ; Rapido stellae
obviant firmamento ; Contraria invicem Elementa confli-
gunt; Terras tremunt; Maria fluctuant; Aer quatitur;
Crepant flammse ; Bellum immortale venti gerunt ; Tempora
temporibus concertant ; secum, singula ; Nobiscum omnia.
Wliich is as much to say; Indeede so it is, and so all
things almost in the world doe witnesse as miich. The

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

THE PRO- Starves incountei- one another in the whirling firmament of
LOGUE heaven ; your contrarie Elements wage warre each with other ;
the earth, that trembles and quakes, as if it were at oddes with
it self'e ; the Sea, that swels and rages, breaking ifs billowes
one against another ; the Ayre, that darteth arrowes of light-
ning, and is moved this xvay and that way ; the fiames, they
cracke, and sparkle forth their furie ; the windes are at per-
petuall enmitie with themselves ; times with times doe contend ;
one thing against another, and all against us. We see, that
the Summer makes us complaine of too much heate ; and the
Winter, of cold and sharpenesse of weather. So that this,
which seemeth imto us a temporall revolution ; this, by which
we are bred up, and nourished, and live, if it once beginne to
passe above ifs proportion, and to grow to a greater highth
then usuall, it is no better then open warre. And how much
it ought to bee J'eared, is manifested by those great earth-
quakes and whirle-winds, by those ship-wrackes and fires, as
well in the ayre, as the earth; by the sourse of water-courses,
and violence of inundations, by those courses, and recourses,
those rackings to and fro of the Clouds, of whose open motions,
to knoxv the secret cause from xohence they proceed, no lesse is
the dissention of the Philosophers in the schooles, then of the
waves of the Sea. Besides, among your bruit beasts, there is
not any one of them that wants his warre ; be they Fishes,
Birds, Beasts, or Serjjents ; xchereqf, every kinde persecuteth,
and pursueth one another : The Lyon, hee pursues the Wolfe ;
the Wolfe the Kidde ; the Dog the Hare. And if it might
not be thought a fahle, or old xcifes tale, sitting by the fire
side, I should more fully inlarge this Theame. The Elephant,
that is so powerfull and strong a beast, is afraide, and
fiies from the sight of a poore silly Alouse ; and no sooner
heaves him comming, but hee quakes and trembles for feare.
Amongst Se?pents, Nature c7-eated the Basiliske, so venomous
and poy son full, and gave him such a predominant poicer over
all the rest, that onely zvith his hissing, he doth affright them ;
with his comming, put them tofiight, and dispcrseth some one
way, some another, and with his sight, kills and murders
them. The Viper, a crawling creature, and venomous Ser-
pent, at the time of ingendring, the Male puts his head into
14

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

the mouth of the Female, and shee through the gi-eat delight, THE PRO-
and sweetnesse of her pleasure, straines hirn so hard, that she LOGUE
Mils him. And conceiving her young, the eldest, or first of
her hrood, breakes the bar res of his mothers belly, eatcs out his
way thorow her bowels, at which place all the rest issue forth ;
whereof she dies ; hee doing this, as a revenger of his fathers
death. What greater confiict, zvhat greater contention or
warre can there be, then to conceive that in her body, which
shall eafe out her Intralls ? Againe, no lesse naturall dissen-
tion can we suppose to be amongst fishes ; for most certaine it
is, that the Sea doth containe as many severall sorts of fishes,
as the earth and ayre do nourish birds and beasts ; and much
more. Aristotle and Pliny doe recount zoonders of a little fish
called ^cheneis ; hoxo apt his nature is, and hoxo prone his
propertie for divers Jcijules of contentions, especially this one ;
that if hee cling to a ship or Carrack, he will detaine and
stop her in her course, though she have the winde in the
poope of her, and cut the Seas with never so st'iffe a gale.
Whereof Lucan maJceth mention, saying',

Non puppim retinens, Euro tendente rudentes, Lucan. lib. vi.

In medijs ^cheneis aquis. iuxtafinem.

Nor ^cheneis, whose strength, though Eurus rise.

Can stay the course of shippes.

O naturall contention ! xvorthy of admiration, that a little fish
should be able to doe more then a great ship, zvith all the force
and strength of the winds. Moreover, if we zoill discourse of
birds, and of their frequent enmities, zve may truly affirm,
that all things are created in a kind of contention. Your
greater live of rapine, as Eagles and Hawks; and your
craven Kites presse upon our Pullen, insidting over tliem even
in our own houses, and ofi'ring to take them even from under
the Hens wings. Of a bird called Rogue, zvhich is bred in
the East Indian Sea, it is said to be of an incredible great-
nesse, that the like hath never bin heard of; and that with
her beake, she will house up into the ayre, not only one man,
or ten, but a whole ship laden with men and merchandise;
and how that these miserable passengers, hanging thus in
suspence in the ayre, till her wings waxe weary, she lets them

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

THE PRO- fall^ and so they receive their deaths. But tchat shall we say
LOGUE ofmen^ to zvhom all the foresaid creatures are subject? Who
can expresse their zcai's, their jais, their enmities, their envies,
their heats, their hroyles, their hrawles, and their discontent-
ments? That change and alteration of fashions in their
apparell ? That pulling^ downe and building up of houses ?
and many other sundry effects and varieties ; all of' them pro-
ceeding from the feeble and weake condition of mans variable
nature? And because it is an old and ancient complaint, and
used heretofore time out ofminde; I icill not much marvell, if
this present zcorke shall prove an instrument of icar to Us
Readers, putting strifes and differences amongst them, every
one giving his verdict and opinion thereupon, according to
the humour of his owne "will. Some perhaps may say that it
is too long ; some too short ; others to be sxceet and pleasant ;
and other some to be dai'Tce and obscure : So that to cut it out
to the measure (fso many, and such dfferent dispositions, is
onely appropriate to God ; Especially, since that it, together
with all other things, whatsoever are in this world, march
under the standard of this noble Sentence ; For even the very
Ife of men, if we consider them from their first and tender
age, till they grow gray-headed, is nothing else but a battell.
Children with their sports, boyes loith their bookes, young men
with their pleasures, old men with a thousand sorts of infirmi-
ties, skirmish and zaarre continually ,• and these Papers, with
all ages. The first blots and tea res them ; the second knowes
not xaell hoxo to read them ; the thij'd (zohich is the cheerefull
livelihood of youth, and set all upon jollity) doth utterly dis-
like of them. Some gnaw onely the bones, but do not picke
out the marrow, saying there is no goodnesse in it ; that it is
a History, huddled, I know not how, together, a kind of
hodgepodge, or gallimaufrey ; not profiting themselves out of
the particularities, accounting it a fable, or old xcfes tale, fit-
ting for nothing, save only for to passe away the time upon
the xaay. Others call out the xcitty conceits, and common
proverbs, highly commending them, but slighting and neglect-
ing that xohich makes more to the piapose and their profit.
But they for xchose true pleasure it is wholy framed, reject
the story it sefe, as a vayne and idle subject, and gather out
16

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

the pith and marroxv of the matter for their ozone good and THE PRO-
benefit, and laugh at those things that savour onely of wit, l^OGUE
and pleasant conceite, storing up in their memorie, the sentences
and sayings of Philosophers, that they may transpose them
into such fit places, as may make, upon occasion, for their
owne use and purpose. So that zohen ten men shall meete
together to heare this Comedy, in whom perhaps shall happen
this difference of dispositions, as it usually falleth out ; zvho
will deny, but that there is a contention in that thing which
is so diver sly understood? the Printers, they likezvise have
bestowed their pimcture, puttijig Titles, and adding Argu-
ments to the beginning of every Act ; delivering in briefe,
what is more largely contained therein ; a thing very excus-
able, in form£r times being much used, and in great request
with your ancient Writers; others have contended about the
name, saying, that it ought not to be called a Comedy, because
it ends in son-ozo and mourning, but rather termed a Tragedy.

I The Authour himselfe zvould have it take ifs denomination
from ifs beginning, which treates of pleasure, and therefore
calVd it a Comedy. So that I seeing these differences, between
their extremes have parted this quarrell, by dividing it in the
midst, and call it a Tragick-Comedy. So that observing
these contentions, these disagreements, these dissonant and
various judgements, I had an eye, to marke zvhither the major
part inclined, and found that they zoere all desirous, that I
should inlmge my selfe in the pursuite of the delight of these
Lovers ; tohere^mto, I have been earnestly importuned ; in so
much, that I have consented {though against my will) to put
now the second time my Penne to this so strange a taske, and
so Jarre estranged f -am my facidty, stealing some houres
from my principall studies, together zoith others allot-
ted to my recreation, though I knozo, I shall not
zoant nezv Detractors for my new Edition.

THE ACTORS
IN THIS TRAGICK- COMEDY

Calisto, a young inamoured Gentleman.

Melibea, Daughter to Pleberio,

Pleberio, Father to Melibea.

Celestina, An old Bawd.

Parmeno, "^

Sempronio,

Tristax,

SosiA,

Crito, a Whoremaster.

Lucrecia, Maide to Pleberio.

Elicia, ,

Whores
Areusa

Servants to Calisto.

Centurio, a Pandar, or Ruffi

an.

A COMEDIE

OR TRAGICKE-COMEDIE

OF CALISTO AND

MELIBEA

THE ARGUMENT

CALISTO, loho was of' Linage Noble, of Wit Singular, of

Disposition Gentle, of Behaviour Sxveete, with many gracefull

qualities richly indoived, and of a competent estate ; Jell in

love with Melibea, of yeeres young, of blood Noble, of estate

Great, and only daughter and heire to her father Pleberio,

and to her mother Alisa,- of both exceedingly beloved. Whose

chaste purpose conquered by the hot pursuite of amorous

Calisto, Celestine interposing her selfe in the businesse, a

wicked and crcifty zooman, and together zvith her two deluded

servants of subdued Calisto, and by her wrought to be disloiall,

their fidelitie being taken with the hooke of covetousnesse and

pleasure ; Those Lovers came, and those that served them, to a

wretcJied and unfortunate eiul. For entrance xohereunto,

adverse fortune afforded a Jit and opportune place^

where, to the presence of Calisto, the desired

Melibea presented her selfe.

ACTUS I

THE ARGUMENT

ALISTO entering into a garden after his
usiiall manner, met there with Melibea,
with zchose love being caught, he began
to court her: by whom being sharply
checkt and dismist, he gets him home,
being much troiMcd and grieved: he
considts his servant Sempronio, xoho cif'ter
much intercourse of talke, and debating of
the businesse, advised him to entertaine an old woman, named
Celestina, in whose house his said servant kept a Wench, to
whom hee made love, called Elicia : Who, Sempronio comming
to Celestines house about his masters businesse, had at that
time another sweet heai-t in her company, called Crito, whom
they hid out of sight. In the interim that Sempronio was
negotiating with Celestina, Calhto Jiills in talke zvith another
of his servants, named Parmeno, which discourse continueth
till Sempronio and Celestina arrive at Calisto''s house.
Parmeno was knowne by Celestina, who tells him of the good
acquaintance which she had of his mother, and many matters
that had past between them ; inducing him in the end to love
and concord with Sempronio.

INTERLOCUTORS

Calisto, Melibea, Parmeno, Sempronio, Celestina,
Elicia, Crito.

CALISTO. In this, Melibea, I see heavens greatnesse, and
goodnesse.

MELIB. In what, Calisto ?

CALISTO. Greatnesse, in giving such power to nature,
as to endow thee with so perfect a beauty ; goodnesse, in

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS affoording me so great a favour as thy faire presence, and a
I place so convenient to unsheathe my secret griefe ; A grace

undoubtedly so incomparable, and by many degrees far greater
than any service I have performed can merit from above.
What inhabitant heere below ever saw a more glorious
creature then I behold ? Certainly, if sublunary bodies
can give a celestiall reflection or resemblance, I contemplate
and find it in thy divine beauty : had it perpetuity, what
happines beyond it ? Yet wretch that I am, I must live
like another Tantalus ; see what I may not enjoy, not
touch ; and my comfort must be the thinking of thy dis-
dainnesse, thy pleasing coynesse, and the torment which thy
absence will inflict upon me,

MELIB. Holdest thou this, Calisto, so great a reward ?

CALIST. So great, that if you should give me the greatest
good upon earth, I should not hold it so great a happinesse.

MELIB, I shall give thee a reward answerable to thy
deserts, if thou persevere and goe on in this manner.

CAL. O fortunate eares ! which are (though unworthily)
admitted to heare so gracious a word, such great and com-
fortable tydings.

MELIBEA. But unfortunate, by that time thou hast
heard thy doome. For thy payment shall be as foule,
as thy presumption was foolish, and thy entertainment as
small, as thy intrusion was great. How durst such a one
as thou hazard thy selfe on the vertue of such a one as I ?
Goe wretch, be gone out of my sight, for my patience cannot
endure, that so much as a thought should enter into any
mans heart, to communicate his mind unto me in illicite
love.

CALISTO, I goe ; but as one, who am the onely unhappy
marke, against whom adverse fortune aymeth the extremity
of her hate. Sempronio, Sempronio, why Sempronio, I say,
where is this accursed Varlet ?

SEMPRONIO, I am heere Sir, about your horses.

CALISTO. My horses, (you knave) how haps it then that
thou comst out of the hall ?

SEMPRONIO. The Gyrfalcon bated, and I came in to set
him on the Pearch.

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

CALISTO. Is 't e'en so ? Now the divell take thee ; mis- ACTUS
fortune waite on thy heeles to thy destruction ; mischiefe I

light upon thee ; let some perpetuall intolerable torment
seyze upon thee in so high a degree, that it may be beyond
all comparison, till it bring thee (which shortly I hope to
see) to a most painfull, miserable and disastrous death.
Goe, thou unlucky rogue, goe I say, and open the chamber
doore, and make ready my bed,

SEMPRONIO, Presently Sir, the bed is ready for you.

CALISTO, Shut the windowes, and leave darkenesse to
accompany him, whose sad thoughts deserve no light. Oh
death ! how welcome art thou, to those who out-live their
happinesse ? how welcome, wouldst thou but come when
thou art calFd ? O that Hypocrates and Galen, those
learned Physicians were now living, and both heere, and
felt my paine ! O heavens, if yee have any pitty in you,
inspire that Pleberian heart therewith, lest that my soule,
helplesse of hope, should fall into the like misfortune with
Pyrramus and Thisbe^ /

SEMPR. What a thing is this ? What 's the matter with
you ?

CALISTO, Away, get thee gone, doe not speake to me,
unlesse thou wilt, that these my hands, before thy time be
come, cut off thy daies by speedy death.

SEMPRONIO, Since you will lament all alone, and have
none to share with you in your sorrowes, I will be gone, Sir.

CALISTO. Now the divell goe with thee.

SEMPR, With me Sir? there is no reason that he should
goe with me, who stayes with you. O unfortunate, O
sudden and unexpected ill ; what contrarious accident, what
squint-ey'd starre is it that hath robbed this Gentleman of
his wonted mirth ? and not of that alone, but of it (which is
worse) his wits. Shall I leave him all alone ? or shall I goe
in to him ? If I leave him alone, he will kill himselfe. If I
goe in, he will kill me. Let him bide alone, and bite upon
the bit, come what will, come I care not. Better it is that
hee dye, whose life is hatefull unto him, then that I dye,
when life is pleasing unto mee, and say that I should not
desire to live, save onely to see my Elicia, that alone is

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS motive inough to make mee looke to my selfe, and guard
I my person from dangers : but admit he should kill himselfe

without any other witnesse, then must I be bound to give
account of his life. Well, I will in for that, but put case
when I come in, he will take neither comfort nor counsell :
mary his case is desperate, for it is a shrewd signe of death,
not to be willing to be cured. Well, I will let him alone a
while, and give his humour leave to worke out it selfe ; I
will forbeare, till his angry fit. be over-past, and that his hat
be come againe to his colour. [ For I have heard say, that it
is dangerous to lance or crush an Impostume before it bee
ripe, for then it will fester the more : Let him alone awhile,
let us suffer him to weepe who suffers to sorrow, for teares
and sighes doe ease the heart that is surcharged with griefe ;
but then againe, if he see mee in sight, I shall see him more
incensed against mee : For there the sunne scorcheth most,
where he reflecteth most : the sight which hath no object set
before it, waxeth weary and dull, and having its object, is as
quicke. And therefore I thinke it my best play, to play least
in sight, and to stay a little longer ; but if in the meane while
he should kill himselfe, then farewell he. Perhaps I may get
more by it then every man is aware of, and cast my skinne,
changing rags for robes, and penury for plenty : But it is an
old saying. He that lookes after dead-mens shooes, may
chance to goe barefoote : Perhaps also the divell hath
deceived me. And so his death may be my death, and then
all the fat is in the fire : The rope will go after the Bucket:
and one losse follow another ; on the other-side your wise
men say, That it is a great ease to a grieved soule, or one
that is afflicted, to have a companion, to whom he may com-
municate his sorrow. Besides, it is generally received, that
the wound which bleedes inward, is ever the more dangerous.
Why then in these two extremes hang I in suspence what I
were best to doe ? Sure, the safest is to enter : and better
it is that I should indure his anger, then for feare of his dis-
pleasure to forbeare to comfort him. For, if it be possible
to cure without Arte, and without things ready at hand,
farre easier is it to cure by Arte, and wanting nothing that
is necessary.
24 J

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

CALISTO. Sempronio? ACTUS

SEMPR. Sir. I

CALISTO. Reach me that Lute.

SEMPR. Sir, heere it is.

CALISTO. Tell me what griefe so great can be,
As to equall my misery.

SEMPR. This Lute, Sir, is out of tune.

CALISTO. How shall he tune it, who himselfe is out
of tune ? Or how canst thou heare harmony from him,
who is at such discord with himselfe ? Or how can he do
any thing well, whose will is not obedient to reason ? Who
harbors in his brest needles, peace, warre, truce, love, hate,
injuries and suspicions ; and all these at once, and from
one, and the same cause. Doe thou therefore take this
Lute unto thee, and sing me the most dolefull ditty thou
canst devise,

{Nero, from Tarpey, doth behold
How Rome doth burne all on a flame ;
He heares the cries or young and old,
Yet is not grieved at the same.

CALISTO. My fire is farre greater, and lesse her pity
whom now I speake of.

SEMPR. I was not deceived when I sayd, my Master had
lost his wits.

CALISTO. Whats that (Sempronio) thou muttrest to thy
selfe ?

SEMPR. Nothing Sir, not I.

CALISTO. Tell me what thou saidst : Be not afraid.

SEMPR. Marry I said, How can that fire be greater
which but tormenteth one living man, then that which
burnt such a Citty as that was, and such a multitude of
men ?

CALISTO. How.? I shall tell thee. Greater is that
flame which lasteth fourescore yeeres, then that which en-
dureth but one day. And greater that fire, which burneth
one soule, then that which burneth an hundred thousand
bodies : See what difference there is betwixt apparencies,
and existencies ; betwixt painted shaddowes, and lively
substances, betwixt that which is counterfet, and that

D 25

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS which is reall. So great a difference is there betwixt
I that fire which thou speakest of, and that which burneth

mee.

SEMPll. I see, I did not mistake my byas ; which, for
ought I perceive, runnes worse and worse. Is it not inough
to shew thy selfe a foole, but thou must also speake pro-
phanely ?

CALISTO, Did not I will tell thee, when thou speakest,
that thou shouldest speake aloude ? Tell me whats that
thou mumblest to thy selfe.

SEMPR. Onely I doubted of what religion your Lovers
are.

CALISTO. I am a Melibean, I adore Melibea, I beleeve
in Melibea, and I love Melibea,

SEMPR. My Master is all Melibea: who now but
Melibea.? whose heart not able to containe her, like a
boyling vessell, venting ifs heate, goes bubbling her name
in his mouth. Well, I have now as much as I desire : I
know on which foote you halt, I shall now heale jp^ji.

CALISTO. Thou speakest of matters beyond the Moone.
It is impossible.

SEMPR. O Sir, exceeding easie ; for the first recovery of
sicknesse, is the discovery of the disease.

CALISTO. What counsell can order that, which in it selfe
hath neither counsell nor order ?

SEMPR. Ha, ha, ha, Calisto's fire ; these, his intolerable
paines : As if love had bent his bow, shot all his arrowes onely
against him. Oh Cupid, how high and unsearchable are thy
mysteries ! What reward hast thou ordained for love, since
that so necessary a tribulation attends on lovers ? Thou hast
set his bounds, as markes for men to wonder at : Lovers ever
deeming, that they only are cast behinde ; and that others
still out-strip them : That all men breake thorow, but them-
selves like your light footed bulls, which being let loose in
the place, and galled witli darts, take over the bars as soone
as they feele themselves prickt.

CALISTO. Sempronio.

SEMPR. Sir.

CALISTO, Doe not you goe away.

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

SEMPR. This pipe sounds in another tune. ACTUS

CALISTO. What dost thou thinke of my malady ? I

SEMPR. That you love Melibea.

CALISTO. And nothing else .^

SEMPR. It is misery inough to have a mans will capti-
vated, and chained to one place onely.

CALISTO. Thou wof st not what constancy is.

Sl^MPR. Perseverance in ill is not constancy, but obsti-
') nacy, or pertinacy, so they call it in my countrey ; how-ever
'i it please you Philosophers of Cupid to phrase it.

CALISTO. It is a foule fault for a man to belye that
which he teacheth to others : for thou thy selfe takest
pleasure in praysing thy Elicia.

SEMPR. Do you that good which I say, but not that ill
which I do.

CALISTO. W[h]y dost thou reproove mee ?.

SEMPR. Because thou dost subject the dignity and
worthinesse of a man, to the imperfection and weakenesse
of a fraile woman.

CALISTO. A woman ? O thou blockhead, she 's a God-
desse.

SEMPR. Are you in earnest, or doe you but jest ?

CALISTO. Jest ? I verily beleeve she is a Goddesse.
r/^ SEMPR. As Goddesses were of old, that is, to fall below
^"Tnortality, and then you would hope to have a share in her
deity.

CALISTO. A poxe on thee for a foole, thou makest mee
laugh, which I thought not to doe to day.

SEMPR. What, would you weepe all the dayes of your
life?

CALISTO. Yes.

SEMPR. And why ?
( CALISTO. Because I love her, before whom I finde my
I selfe so unworthy, that I have no hope to obtaine her.

SEMPR. O Coward, baser then the sonne of a whore :
why, Alexander the Great did not onely thinke himselfe
worthy the dominion of one onely, but of many worlds.

CALISTO. I did not well heare what thou saidst, say it
againe : repeate it againe before thou proceed any further.

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS SEMPR. I said Sir, Should you, whose heart, is greater

I then Alexanders, despaire of obtaining a woman ? wherefore

many, having beene seated in highest estate, have basely
prostituted themselves to the embracements of Muletteeres,
and Stablegroomes, suffering them to breathe in their faces,
with their unsavory breaths, and to imbosome them between
their brests : And othersome not ashamed to have companied
with bruite-beasts. Have you not heard of Pasiphae, who
plai'd the wanton with a Bull ? and of Minerva, how she
dallied with a dogge ?

CALISTO. Tush, I beleeve it not, they are but fables.

SEMPR. And that of your Grandmother and her Ape,
that 's a fable too : Witnesse your Grandfathers knife, that
kiird the villaine that did cuckold him.

CALISTO. A poxe of this cocks-combe, what gird's he
gives !

SEMPR. Have I nettled you (Sir ?) Reade your
histories, study your philosophers, examine your poets ; and
you shall finde how full their bookes are of their vile and
wicked examples, and of the ruines and destructions where-
into they have runne, who held them in that high esteeme as
/^ou doe. Consult with Seneca, and you shall see how vilely
le reckons of them. Hearken unto Aristotle, and you shall
finde that all of them to this agree : but whatsoever I have,
or shall heereafter speake in them ; mistake mee not, I pray
you, but consider them as words, commonly and generally
spoken : For many of them have beene, and are holy,
vertuous and noble, whose glorious and resplendent cro^vnes
blot out this generall reproach. But touching the other,
who can recount unto you their falsehoods, their tricks, their
tradings, their truckings, their exchanging commodities,
their lightnesse, their teares, their mutabilities, and their
boldnesse and impudencies : For whatsoever they conceit, they
dare to execute without any deliberation, or advisement in
the world ; their dissemblings, their talketivenesse, their
deceits, their forgetfulnesse, their unkindenesse, their in-
gratitude, their inconstancy, their ficklenesse, their saying
and gaine-saying, and all in a breath ; their windings and
turnings, their presumption, their vaine-glory, their base-

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

nesse, their foolishnesse, their disdainfulnesse, their coynesse, ACTUS

their pride, their haughtinesse, their base submissions, their I

prattlings, their gluttony, their luxury, their sluttishnesse,

their timorousnesse, their witcheries, their cheatings, their

gibings, their slandrings and their bawdry. Now consider

with your selfe, what idle gyddy-headed braines are under

those large and fine cob-web veiles ; what wicked thoughts

under those gay gorgets ; what pride and arrogancy under

those their long, rich and stately robes; what mad toyes

under their painted Temples^^

CALISTO. Tell me, I pray, this Alexander, this Seneca,
this Aristotle, this Virgil, these whom thou telPst mee of;
did not they subject themselve[s] unto them ? Am I greater
then these ?

SEMPR. I would you should follow tljosethaLdid. subdue
them; i^ot those tha^ were subdued by_b.hem. Flye their
deceits* K^now you (Sir) what they doe ? They doe things
that are too hard for any men to understand ; they observe
no meane ; they have no reason ; nor doe they take any heed
in what they doe. They are the first themselves that cause
a man to love ; and themselves are the first that beginne to
loath. They will privately pleasure him, whom afterwards
they will openly wrong, and draw him secretly in at their
windowes, whom in the streetes they will publikely raile at.
They will give you roste-meate, and beate you with the spit.
They will invite you unto them, and presently send you
packing with a flea in your ear ; Call you, and yet exclude
you ; scale you her love, and yet proclaime hate ; quickly be
wonne, and quickly be lost ; soone pleased, and as soone
displeased; and (which is the true humour of a woman)
whatsoever her will divines, that must bee affected. Her
apprehensions admit no delayes ; and bee they impossible to
bee attained to, yet not effecting them she streightway
censures it want of wit or affection, if not both. O what a
plague ? what a hell ? nay, what a loth some thing is it for a
man to have to doe with them any longer, then in that
short pricke of time that hee holds them in his armes, when
they are prepared for pleasure !

CALISTO. Thou seest the more thou telFst me, and the

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS more inconveniences thou settest before mee, the more I love
I her. I know not how, nor what it is, but sure I am, that so

it is.

SEMPR. This is no fit counsell I see for young men, who
know not how to submit themselves to reason, nor to be
governed by discretion ; it is a miserable thing, to thinke
that hee should be a Master, who was never any scholler.

CALISTO. And you Sir, that are so wise, who I pray
taught you all this 7

SEMP. Who ? 'why, they themselves, who no sooner
discover their shame, but they lose it. For all this, and
much more tllfi|ii I have told you, they themselves will mani-
fest unto menj Ballance thy selfe then aright in the true
scale of thiiTelionour, give thy reputation it's due propor-
tion, ifs just measure, and thinke your selfe to be more
worthy then in your owne esteeme you repute your selfe.
For (beleeve mee) worse is that extreme, whereby a man
suffers himselfe to fall from his owne worth, then that which
makes a man over-valew himselfe, and seate himselfe in
higher place then beseeme him.
w CALISTO. Now, what of all this ? what am I the better

for it ?
4 SEMP. What ? why this : First of all, you are a man ;
then, of an excellent and singular wit ; To this, indewed
with those better sort of blessings, wherewith Nature hath
endowed you, to wit, wisedome, favour, feature, largenesse of
limbes, force, agility, and abilities of body. And to these,
fortune hath in so good a measure shared what is liers with
thee, that these thy inward graces, are by thy outward the
more beautified. For, without these outward goods, wherof
fortune is chiefe Mistresse, no man in this life comes to be
happy. Lastly, the starres were so propitious at thy birth,
j and thy selfe borne under so good a Planet, that thou art
belov'd of all,

CALISTO. But not of Melibea. And in all that, wherein
thou dost so glorifie my gifts, I tell thee (Sempronio) com-
pared with Melibea's, they are but as starres to the Sunne ;
or drosse compared to gold. Doe but consider the noblenesse
of her blood, the ancientnesse of her house, the great estate

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

she is borne unto, the excellency of her wit, the splendour of ACTUS

her vertues, her stately, yet comely carriage, her ineffable I

gracefulnesse in all that shee doth ; and lastly, her divine

beauty ; whereof (I pray thee) give mee leave to discourse a

little, for the refreshing of my soule. And that which I

shall tell thee, shall be onely of what I have discovered, and

lyes open to the eye : For, if I could discourse of that which

is concealed, this contestation would be needlesse, neyther

should wee argue thereupon so earnestly as now wee doe.

SEMPR. What lyes and fooleries will my captived Master
now tell mee ?

CALISTO. What 's that ?

SEMPR. I said, I would have you tell mee ; for I shall
take great pleasure in hearing it, so fortune befriend you
Sir, as this speach of yours shall be pleasing unto mee.

CALISTO. What saist thou ?

SEMPR. That fortune would so befriend mee, as I shall
take pleasure to heare you.

CALISTO. Since then, that it is so pleasing unto thee, I
will figure foorth unto thee every part in her, even in the
fullest manner that I can devise.
. jj, SEMPR. Heer 's a deale of doo indeede : This is that I

looked fo^ though more then I desired, it will be a tedious
piece of Husinesse, but I must give him the hearing.

CALISTO. I will beginne first with her haires; Hast thou
seene those skaynes of fine twisted gold which are spun in
Arabia ? Her haires are more fine, and shine no lesse then
they ; the length of them is to the lowest pitch of her heele,
besides, they are daintily combed, and dressed, and knit up
in knots with curious fine ribbaning, as shee her selfe pleaseth
to adorne and set them foorth, being of power themselves,
without any other helpe, to transforme men into stones.

SEMPR. Into Asses rather.

CALISTO. What saist thou ?

SEMPR. I say that these could not bee Asses hayres.

CALISTO. See what a beastly and base comparison this
foole makes !

SEMPR. It is well Sir that you are so wise.

CALISTO. Her eyes are quicke, cleare and full; the hayres

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS to those lids ratlier long then short; Her eye-browes thinnish,
I not thicke of liayre, and so prettily arched, that by their bent,

they are much the more beautifull ; Her nose of such a
middling size, as may not be mended ; Her mouth little ;
Her teeth small and white ; her lips red jjnd plumpe ; The
forme of her face rather long then round iJHer brests placed
in a fitting height ; but their rising roundnesse, and the
pretty pleasing fashion of her little tender nipples, who is
able to figure foorth unto theeiiA So distracted is the eye of
man when he does behold theiR^JHer skinne as smooth, soft,
and sleeke as Satten, and her whole body so white, that
the snow seemes darknesse unto it ; Her colour so mingled,
and of so singular a temper, as if she had chosen it her
selfe.
^ SEMPR. Tliis foole is fallen into his thirteenes. O how
hee overreaches !

CALISTO. Her hands little, and in a measurable manner,
and fit proportion accompanied with her sweet flesh ; Her
fingers long ; Her nayles large and well coloured ; seeming
Rubies, intermixt with pearles. The proportion of those
other parts which I could not eye, undoubtedly (judging
things unseene, by the scene) must of force be incomparably
farre better then that, which Paris gave his judgement of in
the difference betweene the three Goddesses.

SEMPR. Have you done. Sir ?

CALISTO. As briefely as I could.

SEMPR. Suppose all this you say were true, yet in that
you are a man, I still say, you are more worthy then shee.

CALISTO. In what.?

SEMPR. In that shee is imperfect : Out of which defect,
shee lusts and longs after your selfe, or some one lesse worthy.
Did you never reade that of the Philosopher, where he tells
you. That as the matter desires the forme, so woman desires
man.'*

CALISTO. O wretch that I am, when shall I see this
betweene mee and Melibea ?

SEMPR. It is possible that you may : and as possible
that you may one day hate her as much as now you love her,
when you shall come to the full injoying of her, and to

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

looking on her with other eyes, free from that errour which ACTUS
now blindeth your judgement. ^

CALISTO. With what eyes ?

SEMPR. With cleare eyes.

CALISTO. And with what I pray doe I see now ?

SEMPR. With false eyes ; Like some kinde of spectacles,
which make little things seeme great ; and great little. Doe
not you despaire ; my selfe will take this businesse in hand,
not doubting but to accomplish your desire.

CALISTO. love grant thou maiest : howsoever, I am
proud to heare thee, though hopelesse of ever obtaining it.

SEMPR. Nay, I will assure it you.

CALISTO. Heav'n be thy good speed ; my cloth of gold
doublet, which I wore yesterday, it is thine, Sempronio.
Take it to thee.

[^ SEMPR. I thanke you for this, and for many more which
you shall give mee. My jesting hath turned to my good. I
hitherto have the better of it. And if my Master clap such
spurs to my sides, and give mee such good incouragements, I
doubt not, but I shall bring her to his bed. This which my
Master hath given mee, is a good wheele to bring the
businesse about : for without reward, it is impossible to goe
well thorow with any thing.

CALISTO. See you be not negligent now.

SEMPR. Nay, be not you negligent ; For it is impossible,
that a carelesse Master should make a diligent servant^

CALISTO. But tell me, How dost thou think to purchase
her pitty ?

SEMPR. I shall tell you. It is now a good while agoe,
since at the lower end of this streete, I fell acquainted with ^
an old bearded woman, called Celestina ; a witch, subtill as
the divell, and well practis'^n all the rogueries and villanies
that the world can affoord ;\jOne, who in my conscience hath
marr'd and made up againe a hundred thousand maiden-
heads in this Citty : Such a power, and such authority shee
hath, what by her perswasions, and other her cunning devices,
that none can escape herj shee will move hard rocks, if she
list, and at her pleasure provoke them to Luxury.

CALISTO. O that I might but speake with her !

E 33

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS SEMPR. I will bring her hither unto you ; and therefore

I prepare your selfe for it, and when shee comes, in any case

use her kindely, be francke and liberall with her ; and whilest
I goe my wayes, doe you study and devise with your selfe, to
expresse your paines, as well as I know shee is able to give
you remedy.

CALISTO. O but thou stalest too long.

SEMPR. I am gone. Sir. j--

CALISTO. A good lucke with thee.; You happy powers
that predominate humane actions, assist and be propitious to
my desires, second my intentions, prosper Sempronio's pro-
ceedings and his successe, in bringing me such an Advocatrix
as shall, according to his promise, not onely negotiate, but
absolutely compasse and bring to a wished period, the pre-
conceived hopes of an incomparable pleasure.

CELESTINA. Elicia, what will you give mee for my
good newes ?

SEMPR, Sempronio is come.

ELICIA. O hush ; peace, peace.

CELEST. Why ? What ^s the matter ?

ELICIA. Peace, I say, for here is Crito.

CELEST. Put him in the little chamber where the
besomes bee. Quickly, quickly, I say, and tell him a cousin
of yours, and a friend of mine is come to see you,

ELICIA. Crito, come hither, come hitlier quickely ; O my
cousin is come, my cousin is beneath ; What shall I doe ?
Come quickely, I am undone else.

CRITO. With all my heart : Doe not vexe your selfe.

SEMP. O my deare mother, what a longing have I had to
come unto you ! I thanke my fate, that hath given me leave
to see you.

CELEST. My sonne, my king, thou hast ravish'd mee
with thy presence, I am so over-joyed, that I cannot speake
to thee ; Turne thee about unto mee, and imbrace mee once
more in thine armes. A^^iat ? three whole dayes ? so long
away together, and never see us ? Elicia, Elicia, wot you
who is heere ?

ELICIA. Who, mother ?

CELEST. Sempronio, daughter,

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

ELICIA. Out alas ; O, how my heart rises ! How it ACTUS
leaps and beats in my body ! how it throbs within me ! And I

what of him ?

CELEST. Looke heere, doe you see him ? I will imbrace
him, you shall not. -

ELICIA. Out, thou accursed traito^imppstumes, pocks,
plagues, and botches consume and kill thee. ' Dye thou by
the hands of thine enemies, and that for some notorious crime,
worthy cruell death, thou maist see thy selfe fall into the
rigorous hands of Justice. Ay, Ay me !

SEMPR. Hy, hy, hy ! Why, how now my Elicia ? what
is it that troubles you ?

ELICIA. What? Three dayes ? Three whole dayes
away ? And in all that time not so much as once come and
see me ? Not once look upon me ? Fortune never looke
on thee ; never comfort thee, nor visit thee : Wo to that
woman, wretched as she is, who in thee places her hope, and
the end of all her happinesse.

SEMPR. No more (deare Love.) Thinkst thou (sweet
heart) that distance of place can divorce my inward and im-
bowelled affection from thee ? Or dead but the least sparke of
that true fire which I beare in my bosome ? Where-eVe I
goe, thou goest with me ; where I am, there art thou. Thou
hast not felt more affliction and torment for mee, then I
have suffered and endured for thee. But soft ; Me thinkes I
lieare some bodies feete moove above : Who is it ?

ELICIA. Who is it ? One of my sweet hearts.

SEMPR. Nay, like inough, I easily beleeve it.

ELICIA. Nay, it is true : Goe up and see else.

SEMPR. I goe.

CELEST. Come hither (my son) come along with me, let
this foole alone, for shee is idle-headed, and almost out of
her little wits ; such thought hath she taken for thy absence.
Regard not what she sales, for she will tell you a thousand
flim-flam tales ; Come, come with me, and let us talke. Let
us not spend the time thus in idlements.

SEMPR. But I pray, who is that above ?

CELEST. Would you know who ?

SEMPR. I would.

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS CELEST. A Wench recommended unto me by a Fryer.

I SEMPRrWhat Fryer ?

CELEST. 'O, by no meanes.

SEMPR. Now, as you love me, good mother, tell mee
what Fryer is it ?

CELEST. Lord, how earnest you be ? you would dye
now, if you should not know him ; Well, to save your
longing, it is that fat Fryers Wench : I need say no more.

SEMPR, Alacke (poore wench) what a heavy load is she
to beare !

CELEST. You see, wee women must beare all, and it
were greater, wee must endure it : you have seene but few
murders committed upon a woman in private.

SEMPR. Murders ? No, but many great swellings, be-
sides bunches, blaines, boyles, kernels, and a pockes, what
not ?

CELEST. Now ^e upon you, how you talke ; you doe
but jest I am sure. /
^ SEMPR. If I do'e but jest, then let mee see her.

ELICIA. O wicked wretch, doest thou long to see her.?
Let thy eyes start out of thy head, and drop downe at thy
feete : for I see that it is not one wench tliat can serve your
turne ; I pray goe your waies, goe up and see her, but see
you come at me no more.

SEMPR, Be patient, my deare, thou that art the onely
Idoll of my devotion ; Is this the gall that wrings you ?
This your griefe ? Nay, if this make you so angry, I will
neither see her, nor any other woman in the world. I will
onely speake a word or two with my mother, and so bid you
adieu.

ELICIA, Goe, goe, be gone, ungratefull, unthankefuU as
thou art, and stay away three yeeres more if thou wilt, ere
ever thou see mee,

SEMPR. Mother, you may relye upon what I have told
you, and assure your selfe, that of all the women in the
world, I would not jest or dissemble with you : Put on your
Mantle then, and let us go ; and by the way, I will tell you
all. For if I should stay heere dilating upon the businesse,
and protract the time in delivering my minde, it would

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

turne much to both our hurts, and hinder thy profit and ACTUS
mine. I

CELEST. Let us goe then ; EKcia, fare well ; make fast
the doore ; fare well, walls.

SEMPR. So law. Now (mother) laying all other things
apart, listen unto me, be attentive to that which I shall tell
you ; let not your eares goe a wooll-gathering ; nor scatter
your thoughts, nor devide them into many parts : for hee that
is every where, is no where : and cannot, (unlesse it be by
chance) certainely determine any thing, I will that you
know that of mee, which as yet you never heard. Besides,
I could never since the time that I first entred into league
with thee, and had plighted my faith unto thee, desire that
good, wherein thou mightest not share with mee.

CELEST. And love (my good sonne) share his good
blessings with thee, which (if so it please him) he shall not
doe without cause ; because thou takest pity of this poore
wicked old woman : say on therfore, make no longer delay ;
for that friendship, which betwixt thee and mee hath taken
such deepe rooting, needeth no Preambles, no circumlocu-
tions, no preparations or insinuation to winne affection : Be
briefe therefore and come to the point ; for it is idle to utter
that in many words, that may be understood in a few.

SEMP. It is true : And therefore thus, Calisto is hot in
love with Melibea, he stands in need of thine and my help.
And because he needs our joynt furtherance, let us joyne
together to make some purchase of him. For to know a
mans time, to make use of opportunity, and to take occasion
by the foretop, and to worke upon a man whilst his humour
serves him, why it is the onely round, by which many have
climbed up to prosperity.

CELEST. Well hast thou said : I perceive thy drift.
The winking, or beckning of the eye is inough for mee;
for as old as I am, I can see day at a little hole. I tell thee
Sempronio, I am as glad of this thy newes, as Surgeons of
broken-heads. And as they at the first goe festring the
wounds, the more to indeare the cure, so do I meane to deale
with Calisto : For I will still goe prolonging the certainty ? f
of his recovering of Melibea, and delay still the remedy.

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS For (as it is in the Proverbe) Delayed hope afflicteth the
I heart. And the farther he is ofF from obtaining, the fayrer

will he promise to have it effected. Understand you mee ?

SEMPR. Hush. No more. We are now at the gate,
and walls (they say) have eares,

CELEST. Knocke.

SEMPR. Tha, tha, tlia.

CALISTO. Parmeno!

PARME. Sir.

CALISTO. What a pocks, art thou deafe ? Canst thou
not heare ?

PARMO. What would you. Sir ?

CALISTO. Some body knocks at the gate. Runne.

PARME. Who's there?

SEMPR. Open the doore for this matronly Dame and
mee.

PARME. Sir, wot you who they are that knocke so loud.?
It is Sempronio, and an old bawd hee hath brought along
with him. O how shee is bedawb^d with painting !

CALISTO. Peace, peace, you Villaine ; she is my Aunt.
Run, run (you rascall) and open the doore. Well, it is an
old saying, and I perceive, as true, The fish leaps out of the
panne, and falls into the fire. And a man thinking to
shunne one danger, runnes into another, worse then the
former. For I thinking to keep close this matter from
Parmeno, (on whose neck, either out of love, faithfulnesse,
or feare. Reason hath laid her reynes) I have fallen into the
displeasure of this woman, who hath no lesse power over my
life, then love himselfe.

PAR. Sir, why doe you vexe your selfe ? why grieve you ?
Doe you thinke, that in the eares of this woman, the name,
by which I now call her, doth any way sound reproachfully ?
Beleeve it not. Assure your selfe, she glories as much in
this name, as oft as shee heares it, as you do, when you
heare some voyce, Calisto to be a gallant Gentleman.
Besides, by this is she commonly called, and by this Title
is shee of all men generally knowne. If she passe along the
streetes among a hundred women, and some one perhaps blurts
out, See, where 's the old Bawd ; without any impatiency, or

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

any the least distemper, shee presently turnes her selfe about, ACTUS
nods the head, and answers them with a smiling countenance ^

and cheereful looke. At your solemne banquets, your great
feasts, your weddings, your gossippings, your merry meet-
ings, your funeralls, and all other assemblies whatsoever,
where there is any resort of people, thither doth shee repaire,
and there they make pastime with her. And if shee passe
by where there be any dogs, they straightway barke out this
name ; If shee come amongst birds, they have no other note
but this ; If she light upon a flocke of sheepe, their bleatings
proclaime no lesse ; If she meet with beasts, they bellow
forth the same : The frogges that lie in ditches, croake no
other tune ; Come shee amongst your Smithes, your Car-
penters, your Ai-mourers, your Ferriers, your Brasiers, your
Joyners : why, their hammers beate all upon this word. In
a word, all sorts of tooles and instruments returne no other
Eccho in the ayre ; your Shoomakers sing this song ; your
Combe -makers joyne with them, your Gardeners, your
Plough-men, your Reapers, your Vine-keepers passe away
the painefulnesse of their labours, in making her the sub-
ject of their discourse ; your Table-players, and all other
Gamesters never lose, but they peale foorth her prayses : To
be short, be she wheresoever she be, all things whatsoever
are in this world, repeate no other name but this : O what
a devourer of rosted egges was her husband ? What would
you more ? Not one stone that strikes against another, but
presently noyseth ovit. Old whoreTj

CALISTO. How canst thou tell ? dost thou know her .?

FARM. I shall tell you Sir, how I know her : It is a
great while ago, since my mother dwelt in her Farish, who
being intreated by this Celestina, gave me unto her to wait
upon her, though now she know me not, growne out perhaps
of her remembrance ; as well by reason of the short time I
abode with her, as also through the alteration which age
hath wrought upon mee.

CALISTO. What service didst thou doe her ?

FARME. I went into the market place, and fetch't her
vitailes ; I waited on her in the streetes, and supplyed her
wants in other the like services, as farre as my poore suffi-

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS ciency, and slender strength was able to performe. So that
I though I continued but a little while with her, yet I remember

every thing as fresh, as if it were but yesterday, in so much
that old age hath not been able to weare it out. This good
honest whore, this grave matrone, forsooth, had at the very
end of the Citty, there where your Tanners dwell, close by
the waterside, a lone house, somewhat far from neighbours,
halfe of it fallen downe, ill contrived, and worse furnished.
\ Now, for to get her living, yee must understand, shee had
\ sixe severall Trades : shee was a Laundresse, a Perfumeresse,
a Former of faces, a Mender of crackt maiden-heads, a Bawd,
and had some smatch of a Witch : Her first Trade was a
cloak to all the rest ; under color wherof, being withall a
piece of a Sempstresse, many young wenches that were of
your ordinary sorts of servants, came to her house to worke :
some on smockes, some on gorgets and many other things :
but not one of them that came thither, but brought with her
either bacon, wheate, flower, or a Jar of wine, or some other
the like provision, which they could conveniently steale from
their Mistresses, and some other thefts of greater quality,
making her house (for shee was the receiver, and kept all
things close) the Rendevous of all their Roguery : she was a
I great friend to your Students, Noble mens Caterers, and
' Pages : To these shee sold that innocent blood of these
poore miserable soules, who did easily adventure their vir-
ginities, drawne on by faire promises, and the restitution
and reparation which she would make them of their lost
maiden-heads. Nay, shee proceeded so far, that by cunning
meanes, she had accesse and communication with your very
Vestalls, and never left them, till shee had brought her pur-
pose to passe. And what time do you tliink she chose when
she would deale with any of these ? At the time of their
chiefest ceremonies ; as when tliey kept their most mys-
terious celebration of the feasts of their Vesta, nay, and that
most strictly solemnized day of Bona Dea, where it is death
to admit men : even then by unheard of disguises, she had
her plots and projects effectually working upon them, to the
utter abolition of their vowes and virginity. Now, what
thinke you, were the trades and marchandise wherein she
40

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

dealt? She professed her selfe a kinde of Phisician, and ACTUS

fained that shee had good skill in curing of little children
Shee would goe and fetch flaxe from one house, and put it
forth to spinning to another, that she might thereby have
pretence for the freer accesse imto all : One would cry, Here
mother ; and another, There mother : Look, sales the third,
where the old woman comes : Yonder comes that Bel-dame
so well knowne to all. Yet notwithstanding all these her
cares, troubles, and trottings to and fro, being never out of
action, she would never misse any great meeting, any religious
processions, any Nuptials, Love-ties, Balls, maskes or games
whatsoever ; They were the onely markets, where she made
all her bargaines. And at home in her owne house shee
made perfumes, false and counterfait Storax, Benjamin,
Gumme, Anime, Amber, Civit, Powders, Muske and Mos-
queta : Shee had a chamber full of Limbecks, little vialls,
pots, some of earth, some of glasse, some brasse, and some
tinne, formed in a thousand fashions. Shee made sublimated
Mercury, boyled confections for to clarifie the skinne, waters
to make the face glister, paintings, some white, some Ver-
million, lip-salves, scarlet-dy'd cloathes, fitted purposely for
women to rub their faces therewith, oyntments for to make
the face smooth, lustrifications, clarifications, pargetings,
fardings, waters for the morphewes, and a thousand other
slibber slabbers : Some made of the lees of wine, some of
daffadills, some of the barkes and rindes of trees, some of
Scar-wolfe, otherwise called Cittibush, or Trifolium, some of
Taragon, some of Centory, some of sowre grapes, some of
Must, or new wine taken from the presse, first distilled, and
afterwards sweetned with sugar. Shee had a tricke to supple
and refine the skin with the juice of Lemmons, with Tur-
pentine, with the marrow of Deere, and of Heron-shawes, and
a thousand the like confections : shee distilled sweet- waters,
of Roses, of Flowers, of Oranges, of Jesmine, of three-leafed
Grasse, of Woodbine, of Gilly-flowers, incorporated with
Muske and Civit, and sprinkled with wine : shee made like-
wise Lees, for to make the hayre turne yellow, or of the
colour of Gold ; and this shee composed of the sprigs of the
Vine, of Holme, of Rye, of Horehound intermixt with Salt-
F 41

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS peter, with Allum, Mill-foyle, which some call Yarrow, or
I Nose-bleed, together with divers other things. The oyles,

the butters, and the greases which shee used, it is lothsome to
tell you, and would turne your stomacke : as of Kine, Beares,
Horses, Camels, Snakes, Conyes, Whales, Herons, Bittours,
Bucks, Cats of the mountaines. Badgers, Squirrells, Hedge-
hogges and others. For her preparatives for bathings, it is
a wonderfull thing to acquaint you with all the hearbes and
rootes which were ready gathered and hung up a-high in the
roofe of her house : as Camomill, Rose-mary, Marsh-mallowes,
Maiden-haire, Blue-bottle, Flowers of Elder, and of Mustard,
Spike and white Laurell, buds of Roses, Rosecakes, Gra-
monilla, Wild-Savory, Green figs, Picodorae, and Folia-tinct.
The oyles which she extracted for tlie face, it is incredible
to recount, of Storax and of Jesmine, of Lemmons, of Apple-
kernels, of Violets, of Benivy, of Fistick-nuts, of Pine-apple
kernels, of Grape-stones, of Jujuba, of Axenuz or Melan-
thion, of Lupines, of Pease, of Carilla, and Paxarera ; and a
small quantity of Balsamum she had in a little viall, Avher-
with she cured that scotch given her overthwart her nose.
For the mending of lost maiden-heads, some shee holpe with
little bladders, and other some she stitch't up with the
needle : shee had in a little Cabbinet, or painted worke-boxe,
certain fine small needles, such as your Glovers sowe withall,
and threds of the slenderest and smallest silke, rubbed over
with wax : she had also roots hanging there of Folia- Plasme,
Fuste-sanguinio, Squill or Sea-Onion, and ground Thistle.
With these she did work wonders ; and when the French
Embassadour came thither, shee made sale of one of her
wenches, three severall times for a virgin.

CALISTO. So shee might a hundred as well.

PARME. Beleeve mee (Sir) it is true as I tell you. Be-
sides, out of charity forsooth, she relieved many Orphanes,
and many straggling wenches, which recommended them-
selves unto her. In another partition, she had her knacks
for to help those that were love-sicke, and to make them to
be beloved againe, and obtaine their desires. And for this
purpose, shee had the bones that are bred in a Stagges heart,
the tongue of a Viper, the heads of Quailes, the braines of

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

an Asse, the kails of young Coltes, when they are new foaled, ACTUS
the bearing cloth of a new-borne babe, Barbary beanes, a I

Sey-Compasse, a Horne-fish, the halter of a man that hath
beene hangM, Ivie berries, the prickles of a Hedge-hogge,
the foote of a Badger, Fearne-seed, the stone of an Eagles
nest, and a thousand other things. OVIany both men and
women came unto her : of some she would demand a piece
of that bread where they had bit it : of others, some part of
their apparell : of some, shee would crave to have of their
hayre : others, she would draw characters in the palmes of
their hands with SafFrom ; with othersome she would doe
the same with a kinde of colour, which you call Vermilion :
to others she would give hearts made of waxe, and stucke
full of broken needles ; and many other the like things,
made in clay, and some in lead, very fearefull, and ghastly
to behold : she would draw circles, portraite foorth figures,
and mumble many strange words to her selfe, having her
eyes still fixed on the ground. But who is able to deliver
unto you those things that she hath done ? And all these
were meere mockeries and lyes.
1"^ CALISTO. Parmeno, hold thy hand ; thou hast said
•— inough ; what remaineth, leave it till some fitter opportunity.
I am sufficiently instructed by thee, and I thanke thee for it ;
Let us now delay them no longer, for necessity cuts off
slackenesse. Know thou, that shee comes hither requested,
and wee make her stay longer then stands with good manners.
Come, let us goe, lest she be offended, and take it ill. I
feare, and feare makes me more and more thinke upon her,
quickens my memorie, and awakens in me a more provident
carefulnesse how I communicate my selfe unto her. Well,
let us goe, and arme our selves as well as we can against all
inconveniences. But I pray thee Parmeno, let me intreat
thee, that the envy thou bearest unto Sempronio, who is to
serve and pleasure me in this businesse, be not an impediment
to that remedy, wheron no lesse then the safety of my life
relyeth. And if I had a doublet for him, thou shalt not want
a Mandillion. Neither thinke thou, but that I esteeme as
much of thy counsell and advice, as of his labour and paines ;
and as bruite beasts (we see) doe labour more bodily then

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS men, for wliich they are well respected of us, and carefully
I lookt unto ; but yet for all this, we hold them not in the

nature of friends, nor affect them with the like love : the
like difference doe I make betweene thee and Sempronio.
And laying aside all power and dominion in my selfe, under
the privie-Seale of my secret love, signe my selfe unto thee
for such a friend.

PARME. Sir, it grieves mee not a little, that you should
seeme doubtfull of my fidelity, and faithfuU service, which
these your faire promises and demonstrations of your good
affection, cannot but call into question and jealousie. When
(Sir) did you ever see my envy proove hurtfull unto you ?
Or when for any interest of mine own, or dislike, did I ever
shew my selfe crosse, to crosse your good, or to hinder what
might make for your profit ?

CALISTO. Take it not offensively, nor mis-conster my

meaning : for assure thy selfe, thy good behaviour towards

mee, and thy faire carriage, and gentle disposition, makes

thee more gracious in mine eies, then any, nay, then all the

rest of my servants. But because in a case so difficult and

( hard as this, not only all my good, but even my life also

\ wholly dependeth ; it is needfull that I should in all that I

I am able, provide for my selfe ; and therefore seeke to arme

\ my selfe in this sort as thou see'st, against all such casualties,

as may indanger my desire ; howsoever, perswade thy selfe,

that thy good qualities, as farre excell every naturall good,

as every naturall good excelletli the artificiall, from whom it

hath ifs beginning. But of this, for this time no more ; but

let us now goe and see her, who must work our well-fare.

CELEST. Soft : me thinkes I heare some body on the
stayres ; they are now comming downe : Sempronio, make as
though you did not heare them : stand close, and listen
what they say ; and let me alone to speake for us both.
And thou shalt see how handsomely I will handle the matter,
both for thee and mee.

SEMPR. Doe so then. Speake thou.

CELEST. Trouble mee no more, I say, leave importuning
me ; for to overcharge one, who is heavy enough already laden
with paine, and anguish, were to spurre a sicke beast. Alas,

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

poore soule, mee thinkes thou art so possessed with thy A C T U l
j Masters paine, and so affected with his affliction, that ^

Sempronio seemes to be Cahsto; and CaHsto to be Sempronio;
and that both your torments are both but in one and the
same subject. Besides, I would have you thinke, that I
came not hither to leave this controversie undecided, but
will dye rather in the demand and pursuite of this my pur-
pose, then not see his desire accomplished.

CALISTO. Parmeno, stay, stay awhile, make no noyse ;
stand still I pray thee, and listen a little what they say. So,
hush, that we may see in what state wee live ; what wee are
like to trust to, and how the world is like to goe with us.
O notable woman ! O worldly goods, unworthy to be
possessed by so high a spirit ! O faithfull, and trusty
Sempronio ! Hast thou well observed him (my Parmeno ?)
Hast thou heard him ? Hast thou noted his earnestnesse ?
Tell me, have I not reason to respect him ? What saist
thou, man ? Thou that art the Clozet of my secrets, the
Cabinet of my Counsell, and Councell of my soule ?

PARME. Protesting first my innocency for your former
suspition, and cumplying with my fidelity, since you have
given me such free liberty of speech, I will truly deliver unto
you what I thinke. Heare mee therefore, and let not your
affection make you deafe, nor hope of your pleasure blinde
you ; have a little patience, and be not too hasty ; for many
through too much eagernesse to hit the pinne, have shotj
farre beside the white. And albeit I am but young, yet j
have I scene somewhat in my dayes : besides, the observation
and sight of many things, doe teach a man mucli experience.
Wherefore, assure your selfe, and thereon I durst pawne my
life, that they overheard what wee said, as also our comming
downe the stayres, and have of set purpose fallen into this
false and feyned expression of their great love and care,
wherein you now place the end of your desire.

SEMPR. Beleeve mee (Celestina) Parmeno aimes un-
happily.

CELEST. Be silent : For I sweare by my haly-doome,
that whither comes the Asse, thither also shall come the
saddle. Let mee alone to,deale with Parmeno, and you shall

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS see, I will so temper him eV I have done with him, that I

I will make him wholly ours. And see what wee gaine, hee

shall share with us : for goods that are not common are not

goods ; It is communication that makes combination in love :

and therefore let us all gaine, let us all devide the spoile,

^ and let us laugh and be merry all alike. I will make the
slave so tame, and so gentle, that I will bring him like a bird
to picke bread from my fist. And so we will be two to two,
and all three joyne to coozen the fourth. Thou and I will
joyne together, Parmeno shall make a third, and all of us
cheate Calisto. j

. / CALISTOr^empronio.

^ SEMPR. Sir.

CAL. What art thou doing, thou that art the key of my
life .P Open the doore. O Parmeno ! now that I see her, I
feele my selfe well, me thinks, I am now alive againe : See
what a reverend Matrone it is : What a presence she beares,
worthy respect ! A man may now see, how for the most part,
the face is the Index of the mind. O vertuous old age ! O
inaged vertue ! O glorious hope of my desired end ! O head,
the allayer of my passion ! O reliever of my torment and
vivification of my life, resurrection from my death ! I desire
to draw neer unto thee, my lips long to kisse those hands,
wherein consists the fulnesse of my recovery; but the
unworthinesse of my person debars mee of so great a favour.
Wherefore I heere adore the ground whereon thou treadest,
and in reverence of thee, bow downe my body to kisse it.
/ CELEST. Sempronio ; Can faire words make me the
fatter ? Can I live by this ? Those bones which I have
already gnawne, does this foole thy Master thinke to feede
mee therewith ? Sure the man dreames ; when he comes to
\ frye his egges, he will then finde what is wanting. Bid him
shut his mouth, and open his purse : I missedoubt his words,
much more his works. Holla, I say ; are you so ticklish .?
I will curry you for this geare, you lame Asse : you must rise
a little more early, if you meane to goe beyond me.
. PARME. Woe to these eares of mine, that ever they
should heare such words as these. I now see, that hee is a
lost man, who goes after one that is lost, O unhappy Calisto,
46

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

deject wretch, blind in thy folly, and kneeling on the ground, ACTUS
to adore the oldest, and the rottennest piece of whorish earth, ^

that ever rubM her shoulders in the Stewes ! He is undone,
he is overthrowne horse and foote, hee is fallen into a trap,
whence he will never get out ; hee is not capable of any
redemption, counsell, or courage.

CALISTO. Wat said my mother ? It seemeth unto mee,
that shee thinkes I offer words for to excuse my reward.

SEMPR. You have hit the nayle on the head, Sir.

CALISTO. Come then with mee, bring the keyes with
you, and thou shalt see, I will quickely put her out of that
doubt.

SEMPR. In so doing, you shall doe well. Sir. Let us goe
presently : for it is not good to suffer weeds to grow amongst
corne, nor suspition in the hearts of our friends, but to root
it out streight with the weed-hooke of good workes.

CALISTO. Wittily spoken ; come, let us goe, let us
slacke no time.

CELEST. Beleeve me (Parmeno) I am very glad, that
we have liglited on so fit an opportunity, wherein I may
manifest and make knowne unto thee the singular love,
wherewithall I affect thee ; and wliat great interest (though
undeservedly) thou hast in me, I say undeservedly, in regard
of that, which I have heard thee speake against me : whereof
I make no more reckoning, but am content to let it passe.
For, vertue teacheth us to suffer temptations, and not to
render evill for evill ; and especially when wee are tempted
by young men, such as want experience, and are not
acquainted with the courses of the world, who out of an
\ ignorant and foolish kinde of loyalty, undoe both themselves
land their Masters, as thou thy selfe dost Calisto. I heard
you well inough, not a word you said, that escaped mine
eare. Nor do you think, that with these my other outward
senses, old age hath made me lose my hearing ; for not onely
that which I see, heare, and know, but even the very inward
secrets of thy heart and thoughts, I search into, and pierce
to the full with these my intellectuall eyes, these eies of my
understanding. I would have tliee to know (Parmeno) that
Calisto is love-sicke, sicke even to the death. Nor art thou

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS for this, to censure him to be a weak and foolish man : for
I unresistable love subdueth all things. Besides, I would have

thee to know, if thou knowst it not already, that there are
these two conclusions, that are evermore infallibly true.
The first is, that every man must of force love a woman, and
every woman love a man. The second is, that he who truely
loves, must of necessity be much troubled and mov^'d with the
sweetnes of that superexcellent delight, which was ordain''d
by him that made all things, for the perpetuating of man-
kind, without which, it must needs perish : and not only in
humane kind, but also in fishes, birds, beasts, and all creatures
that creepe and crawle upon the earth ; Likewise in your
soules vegetative, some plants have the same inclination and
disposition, that without the interposition of any other thing,
they be planted in some little distance one of another, and
it is determined and agreed upon by the generall consent of
your Gardeners, and husband-men, to be Male and Female,
How can you answer this, Parmeno ? Now my pretty little
foole, you mad wagge, my soules sweet Genius, my Pearle,
my Jewell, my honest poore silly Lad, my pretty little
Monky-face, come hither you little whoreson ; Alack, how I
pitty thy simplicity ! thou knowst nothing of the world, nor
of it's delights. Let me run mad, and dye in that fit. If I
suffer thee to come neere me, as old as I am. Thou hast
a harsh and ill-favourd hoarse voyce, by thy brizzled beard,
it is easily guest what manner of man you are. Tell mee, is
all quiet beneath ? No motions at all to make in Venus
Court ?

PARME. O ! As quiet as the taile of a Scorpion.

CELEST. It were well, and it were no worse.

PARME. Ha, ha, he.

CELEST. Laugh 'st thou, thou pocky rogue ?

PARME. Nay, mother, be quiet : hold your peace, I
pray. Doe not blame me ; and doe not hold mee, though
I am but young, for a foole. I love Calisto, tyed thereunto
out of that true and honest fidelity, which every servant
owes unto his Master ; for the breeding that he hath given
me, for the benefit which I receive from him, as also because
I am well respected, and kindely intreated by him, which

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

is the strongest chaine, that linkes the love of the servant ACTUS

to the service of his Master: As the contrary is the breaking
of it. I see hee is out of the right way, and hath wholly
lost himselfe ; and nothing can befall a man worse in this
world, then to hunt after his desire, without hope of a good
and happy end ; especially, he thinking to recover his game
(which himselfe holdeth so hard and difficult a pursuite) by
the vaine advice, and foolish reasons of that beast Sempronio,
which is all one, as if he should goe about with the broade
end of a Spade, to dig little wormes out of a mans hand. I
hate it. I abhorre it. It is abominable : and with griefe
I speake it, I doe much lament it.

CELESTINA. Knowst thou not, Parmeno, that it is an
absolute folly, or meere simplicity to bewaile that, which by
way ling cannot bee holpen ?

PARME. And therefore doe I wayle, because it cannot
be holpen : For if by wayling and weeping, it were possible
to worke some remedy for my Master, so great would the
contentment of that hope be, that for very joy, I should
not have the power to weepe. But because I see all hope
thereof to be utterly lost, with it have I lost all my joy, and
for this cause doe I weepe.

CELEST. Thou weepest in vaine for that, which cannot
by weeping be avoyded ; thou canst not turne the streame
of his violent passion ; and therefore maist truly presume
that he is past all cure. Tell mee (Parmeno) hath not the
like happened to others, as well as to him ?

PARME. Yes. But I would not have my Master through
mourning and grieving, languish, and grow sicke.

CELESTINA. Thy Master is well inough. He is not
sicke : and were hee never so sicke, never so much payned
and grieved, I my selfe am able to cure him. I have the
power to doe it.

PARME. I regard not what thou saist. For in good
things, better is the Act, then the Power : And in bad
things, better the Power, then the Act. So that, it is beter
to be well, then in the way to bee well. And better is the
possibility of being sicke, then to be sicke indeed : and
therefore, Power in ill, is better then the Act.

G 49

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS CELEST. O thou wicked villaine ! How idly dost thou

I talke, as if thou didst not understand thy selfe ? It seemes

thou dost not know his disease; What hast thou hitherto

said ? What wouldst thou have ? What is't that grieves you,

Sir ? Why lamentest thou ? Be you disposed to jest, and

make your selfe merry ? or are you in good earnest, and

would'st faine face out truth with falsehood ? Beleeve you

( what you list ; I am sm;e_hee is sicke, and that in Act,

' and that the Power to1nake"him whole, lyes wholly in the

hands of this weake old woman.

PARME. Nay rather, of this weake old Whore.

CELEST. Now the Hang-man be thy ghostly father, my
little rascall, my pretty villaine ; how dar'st thou be so bold
with me ?

PARM. How, as though I did not know thee ?

CELEST. And who art thou ?

PARM. Who ? marry, I am Parmeno, sonne to Alberto
thy gossip, who liv'd some little while with thee ; for my
mother recommended mee unto thee, when thou dwelt'st
close by the rivers side in Tanners row.

CELEST. Good Lord, and art thou Parmeno, Claudina's
Sonne ?

PARME. The very same.

CELEST. Now the fire of the pockes consume thy bones;
for thy mother was an old whore, as my selfe : Why dost
thou persecute me, Parmeno ? It is he in good truth, it is
hee. Come hither unto mee ; come I say ; many a good
jerke, and many a cufFe on the eare have I given thee in my
dales, and as many kisses too. A you little rogue, dost thou
remember, sirrha, when thou lay'st at my beds feet ?

PARM. Passing well : and sometimes also, though I was
then but a little Apish boy, how you would take me up to
your pillow, and there lye hugging of me in your armes ;
and because you savour"'d somewhat of old age, I remember
how I would fling and flye from you,

CELEST. A pocks on you for a rogue. Out (impudent !)
art thou not ashamed to talke thus ? But to leave off all
jesting, and to come to plaine earnest ; Heare me now (my
childe) and hearken what I shall say unto thee. For, though

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

I am called hither for one end, I am come for another. And ACTUS
albeit I have made my selfe a stranger unto thee, and as I

though I knew thee not, yet thou wast the onely cause that
drew mee hither. My sonne, I am sure thou art not ignorant,
how that your mother gave you unto me, your father being
then alive ; who, after thou wentst from me, dyed of no other
griefe, save onely what she suffered for the uncertainty of
thy life and person. For whose absence in those latter
yeeres of her elder age, she led a most painefull, pensive and
carefuU life. And when the time came, that she was to
leave this world, shee sent for mee, and in secret recom-
mended thee unto me, and told me, (no other witnesse being
by, but heaven the witnesse to all our workes, our thoughts,
our hearts, whom she alone interposed betweene her and
mee) that of all loves I should doe so much for her, as to
make inquirie after thee, and when I had found thee, to
bring thee up, and foster thee as mine own : and that as
soon as thou shouldst come to mans estate, and wert able
to know how to govern thy selfe, and to live in some good
manner and fashion ; that then I should discover unto thee
a certain place, where, under many a lock and key, she
hath left thee more store of Gold and Silver, then all the
revenewes come to, that thy Master Calisto hath in his
possession. And because I solemnly vow'd, and bound my
selfe by promise unto her, that I would see her desire, as far
foorth as lay in me, to be well and truely performed, she
peacefully departed this mortall life ; and though a mans
faith ought to be inviolably observed both to the living and
the dead, yet more especially to the dead ; for they are not
able to doe any thing of themselves, they cannot come to
me, and prosecute their right here upon earth. I have
spent much time and mony in inquiring and searching after
thee, and could never till now heare what was become of
thee : and it is not above three dales since, that I first heard
of your being, and where you abode. Verily, it hath much
grieved me, that thou hast gon travelling, and wandring
throughout the world, as thou hast done from place to place,
losing thy time, without either gaine of profit, or of friends.
For, (as Seneca saith) Travellers have many ends, and few

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS friends. For, in so short a time they can never fasten
I friendship with any : and hee that is every where, is said

to be no where. Againe, that meat cannot benefit the
body, which is no sooner eaten, then ejected. Neither doth
any thing more hinder ifs health, then your diversities, and
changes of meates. Nor doth that wound come to be
healed, which hath daily change of tents, and new plasters.
Nor doth that Tree never prove, which is often transplanted
and removed from one ground to another. Nor is there any
thing so profitable, which at the first sight bringeth profit
with it. Therefore (my good sonne) leave off these violencies
of youth, and following the doctrine, and rule of thy Ances-
tors, returne unto reason, settle thy selfe in some one place
or other. And where better, then where I shal advise thee,
taking mee, and my counsell along with thee, to whom thou
art recommended both by thy father and mother.? And
I, as if I were thine owne true mother, say unto thee, upon
those curses and maledictions, which thy parents have laid
upon thee, if thou should'st be disobedient unto me, that
yet a while thou continue heere, and serve this thy Master
which thou hast gotten thee, till thou hearest further from
mee, but not with that foolish loyalty, and ignorant honesty,
as hitherto thou hast done; thinking to finde firmenesse
upon a false foundation, as most of these Masters now a
dales are. But doe thou gaine friends, which is a durable
and lasting commodity ; sticke closely and constantly unto
them ; doe not thou live upon hopes, relying on the vaine
promises of Masters, who sucke away the substance of their
servants, with hollow-hearted, and idle promises, as the
horse-leaches suck blond ; and in the end fall off from them,
wrong them, grow forgetfull of their good services, and deny
them any recompence or reward at all. Wo be unto him
that growes old in Court. The Masters of these times love
more themselves then their servants ; neither in so doing
doe they doe amisse. The like love ought servants to beare
unto themselves. Liberality was lost long agoe; rewards
i are growne out of date ; magnificence is fled the countrie ;
I and with her, all noblenesse. Every one of them is wholly
' now for himselfe, and makes the best hee can of his servants
52

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

service, serving his turne, as hee findes it may stand with his ACTUS
private interest and profit. And therefore they ought to I

doe no lesse, sithens that they are lesse then they in sub-
stance, but to live after their law, and to doe as they doe.
My Sonne Parmeno, I the rather tell thee this, because thy
Master (as I am informed) is (as it seemeth likewise unto .
mee) a Rompenecios, one that befooles his servants, and '
weares them out to the very stumps, lookes for much service
at their hands, and makes them small, or no recompence :
He will looke to be served of all, but will part with nothing
at all. Weigh well my words, and perswade thy selfe, that
what I have said is true : Get thee some friends in his house,
which is the greatest, and preciousest Jewell in the world.
For, with him thou must not thinke to fasten friendship.
A thing seldome scene, where there is such difference of estate
and condition, as is betweene you two. Opportunity, thou
seest, now offers her selfe unto us, on whose foretop, if wee
will but take hold, wee shall all of us be great gainers, and
thou shalt presently have something, wherewithall to help
thy selfe. As for that which I told you of, it shall bee well
and safely kept, when time shall serve ; in the meane while,
it shall be much for thy profit, that thou make Sempronio
thy friend.

PARME. Celestina, my hayre stands an end to heare
thee, I tremble at thy words ; I know not what I should
doe, I am in a great perplexity. One while I hold thee for
my mother, another while Calisto for my Master, I desire
riches, but would not get them wrongfully; for, hee that rises
by unlawfuU meanes, falls with greater speed, then he got
up. I would not for all the world thrive by ill gotten gaine.

CELEST. Marry, Sir, but so would I : right, or wrong, |
so as my house may be raised high inough, I care not. /

PARME. Well, wee two are of contrary minds. For, I
should never live contented with ill gotten goods ; for I
hold cheerefuU poverty, to be anJhonest..thing. Besides,
I musF^ll you, that they are not poore, that have little,
but they that desire much ; And therefore say all you
can, though never so much, you shall never perswade
me in this, to be of your beliefe. I would faine passe

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS over this life of mine without envy : I would passe thorow

I solitary woods and wildernesses without feare : I would take

my sleep without startings : I would avoyd injuries, with

gentle answers : indure violence without reviling : and brooke

oppression by a resolute resistance.

CELEST, O my sonne ! it is a true saying ; that Wisdome
cannot be but onely in aged persons. And thou art but
young.

FARM. True, but contented poverty is safe and secure.

CELEST. But tell mee, I pray thee, whom doth fortune
more advance, then those that be bold and venturous.''
Besides, who is hee, that comes to any thing in a Common-
wealth, who hath resolved with himselfe to live without
friends ? But (heaven be thanked) thou hast wealth inough
of thine owne, yet thou k no west not what neede thou maist
have of friends for the better keeping of them. Nor do
thou think, that this thy inwardnesse with thy Master can
any way secure thee. For the greater a mans fortune is, the
lesse secure it is ; and then most ticklish, when most prosper-
ous. And therefore, to be armed against misfortunes, we
must arme our selves with friends. And where canst thou
get a fitter, neerer, and better companion in this kinde, then
where those three kinde of friendships doe concurre in one ?
To wit, goodnesse, profit, and pleasure. For goodnesse;
behold the good will of Sempronio, how agreeable, and con-
formable it is to thine : and with it, the great similiancy, and
suteableness, which both of you have in vertue. For profit ;
That lyes in this hand of mine, if you two can but agree
together : For pleasure, That likewise is very likely. For
now you are both in the prime of your yeeres, young and
lusty, and fit for all kinde of sports and pleasures whatso-
ever ; wherein young men, more then old folks, do joyne and
linke together : as in gaming, in wearing good clothes, in
jesting, in eating, in drinking and wenching together. O
Parmeno ! if thou thy selfe wouldst, what a life might wee
leade ? Even as merry as the day is long. Sempronio, hee
loves Elicia, Kinsewoman to Areusa.

FARM. To Areusa ?

CELEST. I, to Areusa.

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

FARM. To Areusa, the daughter of EHso ? ACTUS

CELEST. To Areusa, the daughter of Eliso. I

FARM. Is this certaine ?
, CELEST. Most certaine.
j FARM. It is marvellous strange.
' CELEST. But tell me man ; Dost thou like her ?

FARM. Nothing in the world more.

CELEST. Well, now I know thy minde, let me alone.
Heer 's my hand ; I will give her thee. Thou shalt have
her ; Man, she is thine owne, as sure as a Club.

FARMENO. Nay soft mother, you shall give mee leave
not to beleeve you ; I trust no body with my faith.

CELEST. He is unwise, that will beleeve all men ; And
hee is in an errour, that will beleeve no man.

FARME. I said, that I beleeve thee, but I dare not be so
bold. And therefore let me alone.

CELEST. Alas, poore silly wretch ; faint-hearted is hee
that dares not venture for his good. love gives nuts to
them, that have no teeth to cracke them : And beanes to
those, that have no jawes to chew them. Simple as thou art,
thou maist truely say, Fooles have fortune : for it is com-
monly scene, that they who have least wisedome, have most
wealth : and that they who have the most discretion, have
the least meanes.

FARM. O Celestina ; I have heard old men say, that one
example of luxury or covetousnesse, does much hurt. And
that a man should converse with those that may make him
better; and to forsake the fellowship of those whom hee
thinkes to make better. As for Sempronio, neyther by his
example shall I be won to be vertuous; nor he by my
company be with-drawne from being vicious. And suppose
that I should incline to that which thou saist, I would faine
know this one thing of thee, how by example faults may bee
concealed. And though a man overcome by pleasure, may
goe against vertue ; yet notwithstanding, let him take heed
how hee spot his honesty.

CELEST. There is no wisdome in thy words ; For,

I without company, there is no pleasure in the possession of

any thing. Doe not thou then draw backe, doe not thou

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

A C; T U S torment and vexe thy selfe. For, Nature shunnes whatsoever
I savours of sadnesse ; and desires that which is pleasant and

delightsome. And delight is with friends, in things that are
sensual! ; but especially in recounting matters of love, and
communicating them, the one to the other. This did 1 do
my selfe; this such a one told me; such a jest did wee
breake ; in this sorte did I winne her ; thus often did I kisse
her : thus often did shee bite me ; thus I imbraced her ;
thus came wee neerer and neerer. O what speech, what
grace, what sport, what kisses ! Let us goe thither, Let us
returne hither. Let us have musick. Let us paint Motto''s,
Let us sing songs. Let us invent some pretty devices ; Let us
tilt it ; What shall be the Impresse ? What the letter to it .?
To morrow shee will walke abroad ; Let us round her streete ;
Read this her Letter ; Let us goe by night ; Hold thou the
ladder ; Guard well the gate ; How did shee escape thee ?
Looke, where the Cuckold her husband goes ; he left her all
alone ; Let us give another turne ; Let us goe backe againe
thither. And is there any delight (Parmeno) in all this,
without company ? By my fay, by my fay, they that have
tryall can tell you, that this is the delight, this is the only
pleasure ; As for that other thing you wot of, your Asses have
a better, and can doe better then you, or the best of you all.

PARMENO. I would not, mother, that you should draw
mee on by your pleasing perswasions to follow yom* advice,
as those have done, who wanting a good foundation to build
their opinion on, have invited and drawne men to drinke of
their heresies, sugring their cup with some sweet kinde of
poyson, for to catch and captivate the wills of weake-minded
men, and to blinde the eyes of their reason, with the powder
of some sweet-pleasing affection.

CELEST. What is reason, you foole ? What is affection,
you Asse ? Discretion (which thou hast not) must determine
that ; And discretion gives the upper hand to prudence ; and
prudence cannot be had without experience ; and experience
cannot bee found but in old folks, and such as are well
strucken in yeeres. And therefore we are called fathers, and
mothers ; and good parents doe alwayes give their children
good councell : as I more especially now doe thee ; whose life

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

and credit, I preferre before mine owne. And when, or how, ACTUS
canst thou be able to requite this my kindenesse? For, I

Parents and Tutors can never receive any recompence, that
may equall their desert.

PARME. I am very jealous and suspicious of receiving
this doubtful! councell. I am afrade to venture upon it.

CELEST. Wilt thou not entertaine it? Well, I will
then tell thee, Hee that wilfully refuseth councell, shall
suddenly come to destruction. And so (Parmeno) I rid my
selfe of thee, as also of this businesse.

PARM. My mother (I see) is angry ; and what I were
best to do, I know not. I am doubtfuU of following her
councell : it is as great an errour to beleeve nothing, as it is
to beleeve every thing. The more humane and civill course,
is, to have affiance and confidence in her. Especially in that,
where besides the present benefit, both profit and pleasure is
proposed. I have heard tell ; that a man should beleeve his
betters, and those whose yeers carry authority with them.
Now ; What is it she adviseth me unto ? To be at peace
with Sempronio : and to peace, no man ought to be opposite.
For blessed are the peacefull. Love and charity towards our
brethren, that is not to be shunned and avoided by us ; and
few are they, that will forgoe their profit. I will therefore
seeke to please her, and hearken unto her. Mother, a master
ought not be offended with his Schollers ignorance ; at least,
very seldome in matters of depth and knowledge. For
though knowledge in its owne nature, be communicable unto
all, yet is it infused but into few. And therefore I pray
pardon me, and speake a new unto me ; For, I will not only
heare and beleeve thee, but receive thy councell as a singular
kindnesse, and a token of thy great favour, and especiall love
towards mee. Nor yet would I, that you should thanke mee
for this; Because the praise and thankes of every action,
ought rather to be attributed to the giver then to the re-
ceiver. Command mee therefore ; for to your commandements
shall I ever be willing, that my consent submit it selfe.

CELEST. It is proper to a man to erre ; but to a beast,
to persevere in an errour. It doth much glad me, Parmeno,
that thou hast cleared those thicke clouds, which darkened

H 57

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS thy eye-sight, and hast answered mee according to the wise-
I dome, discretion, and sharpe wit of thy father, whose person,

now representing it selfe fresh to my remembrance, doth
make my tender eyes to melt into teares, which thou seest
in such abundance to trickle downe my cheeks. He some-
times would maintaine hard and strange propositions, but
would presently (such was the goodnesse of his nature) see his
errour, and imbrace the truth. I sweare unto thee ; that in
thus seeing thee to thwart the truth, and then suddenly upon
it, laying down all contradiction, and to be conformable to
that which was reason ; me thinks, I doe as lively now behold
thy father : as if he now were living, and present heere before
mee. O what a man he was, how proper in his person, how
able in his actions, what a port did he beare, and what a
venerable and reverend coimtenance did hee carry ! But hush,
I heare Calisto comming, and thy new friend, Sempronio,
whose reconcilement with him, I referre to some fitter oppor-
tunity. For, two living in one heart, are more powerfull
both for action, and understanding.

CALISTO. Deare mother, I did much doubt, considering
my misfortunes, to finde you alive : but marvaile more, con-
sidering my desire, that my selfe come alive unto you.
Receive this poore gift of him, who with it offers thee his life.

CELEST. As in your finest gold, that is wrought by the
hand of your cunningest, and curiosest Artificer, the worke-
manship oftentimes doth farre surpasse the matter : So the
fashion of your faire liberality doth much exceed the great-
nesse of your gift. And questionlesse, a kindnesse that is
quickely conferred, redoubles ifs effect ; for hee that slacketh
that, which he promiseth, seemeth in a manner to deny it,
and to repent himselfe of his promised favour.

PARME. Sempronio, what hath hee given her ^

SEMPR. A hundred crownes in good gold.

PARME. Ha, ha, ha.

SEMPR. Hath my mother talk't with thee ?

PARME. Peace, shee hath.

SEMPR. How is it then with us .?

PARME. As thou wilt thy selfe. Yet for all this, mee
thinkes I am still afraid.

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

SEMPR. No more. Be silent. I feare mee, I shall make
thee twice as much afraide, e'r I have done with thee.

FARM. Now fie upon it. I perceive there can be no
greater plague, nor no greater enemy to a man, then those
of his owne house.

CALISTO. Now mother, goe your wayes, get you home
and cheere up your owne house ; and when you have done
that, I pray hasten hither, and cheere up ours.

CELESTINA. Good chance attend you.

CALISTO. And you too : And so farewell.

THE END OF THE FIRST ACT,

ACTUS

ACTUS II

THE ARGUMENT

ELESTINA, being departed from Calisto,
and gone Jiome to her ozone house ; Calisto
continues talking with Sempronio, his ser-
vant ; who like one that is jmt in some
good hope, thinking all speed too slow,
sends away Sempronio to Celestina, to
solicit her for the quicker dispatch of' his
conceived businesse : Calisto and Parmeno

in the mean while reasoning together.

INTERLOCUTORS

Calisto, Sempronio, Parmeno.

CALISTO. Tell me (my Masters) The hundred crownes
which I gave yonder old Bel-dame, are they well bestowed,
or no ?

SEMPR. Yes Sir, exceeding well. For, besides the sav-
ing of your life, you have gained much honour by it. And
for what end is fortune favourable and prosperous, but to be
a handmaide to our honour, and to wayte thereon, which of
all worldly goods is the greatest ? For honor is the reward

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS and recompence of vertue ; and for this cause wee give it
II unto the Divine Essence, because wee have not any thing

greater to give him. The best part whereof consisteth in
liberaHty and bounty : and this close-fistednes, and uncom-
raunicated treasure, doth eclypse and darken, whereas mag-
nificence and liberality doth gaine, and highly extoll it.
What good is it for a man to keep that to himselfe, which
in the keeping of it, does himselfe no good ? I tell you. Sir,
and what I speake is truth ; Better is the use of riches, then
the possessing of them. O, how glorious a thing is it to
give ? and how miserable to receive ? See, how much better
action is then passion : so much more noble is the giver,
then the receiver. Amongst the Elements, the fire, because
it is more active, is the more noble : and therefore placed in
the Spheares, in the noblest place. And some say ; that
noblenesse is a praise proceeding from the merit, and anti-
quity of our Ancesters. But I am of opinion, that another
mans light can never make you shine, unlesse you have some
of your owne. And therefore doe not glory in the noble-
nesse of your father, who was so magnificent a Gentleman,
but in your owne. Shine not out of his, but your owne
light ; and so shall you get your selfe honour, which is mans
greatest outward good. Wherefore not the bad, but the
good, (such as your selfe) are worthy to partake of so perfect
a vertue. And besides, I must tell you, that perfect vertue
doth not suppose that Honour hath it's feUow : and there-
fore rejoice with your selfe, that you have beene so magni-
ficent, and so bountifull. And thus. Sir, having told you
my minde, let mee now advise you that you would be pleased
to returne backe to your chamber, and there take some rest,
sithence, that your businesse is deposited in such hands ;
assuring your se]fe, that the beginning being so good, the
end will be much better : and so let us goe presently to your
chamber ; where I shall treate more at large with you con-
cerning this businesse.

CALISTO. Me thinkes (Sempronio) it is no good counsell,

that I should rest heere accompanied, and that shee should

goe all alone, who seekes to cure my ill : it were better that

thou shouldst goe along with her, and hasten her on, since

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

thou knowst, that on her diligence dependeth my well-fare ; ACTUS
on her slownesse, my painfulnesse, on her neglect, my despaire. II

Thou art wise, I know thee to bee faithfull, I hold thee a
good servant. And therefore so handle the matter, that
she shall no sooner see thee, but that shee may judge of that
paine which I feele, and of that fire which tormenteth mee ;
whose extreme heat will not give me leave to lay open unto
her the third part of my secret sickenesse. So did it tye
my tongue, and tooke such hold on my sences, that they
were not onely busied, but in a manner wasted and con-
sumed ; which thou, as one that is free from the like passion,
maist more largely deliver, letting thy words runne with a
looser reyne.

SEMPR. Sir, I would faine goe to fulfill your command :
And I would fayne stay, to ease you of your care ; your
feare puts spurs to my sides ; and your solitarinesse, like a
bridle, pulls mee backe. But I will obey and follow your
councell ; which is, to goe and labour the old woman. But
how shall I goe.? For, if I leave you thus all alone, you
will talke idlely, like one that is distracted; doe nothing
but sigh, weepe, and take on, shutting your selfe up in
darknesse, desiring solitude, and seeking new meanes of
thoughtfull torment ; wherein if you still persevere, you
cannot escape either death or madnesse. For the avoyding
whereof, get some good company about you, that may
minister unto you occasion of mirth, by recounting of witty
conceits, by intertaining you with Musicke, and singing
merry songs, by relating Stories, by devising Motto's, by
telling tales, by playing at cards, jesting, sporting. In a
word, by inventing any other kinde of sweet and delightfuU
recreation, for to passe away the time, that you may not
suffer your thoughts to run still wandring on in that cruell
errour, whereinto they were put by that your Lady and
Mistresse, upon the first trance and encounter of your Love.

CALISTO. How like a silly foole thou talkest ! Know'st
thou not, that it easeth the paine, to bewaile it's cause ? O
how sweet is it to the sorrowfull, to unsheathe their griefes !
What ease doe broken sighes bring with them ! O what a
diminishing and refreshing to tearefull complaints, is the

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS unfolding of a mans woes, and bitter passions ! As many as
II ever writ of comfort, and consolation, doe all of them jumpe

in this.

SEMPR. Read a little farther, and but turne over the
leafe, and you shall finde they say thus : That to trust in
things temporall, and to seek after matter of sorrow, is a
kinde of foolishnesse, if not madnesse. And that Macias,
the Idoll of Lovers, forgetfull of himselfe, because his mis-
tresse did forget him ; and carelesse of his well-fare, because
she cared not for him, complaines himselfe thus : That the
punishment of love consists in the contemplation thereof:
And that the best remedy against love, is, not to thinke on
thy love. The ease lies in the forgetting it. Kick not
therefore against the pricke ; fe3Tie thy selfe to be merry,
pluck up your spirits and be of good cheere, and all, you
shall see, shall be well : for oftentimes, opinion brings things
whither it listeth : Not that it should cause us to swarve
from the truth ; but for to teach us to moderate our sence,
and to governe our j udgement.

CALISTO. Sempronio, my friend, (for so thy love makes
me stile thee) since it so grieves thee that I should be alone,
call Parmeno hither, and hee shall stay with me : and
henceforth, be thou, (as thou hast ever beene) faithfull and
loyall unto mee. For, in the service of the servant, consisteth
the Masters remuneration. O Parmeno !

PARME. Heere, Sir.

CALISTO. O I thinke not, for I cannot see thee. Leave
her not, Sempronio : Ply her hard, follow her at an inch.
Forget mee not, I pray thee. Now Parmeno, what thinkest
thou of that which hath past to-day ? My paine is great ;
Melibea stately, Celestina wise, she is her crafts Master, and
we cannot doe amisse. Thou hast maynly opposed thy selfe
against her : and to draw me to a detestation of her, thou
hast painted her forth to the purpose, and set her out in her
colours : and I beleeve thee. For such and so great is the
force of truth, that it commands even the tongues of our
enemies. But be she such, as thou hast described her to be ;
yet had I rather give her an hundred Crownes, then give
another five.

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

PARME. Is the winde in that doore ? Doe you beginne ACTUS
to complaine already ? Have you now better bethought ^^

your selfe ? Wee shall shortly complaine too at home ; for I
feare mee, we shall fast for this frankenesse.

CALISTO. It is thy opinion, Parmeno, that I aske;
Gratifie mee therein : Hold, dost thou looke ? Why hang'st
thou downe thy head, when thou shouldest answer me ? But
I perceive, that as envy is sad, and sadnesse without a tongue ;
thine owne will can doe more with thee, then feare of my
displeasure. What is that thou grumblest at ? What didst
thou mutter to thy selfe, as though thou wert angry ?

PARM. I say. Sir, that it had been better you had
imployed your liberality on some present, or the like services
upon Melibea her selfe, then to cast away your money upon
this old Bawd : I know well enough what shee is ; and which
is worse, on such a one, as mindes to make you her slave.

CALISTO. How (you foole) her slave ?

PARME. I, her slave. For to whom thou tellest thy
secret, to him doest thou give thy liberty.

CALISTO. It is something that the foole hath said ; but
I would faine know this of thee ; whether or no, when as
there is a great distance betwixt the intreater, and the
intreated, the suitor, and the party sued unto, either out of
authority of obedience, or greatnesse of estate and dignity,
or noblenesse of descent of bloud, as there is betwixt my
Mistresse, and my selfe ; Whether or no (I pray) it be not
necessary to have an intercessour, or mediatour for mee, who
may every foot go to and fro with my messages, untill they
arrive at her eares, of whom, to have a second Audience, I
hold it impossible. And if it be thus with me, tell mee,
whether thou approvest of what I have done, or no ?

PARM. The divell approve it for mee.

CALISTO. What saist thou ?

PARME. Marry, I say, Sir, that never any errour came
yet unaccompanied ; and that one inconvenience is the cause
of another, and the doore that opens unto many.

CALISTO. Thy saying I approve, but miderstand not
thy purpose.

PARME. Then thus, Sir, your losing of your Hawke the

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS other day, was the cause of your entring into the Garden,
II where Melibea was, to looke if she were there ; your entring,

the cause that you both saw her, and talked with her ; your
talke ingendred love ; your love brought forth your paine ;
and your paine, will be the cause of your growing carelesse
and wretchlesse both of your body, soule, and goods. And
that which grieves me most, is, that you must fall into the
hands of that same Trot-up-and-down, that maiden-head-
monger, that same gadding to and fro Bawd, who for her
villanies, and rogueries in that kinde, hath beene three severall
times implumed.

CALISTO. Is 't e'n so, Parmeno ? Is this aU the comfort
thou canst give me ? Tell me rather something that may
please me, and give mee better content then this can. And
know withall, that the more thou dost dispraise, the better
doe I like her. Let her cumply with mee, and effect my
businesse, and let them implume her the fourth time too, if
they will, I care not. Thou hast thy wits about thee ; thou
speak'st not having any sense of paine ; thou art not heart-
sicke, as I am, Parmeno, nor is thy minde touched with that
sense of sorrow, as mine is.

PARME. I had rather, Sir, that you should be angry with
me, and reprehend me out of your choller, for crossing your
opinion, then out of your after-repentance, to condemne mee
for not counselling you to the contrary. For I should but
dissemble with you, if I should not tell you, That then you
lost your liberty, when you did first captivate, and imprison
your will.

CALISTO. This Villaine would be well cudgelled; Tell
mee (thou unmanerly Rascall) Why dost thou blaspheme
that which I adore ? And you, Sir, who would seeme to be
so wise, what wofst thou of honour ? Tell me, what is Love ?
shew me wherein Civility consisteth ; Or what belongs to
good maners ? Thou wouldst faine be accounted discreet,
and wouldst that I should thinke so, and yet dost not consider
with thy selfe, that the first round in follies ladder, is for a
man to thinke himselfe wise. If thou didst but feele the
paine that I do : with other water wouldst thou bathe that
burning, and wash that raging wound, which the cruell shaft

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

of Cupid hath made in my heart. See, what remedy ACTUS
Sempronio brings unto mee with his feete, the same dost ^^

thou put away with thy tongue, with thy vaine and uncom-
fortable words. And feyning thy selfe (forsooth) to be
faithfull, thou art in realty of truth, nothing else but a
meere Clot, and Lump of earth ; a boxe filFd with nothing
but the very dregs and ground of malice : the very Inne and
House, that gives open intertainement to Envy ; not caring
so as thou maist defame, and discredit this old woman, be it
by right or by wrong, how thou puttest a disaffiance in my
affection ; thou knowing that this my paine, and overflowing
griefe, is not ruled by reason, nor will admit advice, but is
uncapable of counsell, which is as if one should tell mee ;
that That which is bred in the bone, may be fetcht out of
the flesh : or that which is glewed to the very heart and
intralls of a man, may be unloosed without renting the soule
from the body. Sempronio did feare his going, and thy
staying : it was mine owne seeking ; I would needs have it
so ; And therefore worthily suffer the trouble of his absence
and thy presence : and better is it, for a man to be alone,
then ill accompanied.

PARME. Sir, it is a weake fidelity, which feare of punish-
ment can turne to flattery ; more especially, with such a
Master, whom sorrow and affliction deprive of reason, and
make him a stranger to his naturall judgement. Take but
away this same vaile of blindenesse, and these momentary
fires will quickly vanish ; and then shall you know, that
these my sharpe words are better to kill this strong Canker,
and to stifle these violent flames, then the soft smoothings
of soothing Sempronio, which feede your humor, quicken up
your love, kindle afresh your flames, and joyne brands to
brands, which shall never leave burning, till they have quite
consumed you, and brought you to your grave.

CALISTO. Peace, peace, you Varlet ; I am in paine and
anguish, and thou readest phylosophy unto me. But I
expect no better at thy hands ; I have not the patience to
heare thee any longer. Goe, be gone ; Get foorth my horse ;
See hee be well and cleane drest ; Girt him well. For I must
passe by the house of my Melibea, or rather of my Goddesse.

I 65

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS FARM. Holla, boyes, where be you ? Not a boy about
^^ the house. I must be faine to doe it my selfe ; and I am

glad it is no worse : for I feare mee ere it be long, wee shall
come to a worse office, then to be boyes of the spurre, and
to lackey it at the stirrop. Well, let the world slide, and
things be as they may be, when they cannot be as they should
be. My Gossips (I "see as it is in the proverbe) are angry
with mee for speaking the truth. Why, how now you Jade ?
Are you neighing too ? Is not one jealous Lover inough in
a house ? Or dost thou winde Mehbea ?

CALISTO. When comes this horse? Why, Parmeno,
what dost thou meane ? why bringst thou him not away ?

FARM. Heere hee is : Sosia was not within.

CALISTO. Hold the stirrop. Open the gate a little
wider. If Seaipronio chance to come in the meane while,
and the old woman with him, will them to stay ; for I will
returne presently.

PARME. Goe, never to returne, and the divell goe with
thee. Let a man tell these fooles all that he can for their
owne good, they will never see it ; and I, for my part beleeve ;
that if I should now at this instant give him a blow on the
heele, I should beat more braine out of his heele then his
head. Goe whither thou wilt for me : For I dare pawne my
life, that Celestina and Sempronio will fleece you ere they
have done with you, and not leave you so much as one
Master-feather to maintaine your flight. O unfortunate
that I am, that I should suffer hatred for my truth, and
receive harme for my faithfull service ! Others thrive by
their knavery, and I lose by my honesty. The world is now
growne to that passe, that it is good to be bad, and bad to
be good ; and therefore I will follow the fashion of the times,
and doe as other men doe ; since that Traitours are accounted
wise and discreet, and faithfull men are deemed silly honest
fooles. Had I credited Celestina, with her sixe dozen of
yeeres about her, and followed her counsell, I had not beene
thus ill intreated by Calisto. But this shall bee a warning
unto mee ever heereafter, to say as he sales. If he shall say,
Come, let us eate, and be merrie, I will say so too. If, Let us
throw downe the house, I also will approve it. If hee will

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

burne all his goods, I will helpe to fetch the fire. Let him ACTUS
destroy, hang, drowne, burne himselfe, and give all that hee H

hath (if hee will) to Bawds ; I for my part will hold my
peace, and helpe to devide the spoyle. Besides, it is an
ancient, and true received Rule ; That it is best fishing in
troubled waters. Wherefore I will never any more be a
dogge in a mill, to be beaten for my barking.

THE END OF THE SECOND ACT

ACTUS III

THE ARGUMENT

EMPRONIO goes to Celestina's house;
Hee reprehends her for her slacknesse.
They consult what course they shall taJce
in Calisto's husiiiesse concerning Melibea.
At last comes Elicia; Celestina, shee
hyes her to the house of' Pleberio. In
the meane while, Sempronio remaines in
the house with Elicia.

INTERLOCUTORS

Sempronio, Celestina, Elicia.

SEMPRONIO. Looke what ley sure the old bearded Bawd /ij ,(^<
takes ! How softly she goes ! How one leg comes drawling ^
after another ! Now she has her money, her armes are
broken. Well overtaken. Mother, I perceive, you will not
hurt your selfe by too much haste.

CELEST. How now, sonne ? What newes with you ?

SEMPR. Why, this our sicke patient knowes not well
himselfe what hee would have. Nothing will content him ;
hee will have his cake bak'd before it be dough ; and his
meat rosted, before it be spitted. He feares thy negligence ;
and curseth his owne covetousnesse ; hee is angry with his
i close fistednesse, and offended that he gave thee no more.
' 67

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS CELEST. There is nothing more proper to Lovers, then
m impatience. Every small tarriance, is to them a great tor-

ment ; the least delay breedes dislike ; In a moment what
they imagine, must be fully effected ; nay, concluded before
begunne ; especially these new Lovers, who against any
luring whatsoever, flie out to checke, they care not whither,
without any advisement in the world, or once thinking on the
harme which the meate of their desire may (by over-gorging)
occasion unto them, intermingled amidst the affayres and
businesses, concerning their owne persons, and their servants.
SEMPR. What sayst thou of servants ? Thinkest thou,
that any danger is like to come unto us, by labouring in
this businesse ? Or, that wee shall be burned with those
Sparkles which scatteringly flye foorth of Calisto's fire ? I
had rather see him, and all his love goe to the divell ; upon
U| the first discovery therefore of any danger, (if things chance
V to goe crosse) I will eate no more of his bread, I will not
stay with him, no not an houre. For, it is better to lose
his service, then my life in serving him. But Time will tell
mee what I shall doe. For, before his finall downe-fall, he
will (like a house, that is ready to fall) give some token
himselfe of his owne ruine. And therefore. Mother, let us
in any case keepe our persons from perill ; let us doe what
may be done ; if it be possible, let us work her for him this
yeer : if not this, the next ; if not the next, when we may ;
if never, the worse lucke his : Though there is not any thing
so hard to suffer in it''s beginning, which time doth not
soften and reduce to a gentle sufferance. And there is no
wound so painefull, which in time doth not slacken much of
it"'s torment. Nor was there ever any pleasure so delightfuU,
which hath not by long continuance beene much diminished
and lessened. Ill and good, prosperity and adversity, glory
and griefe ; all these with time, lose the force and strength
of their rash and hasty beginning ; Whereas matters of
admiration, and things earnestly desired, once obtained,
have no sooner beene come, then forgotten, no sooner pur-
chased, but relinquished. Every day we see new and strange
accidents, wee heare as many, and wee passe them over ;
leave those, and hearken after others ; them also doth time

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

lessen and make contingible, as things of common course. ACTUS
And I pray, what wonder would you thinke it, if some should HI

come and tell you ; There was such an earth quake in such
a place, or some such other things ; tell me, would you not
streight forget it ? As also, if one should say unto you,
Such a River is frozen, such a blinde man hath recovered
his sight ; thy father is dead ; such a thunder-bolt fell in
such a place ; Granada is taken ; the King enters it this day ;
the Turke hath received an over- throw ; to morrow you shall
have a great Eclypse ; such a bridge is carried away with
the flood ; such a one is now made a Noble man ; Peter is
rob'd ; Innes hath hangM her selfe. Now in such cases,
what wilt thou say, save onely this ? That some three dales
past, or upon a second view thereof, there will be no wonder .»
made of it. All things are thus ; they all passe after this '
maner ; all is forgotten and throwne behind us, as if they
had never beene. Just so will it be with this my Masters
Love ; the farther it goes on, the more it will slacken : For
long custom e doth allay sorrow, weakeneth and subdueth
our delights, and lesseneth wonders. Let us make our
profit of him, whilest this plea is depending; and if wee
may with a dry foote doe him good, the easier the better ;
if not, by little and little wee will solder up this flaw, and
make all whole by Melibea's holding him in scorne and
contempt. And if this will doe no good upon him. Better
it is, that the Master be pained, then his man perilled,
' CELESTINA. Well hast thou said ; I hold with thee,
and jumpe in thy opinion ; thy words have well pleased me,
wee cannot erre. Yet notwithstanding (my sonne) it is
necessary, that a good Proctour should follow his Clyents
cause diligently and painfully ; that hee colour his plea with
some feyned show of reason ; that hee presse some quillet or
quirke of Law ; to goe and come into open Court, though
hee be check't, and receive some harsh words from the
Judges mouth, to the end that they who are present, may
both see and say, that though hee did not prevaile, yet he
both spake and laboured hard for his fee. So shall not hee
want Clyents, nor Celestina suitors in cases of Love.

SEMPR, Doe as thou thinkst good. Frame it to thine own

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS liking; This is not the first businesse thou hast taken in
in hand.

CELEST. The first, (my sonne ?) Few virgins (I thanke
Fortune for it) hast thou seene in this Citty, Avhich have
opened their shops, and traded for themselves, to whom I
have not beene a broaker to their first spunne thread, and
holpe them to vent their wares ; there was not that wench
borne in the world, but I writ her downe in my Register, and
kept a Catalogue of all their names, to the intent that I
might know how many escaped my net. Why, what didst
thou thinke of mee, Sempronio. Can I live by the ayre ?
Can I feed my selfe with winde ? Doe I inherit any other
land ? Have I any other house or Vineyard ? Knowest thou
of any other substance of mine, besides this office ? By what
doe I eate and drinke ? By what doe I finde clothes to my
backe, and shooes to my feete ? In this City was I borne ;
in it was I bred ; Living (though I say it) in good credit and
estimation, as all the world knowes. And dost thou thinke
then, that I can goe unknowne ? Hee that knowes not bothi
my name, and my house, thou maist hold him a meere stranger. \

SEMPR. Teil me, (Mother) what past betwixt you and my
fellow Parmeno, when I went up with Calisto for the Crownes ?

CELEST. I told him his dreame, and the interpretation
thereof ; and how that hee should gaine more by our com-
pany, and joyning in friendship with us, then with all his
gay glozings, and imbroydered words which he uttereth to
his Master ; How he would alwaies live poore and in want,
and be made a scoffe and laughing-stocke, unlesse he would
turne over a new leafe, and alter his opinion ; that he should
not make himselfe a Saint, and play the h^-pocrite before
such an old beaten bitch as my selfe. I did put him in
minde of his owne mother relating unto him what a one
she was, to the end that hee might not set my office at
nought, her selfe having beene of the same Trade : for should
hee but offer to speake ill of mee, hee must needes stumble
first on her.

SEMPR. Is it long (mother) since you first knew her ?

CELEST. This Celestina, which is heere now with thee,
was the woman that saw her borne, and holpe to breed her

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

up : why, I tell thee (man) his mother and I were nayle, and ACTUS
t flesh, buckle and thong ; Of her I learned the better part of HI

i my trade. Wee did both eate, both sleep, both injoy our
pleasures, our counsels, and our bargaines, intermutably one
with another; we lived together like two sisters both at
home and abroad : there was not a farthing which eyther of
us gained, but was faithfully and truly divided betweene us.
Had shee lived, I should never have lived to be deceived.
But it was not my fortune to be so happy, shee dy'd too
soone for mee. O death, death, how many doest thou deprive
of their sweete and pleasing society ! How many doest thou ,
discomfort with thy unwelcome and troublesome Visitation ?
For one that thou eatest being ripe, thou croppest a thou-
sand that are greene ; For were shee alive, these my steps
should not have beene unaccompanied, nor driven (as now
I am) to walke the streets alone. I have good cause to
remember her ; for to me shee was a faithfull friend, and a
good companion. And whilest shee was with me; she
would never suffer mee to trouble my body, or my braines
about any thing : if I brought bread, shee would bring
meate ; if I did spread the cloth, she would lay the napkins :
she was not foolish, nor fantasticall, nor proud, as most of
your women now-adaies are. And by my fay, I sweare unto
thee, shee would goe barefaced from one end of the City to
the other, with her Fan in her hand, and not one, all the
way that she went, would give her any worse word, then
Mistresse Claudina. And I dare be bold to say it, that there
was not a woman of a better palate for wine in the world,
nor better skilPd in any kind of marchandize whatsoever.
And when you have thought that she had been scarce out
of doores, with a whip-Sir John, eV you could scarce say
this, shee was heere againe. Every one would invite and
feast her, so great was the afffection which they bare unto
her ; And she never came home, till she had taken a taste of
some eight or ten sorts of wine, bearing one pottle in her
Jar, and the other in her belly : and her credit was so good,
that they would have trusted her for a Rundlet or two upon
her bare word, as if shee had pawned unto them a piece of
plate. Why, her word was as currant as gold, in all the

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS Innes and Tavernes in the Towne, If wee walked tlie streetes,
III whensoever we found our selves thirsty, we entred streight

the next Taverne that was at hand, and called presently for
a quart of wine for to moysten our mouthes withall, though
we had not a penny to pay for it. Nor would they (as from
others) take our vailes and our coyfes from off our heads,
till we had discharged the reckoning, but score it up, and so
let us go on our way. O Sempronio ; Were it but Cat after
kind, and that such were the son, as was the mother, assure
thy selfe that thy master should remaine without a feather,
and we without any farther care. But if I live, I will bring
this iron to my fashion ; I will worke him like waxe, and
reckon him in the number of mine owne.

/SEMPR. How dost thou thinke to make him thine?
Hee is a crafty subtill foxe ; Hee will hardly be drawne in ;
Hee is a shrewd fellow to deale withall,
CELEST. For such a crafty Knave, wee must have a
Knave and a halfe, and intertaine two traytours for the
taking of one. I will bring him to have Areusa, so and
make him Cock-sure ours ; and he shall give us leave without
any let, to pitch our nets, for the catching of Calisto's coyne.

SEMPR. But dost thou thinke thou canst doe any good
upon Melibea ? Hast thou any good bough to hang by ?

CELEST. There is not that Surgeon, that can at the first
dressing, give a true judgement of his Patients wound : but
what I see, and thinke for the present, I will plainely deliver
unto thee. Melibea is faire ; Calisto fond and frank ; he
cares not to spare his purse, nor I my paines ; hee is willing
to spend, and I to speed him in his businesse ; Let his money
be stirring, and let the suite hang as long as it will. Money
can doe any thing ; it splitteth hard Rocks ; it passeth over
Rivers dry-foote ; there is not any place so high, whereunto
an Asse laden with gold will not get up ; his unadvisednesse,
and ferventnesse of affection, is sufficient to marre him, and
to make us. This I have thought upon ; this I have searcht
into ; this is all I know concerning him and her : and this is
that which must make most for our profit. Well, now must
I goe to Pleberio's house. Sempronio, fare-well. For
though Melibea brave it, and stands so high upon her
72

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

pantofles; yet is not shee the first that I have made to ACTUS
stoope, and leave her cackling ; they are all of them ticklish, HI

and skittish ; the whole generation of them is given to
winching and flinging: but after they are well weyghed,
they proove good high-way Jades, and travell quietly ; you
may kill them, but never tyre them. If they journey by
night, they wish it may never be morning. They curse the
Cockes, because they proclaime it is day : the Clockes,
because they go too fast : they lye prostrate, as if they lookt
after the Pleyades and the North star, making themselves
Astronomers and starre-gazers ; But when they see the
morning starre arise, they sigh for sorrow, and are ready to
forsake their bodies. And the clearing of the day, is the
clouding of their joy. And above all, it is worth the while,
to note how quickely they change copy, and turne the Cat in
the pan ; They intreat him, of whom they were intreated ;
they indure torment for him, whom before they had tor-
mented ; they are servants to those, whose Mistresses they
were ; they breake thorow stone walls, they open windowes,
feyne sicknesse; if the hinges of their doores chance to
creake, they anoynt and supple them with oyle, that they
may performe their office without any noyse. I am not able
to expresse unto thee the great impression of that sweetnesse,
which the primary and first kisses of him they love, leaveth

J imprinted in their hearts. They are enemies of the meane,

land wholly set upon extremes.

SEMPR. Mother, I understand not these termes.
CELEST. Marry, I say, that a woman either loveth, or
hateth him much, of whom she is beloved, so that, if she
entertaine not his love, she cannot dissemble her hate ; there
are no reynes strong inough to bridle their dislike. And
because I know this to be true, it makes mee goe more
merrily and cheerefully to Melibea''s house, then if I had her
fast in my fist already. For I know, that though at the first
I must be forced to woo her, yet in the end, she will be glad
to sue to me. And though at present perhaps she threaten

I me, and flatly fall out with mee ; yet at last will shee be well

pleased, and fall as much a flattering, as she did a reviling

me. Here in this pocket of mine, I carry a little parcel of

K 73

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS yarne, and other such like trinkets, which I alwaies beare about
ni I mee ; that I may have some preteiice at first to make my
y easier entrance and free accesse, where I am not throughly
/ knowne : As Gorgets, Coyfes, Fringes, Rowles, Fillets, Hayre-
laces, Nippers, Antimony, Ceruse, and sublimated Mercury,
Needles and Pinnes ; they shall not aske that thing, which
I shall not have for them. To the end, that looke whatso-
ever they shall call for, I may be ready provided for them.
And this baite upon the first sight thereof shall worke my
acceptance, and hold fast the fish which I minde to take.
SEMPR. Mother, looke well about you. Take heed what
j you doe. For a bad beginning can never make a good end-
j ing. Thinke on her father, who is noble and of great power
and courage ; her mother jealous and furious, and thou,
suspition it selfe. No sooner scene, but mistrusted : Melibea
is the only child to them both, and she miscarrying, mis-
carrieth with her all their happinesse ; the very thought
whereof, makes me quake and tremble. Goe not to fetch
wooll, and come home shorne your selfe ; seeke not to plucke
her wings, and [come back] your selfe without your plumes.
CELESTINA. Without my plumes, my sonne ?
SEMPRO. Or rather implumed, mother, which is worse.
CELESTINA. Now by my fay, in an ill houre had I need
of thee to be my companion. As though thou couldst instruct
Celestina in her own Trade ? As if I knew not better what
to doe, then thou canst teach me ? Before ever thou wast
borne, I did eate bread with crust. O ! you are a proper
man to make a Commander, and to marshall other mens
affaires, when thy selfe art so dejected with sinister divina-
tions, and feare of insuing harmes.

SEMPR. Marvell not, Mother, at my feare, since it is the
common condition of all men ; That what they most desire,
j they thinke shall never come to passe. And the rather, for
1 that in this case now in hand, I dread both thine, and my
I punishment ; I^tie^re profit ; I would that this businesse
might have a good end ; not because my Master thereby
might be rid of his paine, but I of my penury. And there-
fore I cast more inconveniences with my small experience,
then you with all your aged Arte and cunning.
74

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

ELICIA. I will blesse my selfe ; Sempronio, come ; I will A C T U 1
make a streake in the water, I will score it up. This is HI

newes indeed : I had thought to have strewed greene rushes
against your comming. What ? Come hither twice ? Twice
in one day ?

CELEST. Peace, you foole. Let him alone. We have
other thoughts (I wisse) to trouble our heads withall ;
matters of more importance, then to listen to your trum-
peries. Tell me ; Is the house cleare ? Is the young wench
gone, that expected the young Novice ?

ELICIA. Gone ? yes ; and another come, since shee went,
and gone too.

CELEST. Sai'st thou me so, Girle .? I hope then it was
not in vaine.

ELICIA. How ? in vaine .? No by my fay was it not ; it
was not in vaine ; for though he came late, yet better late
then never. And little need hee to rise earely, whom his
starres have a purpose to helpe.

CELEST. Goe, hye you up quickely to the top of all the
house, as high as you can goe, and bring me downe hither the
bottle of that oyle of Serpents, w^hich you shall find fastned
to that piece of rope, wliich I brought out of the fields with
me that other night, when it rained so fast, and was so
darke : then open my chest where the paintings be, and on
your right hand you shall find a paper written with the
bloud of a Bat, or Flitter-mouse ; bring it downe also with
you, together with that wing of the Dragon, whereof yester-
day we did cut oft' the clawes. And take heed, you do not
shead the May-deaw, which was brought me for to make my
confection.

ELICIA. It is not here, mother; you never remember
where you lay your things.

CELEST. Doe not reprove me, I pray thee, in mine old
age ; mis-use me not, Elicia. Doe not you feyne untruthes,
though Sempronio be heere, be not you proud of it. For
hee had rather have mee for his counsellour, then you for his
play-fellow ; for all you love him so well. Enter into the
chamber where my oyntments be, and there in the skinne of
a blacke Cat, where I wilPd you to put the eyes of the shee-

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS Wolfe, you shall not faile to finde it : and bring down the
III bloud of the hee Goat, and that little piece of his beard

which you your selfe did cut off.

ELICIA. Take it to you (mother.) Lo, heere it is ; while
you stay heere, I will goe up, and take my Sempronio with me.
CELEST. I conjure thee (thou sad god Pluto) Lord of
the infernall deepe, Emperor of the damned court, Captaine
generall and proud Commander of the Avdcked spirits. Grand
signor of those sulphureous fires, which the flaming hills of
^tna flash forth in most fearefull, and most hideous manner ;
Governour, and Supervisor both of the torments, and tor-
menters of those sinfull soules, that lye howling in Phlegeton;
Prince, and chiefe Ruler of those three hellish Furies, Tesi-
phone, ]\Ieghera, and Alecto ; Administrator of all the blacke
things belonging to the kingdomes of Stix and Dis, with all
their pitchy Lakes, infernall shades, and litigious Chaos;
Maintainer of the flying Harpies, with all the whole rabble-
ment of frightfull Hydraes ; I Celestine, thy best knowne,
and most noted Clyent, conjure thee by the vertue and force
of these red Letters, by the bloud of this bird of the night,
wherewith they are charactred, by the power and weight of
these names and signes, which are contained in this paper, by
the fel and bitter poyson of those Vipers, whence this oyle
was extracted, wherewith I anoynt this clew of yarne, thou
come presently without delay to obey my will, to invelop,
and wrap thy selfe therin, and there to abide, and never
depart thence, no, not the least moment of time, untill that
Melibea, with that prepared opportunity, which shall be
offred unto her, shall buy it of mee, and with it, in such
sort be intangled and taken, that the more she shall behold
it, the more may her heart be molified, and the sooner

it wrought to yeeld to my request : That thou ^vilt open her
heart to my desire, and wound her very soule with the love
of Calisto ; and in that extreme, and violent manner, that
despising all honesty, and casting off" all shame, shee may dis-
cover her selfe mito me, and reward both my message, and
my paines ; Doe this, and I am at thy command, to doe
what thou wilt have me : But if thou doe not doe it, thou
shalt forthwith have mee thy Capitall foe, and Profest enemy.
76

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

I shall strike with light, thy sad and darksome dungeons ; I
shall cruelly accuse thy continuall lyings, and dayly falsehoods.
And lastly, with my charming words, and inchanting termes, I
will chaine and constringe thy most horrible name. Where-
fore, againe and againe ; once, twice, and thrice, I conjure
thee to fulfill my command. And so presuming on my great
power, I depart hence, that I may goe to her with my clew of
yarne ; wherein I verily beleeve, I carry thy selfe inwrapped.

THE END OF THE THIRD ACT

ACTUS
III

ACTUS nil

THE ARGUMENT

ELESTINA, grnng on her way, talks to her
selfe, till she comes to Pleberio's gate,
zohere she meets with Lucrecia 07ie of
Pleberio''s maid-servants ,• she hoards her,
and enters into discourse zoith her, zvho
being over-heard hy Alisa, Melibea's
mother, arid understanding it was Celes-
tina, causes her to come neer the house.

A messenger comes to call away Alisa, shee goes her waies ;

Celestina iri the meane while being left alone -with Melibea,

discovers unto her the cause of' her comming.

INTERLOCUTORS

Celestina, Luci'ecia, Alisa, Melibea.

CELESTINA. Now that I am all alone, I will, as I walke
by my selfe, weigh and consider that which Sempronio feared,
concerning my travell in this businesse. For, those things
which are not well weighed, and considered, though some-
times they take good effect, yet commonly fall out ill. So
that much speculation brings foorth much good fruit ; for
although I dissembled with him, and did set a good face on
the matter, it may be, that if my drift and intent should

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS chance to be found out by Melibea's father, it would cost
nil me little lesse then my life : Or at least, if they should not

kill me, I should rest much impaired in my credit, either by
their tossing me in a blanket, or by causing me to be cruelly
whipt ; so that my sweet meats shall have sowre sauce : and
my hundred Crownes in Gold be purchast at too deare a
rate ; Ay wretched me ! into what a Labyrinth have I put
my selfe ? What a trap am I like to fall into, through mine
owne folly ? For that I might shew my selfe solicitous and
resolute, I have put my selfe upon the hazard of the dice.
Wo is me ; what shall I doe ? To goe backe, is not for my
profit, and to goe on, stands not with my safety. Shall I
persist ? or shall I desist ? In what a straite am I ? In
what a doubtfuU and strange perplexity ? I know not which
I were best to choose. On my daringnesse dependeth
manifest danger; on my cowardize shamefuU damage.
Which way shall the Oxe goe, but he must needs plough ?
Every way, goe which way I will, discovers to my eyes deepe
and dangerous furrowes ; desperate downefalls ; if I be taken
in the manner ; if the theft be found about me, I shall be
either kilFd, or carted, with a paper-crowne set upon my
head, having my fault written in great Text-letters, But in
case I should not goe, what will Sempronio then say ? Is
this all thou canst doe? Thy power, thy wisedome, thy
stoutnesse, thy courage, thy large promises, thy faire offers,
thy tricks, thy subtilties, and the great care (forsooth) thou
wouldst take ; What ? are they all come to this ? And his
Master Calisto, what will he say ? what will hee doe ? or
what will hee thinke ? save onely this ; That there is much
deceit in my steps; and that I have discovered this blot
to Pleberio, like a prevaricating Sophistresse, or cunning
Ambi-dexter, playing the traitour on both sides, that I
might gaine by both ? And if he doe not entertaine so
hatefull a thought, he will raile upon me like a mad-man ;
he will upbraid mee to my face, with most reproachful
termes ; He will propose a thousand inconveniences, which
my hasty deliberation was the cause of ; saying. Out you old
whore ; Why didst thou increase my passions with thy
promises? False Bawd as thou art; For all the world
78

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

besides, thy feete can walke, for mee onely thy tongue ; Others ACTUS
can have works ; I only words. Others can have remedy at mi

thy hands ; I onely the man that must endure torment. To
all others, thy force can extend it selfe ; and to me is it only
wanting. To all others thou art Light ; to me Darkenesse.
Out thou old tretcherous, disloyall wretch ; Why didst thou
offer thy selfe and service unto me ? For, it was thy offer
that did put mee in hope : and that hope did delay my death,
prolonged my life, and did put upon mee the Title of a glad
man. Now, for that thy promises have not prov'd effectual!,
neither shalt thou want punishment, nor I wofull despaire :
so that, looke I on which side I will (miserable woman that
I am) it is ill here, and it is ill there ; paine and griefe on
either hand : But when extremes shall want their meane, and
no meanes to avoide either the one or the other ; of two
evils, it is the wiser course to incline to the lesser. And
therefore I had rather offend Pleberio, then displease Calisto.
Well then, I will goe. For greater will my shame be, to be
condemned for a Coward, then my punishment, in daring to
accomplish what I promised. Besides, Fortune still friendeth
those that are bold and valiant. Lo, yonder 's the gate ; I
have seene my selfe in greater danger then this in my dales.
Coraggio, Coraggio, Celestina ; Be of good cheere ; Be not
dismayed ; For, there are never suitors wanting for the
mitigating, and allaying of punishment. All Divinations
are in my favour, and shew themselves prospicious in my
proceedings ; or else I am no body in this my Art, a meere
bungler, an Idiot, an Asse. Of foure men that I meete by
the way, three of them were John''s ; whereof two were
Cuckolds, The first word that I heard, passing along the
street, was a Love complaint. I have not stumbled since I
came foorth, as at other times I used to doe. Me thinkes
the very stones of the streete did sunder themselves one from
another, to give me way as I past. Nor did the skirts of my
clothes wrumple up in troublesome folds, to hinder my feet.
Nor do I feele any faintnesse, or wearinesse in my legs.
Every one saluteth mee. Not a dog that hath once barked at
me ; I have neither seene any bird of a black feather, neither
Thrush, nor Crow ; nor any other of the like unlucky nature ;

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS and which is a better signe of good lucke then all these,

I III yonder doe I see Lucrecia, standing at Melibea's gate, which is

kinsewoman to Elicia : it cannot but goe well with us ; it is

impossible wee should misse of our purpose ; All is Cock-sure.

LUCRECIA. What old witch is this, that comes thus
tray ling her taile on the ground ? Looke how shee sweepes
the streetes with her gowne ! Fie, what a dust shee makes !

CELESTINA. By your leave, sweet Beauty.

LUCRECIA. Mother Celestina, you be welcome. What
wind, I trow, drives you this way ? I doe not remember, that
I have scene you in these parts this many a day. What
accident hath brought you hither l!

CELEST. My love (daughter, my love) and the desire I
have to see all my good friends ; and to bring you com-
mendations from your Cousin Elicia : as also to see my old
and young Mistresse, whom I have not seene since I went
from this end of the Towne.

LUCRECIA. Is this yom- onely errand from home } Is it
possible, you should come so farre for this ? I promise you,
you make me much to marvell ; For I am sure you were not
wont to stirre your stumps, but you knew wherefore ; nor to
goe a foote forth of doores, unlesse it were for your profit.

CELEST. What greater profit (you foole) would you
have, then a man to cumply with his desires ? Besides, such
old women as we never want businesse : especially my selfe,
who having the breeding of so many mens daughters as I
have, I goe to see if I can sell a little yarne.

LUCRECIA. Did not I tell you so before ? I wote well
what I said ; you never put in a penny, but you take out a
pomid : Be your paines never so little, you will be sure you
will be well paid for it. But to let that passe, my old
mistresse hath begunne a web ; shee hath need to buy it, and
thou hast neede to sell it. Come in, and stay heere awhile,
you and I will not fall out.

ALISA. Lucrecia, who is that you talke withall ?

LUCRECIA. With that old woman forsooth, with the
scotch on her nose, who sometimes dwelt hard by here in
Tanners Row, close upon the River-side.

ALISA. Now I am further to seeke then I was before ; if

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

thou wilt give mee to understand an unknowne thing, by a ACTUS
thing that is lesse knowne, [it] is to take up water in a Sieve. nil

LUCRECIA. Madame ! Why, this old woman is better
knowne then the hearbe Rew. Doe not you remember her
that stood on the Pillory for a Witch ? That sold young
wenches by the great and by whole sale ? and that hath
mard many thousands of marriages, by sundring man and
wife, and setting them at oddes ?

ALISA, What Trade is she of? What is her Profession ?
it may be, by that I shall know her better.

LUCRECIA. Forsooth, she perfumes Calls, Vailes, and
the like ; she makes your sublimate Mercury, and hath some
thirty severall Trades besides ; shee is very skilfull in hearbs ;
shee can cure little children : And some call her, The old
woman. The Lapidary, for her great dealing in stones.

ALISA. All this makes me never a whit the wiser. Tell
mee her name, if thou knowst it.

LUCRECIA. If I knew it ? Why, there is neither young
nor old in all this City, but knowes it. And should not I
then know it ?

ALISA. If you know it so well, why then doe not you
tell it me ?

LUCRECIA. I am ashamed, forsooth.

ALISA. Goe too, you foole ; Tell mee her name ; Doe not
anger mee by this your delay.

LUCRECIA. Her name (saving your Reverence) is
Celestina.

ALISA. Hi, hi, hi ! Now beshrew your fingers ; O my
heart ! O my sides ! I am not able to stand for laughing,
to see that the lothing which thou hast of this poore old
woman, should make thee ashamed to name her unto me.
Now I call her to minde ; Goe too ; you are a wagge ; No
more of this. Shee (poore soule) is come to begge somewhat
of mee. Bid her come up.

LUCRECIA. Aunt, it is my Mistresse pleasure, you
come up.

CEL. My good Lady ; All blessings abide with you, and
your noble daughter. My many griefes and infirmities have
hindred my visiting of this your house, as in duty I was

L 81

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS bound to doe ; But heaven knowes how faire are the intralls
mi of my inward affection, how free from any spot of fouhiesse.

It know£s the sincerity of my heart, and trunesse of my love.
For, distance of place displaceth not that love, which is
lodged in the heart : So that what heeretofore in my selfe I
did much desire, now my necessity hath made mee to
performe. And amongst other my many Crosses and miseries
in this life, my Crosses in my purse grow dayly lesse and
lesse ; so that I have no better remedy to helpe my selfe
withall, and to relieve this my poore estate, then to sell this
little parcell of yarne of mine o^iie spinning to make Coyfes,
and Kerchiefes ; and understanding by your maid, that you
had need thereof (howbeit I am poore in every thing, I praise
my fate, save the richnesse of this grace) it is wholy at your
command, if either it or I may doe you any service.

ALISA. Honest neighbour, thy discourse and kinde offer
move me to compassion : and so move me, that I had rather
light upon some fit occasion, whereby I might supply thy
wants, then diminish thy web, still thanking thee for thy
kinde offer : and if it be such as will serve my turne, I shall
pay you well for it.

CELEST. Madame, by my life, as I am true old woman,
or by any other oath you shall put me to, it is such, as all
the whole Towne is not able to match it. Looke well upon
it ; it is as fine as the haire of your head, even and equall,
as nothing more strong, as the strings of a ^'iall ; white as
a flake of Snow, spun all with mine owne fingers ; reeled
and womid up with mine ovme hands, Looke you (Lady)
on some of the same in skaines ; Did you ever see better .'*
Three Royals, as I am true woman, I received no longer
agoe then yesterday for an ounce.

ALISA. Daughter IVIelibea, I will leave this honest
woman with you ; For mee thinks it is now high time, if I
have not stayed too long, to goe visit my sister. Wife unto
Chremes : for I have not seene her since yesterday ; and
besides, her Page is now come to call mee, and tels me
that her old fit hath already beene on her this pretty
while.

CELEST. Now does the Divcll goe preparing opportunity

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

for my Stratagem, by re-inforcing tliis sickenesse upon the ACTUS
other. Goe on, my good friend, stand stifly to your tack- ^I

ling ; be strong and shrink e not. For now is the time or
never ; see you leave her not : and remoove away this woman
from mee. But soft ; I feare shee heares mee.

ALISA. Say, (friend) what is that thou sai'st ?

CELEST. I say (Madame) Curst be the divell and my
evill Fortune, that your sisters sicknesse is growne now upon
her in such an unlucky houre, that we shall have no fit
time to dispatch our businesse : But I pray, what is her
sicknesse ?

ALISA. A paine in her side, which takes her in such
grievous manner, that if it be true which her Page tels me,
I feare me it will cost her her life. Good neighbour, let
mee intreate you for my sake to recommend her recovery
unto your best devotions and prayers.

CELEST. Heere (Lady,) I give you my faithfull promise,
that as soone as I goe hence, I will hye mee to my Vestalls,
where I have many devout virgins, my friends, upon whom
I will lay the same charge as you have laid upon mee.

ALISA. Doe you heare, Melibea? Content our neigh-
bour, and give her that which is reason for her yarne. And
you mother, I pray hold me excused, for I doubt not, but
you and I shall have another day, when wee shall have more
leysure to enjoy one another.

CELEST. Madame, there is no neede of pardon, where
there is no fault committed. love pardon you, and I doe.
For I thanke you, you have left mee heere with very good
company. love grant shee may long enjoy her noble
youth, and this her flourishing prime ; a time wherein more
pleasures and delights are found, tlien in this old decayed
Carkasse of mine, which is nothing else but a very Spittle-
house of diseases, an Inne full of infirmities, a Store-house,
or Magazine of sad and melancholy thoughts, a friend to
brangling and brawling, a continuall griefe, and incurable
plague : pittying that which is past, punished in that which
is present : and full of wretched care in that which is to
come : A neere neighbour unto death ; a poore Cabbin,
without one bough of shelter, whereinto it raynes on all

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS sides ; a sticke of Willow ; a staffe of weake Osiers, which is
IIII doubled with any the least stresse you put it to.

MELIB. Tell me (mother) why doe you speake so ill of that,
which the whole world so earnestly desireth to enjoy and see?

CELEST. They desire so much their more hurt ; they
desire so much their more griefe ; they desire to live to be
old ; because by living to be old, they live. And life (you
know) is sweete; and living, they come to be old. Hence
is it, that your children desire to be men ; and your men to
be old men ; and your old men, to be more and more old ;
and though they live in never so much paine, yet doe they
still desire to live. For, (as it is in the Proverbe) Faine
would the Henne live, for all her pip ; she would not be put
out of her life, to be put out of her paine. But who is hee
(Lady) that can recount unto you the inconveniences of old
age ? The discommodities it brings with it .? ifs torments,
it's cares, its troubles, ifs infirmities, it's colds, it's heates,
it's discontentments, it's brawles, it's j anglings, it's grief es,
which like so many weights lye heavy upon it ? Those
deepe furrows and deepe wrinkles in the face ? That change
and alteration in the hayre ? That fading of fresh and
lively colour ? That want of hearing ? That weaknesse of
sight ? That hollownesse in the eyes } Seeing, as if they
were shut up in a shade ? That sinking and falling of the
jawes.'^ That toothlesnesse of the gummes .f^ That failing-
nesse of force and of strength ? That feeblenesse of legs ?
That slownesse in feeding ? Besides, (Madame) which makes
mee sigh to thinke upon it, when all these miseries I have
told you of, come accompanied with poverty, all sorrowes to
this must stoope and strike saile, when the appetite shall be
great, and the provision small ; The stomack good, and the
dyet naught ; For I never knew any worse habit, then that
of hunger.

MELIBEA. I perceive, so goes the market, as it goes
with you. And as you find your penniworths, so you speake
of the Faire. And though you perhaps complaine, the rich
will sing another song.

CELEST. Daughter, and Mistresse, there is no way so
faire, but hath some foule ; if you have one mile of good,

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

you have three of bad. At the foote of every hill, you have ACTUS

three Leagues of ill followes. And of a thousand that live ^^^^

contentedly, you have ten thousand doe the contrary : True

contentednesse, rest, renowne, glory, and quietnesse, runne

from the rich by other by-conduits, and gutters of subtilty

and deceit ; which pipes, whereby they are conveyed, are

never perceived, because they are paved and brickt over with

smooth and well wrought flatteries. He is rich that hath

Gods blessing. I mary, that is wealth indeed. And shall

I tell you. Lady ? Safer it is with him that is despised,

then with him that is feared. And a farre better sleepe

doth the poore man take, then hee who is bound to keepe

that with care which hee hath gotten with labour, and must

leave with sorrow. My friend will not dissemble with me,

but the rich mans will with him ; I am loved for mine owne

sake ; the rich man for his wealths sake. A rich man shall

never heare the truth ; every one will flatter him, and seeke

to please his humour in whatsoever he shall say. Besides,

he lies open to every mans envy ; and you shall scarce finde

one rich man amongst a thousand, but will ingeniously

confesse, that it had beene better for him to have bin in a

middling estate, or in good honest poverty. For riches

make not a man rich, but busied ; not a Master, but a

Steward. More are they that are possessed by their riches,

then they that possesse their riches. To many they have

beene a meanes of their death ; and most men they have

rob'd of their pleasure, and their good and commendable

qualities ; and to say the truth, they are enemies to all

goodnesse. Have you not heard say. Men have lien downe,

and dream'd of their riches, and behold, they have waked,

and found nothing in their hands ? Every rich man hath a

dozen of sonnes, or Nephewes, which repeate no other prayer,

nor tender any other Orison to God, but that he would be

pleased to take him out of this world ; and desire nothing

more, then to see the houre that they may come to enjoy his

estate ; to see him under ground, and what was his, in their

hands ; and with a small charge, to lay him up in his last

and everlasting mansion heere on earth.

MELIBEA. Me thinks, mother, it should be a great

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS griefe unto you, to thinke upon those good daies of yours,
nil which are past and gone. Would you not be willing to runne

them over againe ?

CELEST. That Travellour (Lady) were a foole, who
having tyred out himselfe with a hard dayes travell, would,
to begin his joiu-ney againe, desire to returne to the same
place, from whence hee came. For all those things, whose
possession is no whit pleasing, it is better to injoy them as
they are, then to desire their longer stay. For then are
they so much the neerer to their end, by how much the
farther they are from their beginning. Nor is there any
thing in the world more sweet, or more pleasing to him that
is truely weary, then liis Inne, wherein hee may rest liimselfe.
So that though youth be a thing very jocund, yet hee that
is truly old, doth not desire it. But lie indeed that wants
reason and true understanding, that man in a manner loves
nothing else, but the daies that are past and gone.

MELIBEA. Were it but onely to live, it is good to desire
that which I say.

CELEST. As soone (Lady) dies the young Lambe as the
old Sheep ; they goe botli to the shambles together ; there
is no man so old, but hee may live one yeere more ; nor no
man so young, but hee may dye to day : so that in this you
have little, or no advantage of us.

MELIBEA. Thou hast scar'd mee with thy words ; thy
reasons put mee in remembrance that I have scene thee
heeretofore. Tell me (mother) art not thou Celestina, that
dwelt in Tanners Row, neere the River ?

CELEST. Even the very same.

MELIBEA. By my fay you are an old woman. Well,
I see it is a true saying ; That daies goe not away in vaine.
Now (never trust mee) I did not know you ; neither should
I, had it not been for that slash over your face ; then were
you fayre, now wonderfully altered.

LUCRECIA. She changed .? Hi, hi, hi ! the divell she
is : shee Avas faire when she met with him (saving your
reverence) that scotcht her over the nose.

MELIBEA. What saist thou foole ? Speake, what is ^t
thou saist ? What laugh'st thou at ?

86 ^

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

LUCRECIA. As though I did not know Mother ACTUS
Celestina ? HH

CELEST. Madame, Take you hold on time, that it slip
not from you. As for my complexion, that will never
change : have you not read what they say. The day will
come, when thou shalt not know thy selfe in a glasse ?
Though I am now growne gray before my time, and seeme
double the yeeres I am of; of foure daughters which my
mother had, my selfe was the youngest. And therefore, I
am sure, I am not so old as you take me to be.

MELIBEA. Friend Celestina, I am very glad both to see
and know thee ; and I have taken great pleasure in thy
discourse. Heere, take your money and fare-well ; for thou
lookest (poore soule) as if thou hadst eaten nothing all this
day.

CELEST. O more then mortall image ! O precious pearle !
How truely have you guest ! O ! with what a grace doe
thy words come from thee ! I am ravisht hearing thee
speake. But yet it is not only eating, that maintaineth a
man or woman ; especially me, who use to be fasting a
whole, nay, two dayes together, in soliciting other folkes
businesses. For, I intend no other thing, my whole life is
nothing else ; but to doe good offices for the good, and (if
occasion serve) to dye for them. And it was evermore my
fashion, rather to seeke trouble to my selfe by serving of
others, then to please and content my selfe. Wherefore, if
you will give me leave, I will tell you the necessitated cause of
my comming, which is another manner of matter then any
you have yet heard ; and such as we were all undone, if I
should returne in vaine, and you not know it.

MELIBEA. Acquaint mee (mother) with all your neces-
sities and wants, and if I can helpe you in them, or doe you
any good, I shall willingly doe it, as well out of our old
acquaintance, as out of neighbour-hood, which in good and
honest mindes, is a sufficient bond to tye them thereunto.

CELESTINA. My wants, Madame ? My necessities doe
you meane ? Nay, others (as I told you) not mine. For
mine o^vne, I passe at home with my selfe in mine owne
house, without letting the whole Comitry to know them :

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS Eating when I may, and drinking when I can get it. For,
nil for all my poverty, I never wanted a penny to buy me bread,

nor a Quarte, that is, the eighth parte of sixe pence to send
for wine, no, not in all this time of my widdow-hood. For
before, I never tooke thought for any, but had alwaies a good
Vessell still in my house. And when one was empty, another
was full. I never went to bed, but I did first eat a toast
well steept in wine, and two dozen of draughts, sipping still
the wine after every sop, for feare of the Mother, wherwith
I was then wont to be troubled. But now, that I husband
all things my self, and am at mine own finding, I am faine to
fetch my wine in a little poore Jarre, which will scarce hold
a pottle. And sometimes in punishment of my sinnes (which
Crosse I am willing to beare) I am forced to goe sixe times
a day with these my silver hayres about my shoulders, to fill
and fetch my wine my selfe at the Taverne. Nor would I
by my good will dye, till I see my selfe have a good Rundlet
or Terse of mine owne within mine owne doores. For (on
my life) there is no provision in the world like unto it. For
as the saying is ; It is bread and wine, not the young man
that is spruce and fine, that makes us rid the way, and
travell with mettle ; yet let me tell you, that where the
good man is missing, all other good is wanting. For ill
does the spindle moove, when the beard does not wagge
above. And this I thought good to tell you by the way,
upon those speeches which I used concerning others, and not
mine owne necessities.

MELIBEA. Aske what thou wilt, be it either for thy
selfe, or any body else, whom it pleaseth thee.

CELEST. My most gracious and courteous Lady, de-
scended of high and noble parentage ; your sweet words,
and cheerefull gesture, accompany ed with that kinde and
free proffer, which you are pleased to make to this poore
old woman, gives boldnesse to my tongue, to speak what my
heart even longeth to utter. I come lately from one, whom
I left sicke to the death, who onely with one word, which
should come from your noble mouth, and intrusted in this
my bosome to carry it hence with me, I verily assure my
selfe, it will save his life, so great is the devotion which he

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

beares to your gentle disposition, and the comfort he would ACTUS
receive by this so great a kindenesse. HII

MELIBEA. Good woman ; I understand thee not, unlesse
thou deliver thy mind unto me in plaine termes. On the
one side thou dost anger me, and provoke mee to displeasure ;
on the other thou doest move and stirre me to compassion.
Neither know I how to returne thee a convenient answer,
because I have not fully comprehended thy meaning; I
should thinke my selfe happy, if my words might carry that
force, as to save the life of any man, though never so meane.
For to doe good, is to bee like unto the Deity. Besides, he
that doth a benefit, receives it when it is done to a person
that desires it. And he that can cure one that is sicke, not
doing it, is guilty of his death ; and therefore give not over
thy petition, but proceed and feare nothing.

CELEST. All feare fled (faire Lady) in beholding your
beauty. For, I cannot be perswaded, that Nature did paint
in vaine one face fairer then another, more inrich't with
grace and favour, more fashionable, and more beautifull
then another ; were it not to make them Magazines of vertue,
mansions of mercy, houses of compassion and pitie. Ministers
of her blessings, and dispensers of those good gifts and graces,
which in her bounty shee hath bestowed upon them, and
upon your selfe in a more plentiful! manner. Besides,
sithence wee are all mortall, and borne to dye ; as also, that
it is most certaine, that hee cannot bee said truely to be
borne, who is onely borne for himselfe ; for then should men
be like unto bruite beasts, (if not worse ;) Amongst which,
there are some, that are very pitifull : as your Unicome, of
whom it is reported, that hee will humble and prostrate
himselfe at the feet of a Virgin. And your dogge, for all
his fiercenesse, and cruelnesse of nature, when hee comes to
bite another, if hee throw himselfe downe at his feet, hee
will let him alone, and doe him no harme ; and this is all
out of pitie. Againe, to come to your birds, and fowles of
the ayre ; your Cocke eateth not any thing, but hee first
calleth his Hens about him, and gives them part of his
feeding. The Pellicane, with her beake breaketh up her
owne brest, that she may give her very bowels and intrals to

M 89

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS her young ones to eat. The Storkes maintaine their aged
nil parents as long in the nest, as they did give them food, when

they were young and unable to helpe themselves. Now, if
God and Nature gave such knowledge unto beasts and birds ;
why shovdd wee that are men, be more cruell one to another .'*
Why give we not part of our graces, and of our persons, to
our neighbors ? Especially when they are involved and
afflicted with secret infirmities, and those such, that where
the Medicine is, thence was the cause of the maladie ?

MELIBEA. For Gods love, without any more dilating,
tell me who is this sicke man, who feeling such great per-
plexity, hath both his sicknes and his cure, flowing from one,
and the selfe-same Fountaine ?

CELEST. You can not choose (Lady) but know a young
Gentleman in this City, nobly descended, whose name is
Calisto.

MELIBEA. Inough,inough; No more (good old woman;)
Not a word, not a word more, I would advise you. Is this
the sicke patient, for whom thou hast made so many prefaces
to come to thy purpose ? For what, or whom cam'st thou
hither.? Cam'st thou to seeke thy death.? Know'st thou
for whom (thou bearded Impudent) thou hast troden these
dangerous steps ? What ayles this wicked one, that thou
pleadest for him with such passion ? He is foole-sicke, is
hee not .? Is hee in his wits, I trow ? What would'st thou
have thought, if thou should'st have found me without some
suspicion and jealousie of this foole.? What a wind-lace
hast thou fetcht, with what words hast thou come upon me ?
I see it is not said in vaine ; That the most hurtfull member
in a man, or woman, is the tongue. I will have thee burned,
thou false Witch, thou enemy to honesty, thou Causeresse
of secret errors ; Fie upon thee Filth ; Lucrecia, out of my
sight with her, send her packing ; away with her I pray, she
makes me ready to swound : ay me, I faint, I dye ; she hath
not left me one drop of bloud in my body. But I well
deserve this, and more, for giving eare to such a paltry
huswife as shee is. Beleeve me, were it not, that I regarded
mine honour, and that I am unwilling to publish to the
world his presumptuous audaciousnesse and boldnesse, I

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

would so handle thee (thou accursed Hagge) that thy dis- ACTUS
course, and thy life, should have ended both together. mi

CELEST. In an ill houre came I hither. If my spels
and conjuration faile mee. Goe to, goe to ; I wot well
inough to whom I speake. This poore Gentleman, this your
' rother, is at the poynt of death, and ready to dye.

MELIBEA. Darest thou yet speake before mee? and
mutter words between thy teeth, for to augment my anger,
and double thy punishment ? Wouldst thou have me soyle
mine honour, for to give life to a foole, to a mad man ?
Shall I make my selfe sad, to make him merry ? Wouldst
thou thrive by my losse ? And reape profit by my perdition ?
And receive remuneration by my error ? Wouldst thou have
me overthrow, and ruine my fathers house and honour, for
to raise that of such an old rotten Bawd as thou art ? Dost
thou thinke, I doe not perceive thy drift ? That I doe not
track thee step by step ? Or that I understand not thy
damnable errand ? But I assure thee, the reward that thou
shalt get thereby, shall be no other, save (that I may take
from thee all occasion of farther offending heaven) to give
an end to thy evill dayes. Tell me (Traitor as thou art)
how didst thou dare to proceed so farre with mee ?

CELEST. My feare of you (Madame) doth interrupt my
excuse ; but my innocency puts new courage into me : your
presence againe disheartens me, in seeing you so angry. But
that which grieves and troubles me most, is, that I receive
displeasure without any reason, and am hardly thought on
without a cause. Give mee leave (good Lady) to make an
end of my speach, and then will you neither blame it, nor
condemne me ; then will you see, that I rather seek to doe
good service, then indeavour any dishonest course ; and that
I do it more to adde health to the Patient, then to detract
any thing from the fame and worth of the Physician. And
had I thought that your Ladiship would so easily have made
this bad construction out of your late noxious suspicion, your
licence should not have beene sufficient warrant to have
imboldened me to speake any thing, that might concerne
Calisto, or any other man living.

MELIBEA. Let mee heare no more of this mad man,

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS name not this foole unto mee ; this leaper over walls ; this
IIII Hob-goblin ; this night-walker ; this phantasticall spirit ;

long-shanked, like a Stork ; in shape and proportion, like a
picture in Arras, that is ill-wrought; or an ill-favoured
fellow in an old sute of hangings ; Say no more of him,
unlesse you would have mee to fall downe dead where I
stand. This is hee who saw mee the other day, and beganne
to court mee with I know not what extravagant phrases, as
if hee had not beene well in his wits, professing himselfe to
be a great Gallant. Tell him (good old woman) if hee
thinke that I was wholy his, and that he had wonne the
field, because it pleased me rather to consent to his folly,
then correct his fault, and yeeld to his errand, then chastise
his errour ; that I was willing rather to let him goe like a
foole as hee came, then to publish this his presumptuous
enterprize. Moreover, advise him, that the next way to
have his sicknesse leave him, is to leave off his loving, and
wholy to relinquish his purpose, if he purpose to impart
health to himselfe ; which if he refuse to doe, tell him from
mee, that he never bought words all the dales of his life at
a dearer rate. Besides, I would have him know, that no
man is overcome, but he that thinks himselfe so to be. So
shall I live secure, and he contented. But it is evermore
the nature of fooles, to thinke other like themselves. Returne
thou with this very answer unto him ; for other answer of me
shall he none, nor never hope for any : for it is but in vaine
to intreat mercy of him, of whom thou canst not have mercy.
And for thine owne part, thou maist thanke God, that thou
scapest hence scot-free ; I have heard inough of you heereto-
fore, and of all your good qualities, though it was not my
hap to know you.

CELESTINA. Troy stood out more stoutly, and held out
longer. And many fiercer Dames have I tamed in my dayes ;
Tush ! No storme lasteth long.

MELIBEA. You mine enemy, what say you ? Speake
out, I pray, that I may heare you. Hast thou any thing
to say in thy excuse, whereby thou maist satisfie my anger,
and cleare thy selfe of this thy errour and bold attempt ?

CELESTINA. Whilest your choler lives, my cause must

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

needes dye. And the longer your anger lasteth, the lesse ACTUS
shall my excuse be heard. But wonder not that you should I^

be thus rigorous with mee : For a little heate will serve to
set young bloud a boyling.

MELIBEA. Little heate, say you ? Indeed thou maist
well say little ; because thy selfe yet lives, whilst I with
griefe indure thy great presumption. What words canst
thou demand of me for such a one as he is, that may stand
with my good ? Answer to my demand, because thou sayst
thou hast not yet concluded. And perhaps thou maist
pacific me for that which is past.

CELESTINA. Mary, a certaine Charme, Madame, which
(as hee is informed by many of his good friends) your
Ladiship hath, which cureth the tooth-ache ; as also that
same admirable Girdle of yours, which is reported to have
beene found and brought from Cumae the Cave there, and
was worne, "'tis thought, by the Sibilla, or Prophetesse of
that place ; which Girdle they say, hath such a singular and
peculiar property and power, with the very tutch to abate
and ease any ache or anguish whatsoever. Now this
Gentleman I told you of, is exceedingly pained with the
tooth-ache, and even at deaths doore with it. And this
was the true cause of my comming : But since it was my ill
hap to receive so harsh and unpleasing an answer, let him
still for me continue in his paine, as a punishment due unto
him, for sending so unfortunate a messenger. For since in
that muchnesse of your vertue I have found much of your
pity wanting ; I feare mee, hee would also want water, should
he send mee to the Sea to fetch it. And you know (sweet
Lady) that the delight of vengeance, and pleasure of revenge
endureth but a moment, but that of pity and compassion
continueth for ever and ever.

MELIBEA. If this be that thou would'st have, why did'st
thou not tell me of it sooner ? Why wenfst thou about the
bush with mee ? What needed all those circumstances ? Or
why did'st thou not deliver it in other words ?

CELEST. Because my plaine and simple meaning made
me beleeve, that though I should have proposed it in any
other words whatsoever, had they beene worse then they were,

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS yet would you not have suspected any evill in them. For,
^^11 if I were failing in the fitnesse of my preface, and did not use

so due and convenient a preamble as I should have done, it
was, because truth needeth no colours. The very compassion
that I had of his paine, and the confidence of your magnifi-
cency, did choake in my mouth, when I first beganne to
speake the expression of the cause. And for that you know
(Lady) that sorrow workes turbation, and turbation doth
disorder and alter the tongue, which ought alwaies to be
ty''de to the braine ; for heavens love, lay not the fault on
me ; and if he hath committed an errour, let not that
redound to my hurt ; for I am no farther blameable of any
fault, then as I am the messenger of the faulty. Breake not
the rope where it is weakest. Be not like the Cobweb, which
never shewes it's force, but on poore little Flyes. No
humane Law condemnes the father for the sonnes offence,
nor the sonne for the fathers : nor indeed (Lady) is it any
reason, that his presumption should occasion my perdition ;
though considering his desert, I should not greatly care, that
hee should be the delinquent, and my selfe be condenmed,
since that I have no other Trade to live by, save to serve
such as hee is ; This is my occupation, this I make my
happinesse. Yet withall (Madame) I would have you to
conceive, that it was never in my desire to hurt one, to
helpe another, though behind my backe, your Ladiship hath
perhaps been otherwise informed of mee. But the best is,
it is not the vaine breath of the vulgar, that can blast the
truth ; assuredly I meane nothing in this, but onely plaine
and honest dealing. I doe little harme to any; I have
as few enemies in this City, as a woman can have ; I
keepe my word with all men ; and what I undertake, I
performe as faithfully, as if I had twenty feete, and so many
hands,

MELIBEA. I now wonder not, that your Ancients were
wont to say ; That one onely teacher of Vice, was sufficient
to marre a great City. For I have heard such and so many
tales of thy false and cunning tricks, that I know not whether
I may beleeve, thy errand was for this charme.

CELESTINA. Never let me pray : or if I pray, let me

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

never be heard, if you can draw any other thing from me, ACTUS
though I were to be put to a thousand torments. IHI

MELIBEA. My former late anger will not give mee leave
to laugh at thy excuse. For I wot very well, that neither
oath nor torment shall make thee to speake the truth. For
it is not in thy power to doe it.

CELESTINA. You are my good Lady and Mistresse, you
may say what you list, and it is my duty to hold my peace ;
you must command, and I must obey, but your rough
language (I hope) will cost your Ladiship an old petticoate.

MELIBEA. And well hast thou deserved it.

CELEST. If I have not gained it with my tongue, I hope
I have not lost it with my intention.

MELIBEA. Thou dost so confidently plead thy ignorance,
that thou makest me almost ready to lieleeve thee ; yet will
I in this thy so doubtfull an excuse, hold my sentence in
suspence, and will not dispose of thy demand upon the relish
of so light an interpretation. Neither for all this would I
have thee to thinke much of it, nor make it any such wonder,
that I was so exceedingly moved ; For two things did con-
curre in thy discourse, the least of which was sufficient to
make me runne out of my wits. First, in naming this
Gentleman unto me, who thus presumed to talke with me :
then, that thou shouldst intreat me for him, without any
further cause given ; which could not but ingender a strong
suspition of intention of hurt to my honor. But since all is
well meant, and no harme intended, I pardon all that is
past ; for my heart is now somewhat lightned, sithence it is
a pious, and a holy worke, to cure the sick, and helpe the
distressed.

CELEST. I, and so sicke (Madame) and so distressed,
that did you know it as well as I, you would not judge him
the man, which in your anger you have censured him to be.
By my fay, the poore Gentleman hath no gall at all, no ill
meaning in his heart. Hee is indewed with thousands of
graces ; for bounty, he is an Alexander ; for strength, an
Hector ; he has the presence of a Prince ; hee is faire in his
carriage, sweet in his behaviour, and pleasant in his conversa-
tion ; there is no melancholy, or other bad humour, that

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS raigneth in him ; Nobly descended, as your selfe well knowes ;
nil a great Tilter ; and to see him in his armour, it becomes him

so well, that you would take him to be another Saint George.
Hercules had not that force and courage as he hath ; His
diportment, his person, his feature, his disposition, his
agility, and activenesse of body, had neede of another manner
of tongue to expresse it, then mine. Take him all together,
and for all in all, you shall not finde such another ; and for
admired forme, a miracle : and I am verily perswaded, that
that faire and gentle Narcissus, who was inamored with his
owne proper beauty, when as in a glasse he view"'d himselfe,
in the water was nothing so faire as he, whom now one poore
tooth, with the extremity of its paine, doth so torment, that
hee doth nothing but complaine.

MELIBEA. The Age, I pray ; How long hath hee had
it.?

CELEST. His age (Madame ?) Mary, I thinke hee is about
some three and twenty. For heere stands shee, who saw him
borne, and tooke him up from his mothers feet.

MELIBEA. This is not that which I aske thee ; Nor doe
I care to know his age. I aske thee how long he hath beene
troubled with his tooth-ache ?

CELEST. Some eight dales (Madame) but you would
thinke he had had it a yeere, hee is growne so weake with it,
and the greatest ease, and best remedy he hath, is, to take
his Viall, whereto hee sings so many songs, and in such
dolefull notes, that I verily beleeve, they did farre exceed
those, which that great Emperor and Musician Hadrian
composed concerning the soules departure from the body ;
the better to endure without dismayment, his approaching
death. For though I have but little skill in musicke, me
thinks he makes the Viall, when he plaies thereon, to speake ;
and when hee sings thereunto, the birds with a better will
listen unto him, then to that Musician of old, which made
the trees and stones to move. Had he been borne then,
Orpheus had lost his prey. Weigh then with your selfe
(Sweet Lady) if such a poore old woman as 1 am, have not
cause to count my selfe happy, if I may give Hfe unto him,
to whom the heavens have given so many graces ? Not a

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

woman that sees him, but praiseth Natures workemanship, ACTUS
whose hand did draw so perfect a piece ; and if it bee their mi

hap to talke with him, they are no more mistresses of them-
selves, but are wholy at his disposing ; and of Commanders,
desire to be commanded by him. Wherfore, seeing I have
so great reason to doe for him, conceive (good Lady) my
purpose to be faire and honest, my courses commendable,
and free from suspicion and jealousie.

MELIBEA. O how I am falne out with mine owne im-
patience ! How angry with my selfe, that hee being
ignorant, and thou innocent of any intended ill ; thou hast
endured the distemperature of my inraged tongue ! But
the great reason I had for it, frees mee from any fault of
offence, urged thereunto by thy suspicious speaches : but in
requitall of thy sufferance, I will forthwith fulfill thy request,
and likewise give thee my Girdle. And because I have not
leysure to write the charme, till my mother comes home, if
this will not serve the turne, come secretly for it to morrow
morning.

LUCRECIA. Now, now, is my Mistresse quite undone.
All the world cannot save her ; she will have Celestina come
secretly to morrow. I smell a Rat ; there is a Padde in the
straw ; I like not this, Come secretly to morrow ; I feare
mee, shee will part with something more then words.

MELIBEA. What sai'st thou, Lucrecia .?

LUCRECIA. Mary, I say, Madame, you have worded well.
For it is now somewhat late.

MELIBEA. I pray (mother) say nothing to this Gentle-
man of what hath passed betwixt you and mee, lest he should
hold me either cruell, sudden, or dishonest.

LUCRECIA. I did not lye even now ; I see well inough
how ill the world goes.

CELEST. Madame, I much marvell you should entertaine
any the least doubt of my service. Feare you not ; for I can
suffer, and cover any thing : and I well perceive, that your
great jealousie and suspicion of mee, made you (as commonly
it doth) to interpret my speeches to the worst sense. Well,
I will take my leave, and goe hence with this Girdle so
merrily, as if I did presently see his heart leaping for joy,

N 97

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS that you have graced him with so great a kindnesse ; and
mi I doubt not, but I shall finde him much eased of his

paine.

MELIBEA. I will doe more for your sicke Patient then
this, if need require, in requitall of your great patience.

CELEST, Wee shall need more, and you must doe more
then this, though perhaps you will not so well like of it,
and scarce thanke us for it.

MELIBEA. Mother, what 's that thou talkest of thankes.?

CELESTINA. Mary I say (Madame) That we both give
you thanks, that wee are both at your service ; and rest both
deepely indebted to your Ladiship ; and that the paiment
is there most certaine, where the party is most bound to
satisfie.

LUCRECIA. Heere's Cat in the Panne. What Chop-
Logicke have we heere ?

CELESTINA. Daughter Lucrecia ; Hold thy peace ;
Come hither to me. If to morrow I may see thee at my
house, I will give thee such a Lye, as shall make thy haire
as yellow as gold ; but tell not your Mistresse of it. Thou
shalt also have a powder of mee to sweeten thy breath,
which is a little of the strongest. There is not any in this
kingdome, that can make it but my selfe. And there is not
any thing in a woman that can be worse then a stinking
breath.

LUCRECIA. A blessing on your aged heart ; for I have
more need of this, then of my meate.

CELESTINA. And yet (you foole) you will be talking
and prating against mee. Hold thy peace ; for thou know'st
not what need thou maist have of mee. Doe not exasperate
your Mistresse, and make her more angry now, then shee was
before. But let mee goe hence in peace.

MELIBEA. What sai'st thou to her, mother ?

CELEST. Nothing (Madame) wee have done already.

MELIBEA. Nay, you must tell me what you said to her;
for I cannot abide, that any body should speake any thing
in my presence, and I not have a part therein. And there-'
fore, without any more adoe, let mee know it.

CELEST. I intreated her to put your Ladiship in minde

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

of the Charme, that it might be writ out ready for mee : ACTUS
and that shee should learne of mee to temper her selfe in ^1

the time of yom- anger, putting her in mind of that ancient
Adage ; From an angry man, get thee gone but for a while ;
but from an enemy, for ever. But you (Madame) had onely
a quarell to those words of mine which you suspected, and
not any enmity to my person. And say, they had bin such
as you conceited them ; yet were they not so bad, as you
would have made them to be. For it is every dales experi-
ence, to see men pain'd and tormented for women ; and
women as much for men. And this, Nature worketh ; and
Nature (you know) is crafts master, and works nothing that
is ill : So that my demand (you see) was (as my desire was
it should be) in it selfe commendable, as having its growth
from so good a root. Many the like reasons could I render
you, were not prolixity tedious to the hearer, and hurtful!
to the speaker.

MELIBEA. Thou hast showne a great deale of temper,
as well in saying little, when thou saw'st mee angry, as also
in thy great and singular sufferance,

CELESTINA. Madame, I indured your chiding with
feare, because I knew you were angry with reason. Besides,
a fit of anger is but like a flash of lightning ; which made
me the more willing to give way, till your heate were
overpast,

MELIBEA. This Gentleman is beholding unto you, whom
I recommend to your care.

CELEST. Not so, Madame ; His deserts challenge more
at my hands. And if by my intreaties, I have done him
any good, I feare me, by my over long-stay, I have done
him as much harme. And therefore if your Ladiship will
license me, I will haste to see how he does.

MELIBEA. Had'st thou spoke for it sooner, sooner hadst
thou beene sped. Goe thy wayes, and a good lucke with thee :
for neither thy comming hither hath done mee any good ;
nor thy going hence can doe mee any harme ; Thy message
being as bootlesse, as thy departure shall be harmelesse.

THE END OF THE FOURTH ACT

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS V

THE ARGUMENT

ELESTINA having taken her leave of'
Melibea, trudges along the street mum-
hling and muttring to her selfe. Being
come home, there shee found Sempronio,
who staled expecting her returne. They
goe both talking together, till they come
to Calisto's house. And being espied by
Parmeno, he tels it his Master, who wills

him to open the doore.

INTERLOCUTORS

Celestina, Sempronio, Parmeno, Calisto.

CELESTINA. O cruell incounter! O daring and discreet
attempt ! O great and singular svifferance ! O how neere
had I beene to my death, if my much subtilty and cunning
craft had not shifted in time the sailes of my suite ! O
braving menaces of a gallant Lady ! O angry and inraged
Damsell ! O thou Divell whom I conjured ! O how well
hast thou kept thy word with me in all that I desired ! I
am much bound unto thee ; so handsomely hast thou ap-
peased this cruell Dame by thy mighty power, and afforded
mee so fit a place and opportunity, by reason of her mothers
absence, to utter my minde unto her. O thou old Celestina;
cheere up thy heart, and thinke with thy selfe ; that things
are halfe ended, wlien they are well begunne ! O thou oyle
of Serpents ! O thou delicate white thread ; how have you
bestirred your selves in my businesse ! whose favourable
furtherance if I had not found, I would utterly have broken
and destroyed all the inchantments which either I have
already, or heereafter are to be made ; nor would I ever any
more have had any beliefe in hearbes, stones, or words. Be
merry then (old Stinkard) Frollicke with thy selfe (old wench)
for, thou shalt get more by this one suite, then by soldring

100

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

of fifteene crackt Maidenheads. A pocks upon these long ACTUS

and large playtings in my Petticoates ; Fie how they rumple V

and fold themselves about my legges, hindring my feete from

hasting thither, whither I desire my good newes should come.

O good fortune, what a friend art thou to the valiant ! what

a foe to those that are fearefull ! Nor by flying doth the •

Coward flye death. O how many failed of that which I

have effected ! How many have strucke at, but mist that

naile, which my selfe onely have hit on the head ! What in

so strong and dangerous a straite as this, would these young

Graduates in my Art have done ? Perhaps have bolted out

some foolish word or other to Melibea, whereby they would

have lost as much by their prattling, as I have gained by

my silence. And therefore it is an old saying ; Let him

play that hath skill : and that the better Physician is hee

that hath experience, then hee that hath learning; For

experience, and frequent warnings, make men Artists in

their professions ; and it must be such an old woman as I

am who at every little Channell holds up her coates, and

treades the streetes with leysurely steps, that shall prove

a Proficient in her trade. O girdle, my pretty girdle, let

mee hugge thee a little ! O how my heart leaps in look,-

ing upon thee ! If I live, I will make thee bring her to mee

by force, who is so unwilling to come to mee of her owne

accord, that I had much adoe to get a good word from

her.

SEMP. Either mine eyes are not matches, or that is
Celestina. Now the Divell goe with her; how her gowne
comes dragging on the ground ! how the skirts of her coate
trouble her ! how her mouth goes ! Sure, she is muttring
something to her selfe.

CELEST. Why dost thou keepe such a crossing of thy
selfe ? I beleeve, thou blessest thy selfe to see mee.

SEMP. I will tell thee : why ? Rarity (you know) is the
mother of admiration ; and admiration being conceived in
the eyes, entreth straight into the minde : and the minde is
inforced againe by the eyes, to discover it selfe by these
outward signes. Who did ever see thee walke the streetes
before with thy head hanging in thy bosome ; with thy eyes

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS cast downe to the ground ? Who did ever see thee goe thus
V mumbling of thy words to thy selfe ? and to come in such

post-haste, as if thou wert going to get a Benefice ? so that
the rarity and strangenesse thereof, makes those who know
thee, to wonder what it should meane ? But to let this
passe ; Tell me of all loves, what good newes thou bringst.
Say : Is it a Son, or a Daughter ? That is, whether we have
sped well or ill ? For ever since one of the Clocke I have
waited here for you ; all which while, I have had no
greater or better token of comfort, then that of your long
staying.

CELEST. This foolish Rule (my Sonne) is not alwaies
true; for had I stayd but one houre longer, I might per-
haps have left my nose behind me, and two other noses, had
I had them, and my tongue to boot : so that the longer I
had stayed, the dearer it would have cost me.

SEMPR. Good mother, as you love mee, goe not hence,
till you have told mee all.

CELEST. Sempronio, my friend, neither have I time to
stay heere, nor is this a fit place to tell it thee. Come, goe
along with mee to Calisto, and thou shalt heare wonders
(my Bully.) For by communicating my selfe to many, I
should as it were deflowre my Embassage, whose maidenhead
I meane to bestow on your Master; for, I will that from
mine owne mouth, hee heare what I have done ; for though
thou shalt have parcell of the profit, I minde to have all the
thankes for my labour.

SEMPR. What ? Are you at your parcels now ? Doe
you thinke, Celestina, to put me to my parcels ? Tho you
shall have your parcell ; mary, come up : I tell you plainly,
I doe not like this word, that I doe not. And therefore
parcell me no more of your parcels.

CELEST. Goe to, you foole ; Hold your peace, be it
part or parcell, man, thou shalt have what thou wilt thy
selfe. Doe but aske, and have ; what is mine, is thine :
Let us laugh and be merry, and benefit our selves the best
that we can : Hang all this trash, this putrified durt, rather
then thou and I should fall out about deviding the spoyle ;
yet must I tell you, (which is no more then your selfe

102

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

knowes) that old folkes have more need then young ; ACTUS
Especially you, who live at full table, upon free cost. V

SEMPR. There goes more (I wisse) to a mans life, then
eating and drinking.

CEL. What, Sonne ? A dozen of poynts, a hat, or a
stone-bow, to go from house to house shooting at birds,
ayming at other birds with your eye, that take their stand-
ing in windowes. I meane pretty wenches (you foole) such
birds (you mad-cap) as have no wings to flye from you :
you know my meaning. Sir ; for there is no better Bawd, for
them, then a bow : under colour whereof, thou maist enter
any house whatsoever, making it thy excuse to seeke after
some bird thou shootst at, etc. It is your only delicate
tricke you can use. But wo (Sempronio) unto her, who is
to uphold and maintaine her credit, and beginnes to grow
old, as I now doe.

SEMPR. O cogging old Hagge ; O old Bawd, full fill'd
with mischiefe ; O covetous and greedy Cormorant ; _p
ravenous ghittn^ ! I perceive she would as willingly coozen
me, as I would my Master; and all to inrich her selfe. But
seeing she is so wickedly minded^ and cares not who perish,
so as shee may thrive, I will marre her market ; I will looke
to her water heereafter ; I will keepe her from fingring any
more Crownes ; nor will I any longer rent out the gaines
unto her, which I make of my Master, but reserve the profits
for my selfe : or rather (which is the surer and honester
course) seek to save his purse, and play the good husband
for him. For he that riseth by lewd and unlawfuU meanes,
comes tumbling downe faster then hee clambred up. O !
"how hard a thing is it to know man ! True is that vulgar
saying. No manner of marchandize, or beast, is halfe so hard
to be knowne. Cursed old witch, shee is as false as truth is
truth ; I thinke tlie Divell brought mee acquainted with her :
it had beene better for mee, to have fled from this venemous
Viper, then to put her, as I have done, in my bosome ; but
it was mine owne fault, I can blame no body but my selfe :
and therefore let her gaine what she can gaine, be it by
right or wrong, I will keepe my word with her.

CELESTINA. What say'st thou Sempronio ? Whom dost

103

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS thou talke to ? Goest thou gnawing of my skirts ? What

is that thou grumblest at ? Why commestthou not forward?

SEMPR. That which I say (mother Celestina) is this;
that I doe not marvaile that you are mutable : for therein
you doe, but as others have done before you, following that
common tracke that many more have trod in : you told mee,
you would deferre this businesse, leading my Master along
in a fooles paradise ; and now thou runn'st head-long with-
out either sence or wit, to tell Calisto of all that hath
passed. Know'st thou not. that men esteeme those things
most, which are most difficult to be atchieved ? And prize
them the more, the more hardly they come by them ?
Besides, Is not every day of his paine, unto us a double
gaine ?

CELEST. A ynse man altreth his purpose, but a foole
persevereth in his folly : a new busines requires new counsell ;
and various accidents, various advice. Nor did I thinke
(Son Sempronio) that fortune would have befriended mee,
so soone. Besides, it is the part of a discreete messenger to
doe that which the time requires ; especially, when as the
quality of the businesse cannot conceale or admit of dis-
sembled time. And moreover, I know that thy Master (as
I have heard) is liberall, and somewhat of a womanish long-
ing ; and therefore will give more for one day of good newes,
then for a hundred, wherein he is pained. And with his
paine, mine will be increased : his in loving, mine in trudging
to and fro. For your quicke and speedie pleasures beget
alteration ; and great alteration doth hinder deliberation.
Againe, where will you finde goodnesse, but in that which
is good ? And noblenesse of blood, but in large and long
continued rewards ? Peace, you foole, let me alone with
him, and you shall see how your old woman will handle him,

SEMPR. Then tell mee what passed concerning that
noble Lady. Acquaint mee but with one word of her
mouth ; for trust mee, I long as much to know her answer,
as my Master doth.

CELEST. Peace, you foole; What? Does your com-
plexion change ? Does your colour alter ? I know by^ypur
nose, what porridge you love. You had rather have the

104

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

taste, then sent of this businesse. Come I prythee, let us ACTUS
hye us, for thy Master will be ready to runne mad, if we V

stay over-long

SEM, And I am little better, because you will not stay
and tell me.

PARME. Master, Master ?

CALISTO. What's the matter, you foole ?

FARM. I see Sempronio and Celestina comming towards
the house. And at every step they make a stop ; and looke
where they stand still, there Sempronio, with the point of
his sword, makes streakes and lines in the ground. It is
some earnest matter sure that they are debating, but what
it should be, I cannot devise.

CALISTO. O thou carelesse absiu-d Asse ; Canst thou
discry land, and not make to the shoare ? See them com-
ming, and not hye thee to open the doore ? O thou Supreme
Deity : with what come they ? What newes doe they bring ?
whose stay hath beene so long, that I have longed more for
their comming, then the end of my remedy. O my sad
eares, prepare your selves for that which you are now to
heare : for in Celestina's mouth rests either my present ease,
or eternall heart-griefe. O that I could fall into a slumber,
and passe away this short, this little, little space of time, in
a dreame wherein I might see the beginning, and ending of
her speech. Now I verily beleeve, that more painefull to a
Fellon, is the expecting of that his cruell and capitall sen-
tence, then the Act it selfe, of his certaine and fore-knowne
death. O leaden-heeled Parmeno ; slower then the Snayle,
dead-handed as thou art, dispatch, I say, and unbolt this
troublesome doore, that this honourable woman may enter
in, in whose tongue lies my life.

CELEST. Dost thou heare him, Sempronio ? Your
Master is now of another temper ; these words are of another
tune, then those wee lately heard both of Parmeno, and him,
at our first comming hither. The matter I see is well
amended ; there is never a word I shall tell him, but shall
be better to old Celestina, then a new petticoate.

SEMPR. Make at your comming in, as though you did
not see Calisto, using some good words as you goe.

O 105

ACTUS
V

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

CELEST. Peace, Sempronio ; Though I have hazarded
my life for him, yet Calisto's ovvne worth, and his, and your
joynt intreaties, merit much more then this. And I hope,
he will well reward me for my paines, being so franke and
Noble a Gentleman as hee is.

THE END OF THE FIFTH ACT

ACTUS VI

THE ARGUMENT

ELESTINA being entred Calisto's house,
Calisto linth great affection and earnest-
nesses demandeth of her^ what had hapiied
betwixt her and Melibea ? While they
continue taWing together, Parmeno hear-
ing Celestina speaJce whohj Jbr her selfe,
and her oxvne private profit, turning him-
selfe toward Sempronio, at every word he

gives her a nip,Jbr the which he is reprehended by Sempronio.

In the end, old Celestina discovers to Calisto all the whole

businesse, and shewes him the Girdle she brought from Melibea.

And so taking her leave of Calisto, shee gets her home to her

owne house, taking Parmeno along with her.

INTERLOCUTORS

Calisto, Celestina, Parmeno, Sempronio.

CALISTO. What good newes (mother ?) speak (deare
mother.)

CELEST. O my good Lord and Master Calisto, How is
it ? how is it with you ? O my new Lover (and not without
just cause) of fairest Melibea ! How canst thou make this
old woman amends, who hath hazarded her life in thy ser-
vice ? What woman was ever driven to such narrow shifts ?
The very thought whereof, makes my heart to faint, emptying
my vitall veynes of all their bloud. I would have given my

106

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

life for lesse then the price of this old tottred Mantle, which ACTUS
you see heere on my backe. VI

PARME. Thou art all (I see) for thy selfe. That is it
thou shoot"'st at. Thou art like a Lettice, that growes
betwixt two Cole-worts ; If thou be let alone, thou wilt
over-top them. The next word I look for, is, that she begge
a Kirtle for her Mantle : thou art all (I perceive) for thy
selfe ; and wilt not aske any thing, whereof others may have
part. The old woman will implume him, not leaving him
so much as one feather; how cuimingly does shee worke
him ! how craftly pitch her nets to catch me and my Master,
seeking to make me faithlesse, and him foolish ! Doe but
marke her (Sempronio) be still, and give her but the hearing,
and you shall see, shee will not demand any money of my
Master, because it is divisible.

SEMPRO. Peace, (thou despairefull fellow) lest Calisto
kill thee, if he chance to heare thee.

CALISTO. Good mother, either cut off thy discourse, or
take thou this sword and kill mee.

PARM. Now, what a Divell ailes he ? He shakes and
quivers like a fellow that hath had his senses over-toucht
with quicke-silver. Looke, hee cannot stand on his legges ;
would I could helpe him to his tongue, that I might heare
him speake againe : sure, he cannot live long, if this fit
continue. Wee shall get well by this his love, shall wee
not ? Every man his mourning weed, and there ""s an
end.

CELEST. Your sword. Sir. Now I hope not : What ?
Take your sword and kill you ? There 's a word indeed to
kill my heart. No ; let your sword serve to kill your ene-
mies, and such as wish you harme. As for mee, I will give
thee life, man, by that good hope, which I have in her,
whom thou lovest best.

CALISTO. Good hope, mother ?

CELESTINA. I, good hope ; and well may it be called so,
since that the gates are set open for my second returne.
And shall I tell you ? she will sooner receive me in this poore
tottred Gowne and Kirtle, then others in their silks, and
cloth of gold.

^ 107

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS PARME. Sempronio, sow mee up this mouth ; for I can
VI no longer hold. A pocks on her, she liath hedg'd in the

Kirtle to her Gowne. Could not one alone have contented
her ?

SEMPR. You will hold your peace, will you not ? By
love you were best be quiet, or I shall set you hence in a
divels name. What ? Is there no ho with you ? Say she
begge her apparell of him, what 's that to thee ? she does
well in it ; and I commend her for it, having such need
thereof as she has. And thou know'st. Where the Flamin
sings, there hath he his offrings; he must have food and
rayment.

PAR. True, he hath so ; but as his service is, so is his
allowance ; he sings all the yeere long for it : and this old
Jade would in one day, for treading some three steps, cast
off all her rugged hayres, and get her a new coate ; which is
more then she could well doe these fifty yeeres.

SEM. Is this all the good she taught thee ? Is all your
old acquaintance come to this ? Is this all the obligation
/ou owe her for her paines in breeding you up ? Sure, she
las brought her Hogges to a good market, in bestowing so
great kindenesse on so very a Pigge.

PAR. I could be well content, that she should pill and
pole, aske and have, shave and cut, but not cut out all the
cloth for her own coat.

SEMPR. It is her fault, I must confesse, but other Vice
hath shee none, save onely that shee is a little too covetous.
But let her alone, and give her leave to provide straw, first,
for to thatch her owne walls, and to lay the joyses first of her
owne house, then afterwards shall she boord ours ; else had it
beene better for her shee had never knowne us.

CALISTO. Mother, as you love goodnesse, if you be a
good woman, tell mee what was shee doing ? How got you
into the house ? How was she apparelled ? On which side
of the house did you find her ? What countenance did shee
shew thee at thy first entrance.? How did shee looke on
thee ?

CELEST. With such a looke and countenance, as your
brave fierce buls use towards those that cast sharp darts
108

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

against them, when they come for to be baited : or like your ACTUS
wilde bores, when they make towards those Mastives which VI

set upon them.

CALISTO. Be these tliy good hopes ? These signes of
health ? What then are those that are mortall ? Why,
death it selfe could not be halfe so deadly. For that would
ease and rid me of this my torment, then which none is
greater, none more grievous.

SEMP. These are my Masters former fires ; he renewes
afresh his wonted flames : What a strange kind of man is he?
He hath not the patience to stay to heare that which so
earnestly hee hath desired.

PARMENO. Now Sir; Who talkes now? I must not
speake a word ; but did my Master heare you, he would
cudgell your coat, as well as mine.

SEMPK. Some evill fire consume thee : for tliou speakest
predjudicially of all ; but I offend no man. Let some intoler-
able mortall disease, or some pestilent plague seaze upon
thee, and consume thee ; Thou quarrelsome, contentious,
envious, and accursed Caytiffe; Is tliis thy friendship, this
the amity thou hast contracted with Celestina and me ? Goe
with the Divels name, if this be thy love.

CALISTO. If thou wilt not (thou that art sole Queene,
and soveraigne of my life) that I dye desperate, and that my
soule goe condemned from hence to perpetuall paine (so im-
patient am I of hearing these things) delay mee no longer, but
certifie mee briefely, whether thy glorious demand had a
happy end, or no ? As also whether that cruell and steme
looke of that impious face, whose frownes murder as many as
they are bent against, sorted to a gentle intertaining of thy
suite ? For all that I have heard hitherto, are rather tokens
of hate, then of love.

CELESTINA. The greatest glory, which is given to that
secret office of the Bee, which little creature of nature, the
discreeter sort ought to imitate, is, that whatsoever he
toucheth, he converteth it into a better substance, then in it
selfe it was. In like manner hath it so befalne mee, with
those coy and squeamish speeches of Melibea, and all other
her scornefull and disdainefuU behaviours ; all her sowre

109

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS looks and words I turned into honey ; her anger into milde-
VI nesse ; her fury into gentlenesse ; and her running from me,

into running to mee. Tell me, man, What didst thou thinke
Celestina went thither for? What would she make there,
whom you have already rewarded beyond her desert, unlesse
it were to pacifie her fury, to oppose my selfe to all accidents,
to be your shield and buckler in your absence, to receive
upon my mantle all the blowes that were strucke at you, to
endure those revilings, bitter tauntings, and those disdain-
full termes, which, such as she is, usually make show of, when
they are first sued unto for their love. And why forsooth
doe they this ? Onely to the end. That what they give, may
the better be estemed ; and therefore, they still speake
worst of him, whom they love best; and make a show of
most dislike, where they like most. Which if it should not
be so, there would be no difference between the love of a
common whore, and an honest Damsell that stands upon her
honour ; if every one should say yea, as soone as she is asked.
And therefore, when they see a man loves them (though
themselves burne, and fry in the liveliest flames of love) yet
for modesties sake, they will outwardly show a coldnesse of
affection, a sober countenance, a pleasing kinde of strange-
nesse, a constant minde, a chaste intent, and powre forth
words as sharpe as Vineger, that their owne tongues wonder
at this their great sufferance, making them forcibly to con-
fesse that with their mouthes, whose contrary is contained in
their hearts. But because I would have thee have some ease
of thy sorrowes, and take some repose, whilst I relate at large
unto thee all the words that passed betweene her and mee,
and by what meanes I made my first entrance into Melibea's
house ; Know for thy comfort, that the end of her discourse
was very good.

CALISTO. Now (deare mother) that you have given mee
assurance, that I may boldly with comfort expect the
extremest vigour of her answer ; say what thou wilt, and I
shall be attentive thereunto. Now my heart is at rest ; now
my thoughts are quiet ; now my veynes receive and recover
their lost bloud ; now have I lost my feare ; now doe I finde
some joy ; now am I cheerefull. Let us (if it please you) goe

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up ; where, in my chamber you shall report that at full, ACTUS
which I have heard in briefe. VI

CELESTINA. With all my heart, Sir. Come, let us
goe.

PARME. O what starting holes does this foole seeke for
to flye from us, that he may, at his pleasure, weepe for joy
with Celestina, and discover unto her a thousand secrets of
his light, and doting appetite ! First, to aske her, I know
not how oft of every particular : and then have her answer
him to the same, sixe severall times one after another, and
never to make an end, but over, and over, and over with it
againe, having no body by to tell him how tedious he is ; Fie
upon him, I am sick to think upon it. Go your wayes (you
foole). Get you up with a murraine; but we will not stay long
after you.

CALISTO. Marke (mother) how Parmeno goes mumbling
to himselfe ; see how the slave crosses himselfe, to heare what
thou hast brought to passe by thy great diligence ! Observe
in what a maze he stands ! Looke, looke, Celestina ; dost
thou see what hee is doing .? See, and the villaine does not
crosse himselfe againe ? Come up, up, up ; and sit you
downe (I pray) whilest I on my knees give eare to thy
sweete answer. Say on ; And tell mee quickely, by what
meanes thou gotst into the house ?

CELEST. By selling a parcell of thread which I had ; by
which trick, I have taken in my daies, more then thirty of as
good worth and quality as her selfe, (So it pleased fortune to
favour mee in this world) and some better women, I wisse,
and of greater rancke, were shee more honorable then
shee is.

CALISTO. Greater (mother) perhaps in body, but not in
noblenesse of birth, not in state, not in beauty, not in dis-
cretion, not in statelinesse, linked with gracefulnesse and
merit, not in vertue, nor in speach.

PARME. Now the fooles Steele beginnes to strike fire;
now his bels beginne to jangle ; marke how his clocke goes ;
it never strikes under twelve ; the finger of his dyall point is
still upon high noone ; all upon the most. Sempronio, tell
the clocke, keepe true reckoning, how standst thou gazing

111

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS like a wide-mouthed driveling foole, hearing his fooleries, and
VI her lies ?

SEMPR. O thou venomous-tongued Villaine; thou ray ling
Rascall ; Why shouldst thou alone stop thy eares at that, to
which all the world besides is willing to harken ? And say they
are but tales and fables which shee tels him ; yet were it onely
but for this, that their discourses are of love, thou oughtst
to lend them a willing attention.

CELEST. Noble Calisto, Let thy eares be open to that
which I shall tell thee, and thou shalt see what thy good
fortune, and my great care have effected for thee. For, when
I was about to pitch a price of my thread, and to sell it,
Melibea's mother was called away to goe visit a sister of hers,
that lay exceeding sicke : and because she could not stay
with me her selfe (so necessary was her absence) she left
Melibea to conclude the bargaine, and to drive such a price
with mee, as shee should thinke fit.

CALISTO. O joy beyond compare! O singular oppor-
tunity ! O seasonable time ! O that I had layne hid under-
neath thy mantle, that I might have heard her but speake,
on whom heaven hath so plentifully powred forth the fulnesse
of his graces !

CELESTINA. Under my mantle (noble Sir.?) Alacke,
poore soule as I am, what would you have done there ? Why
shee must needes have scene you at least thorow thirty holes,
should not fortune give mee a better.

FARM. Well, I will get me gon ; I say nothing, Sem-
pronio ; heare you all for mee : I will be hangM, if the foole
my Master doe not measure with his thoughts, how many
steps there be betweene this and Melibea's house. And if
hee not contemplate every kinde of action and gesture shee
might use ; as how she lookt, how she stood, when shee was
bargaining for the thread : All his senses, all the powers and
faculties of his soule are wholy taken up, and possest with
her : but he will finde in the end, that my counsell would
have done him more good, then all the cunning tricks, and
coozenages of Celestina.

CALISTO. Whats the matter with you there.? I am
hearing of a cause, that concerncs no lesse then my life ; and

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

you keepe a tattling and a prattling there (as you still use to ACTUS
doe) to trouble and molest me in my businesse, and provoke VI

me to anger : as you love me, hold your tongues, and you
will dye with delight; such pleasure will you take in the repeti-
tion of her singular diligence ; Goe on (deare mother) what
didst thou doe, when thou saw''st thou wast left all alone ?

CELEST. O Sir, I was so overjoyed, that whosoever had
seene me, might have read in my face the merriment of my
heart.

CALISTO. It is so now with mee ; But how much more
had a man beforehand conceived some such image in his
minde ? But tell me, wast thou not strucken dumbe with
this so sudden and unexpected an accident ?

CELEST. No. But rather grew thereby the bolder to
utter my minde unto her ; it was the thing that I desired ;
it was even as I would have wisht it : There was nothing
could have fell out so pat for me, as to see my selfe all alone
with her : then beganne I to open the very bowels and
intralls of my heart ; then did I deliver my embassage, and
told her in what extreme paine you lived, and how that one
word of her mouth, proceeding favovirably from her, would
ease you of your mighty torment. And as one standing
in suspence, looking wisely and steadily upon me, somewhat
amazed at the strangenesse of my message, hearkning very
attentively, till shee might come to know who this should be,
that for want of a word of her mouth, livM in such great
paine, and what manner of man he might be, whom her
tongue was able to cure ? In naming you unto her, she did
cut off my words, and with her hand strooke her selfe a blow
on the brest, as one that had heard some strange and feare-
full newes ; charging mee to cease my prattle, and to get
mee out of her sight, unlesse I would her servants should
become my Executioners, and make short worke with me in
these my old and latter dayes ; aggravating my audacious
boldnesse ; calling mee Witch, Sorceresse, Bawd, old Whore,
false Baggage, bearded Miscreant, the Mother of mischiefe ;
and many other more ignominious names, wherewithall they
feare children. And when she had ended with her Bugge-
beares, shee beganne to fall into often swownings and trances,

P 113

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS making many strange gestures, full of feare and amazement,
VI all her senses being troubled, her bloud boyling within her,

throwing her selfe this way and that way, bearing in a strange
kind of manner the members of her body one against another ;
and then in a strong and violent fashion, being Avounded
with that golden shaft, which at the very voycing of your
name, had struck her to the heart, writhing and winding her
body, her hands and fingers being chnched one within another,
like one struggling and striving for life, that you would have
thought, shee would have rent them asunder, hurling and
rowling her eyes on every side, striking the hard ground with
her tender feete. Now, I all this while, stood me still in a
corner, like a cloth that is shrunke in the wetting, as close
as I could for my life, not saying so much as any one word
unto her ; yet glad with all my heart, to see her in this cruell
and pittifull taking. And the more her throwes and pangs
were, the more did I laugh in my sleeve at it ; because I
thereby knew, her yeelding would be the sooner, and her fall
the neerer : yet must I tell you, that whiFst her anger did
foame out ifs froth, I did not suffer my thoughts to be idle,
nor give them leave to runne a wooU-gathering, but recollect-
ing my selfe, and calling my wits about mee, I tooke hold on
Times fore-top, and found a salve to heale that hurt, which
my selfe had made.

CALISTO. Deare mother, thou hast told me that, which
whiPst I was hearing thee, I had fore-casted in mine owne
judgement, I did still dreame it would come to this ; but I
doe not see how thou couldst light upon a fit excuse, that
might serve the turne, and prove good inough to cover and
colour the suspition of thy demand ; though I know, that
art exceeding wise, and in all that thou dost (to my seeming)
more then a woman. Sithence, that as thou didst prog-
nosticate her answer, so didst thou in time provide thee of
thy reply. What could that Tuscane Champion (so much
famoused thorowout all Italy) have done more ? Whose
renowne (hadst thou then beene living) had beene quite lost ;
who three daies before shee dyed, divined of the death
of her old husband, and her two sonnes. Now doe I be-
leeve that, which is so connnonly spoken ; that a woman is
114.

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

never to seeke for an answer ; and though it be the weaker ACTUS
Sexe, yet is their wit more quicke and nimble then that of VI

men.

CELEST. Say you me so, Sir ? Well, let it be so then ;
I told her, your torment was the tooth-ache ; and that the
word which I craved of her, was a kinde of Prayer, or
Charme, which she knew to be very good, and of great power
against that paine.

CALISTO. O admirable craft ! O rare woman in thy
arte ! O cunning creature ! O speedy remedy ! O discreet *
deliverer of a message ! What humane understanding is
able to reach unto so high a meanes of helpe ? And I verily
perswade my selfe, that if our age might purchase those /
yeeres past, wherein JEneas and Dido liv^d, Venus would not /
have taken so much paines, for to attract the love of Elisa /
to his Sonne, causing Cupid to assume the forme of Ascanius, j
the better to deceive her : but would (to make short worke
of the businesse) have made choyce of thee to mediate the
matter : and therefore doe I hold my death happily imployed,
since that I have put it into such hands, and I shall evermore
be of this minde, that if my desire obtaine not ifs wished
effect, yet know I not what could be done more, according
to nature, for my good and welfare. What thinke you now
my Masters ? What can yee imagine more ? Was there
ever the like woman borne in this world ? Had shee ever
her fellow ?

CELESTINA. Sir, doe not stop me in the course of my
speach. Give me leave to goe on, for night drawes on. And
you know, Hee that does ill, hateth the light.

CALISTO. How ? What 's that ? No, by no meanes ;
For heavens sake, doe not offer it, you shall have Torches,
you shall have Pages, any of my servants, make choyce of
whom you will to accompany you home.

PARME. O yes, in any case ! I pray take care of her ;
because she is young and handsome, and may chance to bee
ravisht by the way. Sempronio, thou shalt goe with her,
because shee is afraide of the Crickets, wliich chirpe in the
darke, as shee goes home to her house.

CALISTO. Sonne Parmeno. what 's that thou said'st ?

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THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS PARME. I said, Sir, it were meete, that I and Sempronio

VI should accompany her home ; For it is very darke.

CALISTO. It is well said, Parmeno : you shall by and
by ; proceed, I pray, in your discourse ; and tell mee what
farther past betweene you. What answer made she for the
Charme ?

CELEST. Mary, that with all her heart I should have it.

CALISTO. With all her heart ? O love ! How gracious
and how great a gift !

CELEST. Nay, this is not all ; I craved more then this.

CALISTO. What, my honest old woman ?

CELEST. Her Girdle, which continually she wore about
her, affirming that it was very good for the allaying of your
paine ; because of some Supereminent Influence from the
Sibilla Cumana.

CALISTO. But what said shee ?

CELESTINA. Give mee Albricias; reward me for my
good newes, and I will tell you all.

I CALISTO. Take my whole house, and all that is in it,
on condition you tell me ; or else besides what thou wilt.

CELESTINA. Give but this poore old woman a Mantle,
and I will give that into thy hand, which she weares about her.

CALISTO. What dost thou talke of a Mantle ? Tut, a
Kirtle, a Petticoate, any thing, all that I have.

CELEST. It is a Mantle that I need ; that alone shall
content me ; Inlarge not therefore your liberality ; Let pot
any suspectfull doubt interpose it selfe in my demand ; My
request is reasonable, and you know, it is a common saying ;
To offer much to him, that asketh but a little, is a kinde
of deniall.

CALISTO. Runne, Parmeno, call hither my Taylour, and
let him presently cut her out a Mantle and a Kirtle of that
fine pure cloth, which hee tooke to cottening.

PARM. So, so ; all for the old woman ; because like the
Bee, she comes home laden with lyes, as hee does with hony ;
as for mee, I may goe worke out my heart, and goe hang
my selfe when I have done ; whilest shee with a pockes must
have every day change of rayment.

CALISTO. Now the Divell goe with him, with what an

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ill will does he goe ? I thinke there is not any man living ACTUS
so ill served as I am ; maintaining men that devise nothing ^^

but mischiefe, murmurers, grudgers of my good, repiners of
my prosperity, and enemies to my liappinesse. Thovi
Villaine, what goest thou mumbling to thy selfe ? Thou
envious wretch, what is that thou sayst ? for I understand
thee not. Doe as I command you, you were best, and that
quickely too. Get you gone with a murraine, and vexe mee
no more, for I have griefe inough already to bring me to my
grave. There will as much of the piece be left (which
remnant you may take for your selfe) as will serve to make
you a Jerkin.

FARM. I say nothing, Sir, but that it is too late to have
the Taylour for to come to night.

CAL. And have not I told you, that I would have you
not divine of things aforehand, but to doe as I bid you ?
Let it alone then till to morrow ; and for you (mother) let
me intreat you out of your love to me, to have patience
untill then ; for that is not auferred, which is but deferred.
Now I pray let me see that glorious girdle, which was held
so worthy to ingirt so goodly a body, that these my eyes,
together with the rest of my senses, may enjoy so great a
happinesse, since that together, they have all of them beene
a little affected with passion. My afflicted heart shall also
rejoyce therein, which hath not had one minute of delight,
since it first knew that Lady. All my senses have beene
wounded by her, all of them have brought whole basket-fulls
of trouble to my heart. Every one of them hath vexed and
tormented it all they could ; the eyes, in seeing her ; the
eares, in hearing her ; and the hands in touching her.

CELEST. Ha ; What 's that ? Have you toucht her with
your hands ? you make me startle.

CALISTO, Dreaming of her, I say in my sleepe.

CELESTINA. O ! in your dreames; that 's another matter.

CALISTO. In my dreames have I scene her so oft, night,
by night, that I feare mee, that will happen unto mee, which
befell Alcibiades, who dream'd that he saw himselfe in-
wrapped in his mistresses mantle, and was the next day
murdred, and found none to remove him from forth the

117

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS common street, no, nor any to cover him, save onely shee
VI who did spread her Mantle over him. Though I, for my

part, be it alive, or dead, would any way bee glad to see my
selfe clothed with any thing that is hers.

CELESTINA. You have punishment. Sir, inough already;
for when others take their rest in their beds, thou preparest
thy selfe to suffer thy next daies torment. Be of good
courage, Sir. Plucke up your heart : after a Tempest,
followes a Calme ; affbord thy desire some time ; take unto
thee this Girdle : for if death prevent mee not, I will deliver
the Owner thereof into thy hands.

CALISTO, O new guest ! O happy girdle ! Avhich hast
had such power and worth in thee, as to hedge in that body,
and be its inclosure, which my selfe am not worthy to serve.
O yee knots of my passion, it is you that have intangled my
desires ; Tell me, if thou wert present at that uncomfortable
answer of fairest she, whom thou servest, and I adore. And
yet the more I torment my selfe for her sake, mourning and
lamenting night and day, the lesse it availes mee, and the
lesse it profits me.

CELEST. It is an old Proverbe ; He that labours least,
often-times gets most. But I will make thee by thy labouring,
to obtaine that which by being negligent, thou shouldst
never atchieve. For Zamora was not wonne in an houre ;
yet did not her besiegers for all this despaire. No more was
Rome built in one day ; nor Troy ruined in a yeere.

CALISTO. O unfortunate that I am ! For Citties are
incircled, and walled in with stones ; and stones by stones
are easily over-throwne. But this my deare La4y hath her
heart invironed with Steele ; there is no mettle that can
prevaile against her ; no shot of that force, as to make a
breach : and should Ladders bee reared to scale the walls,
shee hath eyes which let flye darts of repulsion, and a tongue
which dischargeth whole volleis of reproches, if you once
approach, forceing you to stand farther off, and so inaccessible
is her Castle, that you cannot come neere it by halfe a
league.

CELEST. No more, good Sir, no more ; bridle your
passion ; for the stout courage, and hardy boldnesse of one

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

man, did get Troy. Doubt not then, but one woman may ACTUS
worke upon another, and at last win her unto thee ; thou ^I

hast little frequented my house, thou art ignorant of my
courses, thou know'st not what I can doe.

CALISTO. Say, Mother, what thou wilt, and I will
beleeve thee, since thou hast brought me so great a Jewell,
as is this. O thou giorie of my soule, and incircler of so
incomparable a creature ; I behold thee, and yet beleeve it
not. O girdle, girdle, thou lovely lace ! Wast thou mine
enemy too ? Tell me the truth ; if thou wert, I forgive thee :
For it is proper unto good men, to forgive ; but I doe not
beleeve it. For hadst thou likewise beene my foe, thou
wouldst not have come so soone to my hands, unlesse thou
hadst come to disblame and excuse thy doings. I conjure
thee, that thou answer mee truely, by the vertue of that
great power, which thy Lady hath over mee.

CELESTINA. Cease (good Sir) this vaine and idle humour;
for my eares are tyred with attention, and the Girdle almost
worne out with your often handling.

CALISTO. O wretch that I am ! farre better had it beene
for mee, had the heavens made me so happy, that thou hadst
beene made and woven of these mine owne armes, and not of
silke, as now thou art, that they might have daily rejoyced
in clasping and inclosing with due reverence those members,
which thou without sense or feeling, not knowing what it is
to injoy so great a glory, boldest still in strict imbracements.
O what secrets shouldst thou then have scene of that so
excellent an image !

CELEST. Thou shalt see more, and injoy more, in a
more ample and better manner, if thou lose it not by talking
as thou dost,

CALISTO. Peace (good mother,) give mee leave a little ;
for this, and I, well understand one another. O my eyes
call to your remembrance, how that yee were the cause of my
ill ; and the very doore, thorow which my heart was wounded ;
and that he is scene to doe the hurt, who doth give the cause
of the harme. Call to your remembrance, I say, that yee
are debtours to my well-fare. Looke here upon your medicine,
which is come home to your owne house to cure you.

^ 119

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS SEMPR. Sir, it is not your rejojcing in this girdle, that
VI can make you to enjoy Melibea.

CALISTO. How Hke a foole thou pratest, without eyther
wit or reason ? Thou disturber of my dehght, what meanest
thou by this ?

SEMPR. Mary, that by talking, and babbling so much
as you doe, you kill both your selfe, and those which heare
you ; and so by consequence, overthrow both thy life and
understanding ; either of which to want, is sufficient to leave
you darkling, and say good night to the world. Cut off your
discourse therefore, and listen unto Celestina, and heare what
she will say unto thee.

CALISTO. Mother, are my words troublesome unto you ?
or is this fellow drunke ?

CELEST. Howbeit they be not, yet should you not talke
thus as you doe ; but rather give an end to these your long
complaints. Use a girdle like a girdle, that you may know to
make a difference of your words, when you come to Melibea's
presence ; let not your tongue equall the apparell, with the
person ; making no distinction betwixt her, and her gar-
ments.

CALISTO. O my much honoured Matrone, my mother,
my comfortresse ! Let mee glad my selfe a little with this
messenger of my glory. O my tongue ! Why doest thou
hinder thy selfe in entertaining any other discourse ? leaving
off' to adore that present Excellency, which, peradventure,
thou shalt never see in thy power ? O yee my hands ! With
what presumption, with what slender reverence doe you
touch that Treacle, which must cure my wound ? Now that
poyson cannot hurt mee, wherewitli that cruell shot of
Cupid hath it's sharpe point deepely indipped. For now I
am safe, since that shee who gave mee my wound, gives mee
also my medicine. O deare Celestina ! Thou that art the
delight of all old Dames, the joy of young wenches, the ease
of the afflicted, and comfort of such comfortlesse wretches as
my selfe ; do not punish me more with feare of thee, then I
am already punished with shame of my selfe ; suffer me to
let loose the reines of my contemplation ; give me leave to
goe foorth into the streets with this Jewell, that they who

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

see mee, may know, that there is not any man more happy ACTUS
then my selfe. VI

SEMPR. Doe not infistulate your wound, by clapping on
it still more and more desire. Sir, it is not this string, nor
this girdle alone, wherein your remedy must depend.

CALISTO. I know it well, yet have I not the power to
abstaine from adoring so great a relique ! so rich a gift !

CELEST. That 's a gift, which is given gratis ; but you
know that shee did this for to ease your tooth-ache ; and to
cloze up your wounds ; and not for any respect or love, which
shee beares to you : But if I live, shee shall turne the leafe,
ere I leave her.

CALISTO. But the Charme you talkt of?

CELESTINA. Shee hath not given it mee yet.

CALISTO. And what was the cause why shee did not ?

CELESTINA. The shortnesse of time; and therefore
wiird mee that if your paine did not decrease, I should
returne to her againe to morrow.

CALISTO. Decrease? Then shall my paine decrease,
when I see a decrease of her cruelty.

CELEST. Sir, content your selfe with that, which hath
hitherto bin said and done ; shee is already bound, I have
shew'd you, how (as farreforth as shee is able) shee will be
ready to yeeld you any helpe for this infirmitie of yours,
which I shall crave at her hands. And tell me, I pray, if
this bee not well for the first bowt. Well, I will now get
me home ; and in any case, have a care, that if you chance
to morrow to walke abroad, that you goe muzzled about the
cheeks with a cloth, that she seeing you so bound about the
chaps, may not accuse mee of petitioning a false-hood.

CAJLISTO. Nay, to doe you service, I will not sticke to
clap on foure double clothes : but of all loves tell me, past
there any thing more betweene you ? For I dye out of
longing, for to heare the words which flow from so sweet a
mouth. How didst thou dare, not knowing her, be so bold,
to shew thy selfe so familiar, both in thy entrance, and thy
demand ?

CELEST. Not knowing her ? They were my neighbours
for foure yeeres together ; I dealt with them ; I conversed

Q 121

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS with them ; I talked with them ; and laught together with

VI them day and night. O ! how merry wee have beene ! Her

mother, why she knowes me better then her owne hands :

and MeKbea too, though now shee bee growne so tall, so

great, so courteous, and discreete a Lady.

PARMENO. Sempronio, a word with you in your eare.

SEMPRONIO, Say on : What) the matter ? _

PARMENO. Mary this : Celestina's attention gives matter
to our Master to inlarge his discourse ; give her a touch on
the toe ; or make some signe to her that shee may be gone,
and not waite thus, as shee doth upon his answers. For,
there is no man, bee hee never so much a foole, that speakes
much, when hee is all alone.

CALISTO. Didst thou say Melibea was courteous ? I
thinke it was but in a mocke. Was her like ever borne into
the world ? Did God ever create a better, or more perfect
body ? Can the like proportion be painted by any pensill ?
Is she not that Paragon of beautie, from whence all eyes may
copy forth a true patterne of unimitable excellence ? If Hellen
were now alive, for whom so great a slaughter was made of
Greekes and Trojanes, or faire Polixena, both of them would
have done their reverence to this Lady, for whom I languish.
If she had been present in that contention for the Apple with
the three Goddesses, the name of contention had never been
questioned : For without any contradiction, they would all
of them have yeelded, and joyntly have given tlieir consent,
that Melibea should have borne it from them : so that it
should rather have been called the Apple of concord, then
of discord. Besides, as many women as are now borne, and
doe know her, curse themselves and their fortune ; complain-
ing of heaven, because it did not remember them, when it
made her, consuming as well their bodies as their lives with
envy, being ready to eat their owne flesh for very anger, still
augmenting martyrdomes to themselves, thinking to equall
that perfection by arte, which Nature had bestowed upon
her without any labour. They pill, and dis-haire their eye-
browes with nippers, with playsters of Pitch or Barme, and
other the like instruments : They seeke after Wall-wort, and
the like hearbs, roots, sprigs, and flowres to make Lyes,

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

wherewithal! to bring their haire to the colour of hers, spoyl- ACTUS

ing and martyring their faces, clothing them with divers ^^

colourings, glissenings, paintings, unctions, oyntments, strong

waters, white and red pargetings, which, to avoide prolixity,

I repeate not. Now judge then, whether shee whom Nature

hath so richly beautified, be worthy the love and service of

so meane a man as my selfe ?

CELEST. Sempronio, I understand your meaning ; but
give him leave to runne on ; for he will fall anon from
his Asse, and then his journey will be at an end : you
shall see, he will come by and by to a full poynt, and so
conclude.

CALISTO. In her, Nature, as in a glasse did wholy behold
her selfe ; that she miglit make her most absolutely perfect ;
for those graces, which she had diffused unto divers, she had
joyntly united them in her, and over- viewed this her worke
with so curious an eye, that nothing might be added to make
it fairer. To the end that they might know, who liad the
happinesse to see her, the worthinesse and excellency of her
Painter : only a little faire Fountaine-water with a combe
of yvorie, is sufficient (without any other slibber-slabbers)
to make her surpasse all other of her Sexe, in beauty and
courtesie. These are her weapons ; with these she kils and
over-comes ; and with these hath she bound mee in so hard
and strong a chaine, that I must for ever remaine her
prisoner.

CELESTINA. Sir, put a period to your words, trouble
your selfe no more ; for this chaine which shackles thee, is
not so strong, but my file is as sharpe to cut it in sunder,
which I will doe for thee, that thou mayst be at liberty.
And therfore give me now licence to take my leave of you ;
For it growes very late ; and let me have the girdle along
with me. For you know, I must needs use it.

CALISTO. O disconsolate that I am ! my misfortunes
still pursue me ; for with thee, or with this girdle, or with
both, I would willingly have beene accompanied all this darke
and tedious night. But because there is no perfect happinesse
in this our painefull and unhappy life ; let solitarinesse
wholy possesse my soule, and cares be my continual! com-

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VI

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

panions. What ho ? Where be these men ? Why Par-
meno, I say !

PARMENO. Heere, Sir.

CALISTO. Accompany this Matrone home to her house ;
and as much pleasure and joy goe with her, as sorrow and
woe doth stay with me.

CELEST. Sir, fare you well. To morrow I shall make
my returne, and visit you againe ; not doubting but my
gowne and her answer shall meete heere together ; for now
time doth not serve. And in the interim, let me intreate
you to be patient. Settle your thoughts upon some other
things, and doe not so much as once thinke upon her.

CALISTO. Not thinke upon her? It is impossible.
Nay, it were prophane to forget her, for whom my life onely
pleaseth mee.

THE END OF THE SIXTH ACT

ACTUS VII

THE ARGUMENT

ELESTINA talkes with Parmeno, indiicing
Mm to concord., and amitie with Sempronio ;
Parmeno puts her in mind of the promise
she made him, for the having of Areusa,
zohom he exceedingly loved. They goe to
Areusa's house, where that night Parmeno
remained. Celestina hies her home, to her
owne house; and knocMng at the doore,

Elicia opens it unto her, blaming her for her tarrying so

long.

INTERLOCUTORS

Celestina, Pai-meno, Areusa, Elicia.

CELESTINA. Parmeno, my sonne; since we last talkt
together, I have not had any fit opportunitie to expresse
unto thee the iniinitenesse of that love which I beare unto

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

thee, and as all the world can well witnesse for mee, how ACTUS
well I have spoken of thee in thy absence. Every mans VII

eare hath beene filled with the good reports I have made of
thee. The reason thereof I need not to repeate ; for I ever
held thee to be my sonne, at leasj*:, by adoption ; and there-
fore thought thou wouldst hav^ shew'd thy selfe more
naturall and loving towards me. 3ut in stead thereof, thou
gav'st me bad payment, even to it '' face ; crossing, whatso-
ever I said ; thinking ill of all that X spake ; whispering and
murmuring against me in the presence of Calisto. I was
well perswaded, that after thou hadst once yeelded to my
good counsell, that you would not have turned your heele,
and kickt against me as you did, nor have falne off from
your promise. But notwithstanding all this, I perceive
some old relique yet still remaining of thy former folly.
And so speaking rather to_ satisfie thine owne humor, then
tTiaf thoii canst render any reason for it ; thou dost hinder
thy selfe of profit, to give thy tongue contentment. Heare
me (my sonne) if thou hast not heard me already. Looke, I
say, and consider with thy selfe, that I am old, and well
strucken in yeeres ; and good counsell only lodgeth with the
elder sort, it being proper to youth, to follow pleasure and
delight. But my hope is, that of this thy errour, thy youth
onely is in fault : and I trust that you will beare your selfe
better towards mee heereafter, and that you will alter your
ill purpose, together with your tender yeeres ; For as it is in
the Proverbe : Our customes suffer change, together with our
hayres ; and wee vary our disposition, as we vary our yeeres.
I speake this (my sonne) because as we grow in age, so grow
we in experience ; new things daily ofFring themselves to our
view : for youth lookes no farther then to things present,
occupying his eie only in that he sees set before him ; but
riper yeeres omit neither things present, things past, nor
things to come. And sonne Parmeno, if you would but
bethink your selfe of the love I have heeretofore borne you,
I know it cannot escape your knowledge, that the first
nights lodging that you tooke, when you were a stranger,
and came newly to this City, was in my house. But you
young men care not for us that are old ; but governe your

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THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS selves according to the savour and relish of your owne
VII palates ; you never think that you have, or shall have need

of us : you never tliinke upon sicknesse ; you never think,
that this flowre of your youth shall fade. But doe you
heare me, (my friend) and marke what I say unto you ;
That in such cases of necessitie, as these, an old woman,
(bee shee well experienced) is a good helpe, a comforter, a
friend, a mother ; nay, more then a mother : A good Inne,
to give ease and rest to a sound man ; and a good Hospital!
for to cure a sicke man ; a good Purse in time of need ; a
good Chest, to keepe money in prosperitie ; a good Fire in
winter, invironed with spits of good rost-meat ; a good
Shade in sunmier, and a good Taverne to eate and drinke
in. Now my pretty little foole, what sai'st thou to all this ?
What dost thou thinke of it ? I know, thou art by this
time ashamed of that which thou hast spoken to day ; thou
can'st not say B to a Battle-doore ; thou art strucke so
dumbe, and so dead : and therefore I will presse thee no
further, nor crave any more at thy hands, then tliat which
friendship craves of thee, which is, Looke upon Sempronio ;
next under heaven, my selfe have made him a man ; I could
wish you would live and love together as brothers and :
friends : for being in league with him, thou shalt live in j
the favor and love of tliy Master, and in good repute with '
all the world : for Sempronio, I tell thee, is well belov'd, hee '
is diligent, a good Courtier, a proper servant, a fellow of a
good fashion, and one that is willing to imbrace thy friend-
ship, which will turne to both your profits, if you will but
hand-fast your affections each to other. Besides, you
know, that you must love, if you will be beloved. Trowtes
cannot bee taken with drie breeches. And if the Cat will ,
have lish, she must wet her foote. Nor does Sempronio owe
this of right unto thee ; nor is hee bound to love thee, un-
lesse thou exchange love for love : it is meere simplicitie, not
to be willing to love, and yet looke to be beloved of others.
And as great folly, to repay friendship with hatred.

PARM. Mother, I confesse my second fault ; and craving
pardon for what is past, I oflPer my selfe to be ordred by
you in all my future proceedings. But yet me thinkes

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:CALISTO AND MELIBEA

it is impossible, that I should hold friendship with Sem- ACTUS
pronio ; hee is frappish, and I cannot beare ; he is ehollericke, ^11

and I can carrie no coles. How then is it possible to make
a true contract betwixt two such contrary natures ?

CELEST. But you were not wont to be thus froward.

PARM. In good fay (mother) you say true. But the
more I grow in yeeres, the lesse I grow in patience ; Tush,
I have forgotten that lesson, as if I had never knowne what it
meant; I am (I confesse) [not] the man I was, nor is Sempronio
himselfe ; neyther can hee, nor will hee stead mee in any
thing. I never yet tasted any the least kindnesse from
him.

CELEST. A sure friend is knowne in a doubtful! matter;
and in adversity is his faith proved. Then comes he neerest
unto him, when hee is firthest from comfort ; and with
greater desire doth hee then visit his house, when as pro-
sperous fortune hath forsaken it. What shall I say unto
thee, Sonne, of the vertues of a good and fast friend ?
There is nothing more to bee beloved ; nothing more rare :
he refuseth no burden. You two are equalls, and paritie of
persons, similitude of manners, and simpathy of hearts are
the maine props that up-hold friendship. Take heed (my
Sonne ;) for if thou hast any thing, it is safely kept for thee.
Be thou wise to gaine more; for this is gain'd already to
your hands. Your father, O what paines tooke hee for
it ! But I may not put it into your hands, till you lead a
more reposed life, and come to a more compleate and full
age.

PARM. Mother, what do you call a reposed life ?

CELEST. Mary sonne, to live of your selfe. Not to goe
thorow other mens houses, nor to set thy foote under
another mans table : which thou shalt still bee inforced to
doe, unlesse thou learne to make profit of thy service ; for
out of very pitty to see thee goe thvis totred and torne, not
having a ragge almost to hang on thy breeche, did I beg
that mantle which thou saw'st, of Calisto, not so much for
the mantles sake, as for that there being a Taylor belonging
to the house, and thou before being without a Jerkin, hee
might bestow it upon thee. So tha±..L.speake-.aotior mine

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THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS owne profit, (as I heard you say) but for thy good. For, if
VII you rely onely upon the ordinary wages of these Gallants,

it is such, that what you get by it after tenne yeeres service,
you may put it in your eye and never see the worse. Injoy
thy youth, good daies, good nights, good meate, and good
drinke ; when thou mai'st have these things, lose them not ;
Let that be lost that will be lost. Doe not thou mourne for
the wealth which was left thy Master (for that will but
shorten thy daies) sithence wee can injoy it no longer then
wee live. O Sonne Parmeno, (and well may I call thee
Sonne, since I had the breeding of thee so long a time)
follow my counsell, seeing it proceeds out of pure love, and
an earnest desire, to see thee grow up in honour. O ! how
happy should I be, might I but see thee and Sempronio
agree ; see you two friends, and sworne brothers in every
thing, that yee may come to my poore house to be merrie,
and to see mee now and then, and to take your pleasure each
of you with his Wench !

PARME. His Wench, mother ?

CELEST. I, his Wench ; and a young one too : As for
old flesh, my selfe am old enough, and such a wench as
Sempronio would be glad of with all his heart, with t'one
halfe of that regard and affection which I shew to thee.
What I speake, comes from my intralls, and the verie bowels
of mee.

PARMENO. Mother, you shall not be deceived in mee.

CELEST. And if I should, the matter is not great ; For
what I doe, I do for charitie, and for that I see thee Here
alone in a strange Land, and for the respect which I
beare unto those bones of her, who recommended thee unto
me. When you are more man, you will thinke of all this,
and come to a truer knowledge of things, and then thou
wilt say, that old Celestina gave me good counsell.

PARME. I know that as well now, though I am but
young, as if I were elder : and howbeit I spake against you
to day, it was not because I thought that to be ill spoken
which you said ; but because I saw, when I told my Master
the truth, and advised him for the best, he ill intreated mee,
and therefore henceforth let us shake hands, and use him

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

accordingly ; doe what thou wilt unto him, I will hold my ACTUS
peace ; for I have already too much offended, in not crediting VII

thee in this busiuesse concerning him.

CELEST. In this and all other, thou shalt not onely
trip, but fall, as long as thou shalt not take my counsell
with thee, which comes from thy true and faithful! friend.

PARMENO. Now, I blesse the time wherein I served
thee : counting those dales happy, under which thou bredst mee
up of a childe, since old age brings with it such store of fruite.

CELESTINA. Sonne, no more. For mine eyes already
runne over, and my teares beginne to breake over those
bankes, which should bound them in. O ! had I in all
this world, but such another friend ? Such another com-
panion ? Such a comfortresse in my troubles ? Such an
easer, and lightner of my hearts heavinesse ? Who did
supply my wants ? Who knew my secrets ? To whom did
I discover my heart ? Who was all my happinesse, and
quietnesse, but thy mother ? She was neerer and dearer
unto me, then my gossip, or mine owne sister. O ! how
well-favored was she, and cheerefuU of countenance ? How
lustie ? How quicke ? How neate ? How portly and
majesticall in her gate ? How stout and manly ? Why,
shee would goe you at midnight without or paine, or feare,
from Church-yard, to Church-yard, seeking for implements
appertaining to our Trade, as if it had been day. Nor did
she omit either Christians, Moores, or Jewes, whose Graves
and Sepulchres she did not visit. By day she would watch
them, and by night shee would dig them out ; taking such
things as should serve her turne. So that she tooke as
great pleasure in darknesse of the night, as thou dost com-
fort in the brightnesse of the day. She would usually say ;
that the night was the sinfull mans cloak, that did hide and
cover all his rogueries, that they might not be seene, though
perhaps she had not the like [in] dexteritie and skill in all the
rest of those tricks that appertained to her Trade : yet one
thing shall I tell thee, because thou shall see what a mother
thou hast lost, though I was about to keepe it in ; but it
makes no matter, it shall out to thee. She did pull out
seven teeth out of a fellowes head that was hang'd, with a

R 129

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS paire of Pincers, such as you pull out stubbed haires withall ;
VII whil'st I did pull off his shooes. She was excellent at a

Circle, and would enter it farre better then my selfe, and
with greater boldnes, though I also was very famous for it in
those dayes, more I wisse, then I am now ; who have together
with her, lost almost my cunning. What shall I say more
unto thee, but that the very Divels themselves did live in feare
of her ? Shee did hold them in horrour, and dread, making
them to tremble and quake, when shee beganne to exercise
her exorcismes, her spels, her incantations, her charmes, her
conjurations, and other words of most horrisonous roaring,
and most hideous noyse. Shee was as well knowne to them
all, as the begger knowes his dish ; or as thy selfe in thine
owne house. One Divell comming tumbling in upon the
necke of another, as fast, as it pleased her to call them up,
and not one of them durst tell her a lye ; such power had
shee to binde them : so that ever since shee dy'd, I could
never attaine to the truth of any thing.

PARMENO. May this woman no better thrive, then shee
pleaseth mee with those her wordy prayses.

CELEST. What sai'st thou, my honest Parmeno ? My
Sonne, nay, more then my sonne.

PARM. I say, How should it come to passe, that my
mother should have this advantage of you, being the words
which shee and you spake, were both one ?

CELEST. How ? Make you this so great a wonder ?
Know you not, the Proverbe tels us : That there is a great
deale of difference betwixt Peter and Peter? Trust mee
truely, wee cannot all be alike in all. Wee cannot all of us
attaine to those good gifts and graces of my deceased Gossip.
And have not you your selfe scene amongst your Artizans
some good, and some others better then tliey ? So likewise
was it betwixt mee and your mother. Shee was the onely
woman in our Arte, she had not lier fellow : and for such a
one was she of all the world both knowne and sought after,
as well of Cavalleroes, as marryed men, old men, young men,
and children, besides, Maides and Damsels, who did as
earnestly pray for her life, as for that of their owne fathers
and mothers. Shee had to doe with all manner of persons ;
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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

shee talked with all sorts of people. If wee walked the ACTUS
streetes, as many as we met, they were all of them her God- VII
sonnes. For her chiefest profession for some sixteene yeares
together, was to play the Mid-wife : so that albeit thou
knew'st not these secrets, because thou wast then but young,
now it is fit that thou should'st know them, sithence that
she is dead, and thou growne up to be a man.

PARM. Tell mee, mother : AVhen the Justice sent
Officers to apprehend you, at which time I was then in
your house, was there any great acquaintance betweene
you ?

CELEST. Any great acquaintance ? You are disposed to >
jest. Our cases were both alike ; they tooke us both alike ; ;
they accused us both alike ; and they did punish us both j
alike, which (if I be not deceived) was the first punishment <
that ever we had. But thou wast a little one then. I /
wonder how thou shouldst remember it ; For, it is a thing of
all other, the most forgotten, that hath hapned in tliis Citie;
so many, and so dayly in this world are those new occurrents,
which obliterate the old. If you goe but out into the market-
place, you shall every day see, Peque y Pague ; the Peccant
and his punishment.

PARMENO. It is true, but the worser part of wicked-
nesse, is the perseverance therein.

CELEST. How deadly the foole bites ! Hee hath hit mee
home, and prickt me to the quick ; I will therefore be now
Tom-tell-troth. And assure thy selfe, sithence thou hast
galled me, I will wring thee till I make thee winch and fling;
I will tickle thee on the right veyne.

PARME. What say you mother ?

CELEST. Mary I say, sonne, that besides this, your
mother was taken foure severall times, shee her selfe alone :
and once shee was accused for a Witch ; For shee was found
one night by the watch, with certaine little candles in her
hand, gathering I know not what earth in a crosse way ; for
which shee stood halfe a day in the open market-place upon
a Scaffiald, with a high paper Hat, like the coffin of a Suger-
loafe, painted full of Divels, whereon her fault was written
(being brought thither, riding thorow the streetes upon an

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THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS Asse, as the fashion is in the punishment of Bawds and
VII Witches.) Yet all this was nothing ; for men must suffer

something in this wicked world, for to up-hold their lives,
and their honours. And marke, I pray, what small reckon-
ing they made of it, because of her great wisdome and dis-
cretion. For shee would not for all this, give over her old
occupation ; and from that day forward followed it more
earnestly, then shee did before, and with happier proofe.
This I thought good to tell you, to crosse that opinion of
yours, touching perseverance in that, wherein we have once
already erred ; for all that shee did, did so well become her,
and such a grace had she with her, that upon my conscience,
howbeit she stood thus disgracefully upon the Scaffold, every
one miglit perceive, that shee cared not a button for those
that stood beneath, staring and gazing upon her ; such was
her behaviour and carriage at that instant : looke they might
their fill, but I warrant you, she was not a farthing in debt,
no not to the proudest of them all ; wherein, I thought fit
to instance, to shew thereby unto you ; that they, who have
any thing in them as shee had, and are wise, and of worth,
fall farre more easily and sooner into errour, then any other.
Doe but weigh and consider with your selfe, what a manner
of man Virgil was ; how wise in all kinde of knowledge ; and
yet I am sure you have heard, how in a wicker basket hee
was hung out from a Towre, all Rome looking upon him ;
yet for all this, was hee neither the lesse honoured, neyther
lost he the name of Virgil.

FARM. That is true which you say ; but it was not
injoyned by the Justice.

CELEST. Feace, you foole, thou art ignorant what a
sinister and course kinde of Justice was used, and rigorously
executed upon thy mother, to the most extremity, which, as
all men confesse, is a meere injury. And the rather, because
it was commonly spoken of all men, that wrongfully, and
against all right and reason, by suborning of false witnesses,
and cruell torments, they inforced her to confesse that, which
ni realitie of truth was not. But because shee was a woman
of a great spirit, and good courage, and her heart had beene
accustomed to endure, shee made matters lighter then they

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

were ; And of all this, shee reckoned not a Pinne : for a ACTUS
thousand times have I heard her say ; If I broke my legge, VII

it was all for my good ; for this made mee better knowne
then I was before. And certainely so shee was, and the more
noted and respected, nay, and thrived the better by it, both
she and I, and the more plentiful! our harvest and incomes
of customers of the best, and wee loved and lived merrily to-
gether to her last. And be but thou unto me, as she was ;
that is to say, a true and faithfull friend ; and withall,
indeavour thy selfe to be good, since thou hast so good a
patterne to follow. And for that which thy father left thee,
thou hast it safely kept for thee.

FARM. Let us now leave talking of the dead, and of
patrimonies, and let us parley of our present businesses, which
concernes us more then to draw things past unto our remem-
brance. If you be well remembred, it is not long since that
you promised me, I should have Areusa, when as I told you
at my Masters house, that I was ready to dye for love ; so
fervent is my affection towards her.

CELEST. If I did promise thee, I have not forgot it ; nor
would I you should thinke, that I have lost my memory with
my yeeres. For I have thrice already, and better, given her
the checke, concerning this businesse, in thy absence ; but
now I thinke the matter is growne to some ripenesse. Let
us walke towards her house; for now, doe what shee can, shee
shall not avoyde the Mate. For this is the least thing of a
thousand, that I will undertake to doe for thee.

FARM. I was quite out of hope ever to have her ; for I
could never come to any conclusion with her, no, not to finde
so much favour, as but to speake with her, or to have but a
word with her. And as it is in the proverbe : In love it is
an ill signe, to see his Mistresse flye, and turne the face.
And this did much dis-hearten mee in my suite.

CELEST. I marvaile not much at thy discouragement,
considering I was then a stranger unto thee ; at least, not so
well acquainted with thee as now I am : and that thy selfe
did not then know, (as now thou dost), that thou mai'st
command her, who is the Doctresse of this Arte ; but now
thou shalt see, what favour thou shalt finde for my sake ;

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THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS what power I have over these wenches ; how much I can pre-
VII vaile with them ; and what wonders I can worke in matters

of love : but hush, tread softly ; Loe, heeres the doore, let
us enter in with still and quiet steps, that the neighbours
may not heare us. Stay, and attend mee heere at the staires
foote, whiPst I goe up and see what I shall be able to doe
with her, concerning the businesse wee talkt of ; and it may
be, wee shall worke more with her, then either thou or I did
ever dreame of.

AREUS A. Who 's there ? Who is that, that at this time
of night comes up into my chamber ?

CELESTINA. One, I assure you, that meanes you no ill ;
one that nevar treads step, but shee thinkes on thy profit ;
one that is more mindfull of thee, then of her selfe ; one
that loves thee as her life, though I am now growne old,

AREUSA. Now the Divell take this old Trot! what
newes with you, that you come thus stealing like a Ghost,
and at so late an houre ? How thinke you (Gentlewoman)
is this a faire houre to come to ones chamber ? I was even
putting off my clothes to goe to bed.

CELESTINA. What ? To bed with the Hen, daughter .^
So soone to roost? Fye for shame; Is this the way to thrive.?
Thinke you ever to be rich, if you goe to bed so timely ?
Come, walke a turne or two, and talke with mee a little ; let
others bewaile their wants, not thou. Herbs feed them that
gather them. Who but would, if hee could, leade such a
life?

AREUSA. How cold it is ! I will go put on my clothes
againe : beshrew me if I am not cold at my very heart.

CELESTINA. Nay, by my fay shall you not ; but if you
will goe into your bed, doe; and so shall wee talke more con-
veniently together.

AREUSA. Yes indeed, I have neede so to doe ; for I have
felt my selfe very ill all this day ; so that necessity, rather
then lazinesse, hath made me thus earely to take my sheetes,
in stead of my petticoat, to wrap about me.

CELEST. Sit not up, I pray any longer, but get you to
bed, and cover your selfe well with clothes, and sinke lower
in, so shall you be the sooner warme. O ! how like a Syreii

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

doest thou looke ! How faire, how beautifull ! O ! how ACTUS

sweetely every thing smells about thee, when thou heavest -, ^^1

and turnest thy selfe in thy bed ! I assure you, every thing ,

is in very good order : how well have I alwaies beene pleased

with all thy things, and thy doings ! You will not thinke,

how this neatnesse, this handsomenesse of yours in your

lodging doth delight me ; to see every thing so trimme and

tricksie about you ; I promise you, I am even proud of it.

P ! how fresh dost thou looke ! What sheets ! What quilts

be here ! What pillowes ! O ! how white they be ! Let

me not live, if every thing heere doth not like me wonderfull

well : My Pearle, my Jewell of gold, see whether I love you

or no, that I come to visit you at this time of night ! Let

my eye take its fill in beholding of thee ; it does me much

good to touch thee, and to looke upon thee.

AREUSA. Nay (good mother) leave, doe not touch me ; „ j, ^ /^- *^
pray you doe not, it doth but increase my paine. "f i' '

CELEST. What paine (Sweet heart ?) Tell me (pretty
Ducke,) Come, come, you doe but jest, I am sure.

AREUSA, Jest ? Let mee never taste of joy, if I jest
with you ; it is scarce foure houres since, that every minute
I was ready to dye with paine of the Mother, which rising
in my brest, swelPd up to my throate, and was ready to
stifle me ; that I still lookt when I should leave the world ;
and therefore am not so gamesome and wanton as you thinke
I am : now I have little mind of that,

CELEST. Goe to, give mee leave a little to touch you ;
and I will try what I can doe. For I know something of
this evill, which every one calls the Mother, and the passion
thereunto belonging,

AREUSA. Lay your hand higher up towards my stomacke.

CELEST. Alack (poore heart) how I pitty thee : that
one so plump, so faire, so cleare, so fresli, so fragrant, so
delicate, so dainty a creature, that art indeede the very
abstract of beauty, the most admired modell for complexion,^
feature, comelinesse, and rarest composure ; every Limme,
every Lineament carrying such an extraordinary lustre and
ornament by reflection from thee. I say. How doe I pitty
thee, that any ache, sicknesse, or infirmity should dare to

135

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS seaze, or presume to usurp over such a Peerelesse Potent, a
VII commanding Power, as thy imperious unparaleld beauty !
But I dare say, it is not so, nor so ; No no, your disease is
selfe-conceited, and the pride of your good parts, this puffs
you and makes you slight and contemne all. Goe to, goe
to, (daughter) you are to blame if it be so, and I tell you,
it is a shame for you, that it is, not to impart these good
graces and blessings, which heaven hath bestowed upon you, to
as many as wish you well ; For they were not given you in
vaine, that you should let them wither, and lose the flowre
qf your youth under sixe linings of Woollen, and Linnen ;
have a care, that you be not covetous of that, which cost
you but little ; doe not, like a Miser, hoord up your beauty ;
make not a hidden treasure of it, sithence in it's owiie nature
it is as communicable, and as commonly currant as money
from man to man. Be not the Mastive in the garden, nor
the Dog in the manger : and since thou canst not take any
pleasure in thy selfe, let others take their pleasure ; and do
not think thou wast borne for nothing : for when tliou wast
borne, man was borne : and when man was borne, woman
was borne ; nothing in all this wide world was created
superfluous, nor which Nature did not provide for with very
good consonancy, and well suiting with reason. But thinke
on the contrary. That it is a fault to vexe and torment men,
when it is in thy power to give them remedy.

AREUSA. Tush, mother, these are but words, and profit
mee nothing ; give me something for my evill, and leave
your jesting.

CELEST. In this so common a griefe, all of us, (the
more misfortune ours) are in a manner Physicians to our
selves ; that which I have scene practised on others, and that
which I found good in my selfe, I shall plainely deliver unto
you : but as the states of our bodies are divers, and the
qualities differing ; so are the medicines also divers, and the
operations different. Every strong sent is good : as Penny-
royall. Rue, Wormewood, smoake of Partridge feathers, of
Rosemary, and of the Soles of old sliooes, and of Muske-
roses, of Incense, of strong perfumes, received kindly, fully,
and greedily, doth worke much good ; much slaketh and

136

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

easeth the paine, and by little and little returnes the Mother ACTUS
to it's proper place. But there is another thing that passeth VII

all these, and that I ever found to be better then any one,
or all of them put together ; but what it is, I will not tell
you, because you make your selfe such a piece of nicenesse.

AREUSA. As you love me, (good mother) tell me : see'st
thou mee thus payned, and concealest thou thy selfe ?

CELEST. Goe to, goe to, you understand me well enough ;
doe not make your selfe more foole then you are.

AREUSA. Well, well, well ; now trust mee no more, if I
understood thee. But what is it thou wouldst have mee to
doe ? you know that my friend went yesterday with his
Captaine to the wars ; would you have me to wrong him ?

CELESTINA. O ! take heed, great wrong, I promise you.

AREUSA. Yes indeed, for hee supplies all my wants ; hee
will see I shall lacke nothing ; hee holds mee honest ; hee
does love mee, and uses mee with that respect, as if I were
his Lady and Mistresse.

CELEST. Suppose all this to be true, be it in the best
sort it may be, yet what of all this ? This retirednesse is no
cure for your disease ; you must be free and communicable,
for I must tell you, there are griefes and pangs cannot easily
be posted off, and dispossessed, and some not to be removed
but by being a mother, (you know my meaning ;) and such
is your disease, and you can never recover it, but by living
sole and simple (as you now doe) without company,

AREUSA. It is but my ill hap, and a curse laid upon
mee by my parents, else had I not beene put to prove all
this misery and paine, which now I feele. But to let this
passe, because it is late, tell mee I pray, what winde drove
you hither ?

CELEST. You know already what I have said unto you
concerning Parmeno ; who complaines himselfe unto me,
that you refuse to see him ; that you will not vouchsafe him
so much as a looke : what should be the reason, I know not,
unlesse because you know, that I wish him well, and make
account of him, as of my sonne. I have a better care of
your matters, and regard your friends in a kinder fashion.
Not a neighbour that dwels neere you, but she is welcome

S 1S7

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS unto me, and my heart rejoyceth as often as I see them, and
VII all because they converse with thee, and keepe thee company.

AREUSA. It is true (Aunt) that you say ; and I acknow-
ledge my beholdingnesse.

CELEST. I know not whether you doe or no : Dost thou
heare me (girle ?) I must beleeve workes ; for words are
winde, and are sold every where for nothing; but love is
never pay'd, but with pure love : and works Avith works.
Thou know'st the alliance between thee and Elicia, whom
Sempronio keepes in my house. Parmeno and hee are
fellowes and companions, they both serve the Gentleman
you wot of ; and by whom you may gaine great good, and
grace unto your selfe. Doe not therefore deny him that,
the granting whereof will cost thee so little ; you are kinse-
women, and they companions : see, how pat all things fall !
farre better then we our selves could have wished ; and to
tell you truly, I have brought him along with mee : how say
you ? Shall I call him up ?

AREUSA. Now, heavens forbid. Eye ; What did you
meane ? Ay me ; I feare mee, hee hath heard every word.

CELEST. No : for hee stayes beneath ; I will call to him
to come up ; for my sake shew him good countenance ; take
notice of him ; speake kindly unto him ; entertaine him
friendly ; and if you thinke fit, let him injoy you, and you
him ; and both one another ; for though he gayne much, I
am sure, you shall lose nothing by the bargaine.

AREUSA. Mother, I am not ignorant, that as well these,
as all other your former speeches unto me, have ever beene
directed to my good and benefit : but how is it possible, that
I should doe this, that you would now have mee ? For you
know to whom I am bound to give an account, as already
you have heard ; and if hee know I play false, he will kill
me. My neighbours, they are envious and malicious, and
they will straight-way acquaint him therewith. And say,
that no great ill should befall me, save only the losing of his
love ; it will be more then I shall gaine, by giving content-
ment to him, for whom you intreate, or rather command mee.

CELEST. For this feare of yours, my selfe have already
provided : for wee entred in very softly.

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

AREUSA. Nay, I doe not speake for this night, but for ACTUS
many other that are to come. Tush, were it but for one VII

night, I would not care.

CELESTINA. What ? Is this your fashion ? Is this the ^
manner of your carriage ? And you use these niceties, you |
shall never have a house with a double roome, but live like
a begger all the daies of your life. What ? are you afraide [
of our Sweet-heart now he is absent ? What would you
then doe, were he now in Towne ? It hath ever beene my
ill fortune, to give counsell unto fooles, such as cannot see
their owne good ; say what I will, they will erre ; still stand
in their owne light. But I doe not much wonder at it ; For
though the world be wide, yet there are but few wise in it.
Great is the largenesse of the earth, but small the number of
those that have experience. Ha, daughter ! Did you but
see your cousins wisedome, or but know what benefit my '
breeding, and counsell hath brought her, how cunning, how
witty, and what a Mistresse in her arte ; you would be of
another minde; say what I will unto her, shee patiently .
indures my reprehensions, shee hearkens to my advice, and ?
does all what I will have her doe ; shee will sometimes boast,
that shee hath at one time had one in bed with her ; another
wayting at the doore ; and a third sighing for her within
the house ; and yet hath given good satisfaction to them all. j
And art thou afraide, who hast but two to deale withall ; ,
Can one cock fill all thy Cisternes ? One conduit-pipe water
all thy Court ? If this be your diet, you may chance to rise
a hungred, you shall have no meate left against another time ;
I will not rent your fragments ; I cannot live upon scraps ;
One could never please mee ; I could never place all my
affection upon one ; two can doe more then one ; they give
more, and they have more to give. It goes hard (Daughter)
with that Mouse, that hath but one hole to trust to ; for if
that be stopt, shee hath no meanes to hide her selfe from the
Cat : he that hath but one eye, you see in what danger he
goes ? One sole Act maketh not a Habit. It is a rare, and
strange thing to see a Partridge flye single ; to feed alwaies
upon one dish, brings a loathing to the stomacke ; one
Swallow makes not a Summer ; one witnesse alone is of no

139

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS validitie in Law. Hee that hath but one suite of clothes,
^^^ and shee that hath but one gowne to her backe, quickly

weares them out. What would you doe (daughter) with
this number of one ? Many more inconveniences can I tell
thee of this single soale number (if one may be a number.)
If you be wise, be never without two ; for it is a laudable
and commendable company, as you may see it in your selfe ;
who hath two eares, two feet, and two hands ; two sheets
upon one bed ; and two smockes wherewith to shift you ;
and the more you have, the better it is for you ; for still, (as
it is in the Proverbe) The more Moores, the better market ;
and honour without profit, is no other but as a Ring upon
the finger. And because one Sacke cannot hold them both,
apply your selfe to your profit. Sonne Parmeno, come up.

AREUSA. O let him not come up if you love mee : the
pockes be my death, if I am not ready to swound, to thinke
on't ; I know not what to doe for very shame. Nay fie,
mother, what meane you to call him up ? you know that I
have no acquaintance with him ; I never exchanged a word
with him, in all my life ; Fye, how I am ashamed !

CELEST. I am here with thee (wench ;) I, who will stand
betwixt him and thee ; I will quit thee of this shame, and
will cover thee close, and speake for you both : For hee is as
bashfull as you for your life.

PARME. Gentlewoman, heavens preserve this gracious
presence of yours.

AREUSA. You are welcome, gentle Sir.
CELEST. Come hither you Asse, whither goe you now,
to sit moping downe in a corner ? Come, come, be not so
shamefast, for it was the bashfull man whom the Divell
brought to Court ; for hee was sure, he should get nothing
there ; hearken both of you, what I shall now say unto you :
You, my friend Parmeno, know already what I promist you :
and you (daughter) what I intreated at your hands. Laying
aside therefore the difficultie, in drawing thee to grant that
which I desired, few words I conceive to be best, because the
time will not permit mee to be long. He for his part hath
hitherto liv'd in great paine and griefe for your sake : and
therefore you seeing his torment, I know you will not kill
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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

him : and I likewise know, that your selfe liketh so well of ACTUS
him, that it shall not be amisse, that he stay with you heere ^^^

this night in the house.

AREUSA. For my mayden-heads sake (mother) let it
not be so, pray doe not command it me.

PARME. Mother, as you love my life, as you love good-
nesse, let me not goe hence, untill we be well agreed : for
shee hath wounded me with her eyes, to death, and I must
dye through love, unlesse you helpe me ; offer her all that
which my father left with you for me ; tell her, I will give her
all that I have besides, doe you heare ? Tell her, that me
thinks, she will not vouchsafe to looke upon me.

AREUSA. What doth this Gentleman whisper in your
eare ? Thinks he that I will not performe ought of your
request ?

CELEST. No, daughter, no such matter ; he sales that he
is very glad of your good love and friendship, because you
are so honest, and so worthy ; and that any benefit shall
light well, that shall fall upon you. Come hither (Modesty)
Come hither you bashfull foole.

AREUSA. He will not be so uncivill, as to enter into
another bodies ground without leave, especially, when it lies
in severall.

CELEST. So uncivill ? Doe you stand upon leave ?
Would you have him stand with cap in hand, and say, I
pray shall I ? Will you give me leave forsooth ? And I
know not what fiddle-come-faddles ? Well, I will stay no
longer with you : and I will passe my word, that you shall
rise to morrow painelesse.

AREUSA. Nay fye, good Sir, for modesties sake, I
beseech you let me alone : content yourself, I pray. I pray
let be. If not for my sake, yet looke backe upon those gray
haires of that reverend old Dame, whicli stands by you, and
forbeare for her sake. Get you gone, I say, for I am none
of those you take mee to be, I am none of your common
hackneyes, that hire out their bodies for money. Would I
might never stirre, if I doe not get mee out of the house, if
you doe but touch so much as a cloth about me.

CELEST. Why, how now Areusa, what 's the matter with

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THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS you ? Whence comes this strangenesse ? Whence this coy-
^11 nesse of yours ? This nicenesse ? Why (Daughter) doe you

thinke that I know not what this meanes ? Did I never see
a man and woman together before ? And that I know not
all their tricks and devices ? What they say, and what they
doe ? I am sorry to heare that I doe. Besides, I must tell
you, I was once as wanton as you are now, and thought my
penny as good silver as yours : and many a friend I had that
came unto mee : yet did I never in all my life exclude either
old man, or old woman out of my company, or that ever I
refused their counsell, were it publike or private. By my
little honesty, I had rather thou hadst given mee a boxe on
the eare, then to heare what I heare. You make of me, as
if I had been borne but yesterday. O ! how cunning for-
sooth, how close you be? for to make your selfe seeme
honest, you would make mee a foole. I must be a kinde of
Ignoramus, without shame, secrecie, and experience. Yee
would discredit mee in my Trade, for to winne your selfe
credit in your ovme. But the best is, betwixt Pirate and
Pirate, there is nothing to be got but blowes and empty
barrels. And well I wot, that I speake farre better of thee,
behinde thy backe, then thou canst thinke of thy selfe before
me.

AREUSA. Mother, if I have offended, pardon me, for I
had rather give contentment to you, then to my selfe. I
would not anger you for a world.

CELESTINA. No, I am not angry, I doe but tell you
this against another time, that you may beware you doe so
no more. And so good night, for I will be gone, I will get
mee away alone by my selfe.

AREUSA. Good night, Aunt.

PARM. Mother, will you that I waite upon you ? Shall
I accompany you home ?

CELEST. No mary shall you not ; that were but to strip
one, and cloath another ; or againe, it needs not, for I am
old, and therefore feare not to be forced in the streets. I
am past all danger of ravishing.

ELICIA. The dogge barkes. The old Witch comes
hobbling home.

M9,

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

CELEST. Tha, tha, tlia. ACTUS

ELICIA. Who is there ? who knockes at doore ? VII

CELEST. Daughter, Come downe, and open the
doore.

ELICIA. Is this a time to come in ? You are disposed
still to be out thus a nights. To what end (I trow) walke
you thus late ? What a long time (mother) have you beene
away ? What doe you meane by it .? You can never finde
the way home, when you are once abroad : but it is your old
wont, you cannot leave it ; and so as you may pleasure one,
you care not and you leave a hundred discontented : you
have been sought after to day, by the father of her that was
betrothed, which you brought from the Prebendary upon
Easter day, whom he is purposed to marry within these three
dayes, and you must needs helpe her, according as you
promised, that her husband may not finde her virginity
crackt.

CELEST. Daughter, I remember no such matter. For
whom is it that you speake ?

ELICIA. Remember no such matter.'' Sure, you have
forgot your selfe. O ! what a weake memory have you ?
Why, your selfe told mee of it, when you tooke her hence ;
and that you had renewed her maidenhead seven times at the
least.

CELEST. Daughter, make it not so strange, that I
should forget. For hee that scattereth his memory into
many parts, can keepe it stedfast in no part. But tell me,
Will he not returne againe ?

ELICIA. See whether hee will returne or no ? He hath
given you a bracelet of Gold, as a pledge for your paines :
and will hee not then returne againe ?

CELEST. O ! was't hee that brought the bracelet ? Now I
know whome you meane. Why did you not prepare things
in a readinesse, and beganne to doe something against I
came home ? For in such things you should practise your
selfe when I am absent, and trye whether you can doe that
by your selfe, which you so often have scene mee doe ; other-
wise, you are like to live all your lifetime like a beast,
without either arte, or in-come : and then when you grow to

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THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS my yeeres, you will too late lament your present lazinesse ; for

VII an idle, and lazy youth brings with it a repentfull, and a

painfull old age. I tooke a better course I wisse, when your

Grandmother shewed mee her cunning: for, in the compasse of

one yeere, I grew more skilfuU then her selfe.

ELICIA. No marvell ; for many times, (as it is in the
Proverbe) a good Scholler goes beyond his Master ; and it is
all in the will and desire of him that is to learne ; for no
Science can be well imployed on him, who hath not a good
minde and affection thereunto. But I had as liefe dye, as goe
about it. I am sicke (mee thinkes) when I set my selfe to it ;
and you are never well, but when you are at it.

CELEST. You may say what you like. But beleeve me,
you will dye a begger for this. What ? doe you thinke to
live alwaies under my wing ? Thinke you never to goe from
my elbow ?

ELICIA. Pray let us leave off this melancholy talke ; now
is now ; and then is then. When time serves, we will follow
your counsell ; but now let us take our pleasure, while we
may. As long as we have meat for to day, let us not thinke
on to morrow : Let to morrow care for it selfe ; as well dies
he that gathers much, as hee that lives but poorely ; the
Master, as the servant ; he that is of a Noble Linage, as he
that is of a meaner stocke : and thou with thy arte, as well as
I without it ; we are not to live for ever : and therefore let us
laugh and be merry, for few are they that come to see old
age ; and they who doe see it, seldome dye of hunger. I
desire nothing in this world, but meate, drinke, and clothing,
and a part in pleasure. And though rich men have better
meanes to attaine to this glory, then he that hath but httle ;
yet there is not one of them that is contented, not one that
saies to himselfe, I have enough. There is not one of them,
with whom I would exchange my pleasures for their riches.
But let us leave other mens thoughts and cares to themselves ;
and let us go sleepe, for it is time ; and a good sound sleepe
without feare, wil fat me more, and doe me more good, then
all the Treasure and wealth of Venice.

THE END OF THE SEVENTH ACT

144

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

ACTUS VIII

THE ARGUMENT

HE day appeares ; Parmeno departs, and takes
his leave of Areusa, and goes to his Master
Calisto. He Jindes Sempronio at the doore ;
they enter into amitie ; goe joyntly to Calisto's
chamber ; they finde him talking with him-
self e ; being risen, hee goes to Church.

INTERLOCUTORS

Parmeno, Areusa, Calisto, Sempronio.

PARMENO. It is day. O what a spight is this ? Whence
is it, that it is so light in the chamber ?

AREUSA. What doe you talke of day ? Sleepe, Sir, and
take your rest ; for it is but even now, since we lay down. I
have scarce shut mine eyes yet, and would you have it to be
day? I pray you open the window by you, the window
there by your beds head, and you shall then see whether it be
so or no ?

PARM. Gentlewoman, I am in the right ; it is day : I see
it is day : I am not deceived. No, no ; I knew it was broad
day, when I saw the light come thorow the chinks of the
doore. O what a Villaine am I ! Into how great a fault am
I falne with my Master ! I am worthy of much punishment.
O how farre dales is it !

AREUSA. Farre dales ?

PARME. I, farre dales ; very farre dales.

AREUSA. Never trust mee ; Alas, I am not eased of my
Mother yet. It paines me still ; I know not what should
be the reason of it.

PARMENO. Deare love, what wouldst thou have mee
to doe ?

AREUSA. That wee talke a little on the matter con-
cerning my indisposition.

PARME. What should we talke (Love) any more ? if

T ' 145

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS that which hath been said already be not sufficient, excuse
VIII that in me, which is more necessary ; for it is noAv almost
high noone : and if I stay any longer, I shall not be welcome
to my Master. To morrow is a new day, and then I
will come to see you againe ; and as often afterwards as
you please : and therefore was one day made after another,
because that Avhich could not be performed in one day, might
bee done in another : as also, because wee should see one
another the oftener. In the meane while, let me intreate
you to doe mee the favour, that you will come and dine with
us to day at Celestina's house.

AREUSA. With all my heart ; and I thanke you too.
Fare- well, good lucke be with you. I pray pull the doore
after you.

PAR. And fare you well too. O singular pleasure ! O
singular joy ! What man lives there this day, that can say he
is more fortunate then I am ? Can any man be more happy ?
any more successefuU then my selfe, that I should enjoy so
excellent a gift .? so curious a creature ? and no sooner aske
then have ? Beleeve me, if my heart could brooke this old
womans treasons, I could creepe upon my knees to doe her a
kindnesse. How shall I bee able to requite her ? O heavens !
To whom shall I impart this my joy? To whom shall I
discover so great a secret ? To whom shall I discover some
part of my glorie ? It is true that the old woman told mee ;
That of no prosperitie, the possession can be good with-
out company ; and that pleasure not communicated, is no
pleasure. O ! who can have so true a feeling of this my
happinesse, as my selfe ? But lo, yonder is Sempronio,
standing at our doore ; hee hath beene stirring betimes ; I shall
have a pittious life with my Master, if he be gone abroad ;
but I hope hee is not ; if hee be, hee hath left his old wont.
But being he is not now himselfe, no marvell if he breake
custome.

SEMPR. Brother Parmeno, if I knew that countrey, where
a man might get wages by sleeping, it should goe hard, but
I would make a shift to get thither. For, I would not then
come short of any man ; I would scorne to be put downe ;
but would gaine as much as another man, be hee who hee

146

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

will be that beares a head. But what is the matter, that ACTUS
thou, like a carelesse and retchles fellow, loytring, I know VIII

not where, hast been so negligent, and slow in thy returne ?
I cannot devise, what should be the cause of this thy so long-
stay, unlesse it were to give old Celestina a warming to night ;
or to rub her feete, as you were wont to doe, when you were
a Little-one.

PARME. O Sempronio, my good friend, I pray thee doe
not interrupt, or rather corrupt my pleasure ; Doe not
intermix thy anger with my patience ; doe not involve thy dis-
contentment with my quiet ; Doe not soyle with such troubled
water, the cleare liquor of those gladsome thoughts, which
I harbour in my heart ; Doe not sowre with thy malicious
taunts and hateful! reprehensions, the sweetnesse of my
delight. Receive me cheerefully, imbrace me with joy, and I
shall tell thee wonders of my late happy proceedings.

SEMPR. Come, out with it, out with it. Is it any thing
touching Melibea ? Say, Lad, hast thou scene her ?

PARM. What talk'st thou to me of Melibea? It is
touching another, that I wish better unto then Melibea.
And such a one (if I be not deceived) as may compare with
her both in handsomnes, and beauty. Melibea ? Why, she
is not worthy to carry her shooes after her : as though
forsooth, the world and all that therein is, be it beauty, or
otherwise, were onely inclosed in Melibea ?

SEMPR. What meanes this fellow? Is hee mad? I
would fayne laugh, but I cannot. Now I see, wee are all
in love : the world is at an end. Calisto loves Melibea ; I,
Elicia : and thou out of meere envy, hast found out some one,
with whom thou might'st lose that little wit thou hast.

PARM. Is it folly (say you) to love ? Then am I a foole.
But if foolishnesse were a paine, some in every house would
complaine.

SEMPR. I appeale to thy selfe ; by thine owne judgement
thou art no better : For my selfe have heard thee give vaine
and foolish counsell to Calisto, and to crosse Celestina in
every word shee spake, to the hinderance of both our profits.
O Sir, you were glad of this ; it was meate alone to you.
Who, you ? No, not for a world, would you beare a part

147

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS with us. But since I have caught you in my clutches, I will

^^^^ hamper you yfaitli. Now, that thou art in those hands, that

may hurt thee, they shall doe it ; assure thy selfe they shall.

PARM. It is not, Sempronio, true courage, nor manly
valour, to hurt or hinder any man, but to doe good, to heale,
and helpe him : and farre greater is it to be willing so to doe.
I have evermore made reckoning of thee, as of mine owne
brother. Let not that be verified of thee, which is commonly
spoken amongst us ; that a slight cause should part true
friends ; I tell you, you doe not use me well. Nay, you
deale very ill with mee ; I know not whence this rancor
should arise. Doe not vexe me (Sempronio ;) Torment me
not with these thy wounding words. And shall I tell you ?
It is a very strange and strong kinde of patience, which
sharpe taunts and scoffs, which like so many needles
and bodkins set to the heart, cannot pierce and pricke
thorow.

SEMPR. I say nothing, but that now you have your
wench, you will allow one pilchard more to the poore boy
in the Stable.

PARME. You cannot hold, your heart would burst, if you
should not vent your choler. Well, I will give way, and
should you use me worse, I will pocket up all your wrongs :
and the rather, because it is an old saying. No humane
passion is perpetuall.

SEMP. But you can use Calisto worse ; advising him to
that, which thou thy selfe seek'st to shunne : never letting
him alone, but still urging him to leave loving of Melibea :
wherein, thou art just like unto a signe in an Inne, which
gives shelter to others, and none to it selfe. O Parmeno,
now mai'st thou see, how easie a thing it is to finde fault
with another mans life, and how hard to amend liis owne.
I say no more, your selfe shall be your own Judge : and from
this day forward, we shall see how you behave your selfe,
sithence you have now your porrenger, as well as other folkes.
If thou liadst beene my friend (as thou professest) when I
stood in need of thee, thou should'st then have favoured
mee, and made shew of thy love, and assisted Celestina in
all that had beene for my profit, and not to drive in at every

148

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

word a nayle of malice. Know moreover, that as wine in ACTUS
the Lees, wlien it is drawne to the very dregges, driveth ^m

drunkards from the Taverne : the like effect hath necessity,
or adversity with a fained friend : and false mettle, that is
gilded but slightly over, quickly discovers it selfe to be but
counterfeit.

PARMENO. I have often-times heard it spoken, and now
by experience I see it is true ; that in this wretched life of
ours, there is no pleasure without sorrow ; no contentment
without some crosse, or counterbuffe of fortune. We see
our fairest dales, our clearest Sunne-shines are over-cast
with clouds, darkenesse and raine : our solaces and delights
are swallowed up by dolours and by death : laughter, mirth,
and merriment are waited on by teares, lamentations, and
other the like mortall passions. In a word ; Sweet meate
will have sowre sauce : and much ease and much quietnesse,
much paine and much heavinesse. Who could come more
friendly, or more merrily to a man, then I did now to thee ?
And who could receive a more mikind wellcome, or unfriendly
salutation ? Who lives there, that sees himselfe, as I have
scene my selfe, raised with such glory to the height of my
deare Areusa"'s love ? And who, that sees himselfe more
likely to fall from thence, then I, being so ill intreated, as I
am of thee ? Nay, thou wilt not give mee leave to tell thee,
how much I am thine, how much I will further thee in all I
am able, how much I repent me of that which is past, and
what good counsell and reprehensions I have received of
Celestina, and all in favour of thee, and thy good, and the
good of us all. And now, that we have our Masters and
Melibea''s game in our owne hands ; now is the time that wee
must thrive or never.

SEMPRONIO. I like your words well, but should like
them better, Avere your workes like unto them : which as I
see the performance, so shall I give them credence ; but tell
me, I pray thee, what 's that, me thought, I heard you talke
even now of Areusa ? Doe you know Areusa, that is Cousin
to Elicia ?

PARME. Why, what were all the joy I now injoy, did I
not injoy her ?

149

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS SEMPRONIO. What does the foole meane ? He cannot
VIII speake for laughing. What doest thou call this thy injoying
her ? Did shee shew her selfe unto thee out at a window ?

FARM. No great matter. Onely I have left her in doubt,
whether shee be with childe or no.

SEMPR. Thou hast strucke mee into a maze ; continuall
travell may doe much ; often dropping makes stones hollow,

PARME. How? Continuall travell? Why, I never
thought of having her till yesterday ; then did I worke her ;
and now shee is mine owne.

SEMPR. The old woman had a finger in this businesse,
had shee not ?

PARMENO. Why should you thinke so ?

SEMPR. Because shee told mee how much shee loved you,
how well she wisht you, and that she would worke her for
you ; you were a happy man, Sir, you had no more to doe,
but to come and take up. And therefore they say, It is
better with him whom fortune helpeth, then with him that
riseth earely. But was shee the godfather to this businesse ?

PARM. No, but shee was the godmother, which is the
truer of the two. And you know, when a man comes once
to a good tree, he will stay a while by it, and take the
benefit of the shade. I was long a comming, but when I
came, I went quickly to worke : I dispatcht it in an instant.
O brother, what shall I say unto thee of the graces that are
dwelling in that wench, of her language, and beauty of
body ? But I will deferre the repetition thereof to a fitter
opportunitie.

SEMPR. Shee can be no other but cousin to Elicia ; thou
canst not say so much of her, but that this other hath as
much, and somewhat more. But what did shee cost thee ?
Hast thou given her any thing ?

PARME. No, not any thing, but whatsoever I had given
her, it had beene well bestowed : for shee is capable of every
good thing ; and such as shee, are by so much the better
esteemed, by how much the dearer they are bought : and
like Jewels, are the higher prized, the more they cost us.
But, save in this my Mistresse, so rich a thing was never
purchast at so low a rate. I have invited her to day to

150

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

dinner to Celestina's house ; and if you like of it, let us all ACTUS
meet there. ^^^^

SEMP. Who, brother ?

PARME. Thou and she, and the old woman and Elicia ;
and there wee will laugh and be merry.

SEMPR, O good heavens, how glad a man hast thou made
mee ! Thou art franke, and of a free and liberall disposition,
I will never faile thee : now I hold thee to be a man ; now
my minde gives me, that Fate hath some good in store for
thee : all the hatred and mahce which I bare thee for thy
former speeches, is now turned into love ; I now doubt not,
but that tlie league which thou hast made with us, shall be
such as it ought to be. Now I long to imbrace thee ; Come,
let us now live like brothers ; and let the divell go hang him-
selfe. All those contentious words notwithstanding, what-
soever have passed between us, let there be now no falling
out, and so have peace all the yeere long ; for, the falling out
of friends, is evermore the renewing of love ; let us feast and
be merry, for our Master will fast for us all.

PARME. What does that man in desperation doe ?

SEMPR. Hee lyes where you left him last night, stretch-
ing himselfe all along upon his pallate, by his bed-side ; but
the Divell a winke that hee sleepes ; and the Divell a whit
that hee wakes, but lies like a man in a trance, betweene
them both, resting, and yet taking no rest. If I goe in unto
him, hee falls a rowting, and a snorting ; If I goe from him,
hee either sings or raves : nor can I for my life comprehend
(so strange is his carriage heerein) whether the man bee in
paine or ease ; whether hee take griefe or pleasure in it.

PARME. What a strange humour is this ? But tell me
(Sempronio) Did hee never call for mee ? Did hee not re-
member mee when I was gone ?

SEMPR. Hee remembred not himselfe ; Why should hee
then remember you ?

PARME. Even in this also fortune hath beene favourable
unto me. And since all things goe so well, whilest I thinke
on it, I will send thither our meate, that they may the
sooner make ready our dinner.

SEMPRO. What hast thou thought upon to send thither,

151

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS that those pretty fooles may hold thee a compleat Courtier,
VIII well bred and boiintifull ?

PAR. In a plentifull house a supper is soone provided :
that, which I have heere at home in the Larder, is sufficient
to save our credit. Wee have good white bread, wine of
Monviedro, a good gammon of Bacon, and some halfe doozen
couple of dainty Chickens, which my Masters Tenants
brought him in the other day, when they came to pay their
rent ; which if hee chance to aske for, I will make him
beleeve, that he hath eaten them himselfe : and those Turtle-
doves, which hee wilFd mee to keepe against to day ; I will
tell him, that they were a little to blame, and none of the
sweetest, and that they did so stinke, that I was faine to
throw them away ; and you shall justifie it, and beare me
witnesse. We will take order, that all that hee shall eate
thereof, shall doe him no harme ; and that our owne Table
(as good reason it is it should) be well furnished ; and there
with the old woman, as oft as we meet, wee will talke more
largely concerning this his love, to his losse, and our profit.

SEMP. Calst thou it love ? Thou mai'st call it sorrow
with a vengeance. And by my fay, I sweare unto thee, that
I verily thinke, that he will hardly now escape eyther death
or madnesse : but since it is, as it is, dispatch your businesse,
that we may goe up, and see what hee does.

{In perill great I live.
And strait of force must dye :
Since what desire doth give.
That, hope doth mee deny.
PARME. Harke, harke, Sempronio ! Our Master is a
riming: Hee is tuniM Poet, I perceive.

SEMPR. O whore-sonne Sot ! What Poet, I pray ? The
great Antipater Sidonius, or the great Poet Ovid, who never
spake but in Verse ? I, it is he ; the very same : we shall have
the Divell turne Poet too shortly, he does but talke idlely
in his sleepe ; and thou think'st the poore man is turn"'d Poet.

{This paine, this martyrdome,
O heart, well dost thou prove.
Since thou so soone wast wonne
To Melibea's love.
152

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

FARM. Loe, did I not tell thee hee was turn'd true ACTUS
Rimer? VIII

CALISTO. Who is that, that talkes in the Hall? Why ho?

PARMENO. Anon, Sir.

CALISTO. How farre night is it ? Is it time to goe to bed ?

PARME. It is rather. Sir, too late to rise.

CALISTO. What sai'st thou foole ? Is the night past
and gone then ?

PARMENO. I, Sir, and a good part of the day too.

CALISTO. Tell mee (Sempronio) does not this idle-headed
Knave lye, in making mee beleeve it is day ?

SEMPR. Put Melibea (Sir) a little out of your minde,
and you will then see, that it is broad day : for through that
great brightnesse and splendour, which you contemplate in
her cleare shining eyes, like a Partridge dazeled with a buffit,
you cannot see, being blinded with so sodaine a flash.

CALISTO. Now I beleeve it, and 'tis farre day too. Give
mee my clothes ; I must goe to my wonted retirement to the
Mirtle-grove, and there begge of Cupid, that hee will direct
Celestina, and put my remedy into Melibea's heart, or else
that hee will shorten my sorrowfuU dayes.

SEMPR. Sir, doe not vexe your selfe so much : you can-
not doe all that you would in an houre : nor is it discretion
for a man to desire that earnestly, that may unfortunately
fall upon him. If you will have that concluded in a day,
which is well, if it be effected in a yeere, your life cannot be
long.

CALISTO. I conceive your meaning ; you would inferre
that I am like Squire Gallego''s boy, who went a yeere with-
out breeches, and when his Master commanded a paire to be
cut out for him, he would have them made in a quarter of
an houre.

SEMPRONIO. Heaven forbid (Sir) I should say so : for
you are my Master, and I know besides, that as you will re-
compence me for my good counsell, so you will punish mee,
if I speake amisse ; though it be a common saying, that the
commendation of a mans good service, or good speech, is not
equall to the reprehension and punishment of that which is
eyther ill done or spoken.

U 153

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS CALISTO. I wonder (Sempronio) where thou gofst so
VIII much philosophie ?

SEMPR. Sir, all that is not white, which differs from
blacke ; nor is all that gold which glisters. Your accelerated,
and hasty desires, not being measured by reason, make my
counsels to seeme better then they be. Would you, that they
should yesterday, at the first word, have brought Melibea
manacled, and tyed to her girdle, as you would have sent
into the market for any other marchandize ? Wherein there
is no more to doe, then to goe into the market, and take the
paines to buy it. Sir, bee of good cheere; give some ease and
rest to your heart ; for no great happinesse can happen in an
instant. It is not one stroke that can fell an Oake ; prepare
your selfe for sufferance, for wisdome is a laudable blessing ;
and he that is prepared, may withstand a strong incounter.

CALISTO. Thou hast spoken well, if the quality of my
evill would consent to take it so.

SEMPR. To what end serves understanding, if the will
shall rob reason of her right.

CALISTO. O thou foole, thou foole ! The sound man
sayes to the sicke. Heaven send thee thy health. I will no
more counsell, no more hearken to thy reasons : for, they doe
but revive, and kindle those flames afresh, which burne and
consume mee. I will goe and invocate Cupid ; and will
not come home, till you call me, and crave a reward of mee
for the good newes you shall bring mee, upon the happy
comming of Celestina: nor will I eate any thing, till Phoebus
his horses shall feed, and graze their fill in those greene
meddowes where they use to baite, when they come to their
journeys end.

SEMP. Good Sir, leave off these circumlocutions ; leave
off these poeticall fictions ; for that speech is not comely,
which is not common unto all : which all men partake not of,
as well as your selfe : or which few doe but understand. Say,
till the Sunne set, and every one will know what you meane.
Come, eate in the meane while, some Conserves, or the like
confection, that you may keepe some life in you, till I
retume.

CALISTO. Sempronio, my faithfull servant, my good

154

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

coimsellour, my loyally follower ; Be it as thou wilt have it : ACTUS
for I assure my selfe (out of the unspottednesse of thy pure VIII
service) that my life is as deare unto thee as thine owne.

SEM. Dost thou beleeve it, Parmeno ? I wot well that
thou wilt not sweare it. Remember, if you goe for the Con-
serves, that you nimme a barrell for those you wot of ; you
know who I meane. And to a good understanding every
thing will light in his lap : or (as the phrase is) fall into his
Cod-pisse.

CALISTO. What sa/st thou, Sempronio ?

SEMPR. I speake, Sir, to Parmeno, that hee should runne
quickly and fetch you a slice of Conserves, of Citron, or of
Limons.

PARM. Loe (Sir) heere it is.

CALISTO. Give it me hither.

SEMPR. See, how fast it goes downe ! I thinke the Divell
makes him make such quicke worke. Looke, if hee does not
swallow it whole, that hee may the sooner have done !

CALISTO. My spirits are returned unto me againe ; I
promise you it hath done me much good. My Sonnes both,
farewell. Goe looke after the old woman, and waite for
good newes, that I may reward you for your labour.

PARME. So, now hee is gone. The divell and ill fortune
follow thee ; for in the very same houre hast thou eaten this
Citron, as Apuleius did that poyson which turned him into
an Asse.

THE END OF THE EIGHTH ACT

155

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS IX

THE ARGUMENT

EMPRONIO and Parmeno goe talking
each with other to Celestina''s house ;
being come thither, they jinde there Elicia
and Areusa. They sit downe to dinner;
being at dinner, Elicia and Sempronio^/aZZ
out ; being risen from Table, they grow
friends againe. In the meane while comes
Lucrecia, servant to Melibea, to call Celes-

tina to come and speake with Melibea.

INTERLOCUTORS

Sempronio, Parmeno, Celestina, Elicia, Areusa, Lucrecia.

SEMPRONIO. Parmeno, I pray thee bring downe our
Cloakes, and our Rapiers ; for I thinke it be time for us to
goe to dinner.

PARME. Come, let us goe presently ; for I thinke they
will finde fault with us, for staying so long. Let us not goe
thorow this, but that other streete, that wee may goe in by
the Vestals, so shall we see, whether Celestina have ended
her devotions, and take her along with us.

SEMPR. What.? Doe you thinke to finde her at her
Theme now ? Is this a fit houre ? This a time for her to
be at her Orizons ?

PARME. That can never be said out of time, which
ought to be done at all times.

SEMPR. It is true, but I see, you know not Celestina ;
when she has any thing to do, she never thinks upon heaven,
the divell a whit that she cares then for devotion ; when she
hath any thing in the house to gnaw upon, farewell all holi-
nesse, farewell all prayers : and indeed, her going to any of
these Ceremonies, is but to spy and pry only upon advan-
tages for such persons as she may prevaricate and make for
her profit. And though shee bred thee up, I am better

156

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

acquainted with her qualities, then you are. That which ACTUS
shee doth ruminate : how many crack't maiden-heads shee IX

hath then in cure ; how many Lovers in this City ; how
many young wenches are recommended unto her ; what '
Stewards afford her provision; which is the more bounti-
ful! : and how she may call every man by his name ; that
when shee chanceth to meet them, shee may not salute them
as strangers. When you see her lips goe, then is she invent-
ing of lies, and devising sleights, and tricks for to get money;
then doth she thus dispute with her selfe ; In this maner will
I make my speech ; In this fashion will I cloze with him.
Thus then will he answer mee; And to this I must thus
reply. Thus lives this creature, whom we so highly
honour.

FARM. Tush, this is nothing; I know more then this.
But because you were angry the t'other day, when I told
Calisto so much, I will forbeare to speake of it.

SEMPR. Though wee may know so much for our owne
good, yet let us not publish it to our owne hurt ; For, to
have our Master to know it, were but to make him discard
her for such a one as she is, and not to care for her ; and so \
leaving her, hee must needs have another, of whose paines /
wee shall reape no profit, as we shall be sure to doe by her, (
who by faire meanes, or by foule, shall give us part of her j
gaines.

PARME. Well, and wisely hast thou spoken ; but hush :
the doore is open, and shee in the house. Call before you
goe in ; peradventure, they are not yet fully ready ; or
things are not in that order as they would have it ; and then
will they be loth to be scene.

SEMP. Goe in, man, never stand upon those niceties ; for
we are all of a house. Now, just now, they are covering the
Table.

CELEST. O my young amorous youths, my Pearles of
gold ! Let the yeere goe about as well with me, as you are
both welcome unto mee.

PARMENO. What complements has the old Bawd?
Brother, I make no question, but you well enough perceive
her foystings, and her flatteries.

^ 157

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS SEMPRONIO. O ! you must give her leave, it is her
IX living. But I wonder what divell taught her all her knacks,

and her knaveries.

PARME. What? Mary, I will tell you. Necessity,
Poverty, and Hunger ; then which there are no better
Tutours in the world : No better quickeners, and revivers
pf the wit. AVho taught your Pyes, and your Parrats to
imitate our proper Language, and tone, with their slit
tongues, save onely necessitie ?

CELEST. Hola : wenches, girles : where be you, you
fooles ? Come doAvne ; Come hither quickly, I say ; for
there are a couple of yong Gallants that would ravish mee.

ELICIA. Would they would never have come hither
for me. O ! it is a fine time of day ! is this a fit houre,
when you have invited your friends, to a feast ? You have
made my cousin to waite heere these three long houres :
but this same lazy-gut (Sempronio) was the cause, I warrant
you, of all this stay ; for hee has no eyes to looke upon mee.

SEMPR. Sweet-Heart ; I pray thee be quiet. My Life,

/ my Love ! you know full well, that he that serves another,

( is not his own man. He that is bound, must obey. So

that my subjection frees me from blame. I pray thee be

not angry. Come, let us sit downe, and fall to our meate.

ELICIA. I, it is well, you are ready at all times to sit
downe, and eate, as soone as the cloth is laid, with a cleane
payre of hands, but a shamelesse face.

SEMPRO. Come, we will chide and brawle after dinner :
Now let us fall to our vitailes. Mother Celestina, will it
please you to sit downe first .''

CELEST. No, first sit you downe (my sonne) for heere is
roome enough for us all ; let every one take their place, as
they like, and sit next her whom he loves best : as for me,
who am a sole woman, I will sit me down heere by this Jar
of wine, and this good goblet. For I can live no longer,
then while I talke with one of these two. Ever since that I
was growne in yeeres, I know no better office at boord, then
to fall a skinking, and to furnish the Table with pots and
flagons : For he that handles hony, shall feele it still clinging
to his fingers. Besides, in a cold winters night, you cannot

158

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

have a better warming-panne. For, when I tosse off two of ACTUS
these little pots, when I am e''en ready to goe into my bed, IX

why, I feele not a jot of cold all the night long. With this,
I furre all my clothes at Christmas : This warmes my blood;
This keepes me still in one estate ; This makes mee merry,
where-eYe I goe ; This makes me looke fresh, and ruddy, as
a Rose. Let me still have store of this in my house, and a
figge for a deare yeere, it shall never hurt mee : for one crust
of Mouse-eaten bread will serve me three whole dayes ; This
drives away all care and sorrow from the heart, better then
either Gold or Corall ; This gives force to a young man, and
vigour to an old man ; It addes colour to the discoloured ;
courage to the coward ; diligence to the slothfull ; it com-
forteth the braine ; it expels cold from the stomacke ; it
takes away the stinkingnesse of the breath ; it makes cold
constitutions, to be potent and active : it makes husband-
men endure the toyle of tillage; it makes your painefuU
and weary mowers to sweat out all their watrish ill humours;
it remedies Rheumes ; and cures the tooth-ache. This may
you keepe long at Sea without stinking ; so can you not
water : I could tell you more properties of this wholsome
liqqor, than all of you have hayres on your~iTea37 So that
I know not the man, whom it doth not delight to heare it
but mentioned, the very name of it is so pleasing : onely, it
has but this one fault : That that which is good, costs us
deare ; and that which is bad, does us hurt. So that what
maketh the Liver sound, the same maketh the purse light ;
but for all this, I will be sure to seeke after the best ; for
that little which I drinke, which is onely some dozen times a
meale. Which number, I never passe, unlesse now, when I
am feasted, or so.

PARME. It is the common opinion of all : That thrice
in a dinner, is good, honest, competent, and sufficient for any
man. And all that doe write thereof, doe allow you no
more.

CELEST. Sonne, the phrase is corrupted ; they have put
three time, in stead of thirteene.

SEMPR. Aunt, wee all like well of your glosse. Let us
eate, and talke, and talke and eate : For else wee shall not

159

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS afterwards have time to discourse of the love of our lost
IX Master, and of that faire, handsome, and courteous Melibea,

lovely gentle Melibea.

ELICIA. Get thee out of my sight, thou distastefuU
companion, thou disturber of my mirth ; the Divell choake
thee with that thou hast eaten. Thou hast given me my
dinner for to day ; now as I live, I am ready to rid my
stomack, and to cast up all that I have in my body, to heare
that thou shouldst call her faire and courteous, lovely, and
I gentle. I pray thee how faire; how lovely, how courteous,
j how gentle is she ? It angers mee to the heart-bloud, to see
you have so little shame with you. How gentle, how faire
is she, more then other women ? Beleeve me, if she be as
thou reportest her ; nay, if she have any jot in her of beauty,
or any the least gracefulnesse. But I see there are some
eyes, that make no difference betwixt lone, and my Lady,
and that it is with every one as hee likes, as the good man
said, when he kist his Cow. DrafFe I perceive is good
enough for Swine. I will crosse my selfe in pitty of thy
great ignorance, and want of judgement; Who I pray, had
any minde to dispute with you, touching her beauty, and
her gentlenesse ? Gentle Melibea ? Faire Melibea .'' And
is Melibea so gentle, is shee so faire as you make her to be ?
Then it must be so ; and then shall both these hit right in
her, when two Sundaies come together. All the beauty shee
hath, may be bought at every Pedlers, or Painters shop for
a penny matter, or the like trifle: and beleeve me, I my
selfe, upon mine owne knowledge, know, that in that very
streete where shee dwels, there are foure may dens at the
least, if not more, to whom Nature hath imparted a greater
part of beauty, and other good graces in greater abundance,
then she hath on Melibea; and if shee have any jot of
handsomenesse in her, shee may thanke her good clothes, her
neate dressings, and costly Jewels, which if they were hung
upon a post, thou would st as well say by that too, that it
were faire and gentle ; and by my fay (be it spoken without
ostentation) I thinke my penny to be as good silver as hers,
and that I am every way as faire as your Melibea.

AREUSA. O sister ! hadst thou seene her as I have seene

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

her (I tell thee no lye) if thou shouldst have met her fasting, ACTUS
thy stomacke would have taken such a loathing, that all that IX

day thou would'st not have been able to have eaten any meat.
All the yeere long she is mewed up at home, where she is
dawbed over with a thousand sluttish slibber-slabbers ; all
which (forsooth) she must indure, for once perhaps going
abroad in a twelve-month to be seene : shee anoynts her
face with gall and honey, with parched grapes and figges
crushed and pressed together, with many other things, which
for manners sake, and reverence of the Table, I omit to men-
-» tion. It is their riches, that make such creatures as shee to
be accounted faire ; it is their wealth, that causeth them to
be thus commended, and not the graces, and goodly features
of their bodies : For, shee has such brests, being a maid, as if
shee had been the mother of three children ; and are for all
the world, like nothing more, then two great Pompeans, or
bigge bottled-Goords. Her belly I have not seene, but
judging it by the rest, I verily beleeve it, to be as slacke,
and as flaggy, as a woman of fifty yeere old. I know not
what Calisto should see in her, that for her sake, hee should
forsake the love of others, whom hee may with great ease
obtaine, and farre more pleasure injoy : Unlesse it be, that
like the Pallate that is distasted, hee thinketh sowre things
the sweetest.

SEMPR. Sister, it seemeth here unto me, that every
Pedler prayseth his owne needles ; but I assure you, the
quite contrary is spoken of her throughout the whole Citie.

AREUSA. There is nothing farther from truth, then the

t opinion of the vulgar, and nothing more false, then the

! reports of the multitude, nor shalt thou ever live a merry life,

' if thou governe thy selfe by the will of the common people :

and these conclusions, are uncontrollable, and infallibly

true ; that whatsoever thing the vulgar thinks, is vanity :

whatsoever they speake, is false-hood : what they reprove,

that is good : what they approve, that is bad. And since

this is a true rule, and common custome amongst them, doe

not judge of Melibea's either goodnesse or beauty, by that

which they affirme.

SEMPR. Gentlewomen ; let mee answer you in a word.

X 161

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS Your ill tongued multitude, and pratling vulgar, never par-
IX don the faults of great persons, no, not of their Soveraigne

himselfe, which makes me to thinke, that if Melibea had so
many defects, as you taxe her withall, they would eVe this
have beene discovered by those who know her better then wee
doe. And howbeit I should admit all you have spoken to
be true, yet pardon me, if I presse you with this particular.
Calisto is a Noble Gentleman ; Melibea the Daughter of
Honourable parents ; So that, it is usuall with those, that
are descended of such high Linage, to seeke and inquire each
after other ; and therefore it is no marvell, if he rather love
her, then another.

AREUSA. Let him be base, that holds himselfe base ;
they are the Noble Actions of men, that make men Noble.
For in conclusion, we are all of one making, flesh and bloud
all. Let every man strive to be good of himselfe, and not
goe searching for his vertue in the Noblenesse of his Ancestors.

CELEST. My good children ; as you love mee, cease this
contentious kinde of talke : and you Elicia ; I pray you
come to the Table againe ; sit you downe, I say, and doe
not vexe, and grieve your selfe, as you doe.

ELICIA. With this condition, that my meate may be
my poyson ; and that my belly may burst with that I eate.
Shall I sit downe and eate with this wicked Villaine, that
hath stoutly maintained it to my face, and no body must
say him nay, That Melibea : That Dish-clout of his, is fairer
then I ?

SEMPR. I prythee (Sweet-heart) be quiet, it was you
that made the comparison ; and comparisons (you know) are
odious : and therefore it is you that are in the fault, and
not I.

AREUSA. Come, sister, come, and sit with us ; I pray,
come eate with us. Have you no more wit, then to be
angry with such a crosse foole as hee ? I would not doe
him so much pleasure, as to forbeare my meate for him ; let
him goe hang, if hee be peevish, will you be peevish too ? I
pray you sit downe, unlesse you will have me likewise to rise
from the Table.

ELICIA. The necessity which I have imposed upon my

162

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

selfe, to please thee in all things, and in all thy requests,
makes mee against my will, to give contentment to this
enemy of mine ; and to carry my selfe out of my respect to
this good company more fairely towards him, then otherwise
I would.

SEMPRONIO. Ha, ha, he.

ELICIA. What dost thou laugh at? Now the evill
Canker eate and consume that unpleasing and offensive
mouth of thine.

CELEST, Sonne, I pray thee no more. Do not answer
her ; for then we shall never make an end : This is nothing
to the present purpose ; Let us follow our businesse, and
attend that which may tend to our good. Tell me. How
does Calisto.? How hap't it you left him thus all alone?
How fell it out, that both of you could slip away from him ?

PARME. He flung from us with a vengeance, fretting
and fuming like a mad-man, his eyes sparkeling foorth fire,
his mouth venting forth curses, despairefuU, discontented in
minde, and like one that is halfe besides himselfe : and is
now gone to Saint Mary Magdalens, to desire of God, that
thou maist well and truely gnaw the bones of these Chickens;
vowing never to come home, till hee heare that thou art
come with Melibea in thy lap. Thy gowne and kirtle, and
my cassocke are cock-sure. For the rest let the world slide ;
but when we shall have it, that I know not, all the craft is
in the catching.

CELEST. Let it come when it will come, it shall be
welcome, when eVe it comes. A cassocke is good weare after
winter. And sleeves are good after Easter : Every thing
makes the heart merry that is gotten with ease, and without
any labour, especially comming from thence, where it leaves
so small a gap, and from a man of that wealth and substance,
who with the very branne and scraps of his house, would
make me of a begger, to become rich : such is the surplus
and store of his goods ; and such as hee, it never grieves
them what they spend, considering the cause wherefore they
give : For they feele it not ; when they are in the heat and
passion of their love, it paines them not ; they neither see,
nor heare ; which I judge to be true by others, that I have

163

ACTUS
IX

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS knowne to be lesse passionate, and lesse scorched in the fiery
^■^ flames of love, then Calisto is ; in so much, that I have seen

them neither eat nor drink ; neither laugh nor weep ; neither
sleep nor wake ; neither speake nor hold their peace ; neither
live in paine, nor yet finde ease ; neither be contented, nor
yet complaine of discontentment, answerable to the perplexity
of that sweet and cruell wound of their hearts. And if
naturall necessity forceth them to any one of these, they are
so wholly forgetfull of themselves, and strucke into such
sudden senslesnesse of their present being and condition, that
eating, their hands forget to carry their meat to their
mouthes. Besides, if you talke with them, they never
answer you directly. Their bodies are there with you, but
where they love, there are their hearts, and their senses.
\\ Gcr£at-is-±he_Jorce of love. His power doth not only reach
1 1 over the earth, but~paiseth also over the seas. He holds an
'j equall command over all mankinde. He breaks thorow all
kinde of difficulties, and dangers whatsoever. It is a tor-
mentfuU thing, full of feare, and of care. His eye roles
every way ; nothing can escape him. And if any of you
that be heere, were ever true lovers, and did love faithfully
indeede, hee will say I speake the truth.

SEMPR. Mother, you and I are both of a minde. For
heere is she present who causM me once to become another
Calisto, desperate, and senslesse in my doings ; weary in my
body, idle in my braine, sleeping ill a daies, and watching
too well a nights, up by breake of day, playing the foole
with thousands of gesticulations, and odde Anticktricks,
leaping over walls, putting my life every day in hap-hazard
and manifold dangers, standing in harms way before Bulls,
Running-horses, throwing the Bar, tossing the Pike, tyring
out my friends, cracking of blades, making ladders of ropes,
putting on armor, and a thousand other idle acts of a Lover,
making Ballads, penning of Sonnets, painting Mottos, making
purposes, and other the like devices. All which I hold well
spent, and thinke my selfe happy in them, sithence they
gained mee so great and faire a Jewell.

ELICIA. You doe well to perswade your selfe so : But
howsoever you conceit you have gained mee, I assure thee,

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

thy backe is no sooner turnM, but another is presently with ACTUS
me, whom I love better then thee, and is a properer man I^

then thou art, and one that will not goe vexing and angring
mee, as thou dost. It is a yeere ere your worship forsooth,
can find in your heart to come and see me ; And then as good
have your roome, as your company, unlesse it were better.

CELEST. Sonne, give her leave to ease her stomake, let
her speake her minde ; for the wench (I thinke) is mad.
And the more shee talkes thus lavishly and wildly ; assure thy
selfe, she is the more confirmed in thy love. All this stirre
is, because you commended Melibea so highly ; and shee
(poore soule) knowes not how to be even with you, but to
pay you home in this coorse kinde of coyne, and hard
language. And I beleeve, I shall not see her eate yet a
while, for a thing that I know ; and this other her Cousin
heere, I know her meaning well enough. Goe too (my
masters,) take the benefit of your youth, injoy the flowre
of this your fresh and lively age. For he that will not when
he may, when hee would, hee shall have nay. And repent-
ance shall be the recompence of his tarriance, who hath time,
and will not take it, as I my selfe doe now repent me of
those houres, which I sometimes lost, when I was young,
when men did esteeme of me, and when they loved me ; for
now (the worse lucke mine) I am a decayed creature, I waxe
old, withered, and full of wrinkles ; no body will now looke
i after mee, yet my minde is still the same ; and want rather ^
ability, then_.desire. Fall to your flap (my masters) kisse •
and cTTp, as for mee, I have nothing else to doe, but to looke
on and please mine eye. It is some comfort to me yet, to
be a spectator of your sports. Never stand upon nice tearmes,
for whiPst you sit at boord, it is lawfull to doe any thing
from the girdle upwards. All play above boord is faire and ,
pardonable ; when you are alone by your selves, close together
at it in a corner, I will not clap a fine on your heads, because
the King doth not impose any such taxation. And as for .
these young wenches, I know, they will never accuse you of -^
ravishment. And as for old Celestina, because her teeth
will be on edge, shee will mumble with her dull and empty
gums the crums off the Napkins.

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS ELICIA. Mother, some body knocks at the doore.
IX CELEST. Daughter, looke who it is.

ELICIA. Either the voyce deceives mee, or else it is my
cousin Lucrecia.

CELEST. Open the doore and let her come in, for shee
also understands somewhat touching that poynt, whereof
wee discoursed last ; though being shut up so close at home,
as shee is : shee is mightily hindered in the fruition of her
friculation, and cannot injoy her youth with the like liberty
as others doe.

AREUSA. Now, I see it is most true, that these same
Chamber-maides, these forsooth that wait upon Ladies,
injoy not a jot of delight, nor are acquainted with the sweet
rewards of love. They never converse with their kindred,
nor with their equalls, with whom they may say. Thou for
thou; or, so haile fellow, well met, as to aske in familiar
language; Wench, what hast thou to supper? Art thou
with childe yet ? How many Hens dost thou keepe at home ?
Shall we goe make our bever at thy house ? Come, let us
goe laugh and be merry there. Sirrah, shew mee thy Sweet-
heart, which is hee ? Oh wonderfull ! How long is it since
I saw thee last ? How is it with thee, wench ? How hast
thou done this great while ? Tell me I pray thee, who are
thy neighbours now? and a thousand other the like unto
these. O Aunt ! how hard a name it is, how troublesome,
and how proud a thing to carry the name of a Lady up and
downe continually in ones mouth ! And this makes mee to
live of my selfe ever since I came to yeeres of understanding
and discretion. For I could never endure to be called by
any other name, then mine owne ; especially by these Ladies
wee have now adaies. A wench may wait upon them, and
spend in their service the better part of their time, and with
an old cast-gowne, which hath scarce eVe a whole piece in it,
they make payment of tenne yeeres service. They will revile
their mayds, and call them all to naught ; they will use them
extreme hardly, and keepe them in such awe, and continuall
slavery, that they dare as well be hang'd, as to speake but
one word before them. And when they see the time draw
on, that they be ready and ripe for marriage, and that they

166

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

should both in reason and conscience doe them some good ACTUS
that waies, they take occasion to wrangle, and fall out with IX

them, and falsely to object unto them, that they have trod
their shoo awry, eyther with some one of her Ladiships
servants, or with her sonne, or put jealousies betwixt her
and her husband ; or that they bring men privily into her
house ; or that they have stolne such a gobblet, or lost such
a Ring : for which they will not sticke to strip them, and
lamme them soundly, bestowing perhaps 100. stripes upon
them, and afterwards thrust them out of dores, with their
haire about their eares, and their fardles at their backs,
rating them in most vile manner, crying. Out of my doors,
you thiefe, you whore, you strumpet : this is no place for
such paltry baggages. Thou shalt not spoyle my house, I
will not be thus dishonoured by thee. So that in stead of
expected recompence, they receive nothing but bitter revile-
ments. \Where they expect to goe preferred out of the
house, they goe prejudiced out of the house. And where
they expect to be well married, they are quite mar'd in their
reputation. And where they expect jewels and wedding
apparell, there are they sent out naked, and disgraced : these
are their rewards, these their benefits, and these the pay-
ments they receive for their service. They are bound to
give them husbands, and in liew thereof, they strip them of
their clothes. The greatest grace and honour which they
have in their Ladies house, is to be imployed in walking the
streetes from one Ladie to another, and to deliver their Ladies
message : (As, My Lady hath sent to know how you doe ?
how you did rest to night ? how your physicke wrought with
you ; and how many occasions it gave your Ladiship, etc. ?)
They never heare their owne name out of their Ladies >.
mouth. But the best they can call them by, is. Come hither, |

Vnn whnrp. fi-pf \T^^^^ (mnc ^rnn rJi'dKliP r\v T ''11 cpf vnw rm\nce ' f

you whore. Get you gone, you drabbe, or 1 11 set you going :
Whither gadde you now, you mangy harlotry ; you pockey
slut ? what have you done to day, you loytring Queane ?
why did you eate this, you ravening thing, you gor-belly,
you greedy cormorant ? A you filthy Sow, how cleane this
frying panne is kept ? This pispot (Minion) it is well scowr'd,
is it not ? why you lazy bones, did you not brush my clothes,

167

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS when I left them off, and make cleane my Mantle ? Why

IX said you thus and thus, you Sot, you foolish Asse ? Who

lost the piece of plate, you scatter-good, you draggle-tayle ?

■ Whats become of my handkercher, you purloyning thiefe ?

• you have given it to one of your copes-mates, some sweet-

i heart of yours, that must helpe to make you a whore : Come

I hither, you foule flappes, say, Where is my Henne, my

; cramm'd Henne, that I cannot finde her ? you were best

' looke her mee out, and that quickly too, unlesse you meane

I shall make you pay for her, when I come to pay you your

wages. And besides all this, her pantofles shall walke about

her eares a thousand times a day ; pinchings, cudgellings,

and scourgings shall be as common to her as her meat and

. drinke. There is not any that knowes how to please and

> content them ; not any that can indure their tartnesse and

; curstnesse : their delight is to speake loud ; their glory to

' chide and to brawle, and the better one does, and the more

one seeks to please them, the lesse are they contented. And

this (mother) is the reason, why I have rather desired to live

free from controlement, and to be mistresse in a poore little

house of mine owne, then to live a slave, and at command in

the richest palace of the proudest Lady of them all.

CELESTINA. Thou art in the right, my girle ; I will
take no care for you, you will shift for your selfe ; I perceive
you know what you doe, you need not to be told on which side
your bread is buttred, you are no baby, I see : and wise men
tell us, that better is a crust of bread, and a cup of cold
water with peace and quietnesse, then a house full of
dainties, with brabbling and wrangling. But now let us
leave this argument, for heere comes Lucrecia.

LUCRECIA. Much good to you (good Aunt) and to all
this faire company and great meeting.

CELESTI. So great, daughter ? hold you this so great a
meeting ? It appeares that you have not knowne me in my
prosperity, which is now some twenty yeeres since. There
be those that have scene mee in better case then I am now ;
and hee that now sees mee, I wonder his heart doth not burst
with sorrow. I tell thee, (wench) I have scene at this table,
where your kinswomen now sit, nine gallant young wenches,
168

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

much about your age ; for the eldest was not above eighteene, ACTUS

and not one of them under foureteene. But such is this world, IX

it comes and goes upon wheeles. We are like pots in a water-

wheele, or like buckets in a Well : one up, and another

downe, one full, and another empty ; it is fortunes Law,

that nothing can continue any long time in one, and the selfe-

same state of being. Her order is alteration ; Her custome,

change. I cannot without teares deliver unto you the great

honour I then livM in ; though now, (such is my ill fortune)

by little and little, it hath gone decaying : And as my dales

declined ; so diminished and decreased my profit. It is an

old saying ; That whatsoever is in this world, it doth either

increase or decrease. Every thing hath ifs limits ; Every

thing ifs degrees of more or lesse : my honour did mount to

that height, as was fitting for a woman of my quality to rise

unto ; and now of force, it must descend and fall as much :

By this I know, that I am neere to my end, and that the ^.

Lease of my life is now expiring, and all my yeeres are

almost spent and gone : and I also well know, that I did

ascend, that I might descend ; that I flourished, for to

wither ; that I had joy, that I might have sorrow ; that I

was borne to live ; liv'd, to grow ; grew, to grow old ; and

grow old to dye : and though it did alwaies appeare unto ,

me, that I ought in this respect to suff'er my misery the morel

patiently, yet as I am formed of flesh and bloud, and beare]

this heavy masse of sinne about me, I cannot but thinke on't

now and then with griefe, nor can I wholy as I would, blot

every thought thereof out of the wofuU role of my wretched

remembrance.

LUCRECIA. Me thinkes (mother) it could not choose
but be wondrous troublesome unto you, to have the charge
of so many young wenches. For they are very dangerous
Cattell to keepe, and will aske a great deale of paines.

CELEST. Paines, Sweet-heart ? Nay, they were an ease,
and pleasure unto me ; they did all of them obey me ; they
did all of them honour me ; they did all of them reverence
mee : not one of them that would swarve from my will : what
\ I said, stood for a Law ; it was good and currant amongst
them ; not any one of them, to whom I gave entertainement,

Y 169

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS ever made their owne choise any further then it stood with
IX my liking ; were he lame, crooked, squint-ey'd, or crippled :

all was one, he was the welcom'st and the soundest, that
brought me the soundest gaines ; mine was the profit, and
theirs the paines. Besides, I needed no servants ; for in
keeping them, I had servants enow. Why, your Noblemen,
your Knights, your old men, your young men, your learned
men, men of all sorts and dignities, from the highest to the
lowest ; why, they were all at my service : and when I came
to a feast, my foote was no sooner in, but I had presently as
many Bonnets vailed unto me, as if I had been a Dutchesse :
he that had least acquaintance, least businesse with me, was
held the most vile, and basest fellow. They spying me
almost a League oif ; they would forsake their most earnest
occasions, one by one, two by two, and come to me, to see if
I would command them any service ; and withall, aske me
severally, how his love, how his mistresse did ? When they
saw me once passe by, you should have such a shuffling and
scraping of feet, and all in such a generall gaze, and so out
of order, that they did neither doe nor say any thing aright.
One would call mee mistresse, another Aunt, others their love,
others honest old woman. There, they would consent, when
they should come to my house : there they would agree when
I should goe unto theirs ; there they would offer mee mony ;
there they would make me large promises ; there likewise
present me with gifts : some kissing the lappet of my Coat ;
and some other my cheeke, that by these kindnesses,
they might give mee contentment, and worke me to their
will. But now Fortune hath brought mee to so low a place
in her wheele, that you may say unto me, Mich you good
dich you with your old ware, your hindges are now growne
rustic for want of oyling.

SEMPR. Mother, you make my haire stand on end, to
heare these strange things, which you recount unto us ;
would your Nobles, your Knights, and Learned men fall
so low ? I am sure, they are not all of them so badde as
you make them to be.

CELEST. No (my son) love forbid that I should raise
any such report, or lay a generall scandall upon any of their

170

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

ranke. For, there were many old good men amongst them, ACTUS

with whom I had but small dealings, and could scarce endure IX

to see me : But amongst the greatest, as they grew great in

number, so had I a great number of them : some of one sort,

and some of another ; some I found very chaste, and some

that took the charge upon them to maintaine such Traders

as my selfe. And I am still of this behefe, that of these

there is no lack ; and these, forsooth, would send their Squires

and young men to waite upon me, whithersoever I went :

and I should scarce have set my foote within mine owne

doores, but straight at the heeles of me, you should have

one come in with chickens, another with Hens, a third with

Geese, a fourth with Ducks. This man sends me in Partriges,

that Man Turtle Doves, he a gammon of Bacon, such a one

a Tart, or a Custard ; and some good fellow or other a good

sucking Pigge, or two : for every one, as soone as he had a

convenient present, so they came presently to register them

in my house ; that I, and those their pretty soules, might

merrily eat them together: and as for wine, we wanted

none; the best that a man could lay his lips to in the

whole City, was sent unto me from divers parts and corners

of the Towne : as that of Monviedro, of Luque, of Toro, of

Madrigall, of San Martin, and many other Townes and

Villages ; And indeed so many, that albeit I still keepe the

differences of their taste and rehsh in my mouth, yet doe I

not retaine the diversity of their soyles in my remembrance.

For it is enough for such an old woman as I, that when a

good cuppe of wine comes neer my nose, I can be able to

say. This is such a wine, or it comes from such a place, or

person ; why, your presents from all parts, from all sorts

came upon me as thicke as hops, as flies to a pot of hony,

or as stones that are throwne upon a stage : boyes came

tumbling in at my doore, with as much provision, as they

could carry on their backs. But now those good daies are

past, I have eaten all my white bread in my youth, and

know not how in the world to live, being fallen from so

happy an estate.

AREUSA. Since we are come hither to be merry, (good
mother) doe not weepe, I pray, doe not vexe your selfe : be

171

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS of good cheere, plucke up your heart like a woman ; the
^■^ world while wee are in it, is bound to keepe us all, and no

doubt but you shall have enough.

CELEST. O daughter ! I have cause enough, I think, to

I weep, when I call to mind those pleasant daies that are past
and gone, that merry life which then I led, and how I had
the world at will, being served, honoured, and sought to of
all. Why, then there was not any new fruit, or any the like
dainty, which I had not in my hands, before others knew
they were scarce blossom'd : in those daies, they were sure to
be found in my house, if any one with child should long for
such a Toy.

SEMPR. Mother, the remembrance of the good time we
have had, doth profit us nothing, when it cannot be re-
covered againe, but rather brings griefe and sorrow to our
selves, as this interrupting discourse hath done : but mother,
we will goe off and solace our selves, whil'st you stay heere :
and give this maid her answer.

CELEST. Daughter Lucrecia, passing over our former
discourse, I pray you tell mee what is the cause of your
happy comming hither ?

LUCRECIA. Beleeve me, I had almost forgot my chiefe
errand mito you, with thinking on that merry time which
you talkt of. Me thinkes, I could continue fasting almost
a whole yeere in barkening unto thee, and thinking on that
pleasant life, which those young wenches led; me thinkes,
that with the very talking therof, I have a conceit with my
selfe, that at this present, I feele my selfe in the same happi-
nesse with them. I shall now, mistresse, give you to under-
stand the cause of my comming : I am sent unto you for my
Ladies Girdle ; and moreover, my Ladie intreats you, that
you would come and visit her, and that out of hand, for
shee feeles her selfe very ill, and much pained and troubled
with griefes and pangs about the heart ; I assure you, she is
very heart-sicke.

CELESTINA. Of these petty griefes, the report is more
then the paine. Is ""t about the heart, say you ? I marvell
(I promise you) that so young a Gentlewoman as shee is,
should be pained at the heart.

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

LUCRECIA. Would thou wert as well drag'd along the
streetes (thou old traiterous Hagge) as thou know'st well
inough what shee ayles. The subtill old Bawd comes, and
does her witcheries, and her tricks, and then goes her waies,
and afterwards when one comes unto her for helpe, she makes
forsooth as if she knew no such matter, it is newes (forsooth)
to her.

CELEST. What sai'st thou. Daughter ?

LUCRECIA. Mary, I say (mother) would we were gone
[at] once ; and that you would give me the Girdle.

CELEST. Come, let us goe. I will carry it along with me.

THE END OF THE NINTH ACT

ACTUS
IX

ACTUS X

THE ARGUMENT

HILEST Celestina and Lucrecia goe on-
ward on their wai/, Melibea talkes, and dis-
courses with her selfe. Being come to the
doore, first enters Lucrecia, anon after ^
causes Celestina to come in. Melibea, after
some exchange of words, opens her mind to
Celestina ; telling her how fervently she
wasfalne in love with Calisto. They spy
Melibea's mother comming; they take their leave each
of other. Alisa askes her daughter Melibea, what businesse
she had with Celestina ? a7id what she made there ? disswad-
ing her from conversing with her, and forbidding her, her
company.

INTERLOCUTORS

Melibea, Celestina, Alisa, Lucrecia.

MELIBEA. O wretch that I am ! O unfortunate Damsell !
Had I not beene better yesterday, to have yeelded to Celes-
tina's petition and request, when in the behalfe of that

173

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS Gentleman, whose sight hath made me his prisoner, I was so
X earnestly sued unto : and so have contented him, and cured

my selfe, then to be thus forcibly driven to discover my heart,
when haply he will not accept of it ; when as already disaffi-
anced in his hope, for want of a good and faire answer, hee
hath set both his eyes and his heart upon the love and person
of another ? how much more advantageous unto me, would
an intreated promise have beene, then a forced offerture ? to
grant being requested, then to yeeld being constrained ? O
my faithfull servant, Lucrecia, what wilt thou say of me,
what wilt thou thinke of my judgement and miderstanding,
when thou shalt see me to publish that, which I would never
discover unto thee ? how wilt thou stand astonished to my
honesty and modesty, which (like a Recluse, shut up from
all company) I have ever hitherto kept inviolable ? I know
not whether thou hast suspected, or no, whence this my sor-
row proceedeth, or whether thou art now comming with that
Solicitresse of my safety ? O thou high and supreme Power !
thou, unto whom, all that are in misery and affliction, call,
and cry for helpe ; the appassionated begge remedy, the
wounded crave healing; thou, whome the heavens, seas,
earth, and the Center of hell it selfe doth obey ; thou who
submittedst all things unto men, I humbly beseech thee, that
thou wilt give sufferance and patience to my wounded heart,
whereby I may be able to dissemble my terrible passion. Let
not this Leafe of my chastity lose it's guylding, which I have
laid upon this amorous desire, publishing my paine to be
otherwise then that, which indeed tormenteth me. But how
shall I be able to doe it ; That poysoned morsell so cruelly
tormenting mee, which the siglit of that Gentlemans presence
gave me ? O Sexe of womankind ! feeble and fraile in thy
bemg ; why was it not granted as well unto women, to dis-
cover their tormentfull and fervent flames, as unto men? For
then neither should Calisto have cause to complaine, nor I to
live in paine.

LUCRECIA. Aunt, stay heere a while behinde this doore,
whilest I goe in, and see with whom my Mistresse is talking.
Come in ; she is talking alone to her selfe,

MELIBEA. Lucrecia, make fast the doore there, and pull

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

downe the hanging over it. O wise and honest old Dame, ACTUS
you are exceeding welcome ; what thinke you, that chance ^

should so dispose of things, and fortune so bring about her
wheele, that I should stand in neede of this wisdome, and
crave so suddenly of you, that you would pay me in the selfe-
same coyne, the courtesie which was by you demanded of me
for that Gentleman, whome you were to cure by the vertue
of my Girdle ?

CELEST. Say, Lady, what is your disease, that you so
lively expresse the tokens of your torment, in those your
maiden blushes ?

MELIBEA. Truly, mother, I thinke there be some Ser-
pents within my body, that are gnawing upon my heart.

CELEST. It is well, even as I would have it. I will be
even with you (you foole) for your yesterdaies anger, I will
make you pay for it with a witnesse.

MELIBEA. What 's that you say ? Have you perceived
by my lookes, any cause from whence my malady pro-
ceedeth ?

CELEST. You have not, Madame, told me the quality of
your disease ; and would you have mee divine of the cause ?
That which I say, is this, that I am heartily sorry to see your
Ladiship so sad and so ill.

MELIBEA. Good old woman ; Doe thou make me merry
then. For I have heard much of thy wisdome.

CELEST. Madame, as farre as humane knowledge can
discerne of inward griefe, I dare presume. And for as much,
as for the health and remedy of infirmities, and diseases,
these graces were imparted unto men, for the finding out of
fit and convenient medicines, whereof some were attained to
by experience, some by Art, and some by a naturall instinct ;
some small portion of these good gifts, this poore old creature
my selfe have gotten, who is heere present to doe you the
best service she can.

MELIBEA. O how acceptable and pleasing are thy words
to mine eares ! it is a comfortable thing to the sicke patient,
to see his physician to look cheerfully upon him. Me thinks
I see my heart broken betweene thy hand in pieces, which
with a little labour, and by power and vertue of thy tongue,

175

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS thou art able (if thou wilt) to joyne together, and make it
^ whole againe : even as easily, as Alexander that great King

of Macedon dream''t of that wholesome roote in the mouth of
a Dragon, wherewith he healed his servant Ptolomy, who
had beene bitten by a Viper ; and therefore, for the love of
love, disroabe your selfe, that you may more easily, and
more diligently looke into the nature of my disease, and
affoord me some remedy for it.

CELEST. A great part of health, is the desiring of health.
And a good signe of mending, to be willing to mend. For
which reason I reckon your griefe the lesse, and hold it the
lesse dangerous ; But that I may minister a wholesome medi-
cine unto you, and such a one as may be agreeable to your
disease ; it is requisite, that you first satisfie me in these
three particulars. The first is, on which side of your body
your paine doth lye most ? The second, how long you have
had this paine ; whether it hath taken you but of late, or no ?
For your newly growing infirmities are sooner cured in the
tendernesse of their growth, then when they have taken
deepe rooting by over-long persevering in their office :
So beasts are sooner tamed when they are young, and
more easily brought to the yoake, then when their hide is
throughly hardned : So far better doe those plants grow up,
and prosper, which are remooved when they are young and
tender, then those that are transplanted, having long borne
fruit. The third is, whether this your evill hath proceeded
of any cruell thought, which hath taken hold on you ? This
being made knowne, you shall see mee set my selfe roundly
to worke about your cure ; for it is very fit and convenient,
that you should open the whole truth, as well to your Phy-
sician, as your Confessour,

MELIBEA. Friend, Celestina, Thou wise Matrone, and
great Mistresse in thy Art, thou hast well opened unto me
the way, by which I may manifest my maladie unto thee.
Beleeve me, you have questioned me like a wise woman, and
like one that is well experienced in these kind of sickenesses.
My paine is about my heart, ifs residence, neere unto my
left Pappe ; but disperseth it selfe over every part of my
body. Secondly, it hath beene so but of late ; nor did I

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

ever thinke, that any paine whatsoever could have so deprived ACTUS
me of my understanding, as this doth ; it troubles my sight, X

changes my countenance, takes away my stomacke, I cannot
sleepe for it, nor will it suffer mee to injoy any kinde of
pleasure : touching the thought, which was the last thing
you demanded, concerning my disease, I am not able to
deliver it unto you, and as little the cause thereof; For neither
death of kinsfolke, nor losse of temporall goods, nor any
sudden passion upon any vision, nor any doting dreame, nor
any other thing can I conjecture to be the cause of it, save
onely a kinde of alteration, caused by your selfe upon your
request, which I suspected in the behalfe of that Gentleman
Calisto, when you entreated me for my Charme.

CELEST. What, Madame? Is Calisto so bad a man? Is his
name so bad ; that onely but to name him, should, upon the
very sound thereof, send forth such poyson ? Deceive not
your selfe ; Doe not beleeve that this is the cause of your
griefe : I have another thing in the winde, there is more in't
then so ; but since you make it so daintie, if your Ladiship
will give mee leave, I will tell you the cause of it.

MELIBEA. Why, how now, Celestina, what a strange
request is this that thou mak''st unto me ? Needest thou to
crave leave of me, who am to receive helpe from thee? What
Physician did ever demand such security, for to cure his
patient ? Speake, speake what you please ; for you shall
alwaies have leave of mee to say what you will ; alwaies
excepted, that you wrong not my honour with your words.

CELESTINA. I see (Lady) that on the one side you com-
plaine of your griefe, and on the other side, I perceive, that
you feare your remedy, your feare strikes a feare into mee ;
which feare causeth silence, and silence truce betwixt your
malady and my medicine; so that your selfe will be the
cause that your paine shall not cease, nor my cunning cure
you.

MELIBEA. By how much the longer you deferre my
cure, by so much the more doe you increase my paine, and
augment my passion. Either thy medicines are of the powder
of infamy, and of the juyce of corruption, confectionated
with some other cruell paine, then that which thy patient

Z 177

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS already feeles ; or else thy skill is nothing worth ; For if

•^ either the one, or the other did not hinder thee, thou wouldst

tell mee of some other remedy boldly, and without feare,

sithence I intreate thee to aquaint me therewith, my honour

still preserved.

CELEST. Madame, thinke it not strange, that it is
harder for him that is wounded, to indure the torment of
hot-scalding Turpentine, and the sharpe incisions, which gall
the heart, and double the paine ; then the wound that is
newly inflicted on him that is whole. And therefore, if you
be willing to be cured, and that I should discover unto you
the sharp point of my needle, without any feare at all,
frame for your hands and feet a bond of patience and of
quietnesse ; for your eyes, a veile of pitty and compassion ;
for your tongue, a bridle of silence ; for your eares, the bum-
bast, or stuffing of sufferance and bearing ; and then shall
you see, what effects this old Mistresse in her Art, will worke
upon your wounds.

MELIBEA. O how thou killest me with delayes ! For
Gods love, speake what thou wilt, doe what thou wilt, exer-
cice thy skill, put thy experience in practice. For, there is
not any remedy so sharpe, as can equall the bitternes of my
paine and torment. No, though it touch upon mine honour,
though it wrong my reputation, though it afflict my body,
though it rip and breake up my flesh, for to pull out my
grieved heart. I give thee my faith, to do what thou wilt
securely ; and if I may find ease of my payne, I shall liberally
reward thee.

LUCRECIA. My Mistresse hath lost her wits : she is ex-
ceeding ill : this same sorceresse hath captivated her will.

CELEST. One divell or other is still haunting me. One
while here, another while there. I have escaped Parmeno,
and have fallen upon Lucrecia.

MELIBEA. Mother, what is 't you say ; what said the
wench unto you ?

CELESTINA. I cannot tell (Lady) I did not well heare
her. But let her say what she wil ; yet let me tell you :
That there is not any thing more contrary in great Cures,
before strong and stout-hearted Surgeons, then weake and

178

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

fainting hearts, who with their great lamentations, their ACTUS
pittyfull words, and their sorrowfull gestures strike a feare X
into the patient, make him despaire of his recovery, and
anger and trouble the Surgeon, which trouble makes him to
alter his hand, and direct his needle without any order. By
which you may clearely knowe, that it is very necessary for your
safetie, that there bee no body about you ; no, not so much
as Lucrecia. And therefore, it is very meete, that you com-
mand her absence : daughter Lucrecia, you must pardon me. '

MELIBEA. Get you out quickly, be gone.

LUCRECIA. Well, well, we are all undone. I goe,
madame.

CELEST. Your great paine and torment doth likewise
put boldnes into me, as also that I perceive by your suspition,
you have already swallowed some part of my cure. But
notwithstanding it is needful, that we bring a more manifest
remedy, and more wholesome mitigation of your paine, from
the house of that worthy one Calisto.

MELIBEA. Mother, I pray you, good now hold your
peace ; fetch not any thing from his house, that may worke
my good. If you love me, doe not so much as once name
him unto me.

CELEST. Madame, I pray be patient. That which is
the chiefe and principall piller, must not be broken. For
then all our labour is lost : your wound is great, and hath
need of a sharpe cure. And hard with hard, doth smooth
and mollifie more effectually and more delicately. And J
wise men say, That the cure of a launcing Surgeon, leaves /
behind it the greater skarre : And that without danger, no [
danger is overcome. Have patience then with your selfe. I o^-^
For seldome is that cured without paine, which in it selfe is /
painefull. One nayle drives out another. And one sorrow
expels another. Doe not conceive hatred nor disaffection,
nor give your tongue leave to speake ill of so vertuous a
person, as Calisto, whom, if you did but knowe him.

MELIBEA. O you kill me ! no more of him, for Gods
sake no more. Did not I tell you, that you should not
commend him unto me ? and that you should not speake a
word of him neither good nor bad ?

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THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS CELEST. Madame, this is that other, and maine point
X in my cure; which if you, by your impatience will not

consent unto, my comming can little profit you. But if you
will (as you promist) be patient, you shall remaine sound,
and out of doubt, and Calisto be well apaid, and have no
cause to complaine. I did before acquaint you with my
cures, and with this invisible needle, which before it come at
you to stitch up your wound, you feele it, onely but having
it in my mouth, and naming it unto you.

MELIBEA. So often wilt thou name this Gentleman unto
mee, that neither my promise, nor the faith I plighted thee,
will suffice to make me any longer to indure your words.
Wherein should he be well apaid ? What doe I owe unto
him ? Wherein am I bound unto him ? What charge have
I put him to ? What hath he evei ^one for me ? What
necessity is there, that wee must be driven to use him, as the
instrument of my recovery ? More pleasing would it be unto
me, that you would teare my flesh and sinewes asunder, and
teare out my heart, then to utter such words as these.

CELESTINA. Without any rupture, or renting of your
garments, love did lance your brest ; and therefore will not
sunder your flesh, to cure your sore.

MELIBEA. How call you this griefe, that hath seazed
on the better part of my body ?

CELESTINA. Sweet Love.

MELIBEA. Tell mee then, what thing this sweete Love
may be ? For onely in the very hearing of it nam''d, my
heart leapes for joy.

CELEST. It is a concealed fire ; a pleasing wound ; a
savoury poyson ; a sweet bitternesse ; a delightfull griefe ;
a cheerfull torment ; a sweet, yet cruell hurt ; and a gentle
death.

MELIBEA. O wretched, that I am ! for if thy relation
be true, I rest doubtfull of my recovery : For, according to
the contrariety which these names doe carry, that which
shall be profitable for one, shall to another bring more
passion.

CELEST. Let not your noble youth be diffident of
recovery ; be of good cheere ; take a good heart to you ; and

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

doubt not of your welfare : For where heaven gives a wound, ACTUS
there it gives a remedy ; and as it hurts, so it heales ; and X

so much the sooner, because I know where the flowre growes,
that will free you from all this torment.

MELIBEA. How is it called ?

CELEST. I dare not tell you.

MELIBEA. Speake and spare not.

CELESTIN. Calisto. O Madame; Mehbea; ah woe
is mee, why woman, what meane you? What a cowardly
heart have you ? What a fainting is heere ? O miserable
that I am, hold up your head, I pray lift it up ; O accursed
old woman ! Must my steps end [in] this ? If she goe thus
away in a swound, they will kill me ; if shee revive, shee will
be much pained : For she will never indure to publish her
paine, nor give mee leave to exercise my cure. Why,
Melibea, my sweete Lady ; my faire Angel ; What 's the
matter. Sweet-heart ? Where is your griefe ? why speake
you not unto me ? What is become of your gracious and
pleasing speach ? Where is that cheerefuU colour, that was
wont to beautifie your cheekes ? Open those brightest
Lamps, that ever nature tinded : Open your eyes, I say,
those cleare sunnes, that are able to give light to darknesse.
Lucrecia, Lucrecia, Come hither quickly ; come quickely, I
say, you shall see your Lady lye heere in a swound in my
armes ; runne downe quickly for a Jarre of water.

MELIBEA. Softly, speake softly I pray ; I 'le see if I can
rise ; In no case doe not trouble the house,

CELESTINA. Ay me ! Sweet Lady, doe not sinke any
more : speake, speake unto mee as you were wont.

MELIBEA. I will, and much more then I was wont.
But peace, I pray a while, and doe not trouble mee.

CELESTIN. What will you have me to doe (my precious
pearle ?) Whence arose this sudden qualme ? I beleeve,
my points are broken.

MELIBEA. No ; it is my honesty that is broken ; it is
my modesty that is broken ; my too much bashfulnesse and
shamefastnesse, occasioned my swowning, which being my
naturall and familiar friends, and companions, could not
sleightly absent themselves from my face, but they would

181

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS also carry away my colour with them for a while, my
X strength, my speach, and a great part of my understanding.

But now (my good Mistresse, my faithful! Secretary) since that
which thou so openly knowst, it is in vaine for mee to seeke
to smother it ; many, yea many daies, are now overpast, since
that noble Gentleman motioned his love unto mee ; whose
speach and name was then as hatefull, as now the reviving
thereof is pleasing unto me : with thy Needles thou hast
stitcht up my wound ; I am come to thy Bent ; it is in thy
power to do with me what thou wilt. In my girdle, thou
carriedst away with thee the possession of my liberty : His
anguish was my greater torment; his paine my greater
punishment. I highly praise ana commend your singular
sufferance, your discreet boldnes, your liberall paines, your
sollicitous and faithfull steps, your pleasing speach, your good
wisedome, your excessive solicitude, and your profitable
importunity : the Gentleman is much bound unto you, and
my selfe more ; for my reproaches and revilings could never
make thee to slacke thy courage, thy strong continuance,
and forcible perseverance in thy suite, relying still on thy
great subtilty and strength of wit ; or rather bearing thy
selfe like a most faithfull and trusty servant, being then
most diligent, when thou wast most reviled ; the more I did
disgrace thee, the more wast thou importunate ; the harsher
answer I gave thee, the better didst thou seeme to take it :
when I was most angry, then wast thou most milde and
humble : and now, by laying aside all feare, thou hast gotten
that out of my bosome, which I never thought to have
discovered unto thee, or to any other whosoever.

CELEST. My most deare both Lady and friend, wonder
not so much at this ; for those ends, that have their effect,
give me daringnesse to indure those craggy and dangerous
by-waies, by which I come to such Recluses as your selfe.
True it is, that untill I had resolved with my selfe, as well
on my way hitherwards, as also heere in your house, I stood
in great doubt, whether were I best discover my petition
unto you or no ? When I did thinke on the great power
of your father, then did I feare ; but when withall, I weygh'd
the noblenesse of Calisto, then I grew bold againe ; when I

182

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

observed your discretion, I waxed timorous; but when I ACTUS
considered your vertue, and your courtesie, I recovered new X

courage : in the one, I found feare ; in the other, safety.
And since, Madame, you have beene willing to grace me with
the discovery of so great a favour, as now you have made
knowne unto mee, declare your will unto mee, lay your
secrets in my lappe; put into my hands the managing of
this matter, and I will give it such a forme, as both you and
Calisto shall very shortly accomplish your desires.

MELIBEA. O my Calisto ! my deare Lord, my sweete
and pleasing joy, if thy heart feele the like torment, as mine,
I wonder how thy absence gives thee leave to live. O thou,
both my mother, and mistresse, so handle the businesse, that
I may presently see him, if you desire I should live.

CELEST. See him ? you shall both see him, and speake
with him.

MELIBEA. Speake with him ? it is impossible.

CELEST. Nothing is impossible to a willing minde.

MELIBEA. Tell mee how ?

CELEST. I have it in my head : Mary thus, within the
doores of thy house.

MELIBEA. When.?

CELEST. This night.

MELIBEA. Thou shalt be glorious in mine eyes, if thou
compasse this. But soft, at what houre ?

CELEST. Just when the clocke strikes twelve.

MELIBEA. Goe, be gone, hye you, good Mistresse, my
faithfuU friend, and talke with that Gentleman, and will him
that hee come very softly at his appointed houre, and then
wee will conclude of things, as himselfe shall thinke fit to
order them.

CELEST. Farewell. Loe, yonder is your mother making
hitherward.

MELIBEA. Friend Lucrecia, my loyall servant, and
faithfuU secretary, you have heere seene, that I have no
power over my se'lfe ; and what I have done, lies not in my
hands to helpe it. Love hath made me prisoner to that
Gentleman. I intreat thee (for pittie sake) that you will
signe what you have seene, with the scale of secresy, whereby

183

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS I may come to the enjoying of so sweet a Love : In requitall
X whereof, thou shalt be held by me, in that high regard, as

thy faithfull service deserveth.

LUCRECIA. Madame, long afore this, I perceived your
wound, and sounded your desire : I did much pitty your
torment ; for, the more you sought to hide from me the fire
which did burne you, the more did those flames manifest
themselves in the colour of your face, in the little quietnesse
of your heart, in the restlesnes of your members, in your
tossing to and fro, in eating without any appetite, and in
your unablenesse to sleepe : So that I did continually see from
time to time, as plainely as if I had beene within you, most
manifest, and apparant signes of your wretched estate ; but
because in that instant, when as will reigneth in those whom
we serve, or a disordinate appetite, it is fitting for us that
are servants, to obey them with bodily diligence, and not to
checke and controle them with the Artificiall counsels of the
tongue. And therefore did I suffer with paine, held my
peace with feare, concealed with fidelity ; though I alwaies
held it better to use sharpe Counsell then smooth flattery.
But since that your Ladiship hath no other remedy for your
recoverie, but either to die or to live ; it is very meete, that
you should make choice of that for the best, which in it
selfe is best.

ALISA. How now neighbour ? What 's the matter with
you, that you are here thus day by day .''

CELESTINA. I wanted yesterday a little of my weight
in the threed I sold, and now I am come (according to my
promise) for to make it up. And now that I have delivered
it, I am going away. love have you in his good keeping.

ALISA. And you too. Daughter Melibea, what would
this old woman have ?

MELIBEA. She would have sold me a little sublimated
Mercury.

ALISA. I mary, I rather beleeve this, then that, which
the old lewd Hag told me. Shee was afrayd, I would have
beene angry with her, and so she pop't me in the mouth
with a Lye. Daughter, take heede of her. For shee is an
old crafty Foxe ; and as false as the divell. A whole Country

184

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

can not afford you such another treacherous huswife. Take ACTUS
you heed therefore (I say) of her. For, your cunning X

and crafty theeves goe alwayes a prolling about your
richest houses. She knowes by her treasons and false mer-
chandize, how to change chaste purposes. She causeth
an ill report, bringeth a bad name and fame upon those
that have any thing to do with her. If she be but scene
to have entred one house thrice, it is inough to ingender
suspition.

LUCRECIA. My old Ladies Counsell comes too late.

ALISA. I charge you (Daughter) upon my blessing, and
by that love which I beare unto you, that if she come hither
any more, when I am out of the way, that you do not give
her any entertainement, no manner of welcome, no, not so
much as to shew her any the least countenance of liking,
lest it should incourage her to come againe. Let her finde,
that you stand upon your honesty and reputation. And be
you round and short with her in your answers, and she will
never come at you againe. For true vertue is more feared
then a sword.

MELIBEA. Is shee a blade of that making ? is shee such
a whipster ? Is shee one of those, you know what ? She
shall never come at mee more. And beleeve me (Madame)
I much joy in your good advice, and that you have so well
instructed me, of whom I ought to beware.

THE END OF THE TENTH ACT

2A 185

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS XI

THE ARGUMENT

ELESTINA having taken her leave of
Melibea, goes mumbling and talking
along the streetes to her sejfe. Shee espies
Sempronio and Parmeno, who are going
to Saint Marie Magdalens to looke out
their Master. Sempronio talkes with
Calisto ; In the meane while comes in
Celestina, Tliey go all to Calisto''s house.
Celestina delivej'eth her message ; and the meanes for their
meeting appointed hy Melibea. In the interim that Celestina
and Calisto are discoursing together^ Sempronio and Parmeno
fall a talking betweene themselves ; Celestina takes her leave
of Calisto, and gets her home to her owne house. She knocks
at the doore ; Elicia opens it unto her. They sup, and then
goe to take their rest.

INTERLOCUTORS

Celestina, Sempronio, Calisto, Parmeno, Elicia.

CELESTINA. O thrice happy day! would I were at
home with all my joy, wherewith I goe laden. But I see
Parmeno and Sempronio going to the Mirtle-Grove : I will
after them. And if I meete with Calisto there, we will all
along together to his house, to demand a reward for the
great good newes that I bring him.

SEMPRONIO. Take heede, Sir, lest by your long stay,
you give occasion of talke to the world. For your honesty
have a care, that you make not your selfe become a by-word
to the people. For now-a-dayes, it is commonly spoken
amongst them. He is an Hypocrite, that is too devout. For,
what will they say of you, if they see you thus, but scoffe in
dirision at you, and say, He is gone to the Mirtle-Grove to
sacrifice some halfescore Hecatombes of sighs and ay-mees to
Venus somie, to prosper and preferre him to the favour and

186

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

fruition of some Mistresse ? If you are opprest with passion, ACTUS
indure it at home in your owne house, that the world may XI

not perceive it. Discover not your griefe unto strangers,
since the drumme is in their hands, who know best how to
beate it : and your businesse in her hands, who knowes best
how to manage it.

CALISTO. In whose hands ?

SEMPRONIO. In Celestina^s.

CELESTINA. Who is that names Celestina? What
saist thou of this slave of Calisto's ? I have come trudging
all along the Augurs street, to see if I could overtake you.
I did put my best legge formost, but all would not doe : the
skirts of my Petticoate were so long, and did so often inter-
fold themselves betweene my feet.

CALISTO. O thou joy of the world ! thou ease of my
passions, thou relieveresse of my paine, my eyes looking-
glasse, my heart doth even exult for joy, in beholding so
honoured a presence, an age so innobled with yeeres ; tell
me, what is't thou com'st with, what good newes dost thou
bring.? For I see thou lookst cheerfully: And yet I know
not of what tearmes my life doth stand ; in what it con-
sisteth.

CELEST. In my tongue.

CALIST. What saist thou then.? Speake, thou that
art my glory and comfort. Deliver it more at large unto
mee.

CELESTINA. Sir, let us first goe more privately ; and
as wee goe home to your house, I will tell you that, which
shall make you glad indeede.

PARME. Brother, the old woman lookes merrily ; Sure,
shee hath sped well to day.

SEMPR. Soft, listen what shee sales.

CELESTINA. All this day, Sir, have I beene labouring
in your businesse, and have neglected other weighty and
serious affaires, which did much concerne mee : many doe I
suffer to live in paine, onely that I may yeeld you comfort.
Besides, I have lost more by it, then you are aware of ; but
farewell it. All is well lost, sithence I have brought my
businesse to so good an end : And heare you mee, for I will

187

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS tell it you in few words (for I love to be short) Melibea is
XI wholy at your service.

CALISTO. O what doe I heare ?

CELEST. Nay, shee is more yours then her owne :
more at your service and command, then of her father
Pleberio.

CALISTO. Speake softly (good mother) take heede
what you say ; let not my men heare you, lest they
should call thee foole. Melibea is my mistresse, Melibea
is my desire, Melibea is my life, I am her servant, I am her
slave.

SEMPR. Good Sir, with this distrustfulnesse of yours,
with this undervalewing of your selfe, you intersert such
doubts, as cut off Celestina, in the midst of her discourse ;
you would tire out a whole world with your disordered, and
confused interruptions. Why doe you crosse and blesse
your selfe ? Why do you keep such a wondring ? It were
better you would give her some thing for her paines. For
these words are worthy better payment, and expect no lesse
at your hands.

CALISTO. Well hast thou spoken ; deare mother, I wot
full well, that my small reward can no waies reward your
paines ; but in stead of a gowne and a kirtle (because Trades-
men shall not share with you) take this little chaine, put it
about your necke, and goe on with your discourse, and my
joy.

FARM. Call you that a little chaine .? Heard you him,
Sempronio.? This Spend-thrift makes no reckoning of it;
but I assure you, I will not give my part thereof for halfe a
Marke of gold, let her share it never so ill.

SEMFR. Feace, I say, for should my Master have over-
heard you, you should have had worke enough, to pacific
him, and to cure your selfe ; So offended is he already with
your continuall murmuring. As you love me (brother) heare,
and hold your peace ; for to this end, thou hast two eares,
and but one tongue.

FARM. He hath hang'd himselfe so fast to that old
womans mouth, that hee is both deafe, dumbe and blind,
like a body without a soule, or a bell without a clapper ; in-

188

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

somuch, that if wee should point at him scornefuUy with ACTUS
our fingers, he would say, We lifted up our hands to heaven, XI

imploring his happy successe in his love.

SEMPR. Peace, hearken, listen well unto Celestina. On
my soule, shee deserves it all, and more too, had hee given it
her. She speakes wonders.

CELEST. Noble Calisto, to such a poore weake old
woman as my selfe, you have shewed your selfe exceeding
franke and liberall ; but as every gift is esteemed great, or
little, in regard of him that gives it, I will not therefore
compare therewith my small desert, which it surpasseth both
in qualitie and quantitie ; but rather measure it with your
magnificence, before which it is nothing. In requitall
whereof, I restore unto thee thy health, which was upon
losing ; thy heart, which was upon fainting ; and thy wits,
which were upon turning. Melibea is pained more for you,
then you for her : Melibea loves you, and desires to see you :
Melibea spends more houres in thinking upon you, then on
her selfe : Melibea calls her selfe thine ; and this shee holds as
a Title of libertie, and with this, shee allayes that fire, which
burnes more in her, then thy selfe.

CALISTO. You my servants ; Am I heere ? Heare I
this ? Looke whether I am awake or not. Is it day, or is
it night .'' O thou great God of heaven, I beseech thee, this
may not proove a dreame; Sure, I doe not sleepe; mee thinkes
I am fully awake. Tell mee, mother, dost thou make sport
with mee, in paying me with words ? Feare nothing, but
tell mee the truth ; for thy going to and fro deserveth a great
deale more then this.

CELEST. The heart, that is wounded with desire, never
entertaineth good newes for certaine; nor bad for doubt-
full. But whether I jest, or no ; your selfe shall see, by
going this night to her house (her selfe having agreed
with mee about the time) appointing you to be just
there as the clocke strikes twelve, that you may talke to-
gether thorow the chinks of the doore ; from whose owne
mouth, you shall fully know my sollicitude, and her desire,
and the love which shee beares unto you, and who hath
caused it.

189

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS CALISTO. It is enough; Is it possible, I should hope
XI for so great a happinesse ? Can so great a blessing

light upon Calisto ? I dye till that houre come. I am
not capable of so great a glory. I doe not deserve so
great a favour, nor am I worthy to speake with so faire a
Lady, who of her owne free-will, should affoord mee so great
a grace.

CELEST. I have often heard, that it is harder to suifer
prosperous, then adverse fortune ; because the one hath never
any quietude, and the other still taketh comfort. It is
strange, Sir, that you will not consider who you are, nor the
time that you have spent in her service ; nor the person,
whome you have made to be your meanes : And likewise, that
hitherto, tliou hast ever beene in doubt of having her, and yet
didst still endure all with patience; and now, that I doe
certifie unto thee the end of thy torment, wilt thou put an
end to thy life ? Consider, consider, I pray, with thy selfe,
that Celestina is on thy side ; and that although all should
be wanting unto thee, which in a Lover were to be required,
I would sell thee for the most complete gallant of the world ;
for I would make for thee mountaines of most craggy rocks,
to grow plaine, and smooth. Nay, more, I would make thee
to goe thorow the deepest channell, or the highest swelling
sea, without wetting of thy foot : you know not on whom
you have bestowed your Largesse.

CALISTO. Remember your selfe, mother, did you not
tell me, that shee would come to mee of her owne accord ?

CELESTINA. Yes, and that upon her very knees.

SEMPR. Pray heaven it be not a false alarme ; one thing
rumord, another purposed : It may be a false fire-worke, to
blow us all up. I feare mee, it is a false traine, a made
match, and a trappe purposely set to catch us all. Bethinke
your selfe, mother, that so men use to give crooked pinnes
wrapt up in bread ; poysonsome pilles roll'd up in Suger,
that they may not be scene and perceived.

PARMENO. I never heard thee speake better in my life :
the sudden yeelding of this Lady, and her so speedy consent-
ing to all that Celestina would have her, ingenders a strong
suspition within mee ; and makes me to feare, that deceiving

190

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

our will with her sweet and ready words, she will rob us on ACTUS

the wrong side, as your Gypsies use to doe, when they looke XI

in our hands to tell us our fortunes. Besides, mother, it is

an old saying : that with faire words, many wrongs are

revenged : and the counterfet stalking horse, which is made

but of Canvasse, with his dissembled gate, and the alluring

sound of the tinckling of a bell, drives the Partridges into

the net : the songs of the Syrens deceive the simple Mariner

with the sweetenesse of their voices : Even so, shee with her

exceeding kindnesse, and sudden concession of her love,

will seaze hand-smooth on a whole drove of us at once,

and purge her innocency with Calisto's honour, and our

deaths : Being like heerein to the teatling Lambe, which

suckes both her damm's teat, and that of another Ewe.

Shee by securing us, will be revenged both of Calisto, and

all of us ; so that with the great number of people which

they have in the house, they may catch both the old

ones and the young one together in the nest, whilest shee

shrugging and rubbing her selfe by the fire side, may

safely say, Hee is out of gun-shot, that rings the bell to the

battell.

CALISTO. Peace, you Knaves, you Villaines, you sus-
pitious Rascalls, will you make mee beleeve that Angels can
doe ought that is ill ? I tell you, Melibea is but a dissembled
Angell, that lives heere amongst us.

SEMPRO. What? will you still play the Hereticke.?
Harken to him, Parmeno ; but take thou no care at all ; let
it not trouble thee. For, if there be any double dealing, or
that the play prove foule, he shall pay for all ; for our feete
be good, and wee will betake us to our heeles.

CELESTINA. Sir, you are in the right, and these in the
wrong; over-lading their thoughts with vaine suspitions
and jealousies ; I have done all that I was injoyned : and so
I leave you to your joyes. Good Angels defend you and
direct you : as for my selfe, I am very well satisfied. And if
you shall have further occasion to use mee, eyther in this
particular, or any thing else, you shall finde mee ever ready
to doe you the best service I can.

PARMENO. Ha, ha, he.

191

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS SEMPRONIO, I pray thee, why dost thou laugh ?

XI PARME. To see what haste the old Trot makes to be

gone : shee thinkes every houre a yeere, till shee be gone
cleare away with the chaine ; she cannot perswade her selfe,
that it is as yet sure inough in her hands ; for shee knowes,
that shee is as little worthy of that chaine, as Calisto is of
his Melibea.

SEMPR. What would you have such an old whorish
Bawd as she, to doe ? who knowes and understands that
which wee silence and keepe secret, and useth to patch up
seven Virginities at a clap for two pieces of Silver: And now,
that shee sees her selfe to be laden with gold, what, I say,
would you have her to doe, but to make it safe and sure, by
taking possession thereof, for feare lest hee should take it
from her againe, after that hee hath had his desire? But
let us beware of the Divell, and take heede that wee goe
not together by the eares, when wee come to devide the
spoyle.

CALISTO. Mother, fare you well, I will lay mee downe
to sleepe, and rest my selfe a while, that I may redeeme
the nights past, and satisfie the better for that, which is to
come.

CELESTINA. Tha, ta, ta.

ELICIA. Who knockes ?

CELESTINA. Daughter Elicia, open the doore.

ELICIA. How chance you come so late ? It is not well
done of you (being an old woman, as you are) for you may
hap to stumble, where you may so fall, that it may be your
death.

CELEST. I feare not that (wench :) For I consult mth
my selfe in the day, which way I shall goe in the night ; for
I never goe neere any bridge, bench, pit or Causey : for (as
it is in the Proverbe) He goes not safe, nor never shall, who
goes too close unto the wall : And hee goes still most safe
and sound, whose steps are plaste on plainest ground : and
I had rather foule my shooes with durt, then be-bloody my
Kerchiefe at every walls comer. But does it not grieve thee
to be heere .'*

ELICIA. Why should it grieve mee ?

192

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

CELEST. Because the company I left heere with you, is
gone, and you are all alone.

ELICIA. It is some foure houres agoe, since they went
hence ; and would you have mee to thinke on that
now?

CELEST. Indeed the sooner they left you, the more
reason you had to thinke thereon j but let us leave to talke
of their speedy going, and of my long staying, and let us
first provide for our supper, and then for our sleepe.

THE END OF THE ELEVENTH ACT

ACTUS
XI

ACTUS XII

THE ARGUMENT

IDNIGHT being come, Calisto, Sempronio,
and Parmeno, being" well armed, goe
towards the house of' Melibea. Lucrecia
and Melibea stand at the doore, watching
for Calisto. Calisto comes ; L.ucrecia, ^rst
speaJces unto him ; she calls Melibea.
Lucrecia goes aside ; Melibea and Calisto
talke together, the doore being betwixt
them ; Parmeno and Sempronio withdraw themselves a little
waies off. They heare some people comming along the street ;
they prepare themselves Jbr Jiight. Calisto takes his leave of
Melibea, leaving order for his returne the next night follow-
ing ; Pleberio awakened with the noise which he heard in the
street, calls to his wife Alisa; they aske o/' Melibea who that
was, that waWt up and downe in her chamber ? Melibea
answers her father, by faining she was athirst. Calisto
with his servants, goe talking home to his house. Being come
home, he laies him dozvne to sleepe ; Parmeno and Sempronio
goe to Celestina"'s house, they demand their share of her
paines; Celestina dissembles the matter, they fall a wrangling;
they lay hands on Celestina, they murther her. Elicia cryes
out ; the Justice comes, and apprehends them both.

2 B 193

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS INTERLOCUTORS

XII

Caliato, Lucrecia, Melibea, Parmeno, Sempronio, Pleberio,
Alisa, Celestina^ Elicia.

CALISTO. Sirs, what's a clock ?

SEMPR. It strooke now tenne.

CALISTO. O how it discontents me, to see servants so
wretchlesse ! Of my much mindfulnesse for this nights meet-
ing, and your much unmindfulnesse, and extreme carelesnesse,
there might have been had some indifferent both remembrance,
and care; how inconsiderately (knowing how much it im-
porteth mee, to be either tenne or eleven) dost thou answer
mee at hap-hazard, with that which comes first to mouth !
O unhappy I, if by chance I had overslept my selfe ! and my
demand had depended on the answer of Sempronio, to make
of eleven, ten ; and of twelve, but eleven ! Melibea might
have come forth; I had not gone out; and shee returned
backe : so that, neither my misery should have had an end,
nor my desire have taken effect. And therefore it is not
I said in vaine. That another mans harme hangs but by one
haire, no man caring whether hee sinke or swimme.

SEMPR. Me thinks it is as great an errour in a man, to
aske what hee knowes, as to answer to what hee knowes not.
It were better (Sir) that we should spend this houre that
remaineth, in preparing weapons, then in propounding
questions.

CALISTO. The foole sales well, I would not at such a
time receive a displeasure. I will not thinke on that which
may be, but on that which hath beene ; not on the harme
which may arise by his negligence, but on the good which
may come by my carefulnesse. I will give leasure to my
anger, and will either quite dismisse it, or force it to be more
remisse. Parmeno, Take down my Corslets, and arme your
selves, so shall we goe the safer : For it is in the Proverbe,
Halfe the battell is then waged, when a man is well prepared.

PARME. Lo, Sir, heere they bee.

CALISTO. Come helpe mee heere to put them on. Doe

194

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

you looke out, Sempronio, and see if any body be stirring in A C T U 1
the street. XII

SEMPR. Sir, I see not any, and though there were, yet the
darkenesse of the night is such, and so great, that it is im-
possible for any that shall meet us, either to see or know us.

CALISTO. Let us along then. Heere, my masters, this
way ; for though it be somewhat about, yet is it the more
private way, and the lesser frequented. Now it strikes
twelve, a good houre.

PARME. Wee are neere unto the place.

CALISTO. Wee are come in very good time. Goe thou,
Parmeno, and peepe in at the dore, to see if that Lady be
come or no.

PARMENO. Who, I, Sir? God forbid, that I should
marre that which I never made. Much better were it (Sir)
that your presence should be her first incounter, lest in seeing
mee, shee should be moved to anger, in seeing so many
acquainted with that, which she so secretly desires to be
done, and undergoeth with so great feare : as also, because
she may haply imagine that you mocke her.

CALISTO. O how well hast thou spoken! thou hast
given mee my life, by giving mee this sound advice ; for there
.. needeth nothing more to beare me home dead to my house,
I then that she through my improvidence, should have gone
her waies backe : I will goe thither my selfe, and doe you
stay heere.
Ij PARMENO. What dost thou thinke (Sempronio) of the
jj foole our Master, who thought to have made me to be his
Target, for to receive the incounter of this first danger.?
What doe I know, who stands betweene or behind the
dores ? What know I if there be any treason intended, or
no ? What can I tell, whether Melibea have plotted this, to
cry quittance with our Master, for this his great presump-
tion ? Besides, wee are not sure, whether the old Trot told
him truth or no. Thou knowst not, Parmeno, ^ow to
speake. Thy life shall be taken from thee, and thou ne'r the
wiser for it : thy soule shall be let forth, and thou not know
who was he that did it. Do not thou turne flatterer, nor
sooth up thy Master in every thing, that he would have thee,

195

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS and then thou shalt never have cause to weepe for other
XII mens woes, or to mourne for others miseries. Doe thou not

follow Celestina's counsell in that which is fit and convenient
for thee, and thou wert as good goe breake thy neck blind-
fold. Goe on with thy good perswasions, and faithfuU
admonitions, and thou shalt bee well cudgelled for thy labour.
Turne the leafe now no more, lest thou be forced to bid the
world good night, before thou be willing to leave it. I will
solemnize this as my birth -day, since I have escaped so great
a danger.

SEMPR. Hush, I say, softly (Parmeno) softly. Doe not
you keepe such a leaping and skipping, nor for joy make
such a noise, lest you may hap to be heard.

PARMENO. Content your selfe (brother) hold your
peace, I pray, for I cannot containe my selfe for very joy, to
thinke, that I should make him beleeve, that it was most fit
for him to goe to the doore ; when as indeed, I did onely put
him on, because I held it fittest for mine owne safety. Who
could ever have brought a businesse more handsomely about
for his owne good then I my selfe have done ? Thou shalt
see mee doe many such things, if thou shalt heerafter but ob-
j serve mee, which every man shall not know of, as well towards
Calisto himselfe, as all those who shall any way inter-meddle,
or interpose themselves in this businesse. For, I am assured
that this Damsell is but the baite to this hooke, whereat hee
must hang himselfe : or that flesh which is throwne out to
Vultures, whereof hee that eateth, is sure to pay soundly
for it.

SEMP. Let this passe, neV trouble thy head with these
jealousies, and suspitions of thine ; no, though they should
happen to be true. But prepare thy selfe, and like a tall
souldier, be in readinesse upon the first Alarme, or word
given, to betake thee to thy heeles. Do like the men of
Villa-Diego, who being besieged, ranne away by night, with
their Breeches in their hands.

PARMENO. Wee have read both in one booke, and are
both of the same mind ; I have not only their Breeches, but
their light easie Buskins, that I may runne away the nimbler,
and out-strip my fellowes. And I am glad (good brother)

196

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

that thou hast advised mee to that, which otherwise, even ACTUS
for very shame, and feare of thee, I should never have done : ^I

as for our Master, if he chance to be heard, or otherwise
discovered, he will never escape, I feare mee, the hands of
Pleberio''s people ; whereby hee may heereafter demand of
us, how wee behav'd our selves in his defence, or that he shall
ever be able to accuse us, that wee cowardly forsooke him.
/. SEMP. O my friend (Parmeno) how good and joyfuU a ,
thing is it, for fellowes and companions to live together in
love and unity ! And though Celestina should proove good >
to us in no other thing, save onely this ; yet in this alone '
hath shee done us service enough, and deserved very well at /
our hands.

PARMENO. No man can deny that, which in it selfe is
manifest. It is apparant, that we for modesties sake, and
because wee would not be branded with the hatefuU name
of cowardize, wee stai'd heere, expecting together with our
Master, no lesse then death, though we did not so much
deserve it as he did.

SEMPJR. Melibea should be come. Harke, mee thinkes I
heare them whispering each to other.

PARM. I feare rather that it is not shee, but some one
that counterfaytes her voyce.

SEMPR. Heavens defend us from the hands of Traytours;
I pray God, they have not betaken themselves to that street
thorow which we were resolved to flye. For I feare nothing
else but that.

CALISTO. This stirring and murmur which I feare, is
not of one single person alone. Yet will I speake, come,
what will come, or be who as will be there. Madame ;
Mistresse, be you there ?

LUCRECIA. If I be not deceived, this is Calisto's voyce.
But for the more surety, I will goe a little neerer. Who is
that that speakes ? Who is there without ?

CALISTO. He that is come addressed to your command.

LUCRECIA. Madame, why come you not ? Come hither,
I say, be not afraid, for heere is the Gentleman you wot of.

MELIBEA. Speake softly (you foole.) Marke him well,
that you may be sure it is hee.

197

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS LUCRECIA. Come hither I tell you, it is hee, I know
XII him by his voice.

CALISTO. I feare mee, I am deluded, it was not
Melibea that spake unto me, I heare some whispering; I
am undone. But live or dye, I have not the power to be
gone.

MELIBEA. Lucrecia, goe a little aside; and give mee
leave to call unto him. Sir, what is your name? Who
willed you to come hither ?

CALISTO. She that is worthy to command all the world,
she whom I may not merit to serve. Let not your Ladiship
feare to discover her selfe to this Captive of your gentle dis-
position ; for the sweete sound of those your words, which
shall never fall from my eares, give me assurance that you
are that Lady Melibea, whom my heart adoreth ; I am your
servant Calisto.

MELIBEA. The strange and excessive boldnesse of thy
messages, hath inforced me (Calisto) to speake with thee:
who having already received my answer to your reasons, I
know not Avhat you may imagine to get more out of my
love, then what I then made knowne unto you. Banish
therefore from thee, those vaine and foolish thoughts, that
both my honour and my person may be secured from any
hurt they may receive by an ill suspition. For which
purpose, I am come hither to take order for your dispatch,
and my quietnesse. Doe not, I beseech you, put my good
name and reputation upon the ballance of back-biting and
detracting tongues.

CALISTO. To hearts prepared with a strong and daunt-
lesse resolution against all adversities whatsoever, nothing
can happen unto them, that shall easily be able to shake
the strength of their wall. But that unhappy man, who
weaponlesse, and disarmed, not thinking upon any deceit or
Ambuscado, puts himselfe within the dores of your safe-
conduct and protection, whatsoever in such a case falls out
contrary to my expectation, it cannot in all reason but
torment me, and pierce thorow the very soule of me, break-
ing all those Magazines and storehouses, wherein this sweet
newes was laid up. O miserable and unfortunate Calisto !

198

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

0, how hast thou beene mocked and deluded by thy servants ! ACTUS
O thou coozening and deceitfull Celestina ; thou mightst at ^^^

least have let me alone, and given me leave to dye, and not
gone about to revive my hope, to adde thereto more fuell
to the fire, which already doth sufficiently waste and con-
sume me. Why didst thou falsifie this my Ladies message ?
Why hast thou thus with thy tongue given cause to my
despaire, and utter undoing? Why didst thou command
mee to come hither ? Was it that I might receive disgrace,
interdiction, diffidence, and hatred, from no other mouth,
but that which keepes the keyes of my perdition, or happi-
nesse ? O thou enemy to my good ! Didst not thou tell
mee, that this my Lady would be favourable, and gracious
unto mee ; Didst not thou tell mee, that of her owne accord,
shee had commanded this her captive to come to this very
place, where now I am ? Not to banish mee afresh from her
presence, but to repeale that banishment, whereunto shee
had sentenced mee by her former command? Miserable
that I am, whom shall I trust, or in whom may I hope to '|
find any faith ? Where is truth to be had ? Who is voyde I
of deceit ? Where doth not falsehood dwell ? Who is he
that shewes himselfe an open enemy ? or who is he that
shewes himselfe a faithfull friend? Where is that place,
wherein treason is not wrought ? Who, I say, durst tres-
passe so much upon my patience, as to give me such cruell
hope of destruction ?

MELIBEA. Cease (good Sir) your true and just com-
plaints. For neither my heart is able to endure it, nor
mine eyes any longer to dissemble it ; thou weepest out of
griefe, judging me cruell ; and I weep out of joy, seeing thee
so faithfull. O my dearest Lord, and my lifes whole happi-
nesse ; how much more pleasing would it be unto me, to see
thy face, then to heare thy voyce ! But sithence that at this
present we cannot injoy each other as wee would, take thou
the assignement, and scale of those words, which I sent unto
thee, written, and ingrossed in the tongue of that thy dili-
gent and carefull messenger. All that which I then said, I
doe heere confirme. I acknowledge it as my Deede, and
hold the Assurance I have made thee, to be good and per-

199

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS feet. Good Sir, doe not you weepe; dry up your teares,
XII and dispose of mee as you please. —

CALISTO. O my deare Lady! Hope of my glory;
Easeresse of my paine, and my hearts joy : What tongue
can be sufficient to give thee thankes, that may equall this
so extraordinary and incomparable a kindnesse ; which in
this instant of so great and extreme a sorrow, thou hast bin
willing to conferre upon me ; in being willing (I say) that
one so meane, and unworthy as my selfe, should be by thee
inabled to the injoying of thy sweetest love ; whereof,
although I was evermore most desirous, yet did I alwaies
deeme my selfe unworthy thereof, weighing thy greatnesse,
considering thy estate, beholding thy perfection, contemplat-
ing thy beauty, and looking into my small merit, and thy
great worth ; besides, other thy singular graces, thy com-
mendable, and well-knowne vertues ? Againe ; O thou great
1/ God, how can I be ungratefuU unto thee, who so miraculously
II hast wrought for mee so great and strange wonders ? O, how
long agoe did I entertaine this thought in my heart, and as
a thing impossible, repeld it from my memory, untill now,
that the bright beames of thy most cleare shining counte-
nance, gave light unto my eyes, inflamed my heart, awakened
my tongue, inlarged my desert, abridged my cowardize, un-
wreathed my shrunke-up spirits, reinforced my strength, put
life and metall into my hands and feet; and in a word,
infused such a spirit of boldnesse into me, that they have
borne me up by their power, unto this high estate, wherin
(with happinesse) I now behold my selfe, in hearing this thy
sweet-pleasing voyce ; which if I had not heertofore knowne,
and sented out the sweet and wholsome savour of thy words,
I should hardly have beleeved they would have been without
deceit. But now, that I am well assured of thy pure and
noble, both bloud and actions, I stand amazed at the gaze
of my good, and with a stricter eye, beginne to view and
looke upon my selfe, to see whether I am that same Calisto,
whom so great a blessing hath bcfalne ?

MELIBEA. Calisto; Thy great worth, thy singular
graces, and thy noblenesse of birth, have (ever since I
had true notice of thee) wrought so eflPectually with mee,

200

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

that my heart hath not so much as one moment bin absent ACTUS
from thee. And although (now these many dayes) I have XII

strove, and strove againe to dissemble it, yet could I not so
smother my thoughts, but that as soone as that Woman
returned thy sweet name unto my remembrance, I discovered
my desire, and appointed our meeting, at this very place and
time : Where, I beseech thee to take order for the disposing

ij of my person, according to thine owne good will and pleasure.
These doores debarre us of our joy, whose strong locks and
I barres I curse, as also mine owne weake strength. For were
I stronger, and they weaker, neither shouldst thou be dis-
f pleased, nor I discontented.

CALISTO. What (Madame) is it your pleasure, that I
should suffer a paltry piece of wood to hinder our joy?
Never did I conceive, that any thing, save thine owne will,
could possibly hinder us. O troublesome and sport-hindring
doores, I earnestly desire, that you may be burned with as
great a fire, as the torment is great, which you give me ; for
then the third part thereof would be sufficient to consume
you to ashes in a moment. Give me leave (sweet Lady) that
I may call my servants, and command them to breake them
open.

PARME. Harke, harke (Sempronio) Hearest thou not
what he sales ? He is comming to seeke after us ; wee
fehall make a badde yeere of it, we shall runne into a pecke
jof troubles. I tell you truely, I like not of his comming.
[This love of theirs, I verily perswade my selfe, was begunne
pn an unlucky houre ; if you will goe, goe ; for 1 11 stay heere
no longer.

SEMPR. Peace, harke ; shee will not consent wee come.

MELIBEA. What meanes my Love? Will you undoe

me ? Will you wound my reputation ? Give not your will

the reines : your hope is certaine, and the time short : even

as soone as your selfe shall appoint it. Besides, your paine

is single, mine double : yours for your selfe, mine for us

[1 both : you onely feele your owne griefe, I both your own

' and mine. Content your selfe therefore, and come you to

' morrow at this very houre, and let your way be by the wall

of my garden ; for if you should now breake downe these

2C 201

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS cruell doores, though haply wee should not be presently
XII heard, yet to morrow morning there would arise in my

fathers house a terrible suspition of my errour: and you
know, besides, that by so much the greater is the errour, by
how much the greater is the party that erreth : And in the
turning of a hand, will be noysed thorow the whole City.

SEMPR. In an unfortunate houre came we hither this
night ; we shall stay heere, till the day hath overtaken us, if
our master goe on thus leysurely, and make no more haste.
And albeit fortune hath hitherto well befriended us in this
businesse ; yet I feare me, if we stay overlong, we shall be
overheard, either by some of Pleberio's houshold, or of his
neighbours.

PAR. I would have had thee bin gone 2. houres ago ; for
he wil never give over, but still find some occasion to con-
tinue his discourse.

CALISTO. My deare Lady, my joy and happinesse ; why
dost thou stile this an error, which was granted unto me
by the Destinies; and seconded by Cupid himselfe, to my
petitions in the Mirtle-Grove ?

PARME. Calisto talkes idly, surely, he is not well in his
wits. I am of the beliefe (brother) that he is not so devout.
That which that old traiterous Trot, with her pestiferous
Sorceries hath compassed and brought about, he sticks not
to say, that the Destinies have granted, and wrought for him :
and with this confidence, he would adventure to breake ope
these doores ; who shall no sooner have given the first stroke,
but that presently he will be heard, and taken by her fathers
servants, who lodge hard by.

SEMPR. Feare nothing (Parmeno) for we are farre inough
off. And upon the very first noyse that we heare, we will
betake us straight to our heeles, and make our flight our
best defence. Let him alone, let him take his course, for if
he doe ill, he shall pay for it.

PARM. Well hast thou spoken ; thou knowst my mind,
as well as if thou hadst bin within me. Be it as thou hast
said ; let us shun death ; for we are both young ; and not to
desire to dye, nor to kill, is not cowardize, but a naturall
goodnesse. Pleberio's followers, they are but fooles and mad-

202

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

men, they have not that minde to their meate and their ACTUS
sleep, as they have to be brabbling and quarrelling. What XII

fooles then should we be, to fall together by the eares with
such enemies, who doe not so much affect Victory and
Conquest, as continuall Warre, and endlesse contention ? O,
if thou didst but see (brother) in what posture I stand, thou
wouldst be ready to burst with laughing. I stand sideling,
my legs abroad, my left foote formost, ready to take the
start ; the skirts of my Cassocke tuckt under my girdle, my
Buckler clapt close to my arme, that it may not hinder me ;
and I verily beleeve, that I should out-runne the swiftest
Buck ; so monstrously am I afraid of staying heere.

SEMPRONIO. I stand better; for I have bound my
Sword and Buckler both together, that they may not fall
from me when I run ; and have clapt my Caske in the cape
of my cloake.

PARME. But the stones you had in it. What hast thou
done with them ?

SEMPRO. I have turn'd them all out, that I might goe
the lighter ; for I have inough to doe to carry this Corslet,
which your importunity made me put on ; for I could have
been very well content to have left it off, because I thoght
it would be too heavy for me, when I should runne away.
Harke, harke, hearest thou Parmeno ? the businesse goes ill
with us ; wee are but dead men. Put on, away, be gone,
make towards Celestina's house, that we may not be cut off,
by betaking us to our owne house.

PARMENO. Flye, flye, you runne too slowly. Passion of
me, if they should chance to overtake us. Throw away thy
Buckler and all.

SEMPR. Have they kild our Master ? Can you tell ?

PARMENO. I know not. Say nothing to mee, I pray ;
Runne, and hold your peace ; as for him^ he is the least of
my care. "

SEMPRONIO. Zit, zit, Parmeno, not a word ; tume, and
be still ; for it is nothing, but the Alguazills men, who make
a noyse as they passe thorow this other street.

PARME. Take your eyes in your hand, and see you be
sure. Trust not I say, too much to those eyes of yours ;

203

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS they may mistake, taking one thing for another ; they have
XII not left mee one drop of bloud in my body. Death had e'n

almost swallowed me up ; for me thought still as I ranne,
they were cutting and carbonading my shoulders. I never in
my life remember, that I was in the like feare, or ever saw
my selfe in the like danger of an affront, though I have gone
many a time thorow other mens houses, and thorow places of
much perill, and hard to passe. Nine yeeres was I servant to
Guadaluppe, and a thousand times my selfe and others were
at buffets, cutting one another for life, yet was I never in
that feare of death, as now.

SEMPRONIO. And did not [I] (I pray) serve at Saint
Michaels ? and mine Host in the Market-place ? and Molleias
the gardiner; I also (I tro) was at fisty-cuffes with those
which threw stones at the Sparrowes, and other the like birds,
which sate upon a green Popler that we had, because with
their stones, they did spoile the hearbes in the garden ; But
God keepe thee, and every good man from the sight of such
weapons as these : these are shrewd tooles ; this is true
feare indeede : and therefore it is not said in vaine ; Laden
with Iron, laden with feare. Turne, tume backe ; for it is
the Alguazill, that 's certaine.

MELIBEA. What noyse is that (Calisto) which I heare
in the street ? It seemes to be the noise of some that flye and
are pursued ; for your o^vne sake and mine, have a care of
your selfe ; I feare me, you stand in danger.

CALISTO. I warrant you, Madame, feare you nothing;
for I stand on a safegard. They should be my men, who are
madcaps, and disarme as many as passe by them ; and belike,
some one hath escapt them, after whom they hasten.

MELIBEA. Are they many, that you brought ?

CALISTO. No (Madame) no more but two ; but should
halfe a dozen set upon them, they would not be long in dis-
arming them, and make them flye ; they are such a couple of
tall lusty fellowes ; they are men of true, and well approved
metall ; choyce lads for the nonste ; for I come not hither with
a fire of straw, which is no sooner in, but out. And were it
not in regard of your honour, they should have broken these
doores in pieces ; and in case we had been heard, they should

^04

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

have freed both your selfe and me from all your fathers ACTUS
servants. X^I

MELIBEA. O ! of all loves, let not any such thing be
attempted ; yet it glads me much that you are so faithfully
attended; that bread is well bestowed which such valiant
servants eat. For that love (Sir) which you beare unto me,
since Nature hath inricht them with so good a gift, I pray
1 make much of them, and reward them well ; to the end that
in all things, they may be trusty and secret, that concerne
thy service ; and when for their boldnesse and presumption,
thou shalt either checke, or correct them ; intermixe some
favours with thy punishments, that their valour and courage
may not be daunted, and abated, but be stirred and provoked
\ to out-dare dangers, when thou shalt have occasion to use
them.

PARME. Sist, Sist ; Heare you Sir ? make haste and be
gone, for heere is a great company comming along with
Torches ; and unlesse you make haste, you will be seen, and
knowne; for heere is not any place, where you may hide
your selfe from their view.

CALISTO. O unfortunate that I am ! How am I in-
forced (Lady) against my will to take my leave ! Beleeve me,
the feare of death would not worke so much upon me, as the
j feare of your honor doth ; but since it is so, that we must
V part ; Angels be the guardians of thy faire person. My
comming (as you have ordred it) shall be by the garden.
MELIBEA. Be it so, and all happinesse be with you.
PLEBERIO. Wife, are you asleepe ?
ALISA. No, Sir.

PLEBERIO. Doe not you heare some noyse, or stirring
in your daughters withdrawing chamber ?

ALISA. Yes mary doe I. Melibea, Melibea ?
PLEBERIO. She does not heare you ; I will call a little
lowder. Daughter Melibea ?
MELIBEA. Sir.

PLEBERIO. Who is that, that tramples up and downe
there, and makes that stirring to and fro in your chamber ?

MELIBEA. It is Lucrecia (Sir) who went forth to fetch
some water for me to drinke, for I was very thirsty.

205

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS PLEBERIO. Sleepe againe (daughter) I thought it had
XII beene something else.

LUCRE. A little noyse (I perceive) can wake them ; me
thought they spoke somewhat fearefully, as if all had not
beene well.

MELIBEA. There is not any so gentle a creature, who
with the love or feare of it"'s young, is not somewhat moved.
What would they have done, had they had certaine, and
assured knowledge of my going downe ?

CALISTO. My Sonne, shut the dore ; and you Parmeno,
bring up a light.

PARM. You were better (Sir) to take your rest ; and that
little that it is till day, to take it out in sleepe.

CALISTO. I will follow thy counsell ; for it is no more
then needeth. I want sleepe exceedingly ; but tell mee,
Parmeno, what dost thou thinke of that old woman, whom
thou didst dispraise so much unto me? what a piece of worke
hath she brought to passe ? what could wee have done
without her ?

PARME. Neither had I any feeling of your great paine ;

nor knew I the gentlenesse, and well-deservingnesse of

Melibea; and therefore am not to be blamed. But well

i did I know both Celestina, and all her cunning trickes

f and devices ; and did thereupon advise you, as became

I a servant to advise his Master, and as I thought, for the

I best; but now I see, shee is become another woman, she
is quite chang''d from what she was, when I first knew
her.

CALISTO. How ? changed ? How dost thou meane ?
PARMENO. So much, that had I not scene it, I should
never have beleeved it : but now, heaven grant you may live
as happy, as this is true.

CALISTO. But tell me; didst thou heare what past
betwixt me and my Mistresse.? what did you doe all the
while ? were you not afraid ?

SEMPR. Afraid, Sir ? of what ? all the world could not
make us afraid ; did you ever finde us to be fearefuU ? did
you ever see any such thing in us ? we stood waiting for you
well provided, and with our weapons in our hands.

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

CALISTO. Slept you not a whit ? tooke you not a little ACTUS

nappe

? XII

SEMPRONIO. Sleepe, Sir ? It is for boyes and children
to sleepe ; I did not so much as once sit downe, nor put one
legge over another, watching still as diligently as a Cat for a
Mouse ; that if I had heard but the least noyse in the world,
I might presently have leapt forth, and have done as much
as my strength should have beene able to performe. And
Parmeno, though till now, he did not seeme to serve you in
this businesse with any great willingnesse, hee was as glad,
when he spy"'d the Torches comming, as the Wolfe, when
hee spies the dust of a drove of cattell, or flocke of sheepe ;
hoping still that he might make his prey, till he saw how
many they were.

CALISTO. This is no such wonder (Sempronio) never
marvaile at it ; for it is naturall in him to be valiant ; and
though he would not have bestirred himselfe for my sake,
yet would he have laid about him because such as he cannot
goe against that which they be us'd unto ; for though the
Foxe change his haire, yet he never changeth his nature ; hee
will keepe himselfe to his custome, though hee cannot keep
himselfe to his colour. I told my Mistresse Melibea, what
was in you, and how safe I held my selfe, having you at my
back for my gard. My sonnes ; I am much bound unto you
both, pray to heaven for our wellfare and good successe ; and
doubt not, but I will more fully guerdon your good service.
Good night, and heaven send you good rest.

PARM. Whither shall wee goe (Sempronio ?) To our
chamber and goe sleepe, or to the Kitchin and breake our
fast .?

SEMPR, Goe thou whither thou wilt, as for me, e'r it be
day, I will get me to Celestina's house, and see if I can re-
cover my part in the chaine : she is a crafty Hileding, and I
will not give her time to invent some one villainous tricke or
other whereby to shift us off, and coozen us of our shares.

PARME. It is well remembred, I had quite forgot it ; let
us goe both together, and if she stand upon points with us,
let us put her into such a feare, that she may be ready to
bewray her selfe ; for money goes beyond all friendship.

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS SEMPR. Cist, cist, not a word ; for her bed is hard by
XII this little window heere ; let mee knocke her up : Tha, tha,

tha ; Mistresse Celestina, Open the doore.

CELEST. Who calls ?

SEMPRONIO. Open doore, your Sonnes be heere.

CELEST. I have no sonnes that be abroad at this time
of night.

SEMPRONIO. It is Parmeno, and Sempronio ; open the
doore ; we are come hither to breake our fast with you.

CELEST. O ye mad lads, you wanton wags. Enter, enter,
how chance you come so earely ? It is but now break of
day, what have you done ? what hath past ? Tel me, how
goes the world ? Calisto's hopes, are they alive or dead ?
Has he her, or has he her not ? how stands it with him ?

SEMPRONIO. How, mother ? Had it not beene for us,
his soule e'r this had gone seeking her eternall rest ; and if
it were possible to prize the debt wherein hee stands bound
unto us, all the wealth hee hath, were not sufficient to make
us satisfaction. So true, is that triviall saying ; that the life
of man, is of more worth, then all the gold in the world.

CELEST. Have you beene in such danger, since I saw
you ? Tell mee, how was it ? How was it I pray ?

SEMPRONIO. Mary in such danger, that as I am an
honest man, my blood still boyles in my body, to thinke
upon it.

CELEST. Sit downe, I beseech you, and tell me how it was.

PARMENO. It will require a long discourse; besides, we
have fretted out our hearts, and are quite tired with the
trouble and toile, we have had, you may doe better to pro-
vide something for his and my breakefast : it may be, when
wee have eaten, our choller will be somewhat allayd ; for I
sweare unto thee, I desire not now to meet that man that
desires peace. I should now glory to light upon some one,
on whom I might revenge my wrath, and stanch my anger ;
for I could not doe it on those that caused it ; so fast did they
flye from my fury.

CELESTINA. The pockes canker out my carkasse to
death, if thou makest mee not afraide to looke on thee, thou
lookest so fierce and so ghastly. But for all this, I doe be-

208

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

leeve you doe but jest. Tell me, I pray thee Sempronio, as ACTUS
thou lov'st me what hath befalne you ? XII

SEMPRONIO. By heavens, I am not my selfe, I come
hither I know not how, without wit, or reason. But as for
you (fellow Parmeno) I cannot but finde fault with you, for
not tempring of your choller, and using more moderation in
your angry mood ; I would have thee looke otherwise now,
and not carry that sowre countenance heer, as thou didst
there, when we incountred so many ; for mine owne part, be-
fore those, that I knew could doe but little, I never made
show that I could doe much. Mother, I have brought
hither my armes all broken and battred in pieces, my
Buckler without ifs ring of Iron, the plates being cut
asunder, my Sword like a Saw, all to behack't and hewd, my
Caske strangely bruised, beaten as flat as a Cake, and dented
in with the blowes that came hammering on my head : so
that I have not any thing in the world to goe further with
my Master, when hee shall have occasion to use mee. For
it is agreed on, that my Master shall this night have accesse
unto his Mistresse, by the way of her garden. Now for to
furnish my selfe anew, if my life lay on it, I know not where
to have one penny or farthing.

CELEST. Since it is spoiled and broken in your Masters
service, goe to your Master for more, let him (a Gods name)
pay for it. Besides, you know it is with him, but aske and
have ; he will presently furnish you, I warrant you. For hee
is none of those who say to their servants : Live with mee,
and looke out some other to maintaine thee ; he is so franke,
and of so liberall a disposition, that hee will not give thee
money for this only, but much more, if neede be.

SEMPR. Tush, what 's this to the purpose ? Parmeno's
be also spoyled and marr'd. After this reckoning, we may
spend our Master all that he hath in armes. ^ How can you
in conscience thinke, or with what face imagine, that I
should be so importunate, as to demand more of him, then
what he hath already done of his owne accord ? He for his
part hath done inough, I would not it should be said of me,
that hee hath given mee an inch, and that I should take an
ell. There is a reason in all things; he hath given us a

2D 209

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS hundred crownes in gold ; he hath given us, besides, a chaine ;
XII three such picks more, will picke out all the waxe in his
eare ; hee hath, and will have a hard market of it. Let us
content our selves with that which is reason ; Let us not lose
all, by seeking to gaine more then is meet ; for he that im-
braceth much, holdeth little.

CELEST. How wittily this Asse thinks he hath spoken !
I sweare to thee, by the reverence of this my old age, had
these words beene spoken after dinner, I should have said,
that wee had all of us taken a cuppe too much ; that we had
beene all drunke. Art thou well in thy wits, Sempronio ?
What has thy remuneration to doe with my reward ? Thy
payment with my merit ? Am I bound to buy you weapons ?
Must I repaire your losses, and supply your wants ? Now I
thinke upon it ; let me be hang''d, or dye any other death, if
thou hast not tooke hold of a little word, that carelesly slipt
out of my mouth the other day, as we came along the
street ; for as (I remember) I then told you, that what I had
was yours ; and that I would never be wanting unto you in
any thing, to the utmost of my poore ability ; and that if
Fortune did prosper my businesse with your Master, that

iyou should lose nothing by it ; But you know (Sempronio)
that words of compliment and kindenesse, are not obligatory,
nor binde me to doe, as you would have mee ; all is not gold
that glisters, for then it would be a great deale cheaper then
it is. Tell me (Sempronio) if I have not hit the right nayle
on the head ? Thou maist see by this, that though I am
old, that I can divine as much as thou canst imagine. Li
good faith (Sonne) I am as full of griefe, as ever my heart
can hold, I am even ready to burst with sorrow and anguish.
As soone as ever I came from your house, and was come
home ; I gave the chaine I brought hither with me, to this
foole Elicia, that she might looke upon it, and cheere her
selfe with the sight thereof; and she, for her life, cannot as
^et call to mind what shee hath done with it : and all this
live-long night, neither shee nor I have slept one winke, for
very thought and griefe thereof : Not so much for the valew
of the chaine (for it was not much worth) but to see, that
I J^J^^ she should be so carelesse in the laying of it up ; and to see

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

the ill lucke of it ; at the very same time that we mist it, ACTUS
came in some friends of mine, that had beene of my old and XII

familiar acquaintance ; and I am sorely afraide, lest they
have lighted upon it, and taken it away with them ; mean-
ing to make use of that vulgar saying, Si spie it^ turn sporte
fac ; Si non spie it, pacJce and away lacke. But now (my
Sonnes) that I may come a little neerer unto you both, and
speake home to the point : If your Master gave mee any
thing, what he gave me, that (you must thinke) is mine : As \
for your cloth of gold doublet, I never ask't you any share \
out of it, nor ever will. We all of us serve him, that he may
give unto us all, as he sees wee shall deserve : And as for
that which he hath given me, I have twice indangered my
life for it ; more blades have I blunted in his service then
you both ; more materiall and substantiall stuffe have I
wasted, and have worne out more hose and shooes ; And you
must not thinke (my Sonnes) but all this costs mee good
money. Besides, my skill, which I got not playing or sitting
still, or warming my taile over the fire, as most of your idle
huswives doe, but with hard labour and paines-taking : as
Parmeno's mother could well witnesse for me, if she were
living. This I have gained by mine owne industry and
labour ; as for you, what have you done ? If you have done
any thing for Calisto, Calisto is to requite you. I get my t
living by my Trade and my travell ; you, yours, with recrea- 1
tibn and delight ; and therefore you are not to expect equall I
recompence, injoying your service with pleasure, as I, who »
goe performing it with paines : but whatsoever I have
hitherto said unto you, because you shall see, I will deale
kindely with you : if my chaine be found againe, I will give
each of you a paire of Scarlet Breeches, which is the come-
liest habit that young men can weare. But if it be not
fomid, you must accept of my good will, and my selfe be
content to sit downe with my losse ; and all this I doe out
of pure love, because you were willing that I should have the
benefit of managing this businesse before another : and if
this will not content you, I cannot doe withall. To your
owne harme be it.
SEMPR. This is not the first time I have heard it spoken ;

211

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS how much in old folkes, the sinne of avarice reigneth : as
XII also that other, When I was poore, then was I liberall ;

when I was rich, then was I covetous : So that covetousnesse
increaseth with getting, and poverty with coveting : and
nothing makes the covetous man poore but his riches. O
heavens ! How doth penury increase with abundance, and
plenty ? How often did this old woman say, that I should
have all the profit that should grow from this busines ?
thinking then perhaps, that it would be but little : but now
she sees how great it growes, she will not part with any
thing, no, not so much as the parings of her nailes ; that
she may comply with that common saying of your little
children : Of a little, a little ; of much, nothing.

PARME. Let her give thee that which she promised ; let
her make that good, or let us take it all from her. I told
you before (would you have beleeved mee) what an old
coozening companion you should finde her.

CELESTINA. If you are angry eyther with your selves,
your Master, or your armes, wreck not your wrath upon mee ;
for I wot well inough whence all this growes, I winde you
where you are : I now perceive on which foot you halt, not
out of want of that which you demand ; nor out of any
covetousnes that is in you : but because you thinke I will tye
you to Racke and Manger, and make you captives all your
life-time to Elicia, and Areusa, and provide you no other
fresh ware, you make all this adoe, quarrell thus with me
for money, and seeke by fearing me, to force mee to a parting
and sharing of stakes. But be still (my boyes) and content
your selves ; for she who could helpe you with these, will not
sticke to furnish you with halfe a score of handsome wenches
apiece, fairer then these by farre, now that I see, that you
are growne to greater knowledge and more reason, and a
better deservingnesse in your selves. And whether or no,
in such a case as this, I am able to be as good as my word,
let Parmeno speake for me. Speake, speake, Parmeno, be
not ashamed, man, to tell what did betide us, with that
wench you wot of, that was sicke of the Mother ?

SEMPR. I goe not for that which you thinke. You talke
of Chalke, and we of Cheese. Doe not thinke to put us off

212

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

with a jest ; our demands desire a more serious answer. ACTUS
And assure your selfe (if I can helpe it) you shall take no XII

more Hares with this Grayhound ; and therefore lay aside
these tricks, and do not stand arguing any longer on the
matter ; I know your fetches too well : To an old dogge, a
man need not cry, Now, now. Come off therefore quickly,
and give us two parts of that which you have received of
Calisto. Dispatch, I say, and doe not drive us to discover
what you are ; come, come, exercise your wits upon some
other. Flap those in the mouth, you old Filth, with your
coggings and foistings, that know you not ; for wee know
you too well.

CELEST. Why, what am I, Sempronio ? What do you
know me to be ? Didst thou take me out of the Puteria.
Broughtst thou me, as a whore, out of the Stewes ? Bridle
your tongue for shame, and doe not dishonour my hoary
hayres. I am an old woman of Gods making, no worse then
all other women are : 1 live by my occupation as other women
doe, very well, and handsomely ; I seeke not after those who
seeke not after me ; they that will have me, come home to my
house to fetch me ; they come home, I say, and intreat mee
to doe this or that for them. And for the life that I lead,
whether it be good or^bad^-hgaven knowes^nryJieart : and
, doe not thinke out oTyour choUer to~mis-use mee, for there
is Law and Justice for all, and equall to all ; and my tale, I
doubt not, shall be as soone heard (though I am an old
woman) as yours, for all you be so smoothly kembM. Let
me alone, I pray, in mine owne house, and with mine owne
fortune. And you, Parmeno, doe not you thinke that I am
thy slave, because thou knowst my secrets, and my life past,
and all those matters that hapned betwixt mee, and that
unfortunate mother of thine ; for shee also was wont to use
mee on this fashion, when she was disposed to play her
prankes with mee.

PARM. Doe not hit mee in the teeth with these thy idle ■
memorialls of my mother, unlesse thou meanst I should send
thee with these thy tydings, unto her, where thou mayst
better make thy complaint.

CELESTINA. Elicia, Elicia, arise and come downe

213

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS quickly, and bring me my mantle ; for by heaven, I will hye
XII mee to the Justice, and there cry out and raile at you, like

a made woman. What is 't you would have ? What do you
meane, to menace me thus in mine owne house ? Shall your
valour and your bravings be exercised on a poore silly
innocent sheepe ? On a Hen, that is tyed by the leg, and
cannot flye from you ? On an old woman of sixty yeeres of
age ? Get you, get you, for shame, amongst men, such as
your selves ; goe and reake your anger upon such as are girt
with the Sword, and not against me and my poore weake
DistafFe : it is an infallible note of great cowardize, to assaile
the weake and such as have but small, or very little power
to resist : your filthy Flyes bite none but leane and feeble
Oxen : and your barking Curres flye with greater eagernesse,
and more open-mouth upon your poorest passengers. If
shee that lies above there in the bed, would have hearkned
unto me, this house should not have beene (as now it is)
without a man in the night ; nor wee have slept (as wee doe)
by the naked shaddow of a candle. But to pleasure you,
and to be faithfuU unto you, wee suffer this solitude ; and
because you see wee are women, and have no body heere to
oppose you, you prate, and talke, and aske, I know not what,
without any reason in the world, which you would as soone
have beene hang''d, as once darM to have proffered it, if you
had heard but a man stirring in the house ; for, as it is in
V the Proverbe, A hard adver^ry ajppeaseth anger.

SEMPR. O thou old covetous CfifeB^hat art ready to
dye with the thirst of gold ! cannot a third part of the gaine
content thee ?

CELEST. What third part ? A pocks on you both ; out
of my house in a divels name, you and your companion with
you ; doe not you make such a stirre heere as you doe. Cause
not our neighbours to come about us, and make them thinke
wee be madde. Put mee not out of my wits ; make me not
madde : you would not, I trow, would you, that Calisto''s
matters and yours should be proclaimed openly at the
, Crosse ? Heere 's a stirre indeed.

' SEMPR. Cry, bawle, and make a noyse; all's one, we
care not : eyther looke to performe your promise, or to end

214

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

your daies. Dye you must, or else doe as wee will have ACTUS
you. ^^^

ELICIA. Ah woe is mee ! put up your Sword ; hold him,
hold him, Parmeno ; for feare lest the foole should kill her
in his madnesse,

CELESTINA. Justice, Justice ; helpe neighbours, Justice,
Justice ; for heere be Ruffians, that will murder mee in my
house. Murder, murder, murder.

SEMPR. Ruffians, you Whore? Ruffians, you old Bawd ?
have you no better tearmes.? Thou old Sorceresse; thou
witch, thou ; looke for no other favour at my hands, but
that I send thee poast unto hell ; you shall have letters
thither, you shall (you old Inchantresse) and that speedily
too ; you shall have a quicke dispatch.

CELEST. Ay me, I am slaine. Ay, ay. Confession,
Confession.

PARMENO. So, so : kill her, kill her ; make an end of
her, since thou hast begunne ; be briefe, be briefe with her ;
lest the neighbours may chance to heare us. Let her dye,
let her dye ; let us draw as few enemies upon us as wee can.

CELESTINA. Oh, oh, oh !

ELICIA. O cruell-hearted as you are ! Enemies in the
highest nature ; shame and confusion light upon you ; the
extremity of Justice fall upon you, with it''s greatest vigour,
and all those that have had a hand in it. My mother is
dead, and with her, all my happinesse.

SEMPRONIO. Flye, flye, Parmeno, the people beginne
to flocke hitherward. See, see, yonder comes the Alguazil.

PARM. Ay me, wretch that I am ! there is no meanes of
escape for us in the world ; for they have made good the
doore, and are entring the house.

SEMPRONIO. Let us leape out at these windowes ; And
let us dye rather so, then fall into the hands of Justice.

PARM. Leape then, and I will follow thee.

THE END OF THE TWELFTH ACT

215

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS XIII

THE ARGUMENT

ALISTO awakened Jrom sleepe, talkes
a while with himselfe ; anon after hee
calls unto Tristan, and some other of his
servants. By and by Cslisio Jhlls asleepe
againe ; Tristan goes downe, and stands
at the doore. Sosia comes weeping unto
him ; Tristan, demanding the cause, Sosia
delivers unto him the death of Sempronio
and Parmeno ; they goe and acquaint Calisto with it, who
knowing the truth thereof, maketh great lamentation.

INTERLOCUTORS

Calisto, Tristan, Sosia.

CALISTO. O how daintily have I slept ! Ever since that
sweete short space of time, since that harmonious discourse I
injoyed; I have had exceeding ease, taken very good rest ;
this contentment and quietude hath proceeded from my joy.
Either the travaile of my body caused so sound a sleepe ; or
else the glory and pleasure of my minde : Nor doe I much
wonder, that both the one and the other should linke hands,
and joyne together to cloze the lids of mine eyes, since I
travaird the last night with my body and person, and tooke
pleasure with my spirit and senses. True it is, that sor-
row causeth much thought; and overmuch thought, much
hindreth sleepe : as it was mine owne case within these few
daies when I was much discomfited and quite out of heart,
of ever hoping to injoy that surpassing happinesse, which I
now possesse. O my sweete Lady, and dearest Love, Melibea,
what dost thou thinke on now ? Art thou asleepe, or awake ?
Thinkst thou on mee, or some body else ? Art thou up and
ready, or art thou not yet stirring ? O most happy, and
most fortunate Calisto, if it be true, and that it be no dreame,
which hath already passed ! Dream't I, or dream't I not ?

216

CALISTO. i

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

was it a meere phantasie, or was it a reall truth ? But now ACTUS
I remember my selfe, I was not alone, my servants waited ^^^^
on me, there were two of them with me ; if they shall affirme
it to be no dreame, but that all that past was true, I am
bound to beleeve it : I will command them to be called, for
the further confirmation of my joy. Tristanico, Why ho?
Where are my men ? Tristanico, Hye you and come up :
arise, I say, get you up quickly and come hither.

TRISTAN. Sir, I am up, and heere already.

CALISTO. Goe, runne, and call mee hither Sempronio
and Parmeno.

TRISTAN. I shall. Sir.

Now sleepe, and take thy rest.

Once grieved, and pained Wight ;
Since shee now loves thee best,

Who is thy hearts delight.
Let joy be thy soules guest ;

And care be banish't quite ;
Since shee hath thee exprest
To be her Favourite.

TRISTAN. There is not so much as a boy in the house.

CALISTO. Open the windowes, and see whether it be day
or no.

TRISTAN. Sir, it is broad day.

CALISTO. Goe againe, and see if you can finde them ;
and see you wake me not, till it be almost dinner-time.

TRISTAN. I will goe downe and stand at the doore, that
my Master may take out his full sleepe ; and to as many as
shall aske for him, I shall answer that hee is not within. O
what an out-cry doe I heare in the Market-place ! whats the
matter a Gods name ? There is some execution of Justice to
be done, or else they are up so earely to see some Bull-baiting.
I do not know what to make of this noyse, it is some great
matter, the noyse is so great ; but lo, yonder comes Sosia,
my Masters foot-boy ; hee will tell mee what the businesse is.
Looke how the Rogue comes pulling and tearing of his
hayre ; he hath tumbled into one Taverne or other, where
he hath beene scuffling. But if my Master chance to sent
him, hee will cause his coat to be well cudgelled ; for though

2E 217

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS hee be somewhat foolish, punishment will make him wise ;
^I^ but mee thinkes hee comes weeping. Whafs the matter,
Sosia? Why dost thou weepe ? Whence com'st thou now?
Why speak'st thou not ?

SOSIA. O miserable that I am ! what misfortune could
be more ? O what great dishonour to my Masters house !
O what an unfortunate morning is this ! O unhappy young
men !

TRISTAN. What's the matter, man.? Why dost thou
keepe such adoe? Why griev'st thou thus.? What mischiefe
hath befalne us ?

SOSIA, Sempronio, and Parmeno !

TRISTAN. What of Sempronio and Parmeno ? What
meanes this foole ? Speake a little plainer, thou torment'st
me with delayes.

SOSIA. Our old companions, our fellowes, our brethren.

TRISTAN. Thou art eyther drunke or mad; or thou
bringest some ill newes along with thee. Why dost thou not
tell mee what thou hast to say, concerning these young
men.?

SOSIA. That they lie slayne in the streete.

TRISTAN. O unfortunate mischance ! Is it true .? Didst
thou see them .? Did they speake unto thee .?

SOSIA. No. They were e'n almost past all sense; but
one of them with much adoe, when hee saw I beheld him
with teares, beganne to looke a little towards me, fixing his
eyes upon me, and lifting up his hands to heaven, as one
that is making his prayers unto God ; and looking on mee,
as if hee had ask't mee, if I were not sorry for his death .?
And straight after, as one that perceived whither he was
presently to goe, he let fall his head, with teares in his eyes,
giving thereby to understand, that hee should never see mee
againe, till we did meete at that day of the great Judge-
ment.

TRISTAN. You did not observe in him, that he would
have askt you whether Calisto Avere there or no .? But since
thou hast such manifest proofes of this cruell sorrow, let us
haste with these dolefuU tidings to our Master.

SOSIA. Master, Master, doe you heare. Sir .?

218

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

CALISTO. What, are you mad ? Did not I tell you, I ACTUS
should not be wakened ? ^^^^

SOSIA. Rowze up your selfe, and rise : for if you doe not
sticke unto us, we are all undone. Sempronio and Parmeno
lie beheaded in the Market-place, as publike malefactors;
and their fault proclaimed by the common Cryer.

CALISTO. Now heaven helpe mee ! What is't thou
teirst mee ? I know not whether I may beleeve thee, in this
thy so sudden and sorrowfull newes. Didst thou see them ?

SOSIA. I saw them, Sir.

CALISTO. Take heede what thou say'st ; for this night
they were with mee.

SOSIA. But rose too earely to their deaths.

CALISTO. O my loyall servants ! O my chiefest followers !
O my faithfuU Secretaries and Counsellours in all my affaires !
Can it be, that this should be true ? O unfortunate Calisto !
thou art dishonoured as long as thou hast a day to live ; what
shall become of thee, having lost such a paire of trusty
servants? Tell mee, for pitty's sake, Sosia, what was the
cause of their deaths ? What spake the Proclamation ? Where
were they slaine ? by what Justice were they beheaded ?

SOSIA. The cause, Sir, of their deaths, was published by
the cruell executioner, or common hangman, who delivered
with a loud voyce ; Justice hath commanded, that these
violent murderers be put to death.

CALISTO. Who was it they so suddenly slew ? who
might it be ? it is not foure houres agoe since they left me.
How call you the party whom they murthered ? What was
hee for a man ?

SOSIA. It was a woman. Sir, one whom they call Celestina.

CALISTO. What's that thou sayest?

SOSIA. That which you heard me tell you, Sir.

CALISTO. If this be true, kill thou me too, and I will
forgive thee. For sure, there is more ill behinde; more
then was either scene, or thought upon, if that Celestina be
slaine, that hath the slash over her face.

SOSIA. It is the very same, Sir : for I saw her stretcht
out in her owne house, and her maide weeping by her,
having received in her body above thirty severall wounds.

219

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS CALISTO. O unfortunate young men ! How went they ?
XIII Did they see thee ? Spake they unto thee ?

SOSIA. O Sir, had you seen them, your heart would have
burst with griefe : One of them had all his braines beaten
out in most pittifull manner, and lay without any sense, or
motion in the world : The other had both his armes broken,
and his face so sorely bruised, that it was all blacke and
blue, and all of a goare-bloud. For, that they might not
fall into the Alguazils hands, they leapt downe out of a high
window ; and so being in a manner quite dead, they chopt
off their heads, when, I thinke, they scarce felt, what harme
was done them.

CALISTO. Now I beginne to have a taste of shame ; and
to feele how much I am toucht in mine honour : would I had
excused them and had lost my life, so I had not lost my
honour, and my hope of atchieving my commenced purpose,
which is, the greatest griefe and distaste that in this case I
feele. O my name and reputation, how unfortunately dost
thou goe from Table to Table, from mouth to mouth ! O
yee my secret, my secret actions, how openly will you now
walke thorow every publike street, and open Market-place ?
What shall become of me ? Whither shall I go ? If I goe
forth to the dead, I am unable to recover them, and if I
stay heere, it will be deemed cowardize. What counsell
shall I take ? Tell me, Sosia, what was the cause they kild
her?

SOSIA. That maid (Sir) of hers, which sate weeping and
crying over her, made knowne the cause of her death to as
many as would heare it ; saying, that they slew her, because
she would not let them share with her in that chaine of gold,
which you had lately given her.

CAL. O wretched and unfortunate day ! O sorrow, able
to breake even a heart of Adamant ! How goe my goods
from hand to hand, and my name from tongue to tongue ?
All will be published and come to light, whatsoever I have
spoken, either to her, or them ; whatsoever they knew of my
doings ; and whatsoever was done in this businesse. I dare
not go forth of doores ; I am ashamed to looke any man in
the face. O miserable young men ! that vee sliould suffer

220

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

death by so sudden a disaster. O my joyes, how doe you goe
declining, and waining from me ! But it is an ancient Pro-
verbe ; That the higher a man climbes, the greater is his fall.
Last night I gained much ; to day I have lost much. Your
Sea-calmes are rare, and seldome. I might have beene listed
in the roll of the happy, if my fortune would but have allayd
these tempestuous winds of my perdition. O Fortune ! how
much, and thorow how many parts hast thou beaten mee !
But howsoever thou dost shake my house, and how opposite
soever thou art unto my person, yet are adversities to be
endured with an equall courage : and by them, the heart is
prooved, whether it be of Oke, or Elder, strong, or weake ;
there is no better Say, or Touchstone in the world, to know
what finenesse, or what Characts of Vertue or of Fortitude
remain in man. And therefore come what will come, fall
backe, fall edge, I will not desist to accomplish her desire,
for whose sake all this hath hapned. For it is better for mee
to pursue the benefit of that glory, which I expect, then the
losse of those that are dead. They were proud, and stout,
and would have beene slaine at some other time, if not now.
The old woman was wicked and false, as it seemes, in her
dealings, not complying with that contract which shee had
made with them : so that they fell out about the true mans
cloake ; taking it from the true owner, to share it amongst
themselves. But this was a just judgement of God upon her,
that she should receive this payment, for the many adulteries,
which by her intercession and meanes have beene committed.
Sosia and Tristanico shall provide themselves ; they shall
accompany me, in this my desired walke ; they shall carry
the Scaling-ladders, for the walls are very high. To morrow
I will abroad, and see if I can revenge their deaths ; if not,
I will purge my innocency with a fained absence ; or else
faine my selfe mad, that I may the better injoy this so taste-
full a delight of my sweet Love ; as did that great Captaine
Vlysses, to shunne the Trojane warre, that hee might lie
dulcing at home with his wife Penelope.

THE END OF THE THIRTEENTH ACT

ACTUS
XIII

221

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS XIIII

THE ARGUMENT

ELIBEA is much quieted; she talkes with
Lucrecia, concerning Calisto's slacTcnesse in
comming, who had vowd that night to
come and visit her. The which hee per-
formed. And with him came Sosia, and
Tristan ; and after that he had accom-
plished his desire, they all of them betooJce
them to their rest. Calisto gets him home
to his Palace ; and there begins to complaine and lament, that
he had staied so little a while with Melibea ; and begs of
Phoebus, that hee would shut his beames, that he might the
sooner goe to renew his desire.

INTERLOCUTORS

Melibea, Lucrecia, Sosia, Tristan, Calisto.

MELIBEA. Me thinks, the Gentleman, whome we looke
for, stayes very long. Tel me (Lucrecia) what think'st thou ?
will he come, or no ?

LUCRECIA. I conceive (Madame) he hath some just
cause of stay, and it is not in his power to come so soone as
you expect.

MELIBEA. Good spirits be his guard, and preserve his
person from perill. For, his long stay doth not so much
grieve mee : but I am afraid, lest some misfortune or other
may befall him, as he is on his way unto us. For, who
knowes, whether he comming so willingly to the place
appointed, and in that kind of fashion, as such Gentle-
men as hee, on the like occasion, and the like houre use
to goe ; whether, or no, I say, he may chance to light upon
the night-watch, or be met by the Alguazils, and they not
knowing him, have set upon him, and he to defend himselfe,
hath either hurt them, or they him ? Or whether some

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

roguish Curre or other with his cruell teeth (for such dogs ACTUS
as they make no difference of persons,) have perhaps unfor- XIIII
tunately bit him ? Or whether, he hath fallen upon the
Causey, or into some dangerous pit, whereby he may receive
some harme ? But (Ay me) these are but inconveniences
which my conceived love brings forth, and my troubled
thoughts present unto me. Goodnes forbid, that any of
these misfortunes should befall him ! Rather let him stay
as long as it shall please himselfe from comming to visit
mee. But harke, harke, what steps are those that I heare in
the street ? And to my thinking likewise, I heare some body
talking on this side of the garden.

SOSIA. Tristan, set the ladder here ; for, though it be
the higher, yet I take it to be the better place.

TRISTAN. Get up, Sir: And I will along with you.
For, we know not who is there within, they are talking (I
am sure) who-ere they be.

CALIST. Stay here (you foole) I will in alone, for I heare
my Lady and Mistris.

MELIBEA. Your servant, your slave, Calisto, who prizes
more yours then her owne life. O my deare Lord, take
heed how you leape, leape not downe so high ; you kill me,
if you doe : I shall swound in seeing it. Come downe, come
downe gently, I pray. Take more leasure in comming
downe the ladder ; as you love mee, come not so fast.

CALISTO. O divine Image ; O precious pearle ; before
whom, the whole world appeareth foule ! O my Lady and
my glory ; I imbrace and hug thee in mine armes, and yet I
not beleeve it : such a turbation of pleasure seazeth on my
person, that it makes me not feele the fulnes of that joy I
possesse.

MELIBEA. My Lord, sithence I have intrusted my selfe
in your hands, since I have beene willing to cumply with your
will, let me not be worse thought of for being pittifull, then
if I had bene coy and mercilesse. Nor doe not worke my
undoing, for a delight so momentary and performed in so
short a space. For, Actions that are ill, after they are com-
mitted, may easier be reprehended then amended. Rejoyce
thou in that, wherein I rejoyce ; which is, to see and draw

223

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

: jat Toa goe

: ^e '^ealtb in

224

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

CALISTO. And why Madame? I should be proud to ACTUS
have such witnesses as she of my glory. XIIII

MELIBEA, So would not I, when I doe amisse. And
had I but thought that you would have us'd mee thus, or
beene but halfe so %-iolent, as I now see you are, I would
not have trusted my person with such a rough and cruell
conversation.

SOSIA Tristan, you heare what hath past, and how the
geare goes.

TRISTAN. I heare so much, that I hold my Master the
happiest man that lives. And I assiu-e thee (though I am
but a boy to speake of) me thinks, I could give as good
account of such a businesse as my Master.

SOSIA. To such a jewell as this, who would not reach
out his hand r But allow him this flesh to his bread, and
much good may it doe him. For, he hath paid well for it :
for a couple of his ser\'ants served to make sauce for this his
Love.

TRISTAN. I had quite forgot that. But let them die,
as instnunents of their owne destruction. And let others as
many as will, play the fools upon affiance to be defended.
But for mine owne part, I well remember when I serv'd the
Coimt, that my father gave mee this Councell : that I should
take heed how I kill'd a man. Of all other things, that I
should beware of that. For (quoth hee) you shall see the
Master merry and kindly imbraced, when his man (poore
soule) shall be hanged and disgraced.

MELIBEA. O my life and my deare Lord, how could
you finde in vour heart, that I shovJd lose the name and
crowne of a Virgin, for so momentary' and so short a
pleasure ? O my poore Mother, if thou didst but know
what wee have done, with what willingnes wouldst thou take
thine owne death ! and with what ^'iolence and inforcement
give mee mine ! How cruell a butcher wouldst thou be-
come of thine owne blood ! And how dolefull an end
should I bee of thv daves ! O my most honoured father,
how have I wrong'd thy reputation ! And given both
opportunitie and place to the utter overthrowing and un-
doing of thy house ! O Traitour that I am ! tVhv did I

2 F 225

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS not first looke into that great error, which would insue by
XIIII thy entrance, as also that great danger ; which I could not
but expect ?

SOSIA. You should have sung this song before. Now, it
comes too late : you know, it is an old saying ; when a thing
is done, it cannot be undone. There is no fence for it, but
what, if the foole Calisto should hap to heare me ?

CALISTO. Is it possible? Looke and it be not day
already : Me thinks, we have not been here above an houre,
and the Clock now stricks three.

MELIBEA. My Lord, for loves love, now that all that I
have, is yours ; now, that I am your Mistris ; now, that you
cannot denie my love ; deny mee not your sight. And on such
nights as you shall resolve to come, let your comming bee by
this secret place, and at the selfe same houre : for then, shall
I still looke for you prepared with the same joy, wherewith
I now comfort my selfe in the hopefull expectation of those
sweete nights that are to come. And so for this present, I
will take my leave. Farewell (my Lord) my hope is, that
you will not be discovered, for it is very darke ; Nor I heard
in the house, for it is not yet day.

CALISTO. Doe you heare there? bring hither the
ladder.

SOSIA. Sir, it is here ready for you to come downe.

MELIBEA. Lucrecia, come hither, I am now all alone.
My Love is gone, who hath left his heart with me, and hath
taken mine with him. Didst thou not heare us, Lucrecia ?

LUCRECIA. No Madame, I was fast asleepe.

SOSIA. Tristan, wee must goe very softely, and not
speake a word. For, just about this time, rise your rich
men, your covetous money-mongers, your penny-fathers, your
Venereans and Love-sicke soules, such as our Master ; your
day-labourers, your plough-men and your sheepheards ; who
about this time unpinne their sheepe, and bring them to
their sheepcotts to be milk't. And it may be, they may
heare some word escape us, which may wrong either Calisto's
or Melibea*'s honour.

TRISTAN. Now you silly Asse, you whoresonne Horse-
currier, you would have us make no noise, not a word, but

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

Mumme ; and yet thy selfe doest name her. Thou art an ACTUS
excellent fellow to make a Guide or Leader to conduct an XIIII
Army in the Moores Countrey : so that prohibiting, thou per-
mittest; covering, thou discoverest; defending, ofFendest; bid-
ding others hold their peace, thou thy selfe speak'st alowd,
nay, proclaimes[t] it; and proclaiming, makes[t] answer
thereunto. But though you are so subtill witted and of so
discreet a temper, you shall not tell mee in what moneth our
Lady day in harvest falls. For we know that we have more
straw in the house this yeere, then thou art able to eat.

CALISTO. My Masters, what a noise make you there?
My cares and yours are not alike. Enter softely, I pray,
and leave your pratling, that they in the house may not
heare us ; Shut this doore, and let us go take our rest. For,
I will up alone to my chamber, and there disarme mee. Goe
get you to bed ; O wretch that I am, how sutable and
naturall unto mee is solitarinesse, silence, and darkenes. I
know not whether the cause of it be, that there commeth
now to minde, the treason that I have committed in taking
my leave of that Lady, whom I so dearelie love, before it
was further day ? Or whether it be the griefe, which I con-
ceive of my dishonour, by the death of my servants ? I, I ;
this is it that greives mee, this is that wound whereof I
bleed. Now, that I am growen a little cooler ; now, that
that bloud waxeth cold, which yesterday did boile in mee ;
now that I see the decaying of my house, my want of service,
the wasting of my patrimony, and the infamie which lights
upon mee by the death of my servants ? what have I done ?
How can I possibly containe my selfe ? How can I forbeare
any longer, but that I should presently expresse my selfe, as
a man much wronged ? and shew my selfe a proud and speedy
revenger of that open injurie which hath been offered mee ?
O the miserable sweetnes of this most short and transitorie
life ! who is he so covetous of thy countenance, who will not
rather choose to die presently, then to injoy a whole yeere
of a shamfuU life ? and to prorogue it with dishonour, loos-
ing the good report and honourable memory of his noble
Ancestours? Especially, sithence that in this world, wee
have not any certaine or limited time : no not so much as a

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THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS moment or a minute. We are debtours without time : wee
Xini stand continually bound to present payment. Why have I
not gone abroad, and made all the inquiry I can, after the
secret cause of my open perdition ? O thou short delight of
the world, how little do thy pleas ure[s] last ? and how much
doe they cost ? Repentance should not be bought so deare.
O miserable that I am, when shall I recover so great a losse .?
what shall I doe ? what counsell shall I take ? To whom
shall I discover my disgrace ? why do I conceale it from
the rest of my servants and kinsefolke ? They clip and note
my good name in their Councell-house and publike Assemblie,
and make mee infamous throughout the whole Kingdome :
and they of mine owne house and kindred must not know of
it ; I will out amongst them. But if I goe out and tell
them that I was present, it is too late ; if absent, it is too
soone. And to provide mee of friends, antient servants, and
neere allyes, it will aske some time, as likewise that we be
furnish'd with Armes, and other preparations of vengeance.

0 thou cruell Judge, what ill payment hast thou made mee
of that my fathers bread, which so often thou hast eaten ?

1 thought, that by thy favour I might have kilFd a thousand
men without controlment. O thou falsifier of faith, thou
persecutor of the truth, thou man moulded of the baser sort
of earth ! Truly is the proverbe verified in thee ; that for
want of good men thou wast made a Judge. Thou shouldst
have considered, that thy selfe, and those thou didst put to
death, were servants to my Ancestors and me, and thy
fellowes and companions. But when the base to riches doth
ascend, he regardeth neither kindred nor friend. Who
would have thought, that thou wouldst have wrought my
undoing? But there is nothing more hurtfull, then an
unexpected enemy. Why wouldst thou that it should be
verified of thee. That that which came out of iEtna, should
consume Mtna, ? And that I hatcht the Crow, which pick't
out mine eyes ? Thou thy selfe art a publike delinquent,
and yet punishest those that were private offendors. But I
would have thee to know ; that a private fault is lesse then
a publike, and lesse the inconvenience and danger : At least,
according to the Lawes of Athens, which were not written

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

in blood, but doe shew that it is a lesse error, not to con- ACTUS
demne a delinquent, then to punish the innocent. O how XIIII
hard a matter is it, to follow a just cause before an unjust
Judge ! How much more this excesse of my servants, which
was not free from offence ! But consider with all spite of
all Stoicall Paradoxe, their guilt was not equall, though
their sufferings ahke. What deserved the one, for that
which the other did ? That onely because he was his com-
panion, thou shouldst doome them both to death ? But
why doe I talke thus ? With whom doe I discourse ? Am
I in my right wits ? What 's the matter with thee, Calisto ?
Dream'st thou, sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou ? Stand'st thou
on thy feete ? Or liest thou all along ? Consider with thy
selfe that thou art in thy chamber. Doest thou not see that
the ofFendor is not present ? With whome doest thou con-
tend? Come againe to thy self; weigh with thy selfe, that
the absent were never found just. But if thou wilt be up-
right in thy judgement, thou must keepe an eare for either
party. Doest thou not see, that the Law is supposed to be
equall unto all ? Remember that Romulus, the first founder
of Rome, kill'd his owne brother, because he transgressed the
Law. Consider that Torquatus the Romane slew his owne
Sonne, because he exceeded his Commission. And many
other like unto these did this man doe. Thinke likewise with
thy selfe, that if the Judge were here present, hee would
make thee this Answer ; that the Principall and the Acces-
sary, the Actor and Consenter, doe merit equall punishment.
Howbeit, they were both notwithstanding executed, for that
which was committed but by one. And if that other had not
his pardon, but received a speedy judgement, it was, because
the fault was notorious, and needed no further proofes : as
also that they were taken in the very Act of murther, and
that one of them was found dead of his fall from the window.
And it is likewise to be imagined. That that weeping wench
which Celestina kept in her house, made them to hasten
the more by her wofull and lamentable noyse : And that the
Judge, that he might not defame mee, and that he might
not stay till the people should presse together, and heare
the proclaiming of that great infamy, which could not

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS choose but follow mee, hee did sentence them so early as
XIIII he did ; and the common Hangman, which was the Cryer,
could doe no otherwise, that he might cumply with their
execution and his owne discharge. All which, if it were
done as I conceive it to bee, I ought rather to rest his
debtor, and thinke my selfe bound unto him the longest day
of my life, not as to my fathers sometimes servant, but as to
my true and naturall brother. But put case it were not
so ; or suppose I should not conster it in the better sence,
yet call, Calisto, to mind the great joy and solace thou hast
had, bethinke thy selfe of thy sweete Lady and Mistrisse,
and thy whole and sole happines : and since for her sake
thou esteemest thy life as nothing for to doe her service,
thou art not to make any reckoning of the death of others :
and the rather, because no sorrow can equall thy received
pleasure. O my Lady and my life, that I should ever thinke
to offend thee in thy absence ! And yet in doing as I doe,
me thinks, it argues against mee, that I hold in small esteeme
that great and singular favour, which I have received at thy
hands. I will now no longer thinke on griefe ; I will no
longer entertaine friendship with sorrow. O incomparable
good ! O insatiable contentment ! And what could I have
asked more of heaven, in requitall of all my merits in this
life (if they be any) then that which I have already received .''
Why should I not content my selfe with so great a blessing ?
which being so, it stands not with reason that I should be
ungratefull unto him, who hath conferred upon mee so great
a good : I will therefore acknowledge it, I will not with care
craze my understanding, lest that being lost, I should fall
from so high and so glorious a possession. I desire no other
honour, no other glory, no other riches, no other father nor
mother, no other friends nor kinsfolkes. In the day, I will
abide in my chamber : In the night, in that sweete Paradise,
in that pleasant grove, that greene plot of ground amidst
those sweete trees and fresh and delightsome walks. O night
of sweet rest and quiet ! O that thou hadst made thy
retume ! O bright shining Phoebus, drive on thy Charriot
apace, make haste to thy journeys end ! O comfortable and
delightfull starres, breake your wont, and appeare before
230

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

your time, and out of your wonted and continued course ! ACTUS
O dull and slow clocke, I wish to see thee burned in the XIIII
quickest and loveliest fire that Love can make. For didst
thou but expect that which I doe, when thou strikest twelve,
thou wouldst never indure to bee tyed to the will of the
master that made thee ! O yee hyematicall and winterly
months, which now hide your heads, and live in darknes
and obscurity ! Why haste yee not to cut off these tedious
dales with your longer nights? Me thinks, it is almost a
yeere, since I saw that sweete comfort and most delightfull
refreshing of my travels. But what doe I aske ? Why like
a foole doe I, out of impatiencie desire that which never
either was or shall bee ? For your naturall courses did
never leame to wheele away. For to all of them there is an
equall course, to all of them one and the selfesame space and
time. Not so much as to life and death, but there is a
settled and limited end. The secret motions of the high
firmament of heaven, of the Planets and the North-starre,
and of the increase and wane of the Moone, all of these are
ruled with an equall reyne, all of these are moved with an
equall spurre. Heaven, Earth, Sea, Fire, Wind, Heate and
Cold. What will it benefit me, that this clocke of yron
should strike twelve, if that of heaven doe not hammer with
it.? And therefore though I rise never so soone, it will
never the sooner be day. But thou my sweete Imagination,
thou, who canst onely helpe me in this case, bring thou
unto my Phantasie the unparaleld presence of that glorious
Image. Cause thou to come unto my eares that sweete
Musicke of her words, those her unwilling hangings off with-
out profit, that her prety, I prythee leave off; Forbeare,
good Sir, if you love me ; Touch me not ; Doe not deale so
discourteously with me. Out of whose ruddy lips, me thinks,
I heare these words still sound. Doe not seek my undoing :
which she would evermore be out withall. Besides, those
her amorous imbracements betwixt every word ; that her
loosing of her selfe from me; and clypping mee againe;
that her flying from mee and her comming to mee ; those
her sweete sugred Kisses ; and that her last salutation where-
with shee tooke her leave of mee. O with what paine did it

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THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS issue from her mouth ! with what resuscitation of her spirits !
XIIII with how many teares, which did seeme to be so many roimd
pearles, which did fall without any noyse from her cleare
and resplendent eyes !

SOSIA. What thinkst thou of Calisto ? How hath he
slept ? It is now upon foure of the clocke in the after-noone,
and he hath neyther as yet called us, nor eaten any thing.

TRISTAN. Hold your peace, for sleepe requires no haste.
Besides, on the one side, he is oppressed with sadnes and
melancholy for his servants : and on the other side trans-
ported with that gladsome delight and singular great plea-
sure, which he hath injoyed with his Melibea. And thou
know'st, that where two such strong and contrary passions
meete, in whomsoever they shall house themselves, with what
forcible violence they will worke upon a weake and feeble
subject.

SOSIA. Dost thou thinke that he takes any great griefe
and care for those that are dead ? If she did not grieve
more, whom I see here out of the window goe along the
street, she would not weare a vayle of that colour as she
does.

TRISTAN. Who is that, brother ?

SOSIA. Come hither and see her, before she be past.
Seest thou that mournefull mayd, which wipes the teares
from her eyes ? That is Elicia, Celestina's servant, and
Sempronio's friend : she is a good, pretty, handsome, wel-
favoured wench, though now (poore soule) shee be left to the
wide world, and forsaken of all. For shee accounted Celes-
tina her mother, and Sempronio her chiefest and best friend.
And in that house, where you see her now enter, there dwels
a very fayre woman, she is exceeding wel-favoured, very fresh
and lovely, she is halfe Courtezane ; yet happy is hee, and
counts himselfe so to be, that can purchase her favour at an
easie rate, and winne her to be his friend. Her name is
Areusa, for whose sake, I know, that unfortunate and poore
Parmeno indured many a miserable night. And I know,
that shee (poore soule) is nothing pleased with his death.

THE END OF THE FOURTEENTH ACT

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

ACTUS XV

THE ARGUMENT

REUSA utters injurious speaches to a
Ruffian, called Centurio, wlio takes his
leave of her, occasioned by the comming
in of' Elicia, which Elicia recounts unto
Areusa the deaths, which had insued upon
the love of Calisto and Melibea. And
Areusa and Elicia agree, and conclude to-
gether, that Centurio should revenge the
death of all those three, upon the two young Lovers. This
done, Elicia takes her leave of Areusa, and would not be
intreated to stay, because shee would not lose her market at
home in her accustomed Lodging.

INTERLOCUTORS

Elicia, Centurio, Areusa.

ELICIA. What ayles my Cousin, that shee cries, and
takes on as shee does ? It may be shee hath already heard
of that ill newes, which I came to bring her : if she have,
I shall have no reward of her for my heavy ty dings. So,
weepe, weepe on, weepe thy belly-full ; let thine eyes breake
their banks, and overflow thy bosome with an eternall deluge;
for two such men were not every where to be had ; it is some
ease yet unto mee, that shee so risents the matter, and hath
so true a feeling of their deaths. Doe, teare, and rent thy
hayre, as I (poore soule) have done before thee : and thinke,
and consider with thy selfe, that to fall from a happy life, is
more miserable then death it selfe. O how I hugge her in
my heart ! How much more, then ever heeretofore, doe I
now love her ; that she can expresse her passion in such
lively colours, and paint forth sorrow to it's perfect and true
life!

AREUSA. Get thee out of my house, thou ruffianly
Rascall ; thou lying companion ; thou cheating Scoundrell ;

2 G /loo

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS thou hast deluded mee, thou Villaine ; thou hast plai'd bob-
XV foole with mee, by thy vaine and idle offers ; and with thy

faire words and flattering speaches (A pocks on that smooth
tongue of thine !) thou hast rob'd me of all that I have. I
gave thee (you Rogue) a Jerkin and a Cloake, a Sword and
a Buckler, and a couple of Shirts, wrought with a thousand
devices, all of needle-worke ; I furnished thee with armes
and a Horse, and placed thee with such a Master, as thou
wast not worthy to wipe his shooes. And now that I intreat
thee to do a businesse for mee, thou makest a thousand
frivolous excuses.

CENTURIO. Command mee to kill tenne men, to doe you
service, rather then to put me to walke a League on foot for
you.

AREUSA. Why then did you play away your horse?
You must be a Dicer with a murraine ; had it not beene for
mee, thou hadst beene hang'd long since. Thrice have I freed
thee from the gallowes ; foure times have I disimpawnd
thee, first from this, and then from that Ordinary, when as
thou might'st have rotted in prison, had not I redeem"'d thee,
and paid thy debts. O that I should have any thing to doe
with such a Villaine ! that I should be such a foole ! that I
should have any affiance in such a false-hearted, white-liver'd
slave ! that I should beleeve him and his lies ! that I should
once suffer him to come within my doores ! What a divell
is there good in him ? his hayre is curled, and shagg'd like a
water Spaniell ; his face scotcht, and notcht ; he hath beene
twice whipt up and downe the Towne ; hee is lame on his
sword-arme, and hath some thirty whores in the common
Stewes. Get thee out of my house, and that presently too ;
looke mee no more in the face ; speake not to mee ; no not a
word ; neyther say thou, that thou did'st ever know mee ;
lest, by the bones of my father, who begot me, and of my
mother, who brought me forth ; I cause 2000. Bastinadoes
to be laid upon that Millers backe of thine. For, I would
thou shouldst know, I have a friend in a corner, that will not
sticke to doe a greater matter then that for mee, and come
off" handsomely with it, when he has done.

CENTURIO. The foole is mad, I thinke. But doe you

234

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

heare, Dame ? if I be nettled, I shall sting some body ; if ACTUS
my choller be moved, I shall drawe teares from some ; I shall ^^

make some body put finger in the eye ; I shall, yfaith. But
for once, I will goe my wayes and say nothing ; I will suffer
all this at your hands, lest some body may come in, or the
neighbours chance to heare us.

ELICIA. I will in, for that is no true sound of sorrow,
which sends forth threatnings and revilings.

AB.EUSA. O wretch that I am ; Is 't you, my Elicia ? I
can hardly beleeve it. But what meanes this ? Who hath
cloath'd thee thus in sorrow ? What mourning weede is this?
Beleeve mee (Cousin) you much afright mee. Tell me
quickly, what 's the matter ? For I long to know it. O,
what a qualme comes over my stomack ! Thou hast not left
me one drop of bloud in my body.

ELICIA. Great sorrow, great losse ; that which I shew, is
but little to that which I feele and conceale. My heart is
blacker then my mantle ; my bowels, then my veyle. Ah,
Cousin, Cousin ; I am not able to speake through hoarse-
nesse ; I cannot for sobbing, send my words from out my
brest.

ARE USA. Ay miserable mee ; why dost thou hold me
in suspence ? Tell mee, tell mee, I say, doe not you teare
your hayre, doe not you scratch and martyre your face ;
deale not so ill with your selfe. Is this evill common to us
both ? Appertaines it also unto mee ?

ELICIA. Ay, my Cousin ! my deare Love, Sempronio
and Parmeno are now no more ; they live not ; they are no
longer of this world ; dead, alasse they are dead.

AREUSA. What dost thou tell mee ? No more I intreat
thee ; for pitty hold thy peace, lest I fall downe dead at thy
feet.

ELICIA. There is yet more ill newes to come unto thine
eares. Listen well to this wofull wight, and shee shall tell
thee a longer Tale of woe ; thy sorrowes have not yet their
end ; Celestina, shee whom thou knewst well ; shee whom I
esteemed as my Mother ; shee who did cocker mee as her
childe, shee who did cover all my infirmities ; shee, who
made me to be honoured amongst my equals ; shee by whose

235

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS meanes I was knowne thorow all the City and suburbs of the
XV same, stands now rendring up an account of all her works.

I saw her with these eyes stabb'd in a thousand places. They
slew her in my lap, I folding her in mine armes.

AREUSA. O strong tribulation ! O heavy newes worthy
our bewayling ! O swift-footed misfortunes ! O incur-
able destruction ! O irreparable losse ! O how quickly hath
fortune turned about her wheele ! Who slew them ? How
did they dye ? Thou hast made mee almost besides my
selfe with this thy newes, and to stand amazed as one, who
heares a thing that seemes to be impossible. It is not eight
dayes agoe since I saw them all alive. Tell me (good friend)
How did this cruell and unlucky chance happen ?

ELICIA. You shall know. I am sure (Cousin) you have
already heard tell of the love betwixt Calisto and that foole
Melibea. And you likewise saw how Celestina, at the inter-
cession of Sempronio, so as shee might be paid for her paines,
undertooke the charge of that businesse, and to be the meanes
to effect it for him ; wherein shee used such diligence, and
was so carefull in the following of it, that shee drew water at
the second spitting. Now when Calisto saw so good and so
quicke a dispatch, which he never hoped to have effected,
amongst divers other things, hee gave this my unfortunate
Aunt a chaine of gold. And as it is the nature of that metall,
that the more we drinke thereof, the more wee thirst ; shee,
when she saw her selfe so rich, appropriated the whole gaine
to her selfe, and would not let Sempronio and Parmeno have
their parts, it being before agreed upon betweene them, that
whatsoever Calisto gave her, they should share it alike. Now,
they being come home weary one morning from accompan-
ing their Master, with whom they had beene abroad all night,
being in great choller and heate, upon I know not what
quarrells and brawles, (as they themselves said) that had
betyded them, they demanded part of the chayne of Celes-
tina, for to relieve themselves therewith. Shee stood upon
deniall of any such covenant or promise made betweene them ;
affirming the whole gaine to be due to her ; and discovering
withall other petty matters of some secrecie. For, (as it [is]
in the Proverbe) when Gossips brawle, then out goes all.

236

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

So that they being mightily inraged, on the one side neces- ACTUS
sity did urge them, which rents and breaks all the love in XV

the world ; on the other side, the great anger and wearinesse
they brought thither with them, which many times workes
an alteration in us. And besides, they saw that they were
forsaken in their fayrest hopes, shee breaking her faith and
promise with them : So that they knew not in the world
what to do ; and so continued a great while upon termes
with her, some hard words passing to and fro betweene them.
But in the end perceiving her covetous disposition, and find-
ing that she still persevered in her denyall, they layd hands
upon their swords, and hackt and hew'd her in a thousand
pieces.

AREUSA. O unfortunate woman ! Wast thou ordained
to end thy dayes in so miserable a manner as this ? But for
them, I pray what became of them ? How came they to
their end ?

ELICIA. They, as soone as ever they had committed this
foule murder ; that they might avoyde the Justice, the
Alcalde passing by by chance at that very instant, made mee
no more adoe, but leapt presently out at the windowes ; and
being in a manner dead with the fall, they presently appre-
hended them, and without any further delay, chopt off their
heads.

AREUSA, O my Parmeno, my love ; what sorrow doe I
feele for thy sake ! How much doth thy death torment
mee ! It grieves me, for that my great love, which in so
short a space, I had settled upon him, sithence it was not
my fortune to injoy him longer. But being that this ill
successe hath insued, being that this mischance hath hapned,
and being that their lives now lost, cannot be bought, or
restored by teares, doe not thou vexe thy selfe so much in
grieving and weeping out thine eyes : I grieve as much, and
beleeve, thou hast but little advantage of mee in thy sorrow-
ing ; and yet thou seest with what patience I beare it, and
passe it over.

ELICIA. O ! I grow mad. O wretch that I am, I am
ready to run out of my wits ! Ay me, there is not any
bodies griefe, that is like to mine ; there is not any body,

' 237

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS that hath lost that which I have lost ! O how much better,
XV and more honest had my teares beene in another persons
passion, then mine owne ! whither shall I goe ? for I have
lost both money, meate, drinke, and clothes ; I have lost my
friend, and such a one, that had hee beene my husband,
hee could not have beene more kinde unto mee. O thou
wise Celestina, thou much honoured Matrone, and of great
authority ; how often did'st thou cover my faults by thy
singular wisdome ! Thou took'st paines, whiFst I tooke
pleasure ; thou went'st abroad, whil'st I staid at home ; thou
went'st in tatters and ragges, whil'st I did ruffle in Silkes
and Satens ; thou still camest home like a Bee, continually
laden, whiPst I did nothing but spend, and play the unthrift:
for I knew not else what to doe. O thou worldly happinesse,
and joy, which whilest thou art possessed, art the lesse
esteemed ! Nor dost thou ever let us know what thou art,
till we know that thou art not ; finding our losse, greater by
wanting, then in injoying thee; never knowing what we
have, till we have thee not. O Calisto and Melibea,
occasioners of so many deaths ! let some ill attend upon
j your love ; let your sweete meate have some sowre sauce ;
' your pleasure, paine ; let your joy be turned into mourning,
the pleasant flowres whereon you tooke your stolne solace,
let them be turned into Serpents and Snakes ; your songs,
let them be turned into bowlings ; the shady trees of the
garden, let them be blasted and withered with your looking
on them ; your sweet senting blossomes and buddes, let them
be blacke and dismall to behold.

AREUSA. Good Cousin, content your selfe, I pray, be
quiet ; injoyne silence to your complaints ; stop the Conduit-
pipes to your teares ; wipe your eyes ; take heart againe unto
you. For when fortune shuts one gate, she usually sets open
another ; and this estate of yours, though it be never so much
broken, it will be soldred, and made whole againe : And
many things may be revenged, which are impossible to be
remedied ; whereas this hath a doubtfull remedy, and a ready
revenge.

ELICIA. But by whom shall we mend our selves.? Of
whom shall we be revenged, when as her death, and those

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

that slew her, have brought all this affliction and anguish ACTUS
upon mee? Nor doth the punishment of the delinquent XV

lesse grieve me, then the errour they committed. What
would you have me to do, when as all the burden lies upon
my shoulders ? I would with all my heart that I were now
with them, that I might not lie heere, to lament and bewaile
them all as I doe. And that which grieves mee most, is, to
see that for all this, that Villaine Calisto, who hath no sense,
\jnor feeling of his servants deaths, goes every night to see
and visit his filth Melibea, feasting and solacing himselfe in
her company, whilest she growes proud, glorying to see so
much bloud to be sacrificed to her service.

AREUSA. If this be true, of whom can wee revenge our
selves better ? And therefore, hee that hath eaten the
meate, let him pay the shot j leave the matter to mee, let
me alone to deale with them : For, if I can but tracke them,
or but once find the sent of their footing, or but have the
least inkling in the world, when, how, where, and at what
houre they visit one another, never hold me true daughter to
that old pasty-wench whom you knew full well, if I doe not
give them sowre sauce to their sweete meate ; and make that
their love distastefull, which now they swallow downe with
delight ; and if I imploy in this businesse that Ruffian, whom
you found mee rayling against, when you came into the
house, if he prove not a worse Executioner for Calisto, then
Sempronio was for Celestina, never trust me more. O ! how
quickely the Villaine would fat himselfe with joy, and how
happy would hee hold himselfe, if I would but impose any
service upon him ! for he went away from me very sad and
heavy, to see how coursely I used him : and should I but now
send for him againe, and speake kindly unto him, he would
thinke himselfe taken up in some strange sweet rapture ; so
much will he be ravished with joy. And therefore tell me
(Cousin) how I may learne, how this businesse goes, for I will
set such a trap for them, as, if they be taken in it, shall
make Melibea weepe as much, as now she laugheth.

ELICIA. Mary, I know (sweete Cousin) another com-
panion of Parmeno's, Calisto's groome of the stable, whose
name is Sosia, who accompanies him every night that hee

239

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS goes ; I will see, what I can suck from him ; and this (I
XV suppose) will be a very good course for the matter you

talke of.

AREUSA. But heare you me, Cousin, I pray doe me the
kindnesse, to send Sosia hither unto me, I will take him in
hand a little, I will entertaine talke with him ; and one
^. while I will so flatter him, another while make him such
\\ faire offers, that in the end, I will dive into him, and reach
y the very depth of his heart, and learne from him, as well
1 what hath beene already, as what is to be done heereafter :
At least learne so much as we desire to know, or may serve
our turne ; and when I shall have effected this, I will make
him and his Master to vomit up all the pleasure they have
eaten. And thou (Elicia) that art as deare to me, as mine
owne soule, doe not you vexe your selfe any more, but bring
your apparell, and such implements as you have, and come
and live with mee ; for there where you are, you shall re-
maine all alone : and sadnesse (you know) is a friend to
solitarinesse. What wench ! a new Love will make thee
forget the old : one Sonne that is borne, will repaire the
love of three that be dead. With a new successour, we
receive anew the joyfull memory, and lost delights of fore-
passed times. If I have a loafe of bread, or a penny in my
purse, thou shalt have halfe of it. And I have more com-
passion of thy sorrow, then of those that did cause it. True
it is, that the losse of that doth grieve a man more, which
hee already possesseth, then the hope of the like good
can glad him, be it never so certaine. You see, the matter
is past all remedy ; and dead men cannot be recald : you
know the old saying : Fie upon this weeping, let them aye,
and we live. As for the rest that remaine behinde, leave
that to me ; I will take order for Calisto and Melibea ; and
I shall give them as bitter a potion to drinke, as they have
given thee. O Cousin, Cousin, how witty am I when I am
angry, to turne all these their plots upside downe ! and
though I am but young, and a Girle to speake of, to breake
the necke of these their devises, I shall overthrow them
horse and foote.

ELICIA. Bethinke your selfe well, what you meane to
240

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

doe. For, I promise you, though I should doe as you would ACTUS
have mee, and should send Sosia unto you, yet can I not be ^^

perswaded that your desire will take effect. For the punish-
ment of those who lately suffred for disclosing their secrets,
will make him scale up his lips, and looke a little better to
his life. Now for my comming to your house, and to dwell
with you ; as the offer is very kinde, so I yeeld you the best
kinde of thankes I can render you ; and love blesse you for
it, and helpe you in your necessity ; for therein dost thou
well shew, that kindred and Alliance serve not for shadowes,
but ought rather to be profitable and helpfull in adversity ;
and therefore, though I should be willing to doe, as you
would have mee, in regard of that desire, which I have to
injoy your sweet company ; yet can it not conveniently be
done, in regard of that losse which would light upon me ;
for I know, it cannot but be greatly to my hindrance ; the
reason thereof I need not to tell you, because I speake to
one that is intelligent, and understands my meaning; for
there. Cousin, where I am, I am well knowne ; there am I
well customed ; that house will never lose the name of old
Celestina; thither continually resort your young wenches
bordring thereabouts, loving creatures, willing worme?, and
such as are best knowne abroad, being of halfe blood to
those, whom Celestina bred up ; there they drive all their /

bargaines, and there they make their matches, and doe many
other things besides, (as you know well enough) whereby
now and then I reape some profit. Besides, those few friends
that I have, know not elsewhere to seeke after mee. More-
over, you are not ignorant, how hard a matter it is, to forgoe
that which we have beene used unto ; and to alter custome, is
as distastefuU as death : A rolling jtonejieyer^athers mosse,
and therefore I will abide where I am : And if for no other
reason, yet will I stay there, because my house-rent is free,
having a full yeere yet to come, and will not let it be lost, by
lying idle and empty ; so that though every particular reason
may not take place, yet when I weigh them altogether, I
hope I shall rest excused, and you contented. It is now
high time for mee to be gone ; what wee have talked of, I
will take that charge upon mee ; and so farewell,

2H 241

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS XVI

THE ARGUMENT

LEBERIO, and Alisa, thinking that their
daughter Melibea had kept her virginity
unspotted and untoucht, which was (as it
seemed) quite contrary ; they fall in talke
about marrying of Melibea, which dis-
course of theirs, she so impatiently en-
dured, and was so grieved in hearing her
father treate of it, that shee sent in Lucrecia
to interrupt them, that by her comming in, she might occasion
them to breake off both tfieir discourse and purpose.

INTERLOCUTORS

Melibea, Lucrecia, Pleberio, Alisa.

PLEBERIO. My wife, and friend Alisa ; time (me thinks)
slips (as they say) from betweene our hands ; and our dayes
doe glyde away like water downe a River. There is not any
thing that flyes so swift, as the life of man : Death still
followes us, and hedges us in on every side ; whereunto we
our selves now draw nigh. Wee are now (according to the
course of nature) to be shortly under his banner ; this wee
may plainely perceive, if wee will but behold our equals, our
brethren and our kinsfolke round about us ; the grave hath
devoured them all ; they are all brought to their last home.
And sithence we are uncertaine when we shall be called
hence, seeing such certaine and infallible signes of our short
abode, it behoveth us (as it is in the Proverbe) to lay our
beard a soaking, when we see our neighbours shaving off,
and to feare, lest that which befell them yesterday, may
befall us to morrow. Let us therefore prepare our selves,
and packe up our fardles, for to goe this inforced journey
which cannot be avoyded. Let not that cruell and doleful!
sounding trumpet of death, summon us away on the sudden
and unprovided. Let us prepare our selves, and set things

242

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

in order whilest we have time, for it is better to prevent, ACTUS

then to be prevented ; let us conferre our substance on our XVI

sweet successour; let us couple our onely daughter to a

husband, such a one as may sute with our estate, that wee

may goe quietly and contentedly out of this world. The

which with much diligence and carefulnesse, wee ought from

henceforth to endevour and put in execution : and what we

have at other times commenced in this matter, we ought

now to consummate it. I would not by our negligence have

our daughter in Guardians hands ; I like not she should be

a Ward ; she is now fit for marriage, and therefore much

better for her to bee in a house of her owne, then in ours :

by which meanes wee shall free her from the toungs of the

vulgar ; for there is no vertue so absolute and so perfect,

which hath not her detracting and foule-mouthed slanderers ;

neyther is there any thing, whereby a Virgins good name is

kept more pure and unspotted, then by a mature and timely

marriage. Who in all this City will refuse our Alliance ? who

will not be glad to injoy such a Jewell, in whom those foure

principall things concurre, which are demanded and desired

in marriage ? The first, IDiscretion, Honesty and Virginity.

The second. Beauty. The third, Noble birth and Parentage.

The last, Riches. With all these nature hath endowed her.

Whatsoever they shall require of us, they shall find it to be

full and perfect.

ALISA. My Lord Pleberio, heaven blesse her, and send
her so to doe, that we may see our desires accomplished
in our life time. And I am rather of opinion that wee shall
want one that is equall with our daughter, considering her
vertue and noblenesse of blood, then that there are over-
many that are worthy to weare her ; but because this office
more properly appertaineth to the father then the mother,
as you shall dispose of her, so shall I rest contented, and she
remaine obedient, as shall best beseeme her chaste carriage,
her honest life, and meeke disposition.

LUCRECIA. But if you knew as much as I doe, your
hearts would burst in sunder. I, I, you mistake your marke,
shee is not the woman you wot of ; the best is lost ; an ill
yeere is like to attend upon your old age. Calisto hath

243

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS pluckt that flowre wherein you so much glory. There is not
XVI any that can now new filme her, or repaire her lost Virginity,
for Celestina is dead, the onely curer of a crackt maiden-head,
you have awaked somewhat of the latest ; you should have
risen a little earelier. Harke, harke ; good Mistresse Melibea,
harke, I say.

MELIBEA. What does the foole there sneaking in the
corner ?

LUCRECIA. Come hither, Madame, and you shall heare
how forward your father and mother are to provide you a
husband, you shall be married out of hand, out of hand,
Madame.

MELIBEA. For aU loves sake speake softly; they will
heare you by and by; let them talke on, they beginne to
doat ; for this month they have had no other talke ; their
minde hath runne on nothing else ; it may be their heart
tels them of the great love which I beare to Calisto, as also
of that which for this months space hath passed between us.
I know not whether they have had any inkling of our meet-
ing ? or whether they have over-heard us ? nor can I devise
in the world, what should be the reason, why they should be
so hot upon the matter, and more eager for the marrying of
mee now, then ever heeretofore : but they shall misse of their
purpose ; they shall labour it in vaine : for to what use serves
the clapper in the Mil, if the Miller be deafe ? Who is he
that can remove me from my glory ? Who can withdraw me
from my pleasure ? Calisto is my Soule, my Life, my Lord ;
on whom I have set up my rest, and in whom I have placed
all my hopes; I know that in him I cannot be deceived.
And since that hee loves me, v/ith what other thing but love
can I requite him ? All the debts in the world receive their
payment in a divers kind ; but love admits no other pay-
ment, but love. I glad my selfe in thinking on him; I
delight my selfe in seeing him ; and rejoyce my selfe in
hearing him. Let him doe with mee what he will, and dis-
pose of me at his pleasure ; if he will goe to Sea, I will goe
with him ; if hee will round the world, I will along with
him ; if he will sell mee for a slave in the enemies Countrey,
I will not resist his desire. Let my Parents let me injoy

244

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

him, if they meane to injoy me; let them not settle their ACTUS
thoughts upon these vanities, nor thinke no more upon those -^^^

their marriages. For, it is better to be well belov'd, then ill
married ; and a good friend is better then a bad husband.
Let them suifer mee to injoy the pleasure of my youth, if
they minde to injoy any quietnesse in their age ; if not, they
will but prepare destruction for me, and for themselves a
Sepulchre. I grieve for nothing more, then for the time
that I have lost in not injoy ing him any sooner, and that
hee did not know me, as soone as he^ was knowne unto me.
I will no husband ; I will not sully the knots of matrimony,
nor treade against the matrimoniall steppes of another man ;
nor walke in the way of wedlocke with a stranger, as I finde
many have done, in those ancient bookes which I have read,
which were farre more discreete, and wiser then my selfe ;
and more noble in their estate and Linage, whereof some
were held among the heathens for goddesses : as was Venus,
the mother of Eneas and of Cupid, the god of love, who being
married, broke her plighted troth of wedlocke : as likewise
divers others, who were inflamed with a greater fire, and did
commit most nefarious and incestuous errors : as Myrrha,
with her father ; Semyramis with her sonne ; Canace with
her brother ; others also in a more cruell and beastly fashion,
did transgresse the Law of Nature : as Pasiphae, the wife of
King Minos, with a Bull : and these were Queenes and great
Ladies, under whose faults (considering the foulnesse of
them) mine may passe as reasonable, without note of shame,
or dishonesty. My love was grounded upon a good and just
cause, and a farre more lawfuU ground. I was wooed and
sued unto, and captivated by Calisto's good deserts ; being
thereunto solicited by that subtil and cunning Mistris in her
Art, Dame Celestina, who adventured her selfe in many a
dangerous Visit, before that ever I would yeeld my selfe true
prisoner to his love. And now for this month, and more (as
you your selfe have seene) hee hath not failed, no, not so
much as one night, but hath still scaled our garden walls, as
if hee had come to the scaling of a fort ; and many times
hath beene repulsed, and assaulted it in vaine, being driven
to withdraw his siege. And yet for all this, hee continued

245

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS avMe eoariant and tenliite fitni, and aercr would gire orer,

sake, kk flenwris kme beene daine; Hn* ]iij«ke,bfee hatb
waAedamd cmiNiid Us fubrtaaee; £ir mj sake, bee hatfa
£^9ed jdKeacse vifk an Ins fikndi in the Cltjr; smdalld^
long heehaidi had Ihe p^fwrfy tosoname t^ciee prisoner in
]& ovne hoose, and ond^ npon kope (vhenan bee oounted
liiisi Ifi happy) to see >Ke m tibe m^bt. Farre, fsme tbexe-
fiiie fioBtaMe be afl mgcatztode; ^ne be all flattery and
^anadlatioii toward so tnae and feHbfafl a Jjorvex ; £cir I
tc^Kd (in way TeBOod to him) vefiaa hmhanH, fixtbec, nor
kmdned; for in mag aaj Cafisto, I kve aij H&, vbicfa ble
of anne dolb iboi^bce please bk, because itfJeasetb bim ;
«lddb I dene no hmaa to injoj, tbcn be dball joj in it

IXJCSEC3A. Peiee, Jiadaae, barice, baike, tbey ooDtimie
m tben* doscoane.

TLEBESaO. Boot (aife) awe tbmkes joa seeme to Hke
veil of Ibis awtkn, it u not aaame, fbat wee maJke it
Icnowne to oar dan^bter; wee sss^ doe wdl to tell ber bow
aunnr dse 6edm her, aad wbat store of sotots would be
wilfaHg to come lariio bex, to tbe cndtbatdie ms^ the more
wilbn^ atertaiae oar deme, and wekt dtejct of bim
wboat dbe Bkedi best For in tbis partieaba-, tbe Lawes
allow botib mat and wonKs, fboo^ tbej be under patemall
powers lor to anke tbeir owne dbi^^ee.

JUJESA. Wbat doe 3foiiaMane,bi^iand? Wby doe jou
taft^andipesdtiMeintbts? HVbo dbaU be tbe messeo^ to
^■jMjiiMf 010. AaMg^^ )f^iea witb tbis stcanife newes, and
dball not sdta^ ha Ibcsevitb? Ahme, doe jou tbinke
&at dbe earn tdi abat a atan awaneii, or what it is to auuTy,
or be asanied «* or wbe0Mr bf tibe coEgunetioa of man and

bmotorno? Doe jou fbink, tbat ber

nnspotted ViiciBity, can mggat, unto ber any

de«e. Of tbat wbidb as yet fbe natber knowes, nor

as eoneesre what it
ft is ibe kait part of ba- tbonigbt Beieeve
it, (my Lord Fkboio) dbe dotii not so nmdb as dnaune on
anjandkamtter; and /mwx your sdfe, be bee wbat bee will
be,^jaKr«olileor lMae»£dee or foole, we wifl make b»^to

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

take whom it pleaseth us : whom we like, him shall shee like:
shee shall confirme her will to ours, and shall thinke that fit,
which wee thinke fit, and no further ; for I know, I trow,
how I have bred and brought up my daughter.

MELIBEA. Lucrecia, Lucrecia ; runne, hye thee quickly,
and goe in by the backe doore in the hall, and breake off their
discourse with some fained errand or other, unlesse thou
wouldst have me cry out, and take on like a Bedlam ; so much
am I out of patience with their misconceit of my ignorance.

LUCRECIA. I goe, Madame.

THE END OF THE SIXTEENTH ACT

ACTUS
XVI

ACTUS XVII

THE ARGUMENT

LICIA wanting- the chastity of' Penelope,
determines to cast off the care and sorrow
which she had conceived upon the deaths
of those for whom shee mourned^ highly
to this purpose commeriding Areusa's
counsell ; shee gets her to Areusa's
house^ whither liketvise comes Sosia, out
of whom, Areusa, by faire and jlattring

words, drew those matters of secrecy which past betwixt Calisto

and Melibea.

INTERLOCUTORS

Elicia, Areusa, Sosia.

ELICIA. I doe my selfe wrong, to mourne thus. Few
doe visit my house ; few doe passe this way. I can heare
no musicke nor stirring betimes in the morning ; I have no
amorous ditties sung by my Lovers at my windowe ; there
are no frayes, nor quarrels before my doore ; they do not cut
and slash one another anights for my sake, as they were
wont to doe : and that which most of all grieves me, is, that
I see neither penny nor farthing, nor any other present to

247

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS come within my doores. But for this, can I blame no body
XVII but my selfe ; my selfe only is in fault ; for had I followed
the counsell of her, who is my true and faithfull Sister, when
as I brought her the other day the newes of this sad and
heavy Accident, which hath brought all this penury upon
mee, I had not liv'd alone mur'd up betweene two walls ; nor
others loathed to have come, and scene mee. The divell (I
thinke) makes mee to mourne thus for him, who, had I
beene dead, would scarce, perhaps, have shed one teare for
mee. Now I dare boldly say, that Areusa told mee truth.
Sister (quoth shee) never conceive, nor shew more sorrow for
the misfortune, or death of another, then he would have done
for thee. Sempronio, had I beene dead, would have beene
neV a whit the lesse merry, he would not have wronged his
delights, nor abridged his pleasures. And why then like a
foole should I grieve and vexe my selfe, for one that is dead
and gone, and hath lost his head by order of Law ? And
what can I tell, whether being a cholericke and hasty-hayre-
braind fellow as he was, he might have killed mee too, as
well as he did that old woman, whom I reckoned of as of
mine owne mother ? I will therefore by all meanes follow
Areusa's counsell, who knowes more of the world then I doe;
and goe now and then to visit her, that I may learne some-
thing from her, how I may live another day. O what a
sweet participation will this be ! what a delightfull conver-
sation ! I see it is not said in vaine ; That of more worth is
one day of a wise man, then the whole life of a foole ; I will
therefore put off my mourning weedes, lay aside my sorrow,
dismisse my teares, which have hitherto bin so ready to offer
their service to my eyes. But sithence that it is the very
first office that we doe, as soone as we are borne, to come
crying into the world ; I nothing wonder that it is so easie
to beginne to cry ; and so hard to leave off. But this may
teach one wit, by seeing the hurt it does to the eyes ;
by seeing that good cloathes and neat dressings, make a
woman seeme faire and handsome, though shee be nothing
so, nor so ; making her of old, young ; and of young,
younger. Your coloured paintings, and your Cerusses which
give woman such a pure wliite and red, what are they,
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but a slimy clinging thing, a kind of bird-lime, wherewith men ACTUS

are taken and insnared ? Come then thou my glasse, come XVII

hither againe unto me ; and thou too my Antimonium ; for I

have too much already wronged my eyes, and almost marr'd

my face, with my blubbring and weeping. I will on with

my white Vailes, my wrought Gorgets, my gay Garments, my

more pleasing Attire, and such other apparell, as shall speake

pleasure. I will presently provide some Lye for my hayre,

which now through neglect, hath lost it's bright burnisht

hiew. And this being done, I will count my Hens, I will

make up my bed : for it glads a womans heart, to see things

neat and handsome about her. I will have all well swept and

made cleane before my doore, and the streete that buts upon

it, sprinkled with water, as well to keepe it coole, as to lay

the dust ; to the end, that they who passe by, may plainely

thereby perceive, that I have banisht all griefe, and shaken

hands with sorrow. But first of all, I will goe and visit my

Cousin, to know whether Sosia have beene with her or no ?

And what good shee hath done upon him ? For I have not

seene him ; since I told him that Areusa would faine speake

with him. I pray love, I may finde her all alone ; for shee

is seldome any more without Gallants, then a good Taverne

is without drunkards ; the doore is shut, there should be no

body within ; I will knocke, and see. Tha, tha, tha.

AREUSA. Who 's at doore ?

ELICIA. I pray open it ; it is Elicia.

AREUSA. Come in, good Cousin, heaven reward you for
this kindnesse ; beleeve mee, I thinke my selfe much behold-
ing unto you, that you would take the paines to come and
visit me. I mary, wench, now it is as it should be; now
thou pleasest mee, thou canst not imagine what contentment
my eye taketh, to see that habit of mourning and of sorrow,
to be changed into garments of joy, and of gladnesse ; now
wee will injoy one another ; wee will laugh and be merry ;
now I shall have some heart to come and visit thee ; thou
shalt come to my house, and I will come to thine ; it may
be that Celestina's death will turne to both our goods ; for I
finde, that it is better now with mee, then it was before ;
and therefore it is said, that the dead doe open the eyes to

2 I 249

THE TRAGICKCOMEDY OF

ACTUS the living ; to some by wealth ; to other some by liberty, as
XVII it is with thee.

ELICIA. I heare some body at the doore; we are too
soone cut off from our discourse, for I was about to aske
you, whether Sosia had beene heere or no ?

AREUSA. No, not yet ; stay, wee will talke more anon.
How loud hee knocks ! I will goe downe and see who it is.
Sure ; either he is a mad-man, or our familiar friend. Who
is 't that knocks there ?

SOSIA. Open the doore, Mistresse : it 's Sosia, servant to
Calisto.

AREUSA. Now in good time : The Wolfe is in the fable.
Hide your selfe, sister, behinde these hangings, and you shall
see how I will worke him ; and how I will puffe him up with
the wind of my faire and flattring words. And assure your
selfe, that before we two part, I will make him wholy ours ;
he shall not goe hence the same Sosia that he came ; but
with my smooth and inticing termes, my soft and gentle
handling of him, I will quite unmaw him, and draw from him
all that hee either knowes concerning his Master or any body
else, as hee drawes dust from his horses with his curry-combe.
What? My Sosia? My inward friend? Him whoni I
wish so well unto, though perhaps he knowes not of it?
Him, whom I have longed to know, led only by the fame
and good report, which I heare of him ? What ? He that
is so faithfuU to his Master? So good a friend to his
acquaintance ? I will imbrace thee (my Love) I will hugge
thee in mine armes ; for now that I see thee, I see report
comes short; and verily perswade my selfe, that there are more
vertues in thee, then I have been told of. Fame hath been
too sparing of thy praise ; come (sweet heart) let us goe in,
and sit downe in my chamber ; for it does me good to looke
upon thee. O ! how thou dost resemble my unfortunate Par-
meno ! How lively doth thy person represent him unto mee!
This is it that makes this day to shine so cleare, that thou art
come to visit mee. Tell mee (gentle Sir) did you ever know
mee before ?

SOSIA. The fame (gentlewoman) of your gentle and
sweete disposition of your good graces, discretion and wis-

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dome, flies with so swift a wing, and in so high a pitch, ACTUS
through all this City, that you need not much to marvell, XVII
if you be of more knowne, then knowing. For there is not
any man, that speakes any thing in praise of the fairest
and beautifullest in this City, but that you are ranked in
the first place, and remembred, as the prime and chiefest
amongst them all.

ELICIA. This poore silly fellow, this wretched sonne of a
whore, to see how hee exceedes himselfe, and speakes beyond
the compasse of his common wit ! hee doth not use to talke
thus wisely. He that should see him goe to water his horses,
riding on their bare ridge without a Saddle, and his naked
legges hanging downe beneath his Canvasse frocke, cut out
into foure quarters ; and should now see him thus handsome,
and well suited, both in his cloake, and other his cloathes,
it would give a man wings, and tongue; and make him
crow, as this Cockrell doth.

AREUSA. Your talke would make mee blush, and runne
away for shame, were there any body heere, to heare how
you play upon me. But (as it is the fashion of all you men)
you never goe unprovided of such kinde of phrases as these :
these false and deceitfull praises are too common amongst
you ; you have words moulded of purpose, to serve your
turne withall, and to suite your selves as you see cause, to
any woman whatsoever : yet for all this, am I not afraid of
you, neyther will I start, or budge from you. But I must
tell you (Sosia) by the way ; this praising of me thus, is
more then needs, for though thou shouldst not commend me,
yet should I love thee. And that thereby thou shouldst
thinke to gaine my love, is as needlesse ; for thou hast gained
it already. There are two things, which caused me (Sosia)
for to send for thee, intreating thee to take the paines to
come and see me ; wherein if I finde you to double, or dis-
semble with mee, I have done with you. What they are, I
will leave them to your selfe to relate, though I know it is
for your owne good, which makes mee to doe as I doe.

SOSIA. Heaven forbid that I should use any cogging
with you, or seeke by subtilty to deceive you. I came
hither upon the assurance that I had of the great favors

251

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS which you intend, and now do me; holding my selfe not
XVII worthy to pull off your shooes. Do thou therefore direct
my tongue ; answer thou for mee to thine owne questions :
for I shall ratifie and confirme whatsoever thou shalt pro-
pound.

AREUSA. My Love, thou know'st how dearely I lov'd
Parmeno. And as it is in the Proverbe, Hee that loves
Beltram, loves any thing that is his ; all his friends were
alwaies welcome unto mee ; his good service to his Master
did as much please mee, as it pleased himselfe. When hee
saw any harme towards Calisto, hee did study to prevent it.
Now as all this is true, so thought I it good to accquaint
thee with it. First then did I send for thee, that I might
give thee to understand how much I love thee ; and how
much I joy and ever shall, in this thy visiting mee ; nor
shalt thou lose any thing by it, if I can helpe it, but rather
turne to thy profit and benefit. Secondly, since that I have
setled my eyes, my love and affection on thee, that I may
advise thee to take heede how thou commest in danger ; and
besides, to admonish thee, that thou doe not discover thy
secrets to any : For you see what ill befell Parmeno and
Sempronio, by imparting things of secrecy unto Celestina ;
for I would not willingly see thee dye in such an ill fashion,
as your fellow and companion did ; it is enough for me that
I have bewayled one of you already, and therefore I would
have you to know, that there came one unto mee, and told
me that you had discovered unto him the love, that is betwixt
Calisto and Melibea ; and how hee wanne her ; and how you
your selfe night by night went along with him ; and many
other things which now I cannot call to minde. Take heede
(friend) for not to keepe a secret, is proper onely unto women,
yet not unto all, but such as are fooles and children. Take
heede (I say) for heere-hence great hurt may come unto you :
and to this end did Nature give you two eares, and two eyes,
and but one tongue ; to the end that what you see and heare,
should be double to that you speake. Take heede, and doe
not thinke your friend will keepe your secret, when you your
selfe cannot keepe it ; when therefore thou art to goe with
thy Master, Calisto, to that Ladies house, make no noyse,

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lest you be heard ; for some have told me, that every night ACTUS
you keepe a coyle, and cannot containe your selves, as men XVII
transported and over-joyed.

SOSIA. O what busie-bodies, and what idle-headed per-
sons be they who abuse your eares with such frivolous tales !
whosoever told you that hee heard any such matter out of
my mouth, hee told you an untruth ; and some others,
perhaps, because they see me goe anights when the Moone
shines, to water my horses, whisling, and singing, and such
like kinde of mirth, to drive away care, and to make me
forget my toyling and my moyling, and all this before tenne
a clocke at night, conceive an evill suspition ; and of this sus-
pition, make certaineties, and affirme that to be true, which
themselves doe falsly surmize. And Calisto is not so madde,
or foolish, that at such an houre as that, he should goe
about a businesse of so great a consequence, but that he will
first be sure that all abroad is quiet, and that every man
reposes himselfe in the sweetenesse of his first sleepe : and
lesse are you to suppose, that hee should goe every night
unto her; for such a duty will not endure a daily visita-
tion. And that you may (Mistresse) more manifestly see
their falsehood ; for (as the Proverbe is) A Iyer is sooner
ta'ne, then he that is lame ; wee have not gone eight times
a-month ; and yet these lying babblers sticke not to avouch,
we goe night after night.

AREUSA. If you love mee then (my deare Love) that I
may accuse them to their faces, and take them in the nooze
of their falsehood, acquaint mee with those dayes you deter-
mine to goe thither; and if then they shall erre in their
report, I shall thereby be assured of your secrecy, and their
roguery ; for that being not true, which they tell mee, your
person shall be secured from danger, and I freed from any
sudden feare of your life, hoping long to enjoy you.

SOSIA. Mistresse, let us not stand any longer upon
examination of witnesses. This very night, when the clocke
shall strike twelve, they have appointed to meet by the way
of the garden ; to morrow, you may aske them what they
know ; whereof, if any man shall give you true notice, I will
be content that hee shall scotch and notch me for a foole.

253

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS AREUSA. And on which side of the garden (my sweet-
XVII heart ?) because I may contradict them the better, ii I finde
them varying.

SOSIA. By the streete where the fat Hostesse dwels, just
on the backeside of her house.

ELICIA. No more (good man Ragge-tayle) it is enough,
we need no more. Cursed is hee who makes such Muleters
acquainted with his secrets. The Blockhead hath swallowed
the bayte ; hee hath let her unhinge him,

AREUSA. Brother Sosia ; this that thou hast said, shall
suffice to make knowne thy innocency, and their wickednesse;
and so a good speed with thee : for I have some other busi-
nesse to dispatch, and I feare mee I have spent too much
time with you.

ELICIA. O wise wench ! O what a proper dismission,
well befitting such an Asse, who hath so easily revealed his
secrets !

SOSIA. Courteous sweet Mistresse, pardon mee, if m}'^
long stay hath beene troublesome unto you. And if it shall
please you to accept of my service, you shall never light
upon any that shall more willingly therein adventure his life.
And so your owne best wishes attend you.

AREUSA. And you too. So : Are you gone, Muleter ?
How proudly the Villaine goes his way ! I have put a tricke
upon you (you Rogue) I have bored you, I wisse, thorow
the nose ; pardon me, if I tume my backe to thee, and with-
draw my favour from thee. I will have your coat soundly
cudgelled for this geare. But to whom doe I speake.?
Sister, come forth, tell me what dost thou thinke of him,
whom I sent away ? Have I not handsomely playd my part
with him ? Thus know I how to handle such fellowes ; thus
doe such Asses goe out of my hands, beaten and laden with
blowes; thus your bashfuU fooles, and no better do I use
your discreeter men that are timorous ; and your devout
persons that are passionate ; and your chaste men, when they
are once set on fire. Learne of me therefore. Cousin : for
this is another kinde of Art then that of Celestina ; it is a
tricke beyond any that she had in her budget ; though she
tooke mee for a foole, because I was content to be so

254

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accounted at her hands. And sithence now that wee have
squeez'd the Orange, and wrung out of this foole as much as
wee desire to know ; I thinke it not amisse, that we goe to
seeke out that dogs-face, at his house, whom on Thursday
last I rated so bitterly out of mine. You shall make show,
as though you were desirous to make us friends, and that
you had earnestly intreated me to come and see him.

THE END OF THE SEVENTEENTH ACT,

ACTU
XVII

ACTUS XVIII

THE ARGUMENT

LICIA, beiriff resolved to make Areusa and
Centurio jfriends, as Areusa had before
instructed her, they goe to Centurio's
house ; where they intreat him to revenge
their friends deaths upon Calisto and
Melibea, which he promiseth them to doe.
And as it is the nature of such Riifflans as
he, not to performs what tliey promise, he
serke^' to excuse himsel/e, as you shall see in the sequell.

INTERLOCUTORS

Elicia, Centurio, Areusa.

ELICIA. Who 's at home heere ?

CENTURIO. Boy, runne and see : Who dares presume to
enter my house, and not first have the manners to knocke at
the doore .? Come, come backe againe, Sirrha ; I now see who
it is. Doe not cover your face (Mistresse) with your mantle,
you cannot hide your selfe from me. For, when I saw
Elicia come in before you, I knew shee could not bring with
her any bad company, nor any newes that could offend mee,
but rather that should please and delight mee.

AREUSA. If you love me (Sister) let us not in any
further; for the Villaine stands upon his pantofles, and

255

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS begins to looke big ; thinking, perhaps, that I am come to
XVIII cry him mercy. Hee had rather have such company as him-
selfe then ours ; come, let us goe, for I am the worse to looke
upon him ; I am ready to swound with the very sight of
such an ill-favour'd face. Think you (Sister) that you have
us'd me well, to traine me thus along to such a walke as
this ? Is it a fit thing, that we should come from good
company, and enter in heere to see this villainous fellow, that
flayeth off the skinnes from dead mens faces, that hee may
goe disguysed and unknowne .''

ELICIA. If you love me, come backe againe ; I pray you
doe not you goe, unlesse you meane to leave halfe your mantle
behinde you. I will hold you fast, indeede I will not let you
goe.

CENTURIO. Hold her, as you love me, hold her. Do
not let her goe.

ELICIA. I wonder. Cousin, what you meane by this ? you
seeme to be wiser then I am. Tell mee, what man is so
foolish, or so voyd, of reason, that is not glad to be visited,
especially by women ? Come hither, Centurio ; now trust
mee, I sweare, shee shall imbrace thee, whether shee will
or no ; if shee will be angry, let her, I will beare the blame
of it.

AREUSA. Imbrace him ? Mary gup with a murraine !
I had rather see him under the power and rigour of the Law ;
and had rather see him dye by the hands of his enemies, then
that I should doe the slave such a kindnesse. No, no, I
have done with him ; I have nothing to say to him ; as long
as I live, he and I shall be two. And wherein (I pray) am I
so beholding unto him, that I should imbrace him ? nay, so
much as once vouchsafe to looke upon such a professed
enemy as hee ? I did but intreat him the other day, to have
gone but a little way for me about a businesse that did as
much concerne mee as my life ; and doe you thinke that I
could get him to goe ? Speake him faire, intreat him, doe
what I could for my life, hee still answered mee, No. And
shall I imbrace a Villaine, that regards me no more then so ?

CENTURIO. Command mee, Mistresse, in such things a
I know : exercise mee in my Art, and imploy mee in such

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CALISTO AND MELIBEA

offices as appertaine to my profession : as, to fight for you ACTUS

with three men at once; or say they should be more, for XVIII

your sake, I would not refuse them, but challenge them the

field. Command me to kill this or that man ; to cut off a

leg or an arme ; to slash any woman over the face, that shall

stand in competition with thee, and deface her beauty ; such

trifles as these, shall be no sooner said, then done. But doe

not (I prythee) intreat me to walke afoote ; nor to give thee

any money ; for thou know'st I have it not. Gold and

Silver will not tarry with mee ; they are flinchers, they will

not abide with mee, I may cut three Capers, and yet not

shake one poore blanke out of my breeches : no man gives

that which hee has not ; you can have no more of a Cat, then

his skinne. Heart and good will, but not a ragge of money.

I live heere in a house as you see, wherein you may throw a

bowle and meet with never a rubbe ; all the moveables that

I have, are not worth a button ; my implements are such as

you see heere before mee; an old Jarre, with a broken

brimme ; a rusty Spit without a point ; the bed whej-ein I

lye, is bound about with hoopes of Bucklers, which I broke

in fight ; my feather-bed, a bundle of broken pykes ; my

sheetes, shirts of tome mayle ; for my pillow, I have a pouch

fiird with pibble stones. And should I bestow a collation on

you, I have nothing in the world that I can pawne, save this

poore ragged and thread-bare cloake, which I have on my

backe.

ELICIA. So let mee prosper, as his words doe exceedingly
please mee ; why, hee is as obedient to you, as a servant ; hee
speakes to you like a Suppliant, and hee hath said nothing,
but what is reason. What would you more of a man ? I
prythee, as thou lov'st mee, speake unto him, and lay aside
your displeasure ; suffer him not to live thus sad and
melancholy, but speake kindely unto him, and put him out
of his dumps, since hee offers his person so willingly to your

CENTURIO. Offer my selfe, Elicia ? I sweare unto thee,
by the Chriscrosse Row, by the whole Alphabet, and sillabi-
cation of the letters, that my arme trembles, to think what I
would execute for her sake ; for it is, and ever shall be my

2 K 257 ■

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS continuall meditation, to study how I may please her, but it
XVIII is my unhappinesse, that it never hits right. The last night
I was adream''d, that in her quarrell I challenged foure men
into the field, all of them well knowne unto her, if I should
name them ; and mee thought I slew one of them ; and for
the rest which fled, he that scap't best, left his left arme at
my foote. Much better should I have bestirred my selfe, had
it beene day, and that I had beene awake, if the proudest of
them should have once presumed but to have toucht her
shoo.

AREUSA. I take thee at thy word ; now wee be friends ;
and in good time have wee met. I heere pardon what is
past, but upon condition that you revenge mee upon a
Gentleman, called Calisto, who hath wronged both mee, and
my Cousin.

CENTURIO. O ! how I turne Renegado ! How faine
would I renew the condition ! But tell mee ; has hee made
even with the world ?

AREUSA. All ''s one for that, take you no care.

CENTURIO. Well, seeing you will have it so, let us send
him to dine in hell, without company.

AREUSA. But doe you heare ? Interrupt me not ; Faile
me not, I advise you ; this night (if you will) you may take
him napping.

CENTURIO. No more, I apprehend your meaning ; I
know the whole course of his love ; how hee carries himselfe
in it ; how such and such suffred in the businesse : as also
where you two are galled ; I know whither hee goes, at what
houre, and with whom. But tell mee, how many accompany
him ?

AREUSA. Onely two ; and those young fellowes.

CENTURIO. This is too small a prey, too poore a pit-
tance ; my sword will have but a short supper ; it would fare
farre better at some other time, then that which now you
have concluded on.

AREUSA. No, no ; this is but to shift us off, and to ex-
cuse your not doing it. It will not serve your turne, you
must give this bone to some other dogge to picke ; I must
not be fed with delaies ; I will see whether sayings and

258

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

doings eate together at your Table ; whether deedes and ACTUS
words sit both at one boord with you ? XVIII

CENTURIO. If my sword should but tell you the deedes
it hath done, it would want time to utter them. What does
impeople Church-yards but it ? Who makes Surgeons rich
but it ? Who sets Armourers aworke but it ? Who hewes,
and unriviteth the finest maile but it ? Who drives before
him, and shivers in pieces the bucklers of Barcelona, but it ?
Who slices the helmets of Calatayud, but it ? Who shreds
the casks of Almazan, as short as if they were made of
Pumpions, but it ? These twenty yeeres hath it found mee
food ; by meanes of it am I feared of men, and beloved of
women, onely your selfe excepted; for it, the name of
Centurio was given to my Grandfather; for it, my father
likewise was called Centurio, and so am I.

ELICIA. But I pray, tell me, what did your sword, that
your Grandfather should gaine his name by it ? Was hee
by it made Captaine of a hundred men ?

CENTURIO. No, hee was made by it Champion to an
hundred women.

AREUSA. Wee will have nothing to doe with your Pedi-
gree, nor famous Acts of old ; if you will doe that I spake
to you of, resolve suddenly, for wee must be gone.

CENTURIO. I long more for this night, wherein I may
give you content, then you long to be revenged. And that
every thing may be done to your good liking ; make your
owne choyce, what death you will have him dye. For I can
shew you a Bead-roll (if you will see it) wherein there are
set downe some seven hundred and seventy severall sorts of
deaths ; which when you have scene, you may choose that
which likes you best.

ELICIA. If you love mee (Areusa) let not this matter be
put into such a mad-mans hands ; hee is too bloudy for the
businesse : and it were better to let all alone, then that the
City should receive such a scandall ; so that our second harme
shall be worse then the first.

AREUSA. I pray content your selfe, Sister, hold your
peace. Name that City unto us (if you can) which is not
full of hurly-burlies, and where some scandals doe not arise.

259

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS CENTURIO. The afFronts and disgraces which are now in

XVIII request, and wherin I am most conversant, are banging a man
over the shoulders with a sword, having it''s scabbard on ;
dry-beatings, without drawing of bloud ; thumping him on
the brest, or making his head ring noone with the pommell of
my sword, or by falsifying of a thrust or blow, to give him
his payment where hee least lookes for it. Others I use
like Sives, pricking them full of holes with my ponyard ;
some I cut in a large size, giving them a fearefull stocada, or
mortall wound : and now and then I use my cudgell, or
bastonado, that my sword may keepe holy-day, and rest it
selfe from it*'s labour.

ELICIA. For loves sake ha' done, tell us of no more.
Bastonado him, I pray thee : for I would have him beaten,
but not slaine.

CENTURIO. I sweare by the whole generation of Turke
and Termagaunt, that it is as possible for this right arme of
mine to bastonado a man, and not kill him, as it is for the
Sunne to stand still in the Firmament, and never move.

AREUSA. Sister, let not you and I sorrow for the matter;
why should wee seeme to pitty him ? Let him doe with him
what hee will ; let him kill him, as hee findes himselfe
humour'd, when hee comes to doe the businesse : let Melibea
weepe as well as you have done before her : and so let us
leave him. Centurio ; see you give a good accompt of that
which is committed to your charge. Take your owne course ;
any way, so as you revenge us on him, shaU content us ; but
in any case take heed, that hee doe not escape without pay-
ing for his errour.

CENT. O Heavens ! he is going to Pluto I warrant you
already ; I will give him his passe-port, I warrant you, un-
lesse hee betake him to his heeles, and runne away from me.
Dearest in my affection, it glads mee to the heart, that I
have this occasion offred unto mee (though it be but in a
trifle) and a matter scarce worth thanks ; that you may know
by this, how farre I would (if occasion served) inforce my
selfe for your sake.

AREUSA. Mars direct thy hand aright. And so fare-
well, for it is time for us to be gone.

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

CENTURIO, Well, adieu. Goe your waies, like a couple A C T U I
of headstrong and pertinacious whores as you be. Now will XVIII
I bethinke my selfe, how I may excuse my selfe of my
promise ; and in such sort too, that they may be perswaded,
that I used all possible diligence for to execute their desire,
and that it was not of negligence, for the freeing of my selfe
from danger. I will faine my selfe sicke : But what will
that profit me ? for then they will be at me againe when I
am well. Againe, if I shall tell them that I have beene there,
and that I forced them to flye, they will aske mee who they
were ? how many in number, and in what place I buckled
with them ? and what apparell they wore ? and by what
markes I knew them to be such and such ? and the divell
a whit shall I be able to tell them : And then all the fat is in
the fire. What counsell then shall I take, that may cumply
with mine own safety, and their desire? I will send for
lame Thraso, and his companions, and tell them, that because
this night I shall be otherwise imployed, they would goe and
make a clattering with their Swords and Bucklers in manner
of a fray, for to feare, and affright certaine young men, whom
they shall finde in such a place, which service was faithfully
recommended unto mee to execute. This I know is a sure
course, and no other hurt can follow thereupon, save to make
them fly, and so get them home to bed.

THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH ACT

261

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS XIX

THE ARGUMENT

ALISTO, going' with Sosia a7id Tristan to
Fleberio's garden to visit his Melibea, who
staid looking Jbr him^ attended hy Lucre-
cia ; Sosia recounts unto Tristan all that
which had passed betwixt him and Areusa.
Calisto remaining in the garden ivith
Melibea : Tliraso and his companions come,
sent thither by the appointment o/'Centurio,
Jbr the Jiilfilling of' that which hee had pi'omised to Areusa,
and Elicia. Upon whom Sosia sallies forth. Now Calisto
hearing from the garden where hee remained with Melibea,
the clashing and clatte?-ing ivhich they made, ivould needes goe
forth amongst them. Which issuing Jbrth was the cause that
his daies were finished ; for this is the recompence which such
Lovers receive. Whence they may learne, that it is better Jbr
them not to love at all, then so to love.

INTERLOCUTORS

Sosia, Tristan, Calisto, Melibea, Lucrecia.

SOSIA. Softly, that wee may not be heard. As wee goe
from hence to Pleberio's garden, I will tell thee all (brother
Tristan) that passed this day, betwixt Areusa, and my selfe,
taking my selfe now to be the happiest man in the world.
Thou shalt understand then, that upon the good report
which shee heard of mee, shee fell extremely in love with
mee, and sent me word by Elicia, that I would doe her the
kindnesse, as to come and speake with her. But omitting
many other speaches of good counsell, which then past be-
tweene us, shee made present shew unto mee, that shee was
now as much mine, as ever shee was Parmeno''s. Shee re-
quested mee, that I would continually come and visit her ;
and that she did not doubt, but that shee should long injoy
my love. And I sweare to thee (brother) by that dangerous

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

way wherein wee walke, and as ever any good may heereafter ACTUS
befall mee, that twice or thrice it was as much as ever I XIX
could doe for my life, to forbeare from boording her ; but
that very shame did hinder mee, seeing her so faire, and so
well clad, and my selfe in an old Mouse-eaten cloake : still as
shee moved and advanced her selfe, shee did breathe forth a
most sweet and redolent odour of Muske ; and I never stirr"'d,
or heav'd my body, but I sent forth a most ranke sent of that
horse-dung, which had got within my shooes : Shee had a
hand as white as snow, and ever and anon, as she puU'd off
her glove, thou wouldst have thought, that she had scattered
flowres of Orenges about the roome ; so that as well in re-
gard of this, as also because at that time shee was somewhat
busie, I was content to deferre my boldnesse till another day :
as likewise because all things at the first sight are not so
tractable ; for the more they are communicated, the better
are they understood in their participation.

TRISTAN. Friend Sosia, another more ripe and mature
braine, and better experimented in matters of the world then
mine is, were very necessary to be your adviser in this busi-
nesse ; yet as farreforth as my tender age, and the meanes of
my naturall parts and wit shall be able to reach unto ; I will
tell you what I thinke. This woman, (as you told me your
selfe) is a known and noted whore ; and therefore whatsoever
hath past betweene you, flatter not your selfe, but rather be-
leeve, that her words doe not want deceit. Her offers, I
perswade mee were false, though I know not to what end she
made them. If shee love thee, because thou art a Gentle-
man ; how many better then thy selfe hath she rejected ? If
because thou art rich ; she knowes well enough that thou hast
no other dust, then that which clings to the Curry-combe.
If because thou art nobly descended, and of high Linage ;
she knowes thy name is Sosia, and so was thy fathers ; and
that he was borne and bred in a poore little Hamlet, getting
his living by following the Plough-tayle, and breaking Clods
of earth, for which thy selfe art more fit then to make a
Lover. Be wise, Sosia, and consider with thy selfe, if she doe
not goe a birding, to see if she could get out of thee, the
secrecy of this walke, whereby to workc some heart-burning,

26S

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS and breed no good bloud betwixt Calisto and Pleberio, out
XIX of that envy which she beares to Melibea''s pleasure. Beware
(I say :) for Envy (I tell you) is an incurable infirmity, when
it is once settled : shee is a guest that is alwaies more
troublesome, then thankfull for her lodging, and is never
merry, but at other folkes miseries ; nor ever laughes, but at
a shrewd tume. Now then, if this be so : O ! how this
wicked woman will deceive thee with her smooth and subtill
words, whereof, such as she are never to seeke, but have them
still ready in the deck, and more perfect then their Pater
noster ! With this venemous vice, shee will not sticke to
damne her soule, so as shee may please her appetite ; shee
would faine turne all things topsiturvy, and set men together
by the eares, and onely for to content her damnable desire.
O Ruffianly Strumpet ! O mankind Queane ! With what white
bread hath shee given thee crooked pinnes, to choake thee ?
Shee cares not how shee sells and barters her body, so as shee
may truck and exchange it for strife and contention. Heare
mee, Sosia, and if thou doest as thou may''st presume upon
it, that it is as I tell thee, deale (if thou wilt be advised by
mee) as doubly with her ; for he that deceives the deceiver,
you know what I meane : and if the Foxe be crafty, more
crafty is hee that catches him. I would have thee make a
counter-mine against these her wicked, and divellish imagina-
tions. Set up scaling ladders to meete with her lewdnesse ;
and then cry quittance with her, when shee thinkes her selfe
most safe and secure ; and laugh at her afterwards, when
thou art by thy selfe all alone in thy stable : the bay horse
thinkes one thing, and hee that saddles him, another,

SOSIA. O Tristan ! thou discreetc young man ; more
hast thou spoken then could be expected from one of thy
yeeres. A shrewd suspition hast thou raised in mee, and I
feare mee too true ; but because wee are hard by the garden,
and our Master is close at our heeles, let us breake off this
discourse, which is too large for the present, and deferre it
to some fitter opportunity,

CALISTO. Do you heare there ? Set up the ladder, and
see you make no noyse ; for mee thinkes I heare my Mistresse
tongue. Sure it is shee, she is talking to some body. who-eV

264

LUCRECIA.

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

it be. I will get me up to the top of the wall, and there will
I stand harkning awhile, to see if I can heare from her any
good token of her love to mee, in this my absence.

MELIBEA. Sing on (Lucrecia) if thou lov'st mee; I
prythee sing on ; for it does my heart good to heare thee ;
sing on, I say, till my Lord come. Be not too loud, and let
us goe aside into this greene walke, that they that passe by
may not heare us.

O that I kept the Key,
Which opes to these faire flowers,

To plucke them day by day.
When you doe leave these bowers.

The Lillies and the Roses,
Put on their newest colours.

And when thy Love reposes.
They breathe their freshest odours.
MELIBEA. O how sweet is thy musick to mine eares ! it
makes my heart even to melt and dissolve for joy. I prythee
give not over.

Sweete is the fount, the place,
I dranke at, being drie ;

More sweete Calisto's face.
In Melibea's eye.

And though that it be night.
His sight my heart will cheere.

And when hee downe shall light,
O how I '11 clippe my Deare !

The Wolfe for joy doth leape,
To see the Lambkinnes moove,
The Kidde joyes in the teate,
And thou joy''st in thy Love.

Never was loving wight.
Of ""s friend desired so ;

NeV Walkes of more delight,
Nor nights more free from woe.
MELIBEA. Friend Lucrecia, me thinkes, I see that which
thou singest, represented most lively unto me ; me thinks, I
see him as perfectly with these mine eyes, as if hee stood just
before mee. Goe on ; for thou dost exceeding well, and with
2L ^5

LUCRECIA. /

ACTUS
XIX

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS an excellent Ayre : I will beare a part with thee, and helpe
XIX thee as well as I can.

Sweet trees who shade this mold
Of earth, your heads downe bend.

When you those eyes behold
Of my best-loved friend.

Faire starres whose bright appeare,
Doth beautifie the skye,

Why wake yee not my Deare,
If he asleeping lie ?
Heare mee now, I prythee; I will sing

MELIBEA

and
LUCRECIA.

MELIBEA.

alone.

You birds, whose warblings proove
Aurora draweth neere,

Goe flye, and tell my Love,
That I expect him heere.

The night doth poasting moove,
Yet comes hee not againe ;

God grant some other Love
Doe not my Love detaine.
CALISTO. The sweetnesse of thy voyce hath ravish't
mee ; I cannot endure to let thee live any longer in a pained
expectation. O my sweet Mistresse, and my lifes happi-
nesse ; what woman could ever be borne into the world, that
should be able to deprive thee of thy great deservingnesse ?
O interrupted melody ! O musick suddenly broke off ! O
short- timed pleasure ! O my deare heart, why didst thou
not continue thy harmony, without interrupting thy joy,
and cumplying with both our desires ?

MELIBEA. O pleasing treason; O sweete-sudden passion !
What ? my Lord ? my soule ; Is it hee ? I cannot beleeve it ;
where hast thou beene, thou bright shining Sunne? In
what place hast thou hid thy brightnesse from me ? Is it
not a pretty while since that thou heard'st mee ? Why didst
thou suffer me to send forth my words into the Ayre, sense-
lesse and foolish as they were, and in this hoarse Swannish
voyce of mine ? looke on the Moone, and see how bright shee
shines upon us : looke on the Cloudes, and see how speedily
they racke away : harken to the gurgling waters of this
^66

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

fountaine: how sweet a murmure, and what a pretty kind ACTUS

of purling they make, rushing along these fresh herbes, and ^^^

pleasant flowres : harken to these high Cypresses, how one

bough makes peace with another by the intercession of a

milde, gentle, and temperate wind, which moves them to and

fro. Behold these silent and quiet shades, how darke they

are, and how excellently well prepared for the covering and

concealing of our sports. Lucrecia ? why, how now friend ?

what are you doing ? art thou turn'd mad with pleasure ?

Let me alone with my Love ; touch him not, I charge you ;

doe not you plucke and hale him from me ; doe not burthen

his body with your heavy armes. Let mee injoy what is

mine, you shall not possesse any part of my pleasure.

CALISTO. Deare Lady, and glory of my life ; if you love
me, give not over your singing ; let not my presence, which
glads thee, be of a worse, and more unfortunate condition,
then my absence which did grieve thee.

MELIBEA. Why (my Love) would you have mee sing ?
or how can I sing ? for my desire of thee, was that which
ruled my voyce, and made mee to ayre my notes. But now
that thou art come, that desire disappeares, it is vanished,
and the Tone of my voyce distempred, and out of time.
And because you. Sir, are the patterne of courtesie and good
behaviour, how can you in reason require my tongue to
speake, when as you cannot rule your owne hands, and keepe
them quiet ? Why doe not you forget these tricks, and
learne to leave them ? Lay your command upon them to
be quiet, and will them to lay aside this offensive custome,
I and consider (my dearest) that as to see thee, whilest thou
\ earnest thy selfe quietly and civilly, is the greatest happi-
*nesse that eyther my heart or my eye can injoy ; so is it as
displeasing unto me, to see thee handle me so roughly.
Thy honest sporting pleaseth mee, but thy dishonest hands
offend mee, especially when they are too farre out of reason.
And, though love ofttimes forget reason, yet amongst your
well-educated, and noble and generous spirits, kindnesse
keepes a decorum, and revels not but with decency ; let such
(Sweet-heart) be our imbraces, such and so modest be our
dalliance (my dearest Calisto, my Love, my Lord.) And

267

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS since I wholy subject my selfe to your pleasure; be it your
XIX pleasure, to take and make such worthy benefit of my affec-
tion, presence and service, as best beseemes true Lovers, and
is agreeable to both our high births and breeding. But alas
silly woman, why should I direct you ? No, I will not.
Doe, Calisto, doe what you will, and say what you will, I
am yours to use; please your selfe, and you shall please

mee.

CALISTO. Madame, fervency of love loves not to be
idle ; pardon then, I pray you, if I have beene too busie.

LUCRECIA. Now never trust mee againe, if I harken to
them any longer. Heer 's a life indeede ! O how I feele my
selfe melt within, like snow against the Sunne ; and how
squeamish my Mistresse seemes, because, forsooth, shee would
faine be intreated ! Assuredly, had I beene in her case, and
have lost so much time, I should thinke the worse of my
selfe the longest day of my life.

MELIBEA. Sir, shall I send Lucrecia to fetch you some
sweet-meats ?

CALISTO. No, Lady ; no other sweet-meats for mee, save
onely to imbrace this thy body, to fold it within mine armes,
and to have the possession of thy beauty. Every where a
man may eate and drinke for his money ; that a man may
have at any time ; it is every where to be bought : but that
which is not vendible, that which in all the world is not to
be matched ; and save onely in this garden, not to be found
againe from one Pole to the other. Why wish you me not
rather that I should not let slippe the least moment, in injoy-
ing so sweete a treasure ?

LUCRECIA. My head akes with hearing ; and yet their
tongues ake not with talking, nor their armes with colling,
nor their lips with kissing. Sure, they will make me gnaw
the finger of my glove all to pieces.

CALISTO. O my deare Mistresse ! I could wish it would
never be day, that I might still injoy that sweet happinesse,
and fulnesse of content, which my senses receive in the noble
conversing with this thy delicate, and dainty sweete Selfe.

MELIBEA. Sir, it is I that injoy this happinesse, this
fulnesse of content. If any body gaine by it, it is I ; and I

268 ...

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

must acknowledge my selfe most infinitly beholding unto ^^TJ^
you, that you would vouchsafe to visit mee in so kinde and ^^^
loving a manner, as no thankes are able to requite so great a
^vour.
1/ SOSIA. Out, you Ruffianly Rascals ; come yee to fright
those that feare you not ? Had I bin ware of your comming,
or had you staid any longer, I would have sent some of you
packing, and have given you somewhat that should have
stuck by you. Out, you Rogues.

CALISTO. Madame, this is Sosia's voyce ; suffer mee to
goe and see, that they doe not kill him, for there is no
body with him but a little Page that came with me. Give me
my cloake quickly, it lies under you,

MELIBEA. O unfortunate that I am ! I pray do not go
without your Curaces. Ii you love me, come back ; I wil
help to arme you my selfe.

CALISTO. That (Mistresse) which a sword, a cloak, and a
good heart cannot doe, can never be effected by Curace,
Caske or Cowardice.

SOSIA. Yea ? are you come againe ? I shall be with you
to bring by and by ; you come for wooll, doe you ? But if
you stay a little longer, I shall send you home without a fleece,
I shall plume you, I shall, you Rascals.

CALISTO. Lady, if you love mee, let mee goe. The
ladder stands ready for mee.

MELIBEA. O miserable mee ! Why dost thou goe so
furiously, and so fast ? and all disarmed as thou art, to hazard
thy life among'st thou know'st not whom ? Lucrecia, come
hither quickly ; for Calisto is gone to thrust himselfe into a
quarrell. Let us take his Curaces, and throw them over the
wall ; for he hath left them heere behinde him.

TRISTAN. Stay, Sir, doe not come downe. They are
gone ; it is no body but lame Thraso, and a company of
other Rogues with him, that made a noyse as they past by :
And Sosia is come backe againe. Take heed. Sir, hold fast
by the ladder, for feare lest you fall.

CALISTO. Oh, oh. Looke upon me. Ay me ! I am a
dead man : oh.

TRISTAN. Come hither quickly, Sosia; for our unfor-

269

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS tunate Master is falne from the ladder, and neither speakes
XIX nor wagges.

SOSIA. Master, Master, doe you heare, Sir ? Let us call
a little at this other doore. Hee heares on neyther eare; hee
is as dead as a doore-nayle ; there is no more life in him,
then in my great grand-father, who dy'd some hundred yeeres
since. O foule mishappe ! What will become of us ?

LUCRECIA. Harke, harke, Madame ! what a great
mischance is this ?

MELIBEA. O wretch that I am ! what doe I heare ?

TRISTAN. O, my Master, my master is dead ! and with
him all my happinesse, all my good ; hee is falne headlong
downe ; hee is dead ; hee is dead : and (which is a fearefuU
thing) suddenly dead. O pittifull, O horrible sight. Helpe
Sosia, helpe to gather up these braines, that lye scattered
heere amongst the stones, and let us put them againe into
his head. O unfortunate Master ! O unlucky day ! O
sudden and unexpected end !

MELIBEA. O disconsolate woman that I am ! What a
thing is this ? What vile mishap, that hath thus disturbed
our quiet ? What mischance can possibly prove so cruell, as
that which I now heare ? Help mee (Lucrecia) to get up
this wall, that I may see my sorrow, unlesse you will have
mee fill my fathers house with cries and skrikes ? What "^ Is
all my joy turned into smoake ? Is all my pleasure lost ? All
my glory come to an end ?

LUCRECIA. Tristan, what 's the matter (my Love) why
dost thou weepe so bitterly ? why take you on so, beyond all
measure and reason ?

TRISTAN. I bewaile my great misery; I bewaile my
many sorrowes. My Master Calisto hath falne from the
ladder, and is dead ; his head is in three pieces ; hee dyed
suddenly, and lamentably torne and dasht to pieces ; beare
this sad message to his new friend, that she must never more
expect her pained Lover. Sosia, doe thou take up his feete,
and let us carry his body hence, that hee may not in this
place suffer dishonour, though hee have suffered death. Let
mourning goe along with us; let solitarinesse accompany
us ; let discomfort waite upon us ; let sorrow apparell us ;

270

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

let mourning weedes cover us; and let us put on sad ACTUI
habits. XIX

MELIBEA. Ay me, of all other the most miserable ! So
short a time, to possesse my pleasure ? so soone, to see my
sorrowes come upon me ?

LUCRECIA. Madame, teare not your face; rent not
your hayre : What ? but even now all pleasure ? and now all
sorrow ? Out alas ! that one, and the self-same Planet
should so suddenly affoord an effect so contrary? where is
your courage ? Fye, what a faint heart have you ! pray
you arise from the ground ; let not your father find you in
so suspitious a place : for if you continue thus, you cannot
choose but be heard. Why, Madame, Madame, I say
heare you me ? Doe you heare. Lady ? Of all loves, do not
fall any more into these swounds. Be as valiant and
couragious in induring your sorrow, as you were hot and
hardy in committing your errour.

MELIBEA. Heare you what moane his poore servants
make ? heare you how wofully they lament his losse ? wailing,
and weeping, praying, and answering each to other, they
carry away from mee all my good, all my happinesse ; my
dead joy, my dearest Love, they carry away from me; my
time is come ; I am but a dead woman ; I can live no longer, j
since I may no more injoy the joy of my heart. O that I
should let thee goe ! that I should hold that Jewell no faster
which I so lately held in my hands. O ungratefuU mortals !
O unthankefuU as wee be, who never know our happinesse,
untill wee want it !

LUCRECIA. Up, up, Madame ; for it will be a greater
dishonor unto you, to be found thus heere in the garden,
then eyther the pleasure you received by his comming, or the
sorrow which you take for his death. Come, let us into your
chamber. And goe lay you downe on your bed ; and I will
call your father. Wee will faigne some other ill, since to
hide this, it is impossible.

THE END OF THE NINETEENTH ACT

271

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS XX

THE ARGUMENT

UCRECIA comes to Pleberio's chamber, and
Kmockes at the doore. Pleberio askes her
what V the matter ? Lucrecia intreates him
to come presently to see his daughter
Melibea. Pleberio rises, and goes streight
to Melibea's chamber. Hee comforts her ;
deynanding what shee ayleth? aiid where
zcas her grie/e ? Melibea Jaignes her
paitie to be about her heart. Melibea sends her father forth
for some musicall Instruments. Shee and Lucrecia get them,
when hee was gone, to the top of a tower. Slice sends away
Lucrecia, and shuts the doore cfter her. Her father comes to
the foote of the Tozver, Melibea discovers unto him all the
whole businesse of what had passed. That done, she throws
her selfe downefrom the top qftlie tower.

INTERLOCUTORS

Pleberio, Lucrecia, Melibea.

PLEBERIO. What would you, Lucrecia ? What meanes
this exceeding haste, and with so great importunity, and
troublednesse of mind ? What ayles my daughter ? What
sudden sicknesse hath seazed on her, that I cannot have the
leysure to put on my cloathes ? nay, scarce so mucli time as
to rise ?

LUCRECIA. Sir, if you will see her alive, come quickely.
What her griefe is, I know not ; Nay, scarce know I her, so
disfigured is her face.

PLEBERIO. Come, let us goe quickly; lead the way;
in afore ; lift up the hangings ; open this same window ; set
it wide open, that I may have light enough to take a full
view of her. Why, how now daughter ? Whafs the matter.''
What is your paine ? Where lies it .? What a strange
thing is this 't What faintnesse doe I see '<! What weake-

272

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

nesse and feeblenesse ? Looke upon me, daughter ! I am ACTUS
thy father : Speake unto me, for pitties sake speake ; and tell ^X

mee the cause of your griefe, that wee may the sooner provide
a remedy. Send not my gray hayres with sorrow to the
I grave ; thou knowest I have no other good but thee ; no
other worldly happinesse. Open thy gladsome eyes ; looke
cheerefully upon mee.

MELIBEA. Ay mee ! What shall I doe ?

PLEBERIO. What woe can equall mine, to see thee in
such wofull plight ? Your mother, as soone as ever shee but
heard you were ill, fell presently into a swound, and lies in
that extremity, and in a manner senslesse, that shee is not
able to come and see thee. Be of good cheere, plucke up
thy heart ; and so raise up thy spirits, that thou may'st rise
and goe along with mee to visit her. Tell mee (sweete soule)
the cause of thy sorrow.

MELIBEA. My cure is remedilesse.

PLEBERIO. My deare daughter, the best beloved of thy
aged father ; for pitties sake, let not this thy cruell torment,
cause thee to despaire of recovery, being carryed away with
the violence and infirmity of thy ^as^on : for sorrow still
assaulteth the weakest hearts, and conquers them most, that
are most cowardly : if thou wilt but tell me thy griefe, it
shall presently be remedied ; for neither physick nor
Physicians, nor servants shall be wanting, for the recovery of
thy health, whether it consist in herbes, in stones, or in
words, or remaine more secret in the bodies, and bowels of
beasts. Doe not then vexe me any more ; torment me no
longer ; force me not out of my wits ; make me not madde,
but tell me, good daughter, what, and where is your paine ?

MEL. I feele a mortall wound, even in the very midst of
my heart, the anguish whereof is so grievous unto mee, that
it will scarce suffer mee to fetch my breath, much lesse to
speake: there is no malady like unto mine; it is of a different
nature from all other diseases. And before you can come to
cure it in my heart, you must first take out my heart ; for it
lies even in the hidden and most secret place thereof.

PLEBERIO. Too too soone hast thou received this feeling
and sense of elder yeeres ; youth should be a friend to

2 M * 273

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS pleasure and mirth, and an enemy unto care and sorrow.
XX Rise then from hence, and let us goe and take some fresher

ayre along by the River side ; come, and make merry with
your mother; you shall see, that will ease and rid away
J your paine. Take heed what you doe ; doe not wilfully cast
away your selfe ; for if you flye and shunne mirth, there is not
any thing in the world more contrary to your disease.

MELIBEA. Let us goe whither you please : and if it
stand with your liking, Sir, let us goe up to the top of the
Leades; for from thence I may injoy the pleasing sight of
those Ships that passe to and fro, and perhaps it may give
ease to my griefe.

PLEBERIO. Come, let us goe and take Lucrecia with us.

MELIBEA. With a very good will, I pray (father) will
you cause some musicall instrument to be sent unto me,
that by playing thereon, or singing thereunto, I may see if I
can drive away this griefe ; for though on the one side, the
force and violence thereof doth much torment mee : yet on
the other side, I doubt not but those sweet sounding Instru-
ments and delightfull harmony, will much lessen and mitigate
my sorrow.

PLEBERIO. This (daughter) shall presently be done : I
will goe my selfe, and will it to be provided.

MELIBEA. Friend Lucrecia, this place (me thinkes) is
too high ; I am very loth to leave my fathers company. I
prythee make a step down unto him, and intreat him to
come to the foot of this Tower ; for I have a word or two,
which I forgot to tell him, that he should deliver from me to
my mother.

LUCRECIA. I goe, Madame.

MELIBEA. They have all of them left me. I am now
alone by my selfe, and no body with mee. The manner of
my death falls fit and pat to my minde ; it is some ease unto
t mee, that I and my beloved Calisto shall so soone meet
> againe. I will shut and make fast the dore, that no body
may come up to hinder my death, nor disturbe my departure,
nor to stop me in my journey, wherin I purpose to poast
unto him ; not doubting, but to visit him as well this very
day, as he did mcc this last night. All things fadge aright,

274

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

and have falne out as luckily, as I could wish it ; I shall now ACTUS
have time and leysure enough, to recount to my father XX

Pleberio, the cause of this my short and sudden end. I
confesse, I shall much wrong his silver hayres, and offer much
injury to his elder yeers ; I shall work great wo unto him by
this my errour; I shall leave him in great heavinesse and
desolation all the daies of his life : But admit my death will
be the death of my dearest parents, and put case, that the
shortning of my daies, will be the shortning of theirs ; who
doth not knowj but that others have beene more cruell to
their parents then I am ? Prusias, King of Bythinia, without
any cause, not induring that paine, which I doe, slew his
owne father Ptolomy, King of Egypt, slew both father and
mother, and brother and wife, and all for the love of his
Mistris, Orestes kiFd his mother, Clytemnestra, and that
cruell Emperour Nero, onely for the fulfilling of his pleasure,
murdred his owne mother. These, and such as they, are
worthe of blame. These are true Parricides ; not I; who with
mine owne punishment, and with mine owne death, purge
away the guilt, which otherwise, they might moe justly lay
upon mee for their deaths. There have beene others, far
more cruell, who have slaine their own children, and their
owne brothers, in comparison of whose errours, mine is as
nothing; at least nothing so great. Philip, King of Macedon ;
Herod, King of luryne ; Constantine, Emperour of Rome ;
Laodice, Queene of Cappadocea ; and Medea the Sorceresse ;
all these slew their owne sonnes and dearest children, and
that without any reason or just cause, preserving their owne
persons still in safety. To conclude, that great cruelty of
Phraates, King of the Parthians, occurres to my remembrance,
who, because hee would have no successour behinde him,
murdred Orodes, his aged father, as also his onely sonne,
besides some thirty more of his brethren. These were delicts
worthy blame indeed ; because they keeping their owne
persons free from perill, butchered their Ancestours, their
successours, and their brethren. True it is, that though all
this be so, yet are we not to imitate them in those things
wherein they did amisse ; but it is not in my power to doe
otherAvise. And thou great Governour of the heavens, who

275

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS r art witnesse to my words, thou see'st the small power that I

XX / have over my passion ; thou seest how my liberty is cap-

' tivated, and how my senses are taken with that powerfull

love of that late deceased Gentleman, who hath deprived

mee of that love, which I beare to my living parents.

PLEBERIO. Daughter Melibea, what make you there
alone ? what is it you would have with mee ? shall I come
up to you ?

MELIBEA. No (good father) content you where you
are, trouble not your selfe, nor strive to come to me ; you
shall but disturbe and interrupt that short speach which I
am now to make unto you. Now, by and by shalt thou be
suddenly wounded ; thy heart shall presently be prickt with
griefe, and shall bleede abundantly, to see the death of thy
onely daughter. My end drawes neere ; at hand is my rest,
and thy passion ; my ease, and thy paine ; my houre of
keeping company and thy time of solitarinesse. You shall
not need (my most honoured father) to seeke out any instru-
ments of musick to asswage my sorrow ; nor use any other
sound, save the sound of bels, for to ring my knell, and
bring my body to the grave. And, if thou canst harken
unto mee for teares, if thine eyes will give thine eares leave
to heare, thou shalt heare the desperate cause of this my
forced, yet joyfull departure ; see thou neyther speake nor
weepe ; interrupt me not, eyther with teares or words, unlesse
thou meanest more heereafter to be tormented, in not know-
ing why I doe kill my selfe, then thou art now sorrowfuU to
see my death. Neither aske, nor answer mee any thing ; nor
question me any further, then what of mine owne accord I
I shall willingly tell thee ; for when the heart is surcharged
\ with sorrow, the eare is deafe to good counsell ; and at such a
A time, good and wholsome words rather incense, then allay
^rage. Heare (my aged father) the last words that ever I
shall speake unto you. And if you entertaine them, as I
hope you will, you will rather excuse, then condemne my
errour. I am sure, you both well perceive and heare that
most sad and doleful lamentation, which is made thorowout
all this City ; I am sure you heare this great noyse and ring-
ing of bells, the skriking and cryings out of all sorts of
276

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

people, this howling, and barking of dogges, this noyse and ACTUS
clattering of Armour. Of all this, have I beene the cause ; I, XX

even this very day, have clothed the greater part of the
Knights, and Gentlemen of this City in mourning. I, even
this very day, have left many servants orphaned, and quite
destitute of a Master. I have beene the cause, that many a
poore soule hath now lost ifs almes and reliefe. I have
beene the occasion, that the dead should have the company
of the most complete Gentleman, for his good graces and
qualities that ever was borne. I have beene the occasion,
that the living have lost the onely Patterne and Paragon of f
courtesie, of gallant inventions, of witty devices, of neatnesse I
and decency in his cloathes, of speech, of gate, of kindnesse, /
and of vertue. I have beene the occasion, that the earth doth j
now injoy the most noble body, and the freshest flowre of
youth, that ever was created in this age of ours. And
because you may stand amazed and astonished at the sounilof ,
these my unusuall and unaccustomed crimes ; 1 will open the i
busTnesse, andTiiake this matter appeare more cleare unto you.
It is now (deare father) many dayes since that a Gentleman
called Calisto, whom you well knew, as likewise his Ancestors,
and noble Linage, did languish and pine away for my love.
As for his vertues and goodnesse, they were generally knowne
to the whole world. So great was his love-torment, and so
little both place and opportunity to speake with me, that he
was driven to discover his passion to a crafty and subtill
woman, named Celestina, which Celestina, comming as a
suiter unto mee in his behalfe, drew my secret love from
forth my bosome, and made mee to manifest that unto her,
which I concealed from mine own mother; she found the
meanes to win me to her will ; shee made the match betweene
us ; shee plotted how his desire and mine should take effect.
And if hee dearely loved me, I was not therein deceived ;
shee made up that sad conclusion of that sweete and unfor-
tunate execution of his will ; and thus being over-come with
the love of Calisto, I gave him entrance into your house ; hee
scaled your walls with ladders, and brake into your garden ;

/ ]||brake my chaste purpose, by taking _from mee_ihe. flowre..

/ //my Virginity. And thus almost this moneth have wee liv'd

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS in this delightful! errour of love. And as he came this last
XX night unto mee, as hee was wont to doe, e'en just about the

time that he should have returned home (as ill fortune
would have it, who in the mutability of her nature, ordereth
and disposeth all things, according to her disordered
custome) the walls being high, the night darke, the ladder
light and weake, his servants that brought it, unacquainted
with that kinde of service, hee going downe somewhat hastily
to see a fray, which he heard in the streete betweene his
servants and some others that then passed by, being in
choller, making more haste then good speed, thinking he
should never come soone enough, not eying well his steps, he
sets his foot quite besides the rounds, and so fell downe, and
with that wofull and unfortunate fall, hee pitcht upon his
head, and had his braines beaten out, and dasht in pieces
against the stones and pavement of the streete. Thus did
the destinies cut off his thred ; thus cut off his life without
^ confession ; cut off my hope ; cut off my glory ; cut off my
company. Things therefore being thus ; tell me (father)
What cruelty were it in me, he dying disbrained, that I
should live pained all the daies of my life ? His death in-
viteth mine ; inviteth ? nay, inforceth mee, that it be speedily
effected, and without delay ; it teacheth mee, that I should
also fall headlong down, that I may imitate him in all
things. It shall not be said of mee, that those that are dead
and gone, are soone forgotten. And therefore I will seeke
to content him in my death, since I had not time to give
him content in my life. O my Love, and deare Lord,
Calisto, expect mee, for now I come. But stay a little,
though thou dost expect mee ; and be not angry, I prythee,
that I delay thee, being that I am now paying my last debt,
and giving it my finall account to my aged father, to whom
I owe much more. O my best beloved father, I beseech you,
if ever you did love mee in this painefull forepassed life, that
we may both be interred in one Tombe, and both our
Obsequies be solemnized together. I would faine speake
some words of comfort unto you, before this my gladsome
and well-pleasing end, gathered and collected out of those
ancient bookes, which for the bettering of my wit and under-
278

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

standing, you willed me to reade, were it not that my
memory failes me, being troubled and disquieted with the
J losse and death of my Love : as also because I see your ill
indured teares trickle so fast downe your wrinckled cheekes.
Recommend mee to my most deare and best-beloved mother;
and doe you informe her at large of the dolefull occasion of
my death. I am glad with all my heart, that shee is not
heere present with you ; for her sight would but increase my
sorrow. Take (aged father) the gifts of old age; for in
large daies, large griefes are to be endured. Receive the
pledge and earnest of thy reverend age; receive it at the
hands of thy beloved daughter. I sorrow much for my selfe,
more for you, but most for my aged mother : and so I re-
commend me to you both, and both of you unto your more
happinesse, to whom I offer up my soule ; leaving the care to
you, to cover this body that is now comming do>vne unto
you.

THE END OF THE TWENTIETH ACT

ACTUS
XX

ACTUS XXI

THE ARGUMENT

LEBERIO, returning weeping to his cham-
ber ; his wife Alisa demands the cause of
this so sudden an ill? Hee relates unto
her the death of her daughter Melibea ;
shewing unto her, her bruised body,
and so making lamentation for her, hee
gives a conclusion to this Tragick
Comedy.

INTERLOCUTORS

Alisa, Pleberio.

ALISA. Why Pleberio ? my Lord ! what 's the matter ?
why doe you weepe and sobbe ? and take on in such ex-
treme and violent manner ? I have lyen ever since in a dead

279

THE TRAGICK COMEDY OF

ACTUS swound, so was I overcome with griefe, when 1 heard that
XXI our daughter was so ill. And now hearing your pittifull
lamentations, your loude cryings, your unaccustomed com-
plaints, your mournings and great anguish, they have so
pierced my very bowels, made so quicke a passage to my
heart, and have so quickned and revived my troubled ancl
benummed senses, that I have now put away the griefe,
which I entertained : thus one griefe drives out another ;
and sorrow expelleth sorrow. Tell mee the cause of your
complaint ; Why doe you curse your honorable old age ?
Why do you desire death ? Why doe you teare your milk-
white hayres up by the roates ? Why doe you scratch, and
rend your reverend face ? Is any ill befalne Melibea ? For
I pray you tell mee ; for if shee be not well, I cannot live.

PLEBERIO. Out alas ! Ay mee ; (my most noble wife.)
Our solace is in the suds ; our joy is turned into annoy ; all
our conceived hopes are utterly lost ; all our happinesse is
quite overthrowne ; let us now no longer desire to live.
And because unexpected sorrowes leave a greater impres-
sion of griefe ; and because they may bring thee the sooner
to thy grave ; as also, that I may not alone by my selfe be-
wayle that heavy losse which belongs to us both ; looke out
and beholde her, whom thou broughtst forth, and I begot,
dash't and broken all to pieces. The cause I understood
from her selfe, but layd open more at large, by this her
sadde and sorrowfull servant. Helpe to lament these our
latter daies, which are now growing to an end. O yee good
people, who come to behold my sorrowes, and you Gentle-
men, my loving friends, doe you also assist to bewayle my
misery ! O my daughter ! and my onely good ! it were
I cruelty in mee, that 1 should out-live thee. My threescore
yeeres were fitter for the grave, then thy twenty ; but the
order of my dying was altred by that extremity of griefe,
which did hasten thy end. O yee my hoary hayres, growne
foorth to no other end, save sorrow ; it would better have
suted with you, to have beene buryed in the earth, then
with these golden tresses which lye heere before mee. Too
too many are the dayes that I have yet to live ; I will com-

i j I plaine and cry out against death ; I will accuse him of

1/ * 280 •

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

delay ; how long will hee suffer mee to remaine heere after ACTUS
thee ! Let my life now leave mee, since I must leave thy XXI
sweet company. O my deare wife, rise up from her, and if
any life be left in thee, spend that little with mee in teares
and lamentations, in sobbes, and in sighes ; but in case thy
soule resteth now with hers ; if out of very griefe, thou hast
left this life, why wouldst thou lay this heavy burthen on
mee ? why let mee remaine heere alone, and have no body
to help me in the unsheathing of my sorrowes ? In this,
yee women have a great advantage of us that are men ; for
^some violent griefe can make you goe out of the world with-
'out any paine ; or at least cast you into a swound, which is
some ease to your sorrowes. O the hard heart of a father,
why dost thou not burst forth with griefe? why doe not
your heart-strings crack in sunder, to see thy selfe bereav'd
of thy beloved heyre? For whom didst thou build these
Turrets? For whom got I honours? For whom planted
trees ? For whom built ships ? O hard-hearted earth, why
dost thou beare me any longer ? Where shall my disconso-
late old age finde any resting place ? O variable fortune,
and full of change, thou Ministresse, and high Stewardesse
of all temporall happinesse ; Why didst thou not execute
thy cruell anger upon mee ? Why didst thou not over-
whelme him with thy mutable waves, who professes himselfe
to be thy subject ? Why didst thou not rob mee of my
patrimony? Why didst thou not set fire on my house?
Why didst thou not lay waste mine inheritance? Why
\ didst thou not strip mee of my great revenewes? What
is't I would not thou shouldst have done, so as thou hadst
left mee that flourishing young plant, over which thou
oughfst not to have had such power ? Thou mighfst, O
fortune (fluctuant, and fluent as thou art) have given me a
sorrowfuU youth, and a mirthfull age ; neyther have therein
perverted order. Better could I have borne thy blowe,
better indured thy persecutions, in that my more strong,
and Oaky age, then in this my weake and feeble declin-
ing. O life fulfiird with griefe, and accompanied with
nought but misery ! O world, world ! much have men
spoken of thee, much have men writ concerning thy deceits;
2N 281

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS and much have I heard my selfe : And mine owne wofuU
XXI experience is able to say something of thee, as one who
have bin in the unfortunate fayre, and have often bought
and sold with thee, but never had any thing that succeeded
happily with mee. As one who many a time heeretofore,
even to this present houre, have silenced thy false properties,
and all because I would not purchase thy displeasure, and
pull thy hatred upon mee : and that thou shouldst not
untimely plucke this flowre from me, which this day thou
hast cropt by the mightinesse of thy power. And therefore
now will I goe without feare, like one that hath nothing to
lose ; or as one to whom thy company is now odious and
I troulilesome ; or like a poore traveller, who fearelesse of
theeves, goes singing on his way. I thought in my more
tender yeeres, that both thou and thy actions were governed
by order, and ruled by reason : But now I see thou art Pro
and Con ; there is no certainty in thy calmes : thou seemest
now unto me to be a Labyrinth of errours; a fearefuU
wildernesse ; an habitation of wilde Beasts ; a Dance full of
changes ; a Fen full of mire, and dirt ; a Country full of
thornes; a steepe and craggy mountaine, a field full of
stones ; a meddow full of Snakes and Serpents ; a pleasant
garden to looke to, but without any fruite ; a fountaine of
cares, a river of teares, a sea of miseries ; trouble without
profit ; a sweet poyson, a vaine hope, a false joy, and a true
sorrow. O thou false world ! thou dost cast before us the
baytes of thy best delights, and when we have swallowed them,
they seeming savoury unto us, then doest thou shew us the
hooke that must choake us. Nor can we avoyd it, because
together with us, thou dost captivate our wills: Thou
promisest mountaines, but performest Mole-hils : and then
thou dost cast us off, that wee may not put thee in minde
of making good thy vaine promises. We runne thorow the
spacious fields of thy ranke vices, retchlesly, and with a loose
reyne ; and then doest thou discover thy ambushes unto us,
when thou seest there is no way for us to retreat. Many have
forsaken thee, fearing thy sudden forsaking of them. And
well may they stile themselves happy, when they shall see,
how well thou hast rewarded this poore heavy sorrowfull old
282

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

man, for his long service. Thou dost put out our eyes, and ACTUS
then to make us amends, thou anointest the place with oyle: XXI
thou breakest our head, and givest us a plaister ; after thou
hast done us a great deale of harme, thou givest us a poore
cold comfort ; thou dost hurt unto all, that no man may boast,
that others have not their crosses as well as wee ; telling
them, that it is some ease to the miserable, to have com-
panions in their misery. But I alas, disconsolate old man
stand all alone. I am singuler in my sorrowes ; I am grieved,
and have no equall companion of my griefe. No mans mis-
fortune is like unto mine ; though I revolve in my troubled
memory, persons both present and past, I cannot instance in
the like. If I shall seeke to comfort my selfe with the
severity and patience of Paulus vEmilius, who having lost
two sonnes in seven dales, bore this brimt of fortune with so
undaunted a courage, that the people of Rome had rather
neede to be comforted by him, then he by them ; yet cannot
this satisfie mee, for hee had two more remaining that were
his adopted sonnes. What companion then will they allot
me of my misery ? Pericles, that brave Athenian Captaine?
or valiant Xenophon ? Tush, they lost sonnes indeed, but
their sonnes dyed out of their sight, having lost their lives
abroad in forraine Countries, far from home ; so that it was
not much for the one, not to change countenance, but to
take it cheerefully : nor for the other to answer the mes-
senger, who brought him the ill tydings of his sonnes deaths,
that he should receive no punishment, because himselfe had
received no griefe ; for all this is farre differing from mine ;
lesse canst thou say (thou world replenished with evill) that
Anaxagoras, and I, were alike in our losse ; that wee were
equall in our griefes : and that I should say of my dead
daughter, as he did of his onely sonne, when he said ; Being
that I was mortall, I knew, that he whom I had begot was
to die. For my Melibea, willingly, and out of her owne
election, killed her selfe before mine eyes, inforced thereunto
through the extreme passion of her love, so great was her
torment; whereas his sonne was slaine in battell, in a just
and lawful! warre. O incomparable losse ; O most wretched
and sorrowfuU old man that I am ! who the more I seeke

283

THE TRAGICK-COMEDY OF

ACTUS ■ after comfort, the lesse reason doe I finde for my com-
XXI fort ; for much more miserable doe I finde my misfortune,
and doe not so much grieve at her death, as I doe
V lament the manner of her death. Now shall I lose
together with thee (most unhappy daughter) those feares,
which were daily wont to affright mee. Onely thy death
is that which makes mee secure of all suspitions and
jealousies. What shall I doe, when I shall come into
thy chamber, and thy withdrawing roome, and shall finde it
solitary and empty ? What shall I doe, when as I shall call
thee, and thou shalt not answer me ? Who is he that can
supply that want which thou hast caused .? Who can stop
up that great breach in my heart which thou hast made ?
Never any man did lose that which I have lost this day.
Thogh in some sort, that great fortitude of Lambas de
Auria, Duke of Genoa, seemeth to sute with my present
estate and condition, who seeing his sonne was wounded to
death, tooke him and threw him with his owne armes foorth
of the shippe into the sea. But such kinde of deaths as
these, though they take away life, yet they give reputation ;
and many times, men are inforced to undergoe such actions,
for to cumply with their honour, and get themselves fame
and renowne. But what did inforce my daughter to dye,
but onely the strong force of love ? What remedy now,
(thou flattering world) wilt thou affoord my wearisome age ?
How wouldst thou have me to rely upon thee, I knowing thy
falsehoods, thy gins, thy snares, and thy nets, wherein thou
intrap'st and takest our weake and feeble wills ? Tell me,
what hast thou done with my daughter ? where hast thou
bestow'd her ? who shall accompany my disaccompanied
habitation ? who shall cherish me in mine old age ? who
with gentle usage shall cocker my decaying yeeres ? O Love,
Love, I did not thinke thou hadst had the power to kill thy
subjects ! I was wounded by thee in my youth : I did passe
thorow the midst of thy flames. Why didst thou let me
scape ? Was it that thou mighfst pay me home (for my
flying from thee then) in mine old age ? I had well thought,
that I had bin freed from thy snares, when I once began to
growe towards forty ; and when I rested contented with my
284

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

wedded consort, and when I saw I had that fruit, which this ACTUS
day thou hast cut down, I did not dreame that thou wouWst XXI
in the children have taken vengeance of the parents ; and I
know not whether thou woundest with the sword, or buniest
with fire. Thou leavest our clothes whole, and yet most
cruelly woundest our^ hearts ; thou makest that which is
foule, to seeme fayre and beautifull unto us. Who gave
thee so great a power ? who gave thee that name which so
vill befitteth thee ? If thou wert Love, thou wouldst love thy
Iservants ; and if thou didst love them, thou wouldst not
punish them as thou dost. If to be thy fellow, were to live
merrily, so many would not kill themselves, as my daughter
now hath, and infinit of us. What end have thy servants and
their Ministers had ? as also that false Bawd, Celestina, Avho
dy'd by the hands of the faithfullest companions, that ever
she lighted upon in her life, for their true performance in
this thy venomous and impoisoned service ? They lost their
heads ; Calisto, he brake his necke ; and my daughter, to
imitate him, submitted her selfe to the selfe-same death.
And of all this thou wast the cause ; they gave thee a
sweete name ; but thy deedes are exceeding sowre : thou
dost not give equall rewards ; and that Law is unjust, which
is not equall alike unto all. Thy voyce promiseth pleasure,
but thy actions proclaime paine ; happy are they who have
not knowne thee, or knowing thee, have not cared for thee.
Some ledde with, I know not what error, have not stickt to
call thee a god ; But I would have such fooles as these to
consider with themselves, it savors not of a Deity, to murder
or destroy those that serve and follow him. O thou enemy
to aUL^eason ! To those that serve thee least, thou giv'est
tfiy greatesl; rewards, untill thou hast brought them at last
into this thy troublesome dance. Thou art an enemy to thy
friends, and a friend to thy enemies ; and all this is, because
thou dost not governe^thy selfe according to order and reason.
They paint thee blind, poore, and young ; they put a Bowe
into thy hand, wherein thou drawest, and shootest at ran-
dom ; but more blind are they that serve thee. For they
never taste or see the unsavory and distastful recompence,
which they receive by thy service ; thy fire is of hot burning

285

CALISTO AND MELIBEA

ACTUS lightning, which scorches unto death, yet leaves no impression
XXI or print of any wound at all. The sticks which thy flames
consume, are the soules and lives of humane creatures, which
are so infinit, and so numberlesse, that it scarce accurreth unto
me, with whom I should first begin ; not only of Christians,
but of Gentiles and of lewes ; and all forsooth in requitall of
their good services. What shall I speak of that Macias of our
times ; and how by loving, he came to his end ? Of whose
sad and wofull death, thou wast the sole cause. What ser-
vice did Paris do thee? What Helena? What Clytem-
nestra ? What iEgisthus ? All the world knowes how it
went with them. How well likewise didst thou requite
Sapho, Ariadne, and Leander, and many other besides,
whom I willingly silence, because I have enough to do in
the repetition of mine own misery ? I complainejne.pf the
wQrld, because I was bred up in it ; for "Ead^iiot the world
given me life, I had not therein begot Melibea ; not being
begot, shee had not beene borne ; not being borne, I had
not lov'd her; and not loving her, I should not have
mourned, as now I do, in this my latter and uncomfortable
old age ! O my good companion ! O my bruised daughter,
bruised even all to pieces ! Why wouldst thou not suffer me
to divert thy death ? why wouldst thou not take pitty of thy
kinde and loving mother? why didst thou shew thy selfe
so cruell against thy aged father? why hast thou left
me thus in sorrow ? why hast thou left me comfort-
lesse, and all alone, in hac lachrimarum valle, in
this vaile of teares, and shadow of death ?

286

TO THE READER

LO heere thy Celestine, that wicked wight.
Who did her tricks upon poore Lovers proove ;
And in her company, the god of Love.

Lo, grace, beauty, desire, terrour, hope, fright.
Faith, falsehood, hate, love, musicke, g^^^fi-, delight,
Sighes, sobs, teares, cares, heates, colds, girdle, glove.
Paintings, Mercury, Sublimate, dung of Dove.

Prison, force, fury, craft, scoff es. Art, despight.
Bawds, Ruffians, Harlots, servants, false, untrue:
And all tK effects that follow on the same:
As warre, strife, losse, death, infamy and shame.

All which and more, shall come unto thy view.
But if this Booke speake not his English plaine.

Excuse him : for hee lately came from Spaine.

287

EDINBURGH
T. <&» A. CONSTABLE

Printers to Her Majesty
1894

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