Full text of "The fatal dowry"

See other formats

THE FATAL DOWRY

:00

'o>

•CO

o^^^; BY

PHILIP MASSINGER AND
NATHANIEL FIELD

CHARLES LACY LOCKERT, JR.

2.104

THE FATAL DOWRY

PHILIP MASSINGER AND
NATHANIEL FIELD

EDITED, FROM THE ORIGINAL QUARTO,
WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES

A DISSERTATION

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

CHARLES LACY LOCKERT, JR.

ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, KENYON COLLEGE

PRESS OF

THE NEW ERA PRINTING COMPANY
LANCASTER, PA.

1918

Accepted by the Department of English, June, 1916

$29063

PREFACE

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

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

INTRODUCTION

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

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

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

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

LATER TEXTS

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

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

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

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

Monck Mason, 1779.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

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

DATE

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

INTRODUCTION 3

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

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

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

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 5

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

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

6 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

To sum up :

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

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

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

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

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

SOURCES

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

INTRODUCTION 7

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

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

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY

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

COLLABORATION

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

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 9

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 11

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

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

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

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

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

12 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To ease the burthen of a wretched life.

INTRODUCTION 13

And 11. 284-6,

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

with C-G. 286 a,

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

And again, 11. 301-3,

and his goodness

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

with D. XI, 37,

in his face appears

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

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

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

14 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 15

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

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

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

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

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

16 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

/'// die first.

Farewell; continue merry, and high heaven

Keep your wife chaste.

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

Thou dost strike

A deathful coldness to my hearts high heat,

And shrink'st my liver like the calenture.

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

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

INTRODUCTION 17

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

His back

Appears to me as it would tire a beadle;
with

A man of resolution, whose shoulders

Are of themselves armour of proof, against

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

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

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

18 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 19

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY

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

This applause

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

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

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

Du Croy Or we shall hardly

Allow your innocence.

with C-G. 39 a and b:

You must produce

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

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

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION

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

Scene

1 Double
Endings

1 Run-on
Lines

Per Cent.

8«

I-

Speeches
Ending in
Mid-line

!'£«

Author

I, i

196

Massinger

I, ii (a) . .

—

i45

Massinger

I, ii (b) . .

—

158

Massinger (Field

revision)

II, i

—

145

Field

II, ii

273

Field

III, i (a) .

—

3i6

142

114

Massinger

Ill, i (b).

—

Massinger (with

Field ?)

Ill, i (c) .

—

161

Field

IV, i ....

124

Field

IV, ii

—

104

Massinger

IV, iii

—

Massinger

IV, iv . . .

—

195

Massinger

V i

IO7

Massinger

V, ii (a) . .

Massinger

V, ii (b). .

—

Massinger (Field

revision)

V, iii , . . .

—

22Q

Massinger

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

CRITICAL ESTIMATE

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

22 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 23

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

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

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

touch the high-water mark of his poetic endeavor.

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

24 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 25

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

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

26 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

INTRODUCTION 27

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

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

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

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

28 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 29

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

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

30 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 31

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

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

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

32 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 33

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

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

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

34 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

But in a harmonious collaboration, such as The Fatal Dowry

INTRODUCTION 35

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

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

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

36 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 37

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

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

STAGE HISTORY — ADAPTATIONS — DERIVATIVES

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

38 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

12 Apparently The Fatal Dowry was not performed every day.

INTRODUCTION 39

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

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

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

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

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

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

40 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 41

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

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

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

42 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION 43

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

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

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

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

44 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

INTRODUCTION 45

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

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

46 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

1st dies Stilck denn aus,

Weil jene starbf Und ich? An mich denkt keinerf

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

EDITOR'S NOTE ON TEXT

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

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

Q.— The Quarto— 1632

C. — Coxeter's edition, 1759

M. — Monck Mason's edition, 1779

G. — Gifford's [2nd.] edition, 1813

S. — Symons' (Mermaid) edition, 1893

f. — and all later editions

s. d. — stage direction

THE

F A T A L L

DOWRY:

TRAGEDY:

As it hath beene often Acted at the Pri-

uate Houfe in Blackefryers^ by his

Maiefties Seruants.

Written by P. M. and N. F.

LONDON,

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

Charalois

Romont.

Charmi.

Nouall Sen.

Liladam.

DuCroy.

Rochfort.

Baumont,

Pontalier.

Malotin.

Beaumelle.

[Page.;

Florimel. "|

Bellapert. J

Aymer.

Nouall lun.

Aduocates.

Creditors 5.

Officers.

Prieft.

Taylor.

Barber.

Perfumer.

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

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

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

Baumont — M., f spell Beaumont.

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

The Fatall Dowry:

A Tragedy :

Act. primus. Scaena

[A Street before the Court of Justice]

Enter Charaloyes with a paper, Romont, Charmi.

•

Charmi

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

With what will be their anfwere : they will fay,

Tis againft law, and argue me of Ignorance 5

For offering them the motion.

Rom. You know not, Sir,

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

Charmi. I loue the caufe fo well,

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

Rom. From whom?

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

More then to doe the office that they fit for :

10 As— That (C, M.

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

52 THE FATAL DOWRY

But giue me (fir) my fee.

Rom. Now you are Noble.

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

Then I fhall doe with pleading.

Rom. What may it be, fir?

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

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

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

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

Charmi. Their Lordfhips here are coming,

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

Rom. Now put on your Spirits. 25

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

Roch. Pray you fir, no more.

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

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

Du Croy. You know him.

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

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

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

33 This fuch — This is such (S.

34 . _? (C, f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 53

Rom. Ha, they name you.

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

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

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

The fummes he tooke vp for the generall good, 45

Meet with an end fo infamous.

Rom. Dare you euer

Hope for like opportunity?

Du Croye. My good Lord !

Roch. My wifh bring comfort to you.

Du Croye. The time calls vs.

Roch. Good morrow Colonell.

Exeunt Roch. Du Croye.

Rom. This obftinate fpleene,

You thinke becomes your forrow, and forts wel 50

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

Your fable habit, with the hat and cloake, 55

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

Char. If they will not, 60

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

What can perfwafion, though made eloquent 65

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

45 fummes — sum (C., M.

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY

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

Rom. Would I were not.

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

Char. And to thefe

Can I become a fuytor?

Rom. Without loffe,

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

70 and in that — and, in that, (C, f.

71 where — whereas (C, M.

90 great men — men great (C, f.

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 55

Make facrifice of Gold, poets of wit,

And men religious, part with fame, and goodneffe?

Be therefore wonne to vfe the meanes, that may 100

Aduance your pious ends.

Char. You fhall orecome.

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

Char. Not looke on me! & 5 Creditors.

Rom. You muft haue patience

Offer't againe.

Char. And be againe contemn'd?

Nou. I know whats to be done.

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

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

Nou. One word more of this

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

Lilad. Friends, you miftake . no

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

Nou. Tis well.

Lilad. Obferue him now.

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

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

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

Two hundred thoufand crownes, which by his death

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

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

104 Offer't— Offer it (M., f.

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

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

114 Tis— It is (G.

116 ; — M., f. omit.

THE FATAL DOWRY

We are defeated of. For which great loffe 120

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

i Cred. I haue a fonne,

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

I would diuert him from, and I am told 125

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

Nou. You fhew in it

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

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

Char. A Gentleman.

Nou. So are many that rake dunghills.

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

I take no papers in corners.

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

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

Rom. You fay fo. Char: and Aduocates

On what affurance ? 140

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

Lil. Looke vpon mee better,

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

123 Armors — Armour (C., M., G.

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

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

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

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

139, after fo . — ? (C, M.— ! (G., S.

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 57

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

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

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

that I am valiant.

1 Cred. If your eares are faft,

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

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

Rom. Are they fo Rafcals?

I will be-friend you then.

i Cred. Beare witneffe, Sirs. 155

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

Rom. I know you for

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

For vfurers, bred by a riotous peace : 160

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

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

145 G. & S. omit s. d.

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

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

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

157 haue — hear (M.

159 from — omitted by C., f.

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

162 ne'er — never (M.

162 prayd — pray (G.

!66 To—T (M.

1 68 forhead — foreheads (G.

58 THE FATAL DOWRY

I Cred. Thrift forbid. 170

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

Enter Charloyes.

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

Char. (Onely friend)

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

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

Rom. Thinke not fo, Sir,

The difficulties that you incounter with, 180

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

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

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

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

Of extreme danger fuffer like your felfe. Exeunt.

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 59

[SCENE II]

[The Court of Justice]

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

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

Nou. Se. Speake to the poynt.

Du Croy. Which is,

With honour to difpofe the place and power

Of primier President, which this reuerent man 5

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

That as his life tranfcends all faire examples 10

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

Roch. I may not fit to heare this.

Du Croy. Let the loue

And thankfulnes we are bound to pay to goodneffe, 15

In this o'recome your modeftie.

Roch. My thankes

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

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

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

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

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

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

13 Prefident — precedent (C., f.

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

15 we are — we're (C., M.

60 THE FATAL DOWRY

The Prouince that I vndertooke, forfake it.

Nou. That we could lend you of our yeeres.

Du Croy. Or ftrength.

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

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

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

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

With the honours, and eftate I now poffeffe, 35

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

Employ the fmall remainder of my life, 40

In liuing well, and learning how to dye fo.

Enter Romont, and CHaralois.

Rom. See fir, our Aduocate.

Du Croy. The Court intreats,

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

Roch. I embrace it, 45

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

Du Croy. The Court allows it.

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

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

And theirs haue hearing.

Du Croy. It your Lordfhip pleafe

To take the place, we will proceed.

35 the—th' (C, M.

50 And— I (G., S.

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 61

Charm. The caufe

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

Or Rhetorique in me that plead, or fauour re

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

Nou. Se. Speaks to the caufe. 60

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

What your graue Lordfhips cannot but remember, 65

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

Of meanes to free himfelfe, from his ingagements, 70

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

All fuites dye with the perfon, thefe mens malice 75

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

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

Nou. Se. How long haue you Sir

Practis'd in Court?

Charmi. Some twenty yeeres, my Lord.

60 With— Which (C, M., G.

64 taske — tax (M.

66 become — became (M., f.

76 find— finds (G., S.

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

62 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

Charmi. I hope I haue giuen no caufe 85

In this, my Lord —

Nou. Se. How dare you moue the Court,

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

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

Charmi. I forefaw this.

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

The honor to determine, can deferue 95

A checke like this?

Nou. Se. Strange 'boldnes !

Rom. Tis fit freedome:

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

Charmi. Forbeare.

Rom. Or cannot you, that haue the power 100

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

Nou. Se. Sirra, you that prate 105

Thus fawcily, what are yQU ?

Rom. Why He tell you,

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

Charmi. Forbeare.

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

1 06 tell you— tell thee (G.

107 I am — I'm (C., M.

THE FATAL DOWRY 63

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

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

Nou. Se. Shall fuch an Infolence paffe vnpunifht?

Charmi. Heere mee.

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

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

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

Though put in act, that euer Gowneman practizd.

Nou. Se. Away with him to prifon.

Rom. If that curfes,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

115 ere — ever (C, M., G.

125 purpofe — purposes (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY

I haue begun well, imitate, exceed. 145

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

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

Char a. Thus low my duty

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

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

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

Would feeme to moft, rather a willingneffe 155

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

That will not for the many feruices 160

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

In which he did not feruice to his Country ; 165

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

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

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

Nou. Se. The prefident were ill.

Chara. And yet, my Lord, this much

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

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 55

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

To yield vnto an honourable peace.

And in it faued an hundred thoufand Hues,

To end his owne, that was fure proofe againft

The fcalding Summers heate, and Winters froft,

Illayres, the Cannon, and the enemies fword, ^

In a moft loathfome prifon.

Du Croy. Twas his fault

To be fo prodigall.

Nou. Se. He had fro the ftate

Sufficent entertainment for the Army.

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

And though your fees are boundleffe at the barre : 190

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

2 Cred. And fo they are.

i Cred. 'Tis the City Doctrine, 195

We ftand bound to maintaine it.

Char. Be conftant in it,

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

The Court to take away one fcruple from 200

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

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

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

187 fro— from (C., f.

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

194 They are — They're (M., f.

195 'Tis— It is (G., S.

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

66 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

That to be in your danger, with more care

Should be auoyded, then infectious ay re,

The loath'd embraces of difeafed women,

A flatterers poyfon, or the loffe of honour. 210

Yet rather then my fathers reuerent duft

Shall want a place in that faire monument,

In which our noble Anceftors lye intomb'd,

Before the Court I offer vp my felfe

A prifoner for it : loade me with thofe yrons 215

That haue worne out his life, in my beft ftrength

He run to th' incounter of cold hunger,

And choose my dwelling where no Sun dares enter,

So he may be releas'd.

1 Cred. What meane you fir?

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

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

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

Roch. Be aduis'd, young Lord, 225

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

Neuer abus'd his goodneffe ; the great vertues 230

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

Nou. Se. Let him alone,

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

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

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

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

234 Lords — cords (C, f.

234 o— in (G., S.

234 'em— them (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY 67

Char- I hope they are not 235

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

3 Cred. What thinke you of the offer?

2 Cred- Very well.

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

And fhould he ftudy that way of reuenge,

As I dare almoft fweare he loues a wench, 245

We haue no wiues, nor neuer fhall get daughters

That will hold out againft him.

Du Croy. What's your anfwer?

2 Cred. Speake you for all.

i Cred. Why let our executions

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

Nou. Se. The Court muft grant you that.

Char. I thanke your Lordfhips,

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

That comes with honour, is true liberty. 255

Exit Charmi, Cred. & Officers.

Nou. Se. Strange rafhneffe.

Roch. A braue refolution rather,

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

Your Lordfhips bountifull in your fauours to me; 260

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

243 n in tongue inverted in Q.

244 M in reuenge inverted in Q.

246 never — ever (C., M.

247 n in anfwer inverted in Q.

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

68 THE FATAL DOWRY

Du Cray. There is nothing

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

Rock. You incourage

A bold Petitioner, and 'tis not fit 265

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

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

Du Croy. Speake it freely.

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

Was equall to the iniurie that was done 275

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

Nou. Se. Pray you demand

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

Roch. Am I denyed then —

My first and laft requeft?

Du Croy. It muft not be. 280

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

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

Nou. Se. You are too violent,

You ihall haue my confent — But would you had

Made tryall of my loue in any thing 285

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

Roch. I thanke your Lordfhips.

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

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

266 'tas—'t has (C, M., S.; 'fas (G.

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 69

Roch. I follow you— Rock. & Beaumont.

Baumont.

Baum. My Lord.

Roch. You are a fcholler, Baumont,

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

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

Baum. It is my wonder,

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

Roch. Fie/ he was faulty— 295

What prefent mony haue I ?

Baum. There is no want

Of any fumme a priuate man has ufe for.

Roch. Tis well :

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

Should learne to be good, and continue fo. 300

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

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

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

296 There is— There's (G., S.

Act. fecundus. Sc&na prima:

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

Mai. HP IS ftrange.

1 Baum. Me thinkes fo.

Pont. In a man, but young,

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

Yeeld his free liuing youth a captiue, for 5

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

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

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

Baum. Twenty eight,

For fince the clocke did strike him 17 old

Vnder his fathers wing, this Sonne hath fought, 15

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

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

2 m in iudgement inverted in Q.

13 fits— fit (C, f.

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

1 8 then's— than his (M.

THE FATAL DOWRY 71

Preuaile on his foft difpofition,

That he had rather dye aliue for debt

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

Rob him of Sepulture, confidering

Thefe monies borrowed bought the lenders peace,

And all their meanes they inioy, nor was diffused

In any impious or licencious path?

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

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

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

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

Very prayfe now f reezeth too : for nature 40

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

Malo. This morning is the funerall.

Pont. Certainely !

And from this prifon 'twas the fonnes requeft

That his deare father might interment haue. Recorders 45

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

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

25 he— they (C, M., G.

28 their— the (G., S.

28 was — were (G., S.

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

43, after funerall . — f (G., S.

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

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

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

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

72 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

Moues the whole frame of this folemnity ! 50

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

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

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

Then Virgins long in loue, their wedding weeds : 60

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

And tho this Country, like a viperous mother, 65

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

Such as a flatterer, or a vfurer hath. 70

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

Pont. Sir.

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

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

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 73

Whilft the great, proud, rich, vndeferuing man,

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

The golden calfe that was an Idoll dect

With marble pillars let, and Porphyrie,

Shall quickly both in bone and name confume, 85

Though wrapt in lead, fpice, Searecloth and perfume

i Cred. Sir.

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

This is a Sacrifice, our fhowre fhall crowne 90

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

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

Rom. No ; keepe 'em

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

You'll dye elfe and be damn'd.

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

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

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

Rom. Both with a birth fhee rogues.

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

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

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

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

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

94 'em — them (G., S.

95 Rogues — rogue (S.

97 weel'd — we would (M., f.

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

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

100, after rogues . — ? (G., S.

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

74 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

A penny of him, haue we?

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

For all our mony.

Prieft. On.

Char. One moment more,

But to beftow a few poore legacyes, no

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

Thy valor, and thy honeftie together : 115

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

(Weare thou this medall of himfelfe) that like 120

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

For me my portion prouide in Heauen : 125

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

This would I weare as my inheritance. 130

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

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

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

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 75

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

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

Saylor. You muft no further.

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

Rom. Out you wooluish mungrells !

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

Lefte your infection poyfon a whole towne.

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

[SCENE II]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Flor. And thou Bellapert, a graine too light.

135 'em — them (G., S.

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

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

143 Turnes— Turn (M., f.

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

76 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

Flor. Well fayd, wherligig.

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

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

Flor. I may bee euen with you.

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

Flor. Well. Exit.

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

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

Beau. Ah my fweete Bellapert thou Cabinet

To all my counfels, thou doft know the caufe 35

That makes thy Lady wither thus in youth.

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

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

And may performe the office of a husband.

Beau. But there is honor, wench.

Bell. Such a difeafe

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

Beau. Prethee, diftinguifh me a mayd & wife.

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

Tother muft beare no mans.

17 ferue — served (G., S. See Notes.

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 77

Beau- What is a husband?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baum. Humpe.

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

couer you : for 'tis not the fafhion.

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

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

Whofe breath is perfume to our Continent, 70

See Flora turn'd in her varieties.

Bell. Oh diuine Lord!

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

48 ith'— in the (G., S.

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

55 i'th— in the (M., f.

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

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

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

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Malo. What are thefe?

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

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

in —

Malo. A Bawdy houfe.

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

Lord.

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

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

94 'em — them (G., S.

95 taught — caught (M., f.

98 'em— them (G., S.

99 i'th— in the (G., S.

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

104 /&*>— See Notes.

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 79

Malo. Good fir, tell me one thing.

Pont. What's that?

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

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

bands out of order.

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

Malo. And Lord Charolois vndone foreuer.

Pont. Troth, 'tis pity, fir.

A brauer hope of fo affur'd a father 115

Did neuer comfort France.

Lilad. A good dumbe mourner.

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

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

Lilad. His Colonell lookes fienely like a drouer.

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

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

Nou. Now out vpon him !

Beau. Seruant, tye my hand. 125

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

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

Mounfieur Aymour, I prethy fing the fong 130

Deuoted to my Mrs. Cant. Muficke.

After the Song, Enter Rochfort, & Baumont.

Baum. Romont will come, fir, ftraight.

Roch. Tis well.

Beau. My Father.

Nouall. My honorable Lord.

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

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

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

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

80 THE FATAL DOWRY

So early vp and ready before noone, 135

That are the map of dreffing through all France.

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

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

Lilad. Wee'l waite on you.

Nou. Good morne vnto your Lordfhip,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enter Romont keeper

Rom. Sent you for me, fir?

Roch. Yes.

Rom. Your Lordfhips pleafure ? 155

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

Which, fo affected, Romont, you weare, 160

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

144 Th' art — Thou art (G., S.

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

word here.

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

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

161 yee — you (C., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY gj

Recant your fterne contempt, and flight neglect

Of the whole Court, and him, and opportunity,

Or you will vndergoe a heauy cenfure X65

In publique very fhortly.

Rom. Hum hum : reuerend fir,

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

Then I can be of all the bellowing mouthes 170

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

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

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

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

But mollifie one rudeneffe in his nature, 185

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY

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

Rom. My Lord,

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

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

To pollifh rougheft cuftomes, and in you 200

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

Roch. Oh bee temperate, 205

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

Enter Baumond,

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

It does concerne you and your friends, it was 215

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

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

Roch. Worthieft Sir, Enter Charolois. 220

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

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

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

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

211 'em— them (G., S.

215 friends— friend (M., f.

219 is— it (C., f.

219 s. d., Seruant— Beaumont (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY

No man but has, or muft bury a father.

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

In the graue with him. I did neuer thinke 225

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

Roch. They do not.

Char. In the manner

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

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

Roch. Sweete and gentle nature, 235

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

Char. Take it, tis granted.

Roch. What?

Char. Nothing, my Lord.

Roch. Nothing is quickly granted.

Char. Faith, my Lord,

That nothing granted, is euen all I haue, 240

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

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

Char. Nay furely, I that can

Giue nothing, will but fue for that againe. 245

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

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

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

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

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

84 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

Where heauenly vertue in high blouded veines

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

Adore, and facrifice all that they haue; 255

And well they may, it is fo feldome feene.

Put off your wonder, and heere freely take

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

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

Vniuftly taken of the rich, but what's 260

Directly gotten, and yet by the Law.

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

Rock. Mocke? thunder ftrike mee then.

Char. You doe amaze mee:

But you fhall wonder too, I will not take

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

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

Roch. Heere is your friend, mony. Baumont.

Enfranchift ere you fpake. I giue him you, 270

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

Char. How ?

Rom. Sir, it is moft true.

I am the witnes.

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

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

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

Would faue the reft of pleaders.

Char. Honord Rochfort.

266 not — no (G.

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

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 85

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

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

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

Rom. With his life, affure you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without all dowry is a Princes ayme, 300

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

Roch. Your fentence life or death.

Char. Faire Beaumelle, can you loue me?

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

281, end . — , (G., S.

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

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

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

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

296 participate — precipitate (C., f.

301 / — me (C., f.

303 know — its n is broken in the Q.

THE FATAL DOWRY

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

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

And Rochfort is your father. falute.

Nou. What's this change?

Roch. You met my wifhes, Gentlemen.

Rom. What make

Thefe dogs in doublets heere?

Beau. A Vifitation, Sir. 310

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

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

Two hearts, and bodies, heere incorporate : 320

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

More then my fathers bones vnder his wrongs, 325

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

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

Rom. Mai. Pont. Bau.

All faire bliffe vpon it. 330

Exeunt Roch. Char. Rom. Bau. Mai.

308, end — G. & S. s. d. : Aside.

309 met — meet (G., S.

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

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 87

Nou. Miftreffe.

Beau. Oh feruant, vertue ftrengthen me.

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

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

Exeunt Lilad. Aym.

Nou. Peace, peace,

Pont. One word, my Lord Nouall.

Nou. What, thou wouldft mony; there. 335

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

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

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

Or you will plucke a thoufand mifchiefes on you. 345

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

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

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

Pont. No more but fcorne?

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

Hoboyes.

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

for the Marriage of Charalois with

Beaumelle, & c.

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

349 'em — them (G., S.

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

Actus tertius. Scaena prima.

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

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

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

Bell. Good my Lord,

But heare me onely.

Nou. To what purpofe, trifler?

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

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

Nou. That I could.

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

Bell The enioying

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

Nou. Giue fome rellifh

How this may appeare poffible.

Bell I will

3 fpoke — spoken (G., S.

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

9, end — ; (C, f.

13, end . —omitted by M., f.

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 89

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

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

That Charalois hath inioyed her, 'tis moft true

That with her, hee's already Mafter of

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

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

I vtterly deny : for but obferue me :

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

What courtefie could fhe with her honour giue

Or you receiue with fafety — take me with you,

When I fay courtefie, doe not think I meane

A kiffe, the tying of her fhoo or garter,

An houre of priuate conference : thofe are trifles.

In this word courtefy, we that are gamefters point at

The fport direct, where not alone the louer

Brings his Artillery, but vfes it. 35

Which word expounded to you, fuch a courtefie

Doe you expect, and fudden.

Nou. But he tafted

The firft fweetes, Bellapert.

Bell. He wrong'd you fhrewdly,

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

And in his prints leaues your afcent more eafie. 40

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

Nou. But for her marriage.

Bell 'Tis a faire protection

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

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

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

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

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

22, end — : (C, f.

24 old — M. omits.

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

49, after onely (C, f.

90 THE FATAL DOWRY

If it proue otherwife, fpare not, poyfon me

With the next gold you giue me. Enter Beaumely

Beau. Hows this feruant,

Courting my woman ?

Bell. As an entrance to

The fauour of the miftris : you are together 55

And I am perfect in my qu.

Beau. Stay Bellapert.

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

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

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

Beau. I fhall grow angry.

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

Bell. I had forgot to tell your Ladifhip Enter 65

The clofet is priuate and your couch ready: againe.

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

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

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

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

Did wifely for my felfe.

Nou. With too much feruor

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

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 91

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

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

Beau. I vnderftand you,

And for affurance, the requeft you make

Shall not be long vnanfwered. Pray you fit, gc

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

Flor. Sir, tis not enuy

At the ftart my fellow has got of me in

My Ladies good opinion, thats the motiue 90

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

Rom. So I conceiue it.

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

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

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

Rom. This is no vifion : ha !

Nou. With the next opportunity.

Beau. By this kiffe,

And this, and this.

Nou. That you would euer fweare thus. 100

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

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

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

88 tis— it is (G., S.

91 but due — but the due (G., S.

99, after opportunity . — ? (G., S.

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

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

92 THE FATAL DOWRY

Nou. What haue I done, Sir, 105

To draw this harfh vnfauory language from you ?

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

Beau. This is fomething more

Then my Lords friendfhip giues commiffion for. no

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

Rom. As if thou ere wer't angry

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

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

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

Thou art a Chriftian. I fuspect thee ftrongly, 120

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

Nou. So wee fhall meete — Madam.

Rom. Vfe that legge again,

And He cut off the other.

Nou. Very good. Exit Nouall. 125

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

Beau. Tis not vfeleffe,

Now you are to fucceed him.

Rom. So I refpect you,

in makes — make (G., S.

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

117 Thou wouldft— Thou' dst (C., f.

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

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY

Not for your felfe, but in remembrance of, I3o

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

Beau' What, you will not beate mee,

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

Rom- My intents

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

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

Beau. To what tends this?

Rom. Why, to this purpofe, Lady, 145

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

Beau. They are bafe 150-

That iudge me otherwife.

Rom. But yet bee carefull.

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

But He bee plainer with you: had the people 155

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

139 is — G. & S. omit. See Notes.

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

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

94 THE FATAL DOWRY

You vs'd familiarity beyond 160

A modeft entertaynment : you embrac'd him

With too much ardor for a ftranger, and

Met him with kiffes neyther chafte nor comely :

But learne you to forget him, as I will

Your bounties to him, you will find it fafer 165

Rather to be vncourtly, then immodeft.

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

Rom. Madam.

Beau. Yes.

And this ftrong belt in which you hang your honor 170

Will out-laft twenty fcarfs.

Rom. What meane you, Lady?

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

That tis not ftrange your Laundreffe in the League, 175

Grew mad with loue of you.

Rom. Is my free counfayle

Anfwerd with this ridiculous fcorne ?

Beau. Thefe obiects

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

Deceyued grauely, but to little purpofe, 180

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

Rom. By thy hand.

Beau. And fword,

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

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

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

184 thy— this (C., f. See Notes.

185 twill— it will (G., S.

186 You are— You're (C., M.

THE FATAL DOWRY 95

Do you come from the Campe, which affords onely

The conuerfation of caft fuburbe whores,

To fet downe to a Lady of my ranke,

Lymits of entertainment? 190

Rom. Sure a Legion has poffeft this woman.

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

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

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

Rom. And I will.

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

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

And I will rather choofe a Spittle f inner 210

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

Enter Baumont with writings.

Bau. Collonell, good fortune

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

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

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

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

203 that — this (G., S.

204 You haue — You've (C, M.

96 THE FATAL DOWRY

Rom. No doubt. But on. 220

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

Rom. Women haue no cunning

To gull the world.

Bau. Yet to all thefe, my Lord

Her father giues the full addition of

All he does now poffeffe in Burgundy: 225

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

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

Bau. I thanke you. Exit Baumont.

Rom. I muft do fomething worthy Charaloys friendfhip. 230

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

Roch. Some one feeke for me, 235

As foone as he returnes.

Rom. Her father/ ha?

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

Will warrant and giue priuiledge to his counfailes. 240

It fhall be fo — my Lord.

Roch. Your friend Romont:

Would you ought with me ?

Rom. I ftand fo engag'd

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

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

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

231, after inclin'd —, (C., f.

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

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 97

Though with fome imputation to my felfe, 245

All doubts that may concerne you.

Roch. The performance

Will make this proteftation worth my thanks.

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

Beau. See wench! 250

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

Bell. Feare not mee, pox on him :

A Captaine turne Informer against kiffing?

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

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

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

Bell. Now. 260

Begin. The games afoot, and wee in diftance.

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

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

Againe to pleafe a fuyter.

Bell. Tis the courfe

That our great Ladies take.

Rom. A weake excufe.

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

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

254 turne — turn'd (M.

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

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

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

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

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

98 THE FATAL DOWRY

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

The vnderftanding, graue and wife Romont.

Rom. Muft I be ftill her fport?

Beau. Reproue me for it.

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

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

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

Roch. Does your fine ftory

Begin from this?

Beau. I thought a parting kiffe

From young Nouall, would haue difpleafd no more 280

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

The ftricteft courfe of life that iealoufie . 285

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

Rom. Ten diffemblers

Are in this fubtile deuill. You beleeue this ?

Roch. So farre that if you trouble me againe

With a report like this, I fhall not onely 290

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

Rom. Why, 'tis exceeding well.

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

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

Bell. Bleffing on you.

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

272 Reproue — Reproved (M., f.

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 99

If this new preacher with the fword and feather 300

Could proue his doctrine for Canonicall,

We fhould haue a fine world. Exit Bellapert.

Roch. Sir, if you pleafe

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

Though you feeke company elfe where, your abfence 305

Will not be much lamented — Exit Rochfort.

Rom. If this be

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

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

Beau. Oh, feare not you, fir,

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

Rom. What herefie? Speake.

Beau. Of keeping a Lady that is married, 315

From entertayning feruants. — Enter Nouall lu. Mala-

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

And then with welcome follow me. Exit Beau

Nou. You are tyr'd

With your graue exhortations, Collonell.

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

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

Aym. That face would doe well in a furpleffe.

Rom. Rogues,

Be filent — or —

300 the— his (S.

316 you are — you're (G, M.

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

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

324 Rogues in Q. begins the succeeding line.

328 f hall— should (G., S.

100 THE FATAL DOWRY

Pont. S'death will you fuffer this? 325

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

Nou. Pontallier,

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

Ltiad. His backe 330

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

Aym. Hee lookes like

A Curryer when his hides grown deare.

Pont. Take heede

He curry not fome of you.

Nou. Gods me, hee's angry. 335

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

Lilad. Heeres more. Baumont.

Aym. Come let's bee gone,

Wee are beleaguerd.

Nou. Looke they bring vp their troups.

Pont. Will you fit downe

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

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

Nou. My Lord, I am forry,

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

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

Rom. Nothing. Char. Rom.

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

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

334 grown — grow (G., S.

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

335 Gods— Gads (C, M., G.

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

THE FATAL DOWRY 101

His conference and his fcorne reflects on thee : 350

For my part they fhould fcoffe their thin wits out,

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

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

As are obnoxious, to thofe foolifh things

As they can gibe at.

Rom. Well, Sir.

Char. Thou art know'n 355

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

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

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

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

I grew inraged thus, yet had rather dye, 365

Then open the great caufe a fyllable further.

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

To throw afperfions on him, or fo weakely 37°

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

The Lion is not angry that does fleepe 375

Nor euery man a Coward that can weepe.

350 reflects— reflect (G., S.

352 'em — them (C., f.

352 beate— bait (M.

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

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

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

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

372 a — C. & M. omit.

373 They are — They're (C., M.

102 THE FATAL DOWRY

For Gods fake fpeake the caufe.

Rom. Not for the world.

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

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

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

That caufes your affliction.

Cha. Thou doft ftrike

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

A man I may encounter and fubdue it 390

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

With mine owne reafon, as a Scholler mould 395

Speake, though it make mee monftrous.

Rom. He dye firft.

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

Char. Hump, ftay and take this wolfe

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

Rom. Lofe not, Sir, your felfe. 400

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

Now noble Charaloys, collect your felfe, the dore.

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

From euery veine, and whatfoeuer enfues, 405

Vpbraid not me heereafter, as the caufe of

395, end — . (C., f.

396 lie— I will (G.

398 Hump— Hum (C., f.

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

405 whatfoeuer — whatfoe'er (M., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 103

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

Char. Diuell on't,

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

My wifes continuance of Chaftity.

Rom. There was no hurt in that.

Char. Why? do you know

A likelyhood or poffibility vnto the contrarie?

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

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

Multiplying kiffes, as if they meant 420

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

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

In your whole conftitution, thus preuailes, 430

To fix you now, thus ftupid hearing this ?

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

Rom. Noe.

Cha. Ha, ha.

409, after with . —? (G., S.

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

416 u in your inverted in Q.

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

432 'em — him (M., f. See Notes.

104 THE FATAL DOWRY

Rom. Laugh yee? eene fo did your wife,

And her indulgent father.

Cha. They were wife. 43

Wouldft ha me be a f oole ?

Rom. No, but a man.

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

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

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

Thus doe I put thee off, and confident 450

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

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

That muft be kept to a wiues iniury,

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

Beare witnes the great fpirit of my father, 460

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

434 yee — you (C, f.

434 eene — even (G., S.

436 ha — have (M., f.

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

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

464 Praecipuce — precipice (C., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 105

Which now thy tardy fluggifhneffe will admit. 465

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

Ere Hue to haue metis marginall fingers point

At Charaloys, as a lamented ftory.

An Emperour put away his wife for touching

Another man, but thou wouldft haue thine tafted 470

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

To warme a dead man, that wafte out myfelfe.

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

If you will be a Cuckold? Heere I fhew

A fwords point to thee, this fide you may fhun, 475

Or that : the perrill, if you will runne on,

I cannot helpe it.

Cha. Didft thou neuer fee me

Angry, Romontf

Rom. Yes, and purfue a foe

Like lightening

Char. Prethee fee me fo no more.

I can be fo againe. Put vp thy fword, 480

And take thy felfe away, left I draw mine.

Rom. Come fright your foes with this : fir, I am your friend,
And dare ftand by you thus.

Char. Thou art not my friend,

Or being fo, thou art mad, I muft not buy

Thy f riendfhip at this rate ; had I iuft cause, 485

Thou knowft I durft purfue fuch iniury
Through fire, ayre, water, earth, nay, were they all
Shuffled againe to Chaos, but ther's none.
Thy fkill, Romont, confifts in camps, not courts.

Farewell, vnciuill man, let's meet no more. 490

Heere our long web of friendfhip I vntwift.
Shall I goe whine, walke pale, and locke my wife
For nothing, from her births free liberty,
That open'd mine to me ? yes ; if I doe

467 Hue— lived (G., S. See Notes.

471 Puffe—Phoh (C, M., G.

473 Bleed— Blood (C., M.

482 this: fir— this, sir! (C., G., S.—this, sir? (M.

483 Thou art— Thou rt (C, M.

484 thou art — thou'rt (C., M.

106

THE FATAL DOWRY

The name of cuckold then, dog me with fcorne.

I am a Frenchman, no Italian borne. Exit.

Rom. A dull Dutch rather: fall and coole (my blood)
Boyle not in zeal of thy friends hurt, fo high,
That is fo low, and cold himfelfe in't. Woman,
How ftrong art thou, how eafily beguild ?
How thou doft racke vs by the very homes?
Now wealth I fee change manners and the man :
Something I muft doe mine owne wrath to affwage,
And note my friendfhip to an after-age. Exit.

495

500

Actus quart us. Scaena prima.

[A Room in N avail's House]

Enter Nouall Junior, as newly dr effect, a Taylor, Barber,
Perfumer, Liladam, Aymour, Page.

Nou. IV /I End this a little: pox! thou haft burnt me. oh fie

I V 1 vpon't, O Lard, hee has made me fmell ( for
all the world) like a flaxe, or a red headed womans chamber:
powder, powder, powder.

Perf. Oh fweet Lord! Nouall fits in a chaire, 5

Page. That's his Perfumer. Barber orders his haire,
Tayl. Oh deare Lord, Perfumer giues pozvder,

Page. That's his Taylor. Taylor fets his clothefe.

Nou. Monfieur Liladam, Aymour, how allow you the
modell of thefe clothes? 10

Aym. Admirably, admirably, oh fweet Lord ! affuredly
it's pity the wormes fhould eate thee.

Page. Here's a fine Cell ; a Lord, a Taylor, a Perfumer, a
Barber, and a paire of Mounfieurs : 3 to 3, as little will in the
one, as honefty in the other. S'foote ile into the country a- 15

gaine, learne to fpeake truth, drinke Ale, and conuerfe with
my fathers Tenants ; here I heare nothing all day, but
vpon my foule as I am a Gentleman, and an honeft
man.

Aym. I vow and affirme, your Taylor muft needs be an ex- 20

pert Geometrician, he has the Longitude, Latitude, Alti
tude, Profundity, euery Demenfion of your body, fo ex-

Enter Nouall, etc. — G. & S. introduce the scene with the following
variant s. d., also omitting s. d. of lines 5-8 of Q. : Noval junior discovered
seated before a looking-glass, with a Barber and Perfumer dressing his
hair, while a Tailor adjusts a new suit which he wears. Liladam, Aymer,
and a Page attending.

13 Cell— See Notes.

14 will— wit (C, f. The emendation is probably correct.

19, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Aside, as also after the speeches of Page
ending lines, 25, 36, 40, 62, 66, and 70.

107

108 THE FATAL DOWRY

quifitely, here's a lace layd as directly, as if truth were a
Taylor.

Page. That were a miracle.

Lila. With a haire breadth's errour, ther's a fhoulder
piece cut, and the bafe of a pickadille in puncto.

Aym. You are right, Mounfieur his veftaments fit : as if
they grew vpon him, or art had wrought 'em on the fame
loome, as nature fram'd his Lordfhip as if your Taylor were 30

deepely read in Aftrology, and had taken meafure of your
honourable body, with a lacobs ftaffe, an Ephimeri-
des.

Tayl. I am bound t'ee Gentlemen.

Page. You are deceiu'd, they'll be bound to you, you muft 35

remember to truft 'em none.

Nou. Nay, fayth, thou art a reafonable neat Artificer, giue
the diuell his due.

Page. I, if hee would but cut the coate according to the
cloth ftill. 40

Nou. I now want onely my mifters approbation, who is
indeed, the moft polite punctuall Queene of dreffing in all
Burgundy. Pah, and makes all other young" Ladies appeare,
as if they came from boord laft weeke out of the country,
Is't not true, Liladam ? 45

Lila. True my Lord, as if any thing your Lordfhip could
fay, could be othewrife then true.

Nou. Nay, a my foule, 'tis fo, what fouler obiect in the
world, then to fee a young faire, handfome beauty, vnhand-
fomely dighted and incongruently accoutred; or a hopefull 50

Cheualier, vnmethodically appointed, in the externall orna
ments of nature? For euen as the Index tels vs the contents
of ftories, and directs to the particular Chapters, euen fo
does the outward habit and fuperficiall order of garments

26 haire breadth's — hair's breadth's (C., M., G. — hair's breadth (S.

29 'em — them (G., S. ,

30, after Lordfhip —; (C., f.

34 t'ee— t'ye (C, f.

36 'em — them (G., S.

39 I— Ay (G., S.

41 mifters — mistress's (C., M. — mistress' (G., S.

48 a-0 (C, M.— o' (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY 109

(in man or woman) giue vs a taft of the fpirit, and demon- 55

ftratiuely poynt (as it were a manuall note from the margin)
all the internall quality, and habiliment of the foule, and
there cannot be a more euident, palpable, groffe manif cita
tion of poore degenerate dunghilly blood, and breeding, then
rude, vnpolifh'd, difordered and flouenly outfide. 60

Page. An admirable ! lecture. Oh all you gallants, that hope
to be faued by your cloathes, edify, ejdify.

Aym. By the Lard, fweet Lard, thou deferu'ft a penfion
o' the State.

Page. O th' Taylors, two fuch Lords were able to fpread 65

Taylors ore the face of a whole kingdome.

Nou. Pox a this glaffe ! it flatters, I could find in my heart
to breake it.

Page. O faue the glaffe my Lord, and breake their heads,
they are the greater flatterers I affure you. 70

Aym. Flatters, detracts, impayres, yet put it by,
Left thou deare Lord (Narciflus-lfce) fhould doate
Vpon thyfelfe, and dye; and rob the world
Of natures copy, that fhe workes forme by.

Llla. Oh that I were the Infanta Queene of Europe, 75

Who (but thy felfe fweete Lord) fhouldft marry me.

Nou. I marry ? were there a Queene oth' world, not I.
Wedlocke? no padlocke, horfelocke, I weare fpurrs He

To keepe it off my heeles ; yet my Aymour, capers.

Like a free wanton iennet i'th meddows, 80

I looke aboute, and neigh, take hedge and ditch,
Feede in my neighbours paftures, picke my choyce
Of all their faire-maind-mares : but married once,
A man is ftak'd, or pown'd, and cannot graze

59, after then — a inserted by C, f.

66 a— the (G.

67 a— o (G., S.

71, after Flatters , —! (G., S.

72 fhould — shouldst (G., S.

74 forme — form (C., f.

76 fhouldft— should (C., f. See Note on 1. 72.

77 oth'—o' the (G., S.
80 i'th— in the (G., S.

84 pown'd — pounded (M.

110 THE FATAL DOWRY

Beyond his owne hedge.

Enter Pontalier, and Malotin.

Pont. I haue waited, fir,

Three hours to fpeake w'ee, and not take it well,
Such magpies are admitted, whilft I daunce
Attendance.

Lila. Magpies? what d'ee take me for?

Pont. A long thing with a moft vnpromifing face.

Aym. I'll ne're afke him what he takes me for?

Mai. Doe not, fir, 90

For hee'l goe neere to tell you.

Pont. Art not thou

A Barber Surgeon?

Barb. Yes fira why.

Pont. My Lord is forely troubled with two fcabs.

Lila. Aym. Humph —

Pont. I prethee cure him of 'em.

Nou. Pifh : no more, 95

Thy gall fure's ouer throwne ; thefe are my Councell,
And we were now in ferious difcourfe.

Pont. Of perfume and apparell, can you rife
And fpend 5 houres in dreffing talke, with thefe?

Nou. Thou 'idft haue me be a dog : vp, ftretch and make, 100

And ready. for all day.

Pont. Sir, would you be

More curious in preferuing of your honour.
Trim, 'twere more manly. I am come to wake
Your reputation, from this lethargy
You let it fleep in, to perfwade, importune, 105

86 w'ee — with you (C., M. — wi' ye (G., S.

86 not take it well — take it not well (C., M.

88 d'ee— d'ye (C, f.

90 ne're — never (M., f.

91 and 92 Art . . . Surgeon? — printed as one line in Q.

94 Humph — Hum (G., S.

95 'em — them (G., S.

96 ouer throwne — overflown (M., f. See Notes.
100 Thou' idft— Thou' Idst (C., f.

102, end . — omitted by C, f.

103 G. makes Trim last word of line 102, and lengthens 'twere to It
were.

THE FATAL DOWRY HI

Nay, to prouoke you, fir, to call to account

This Collonell Romont, for the foule wrong

Which like a burthen, he hath layd on you,

And like a drunken porter, you fleepe vnder.

Tis all the towne talkes, and beleeue, fir, I iO

If your tough fenfe perfift thus, you are vndone,

Vtterly loft, you will be fcornd and baffled

By euery Lacquay ; feafon now your youth,

With one braue thing, and it fhall keep the odour

Euen to your death, beyond, and on your Tombe, 115

Sent like fweet oyles and Frankincenfe ; fir, this life

Which once you fau'd, I ne're fince counted mine,

I borrowed it of you ; and now will pay it ;

I tender you the feruice of my fword

To beare your challenge, if you'll write, your fate: 120

He make mine owne : what ere betide you, I

That haue liu'd by you, by your fide will dye.

Nou. Ha, ha, would'ft ha' me challenge poore Romont?
Fight with clofe breeches, thou mayft think I dare not.
Doe not miftake me (cooze) I am very valiant, 125

But valour fhall not make me fuch an Affe.
What vfe is there of valour (now a dayes?)
Tis fure, or to be kill'd, or to be hang'd.
Fight thou as thy minde moues thee, 'tis thy trade,
Thou haft nothing elfe to doe ; fight with Romont? 130

No i'le not fight vnder a Lord.

Pont. Farewell, fir,

I pitty you.

Such louing Lords walke their dead honours graues,
For no companions fit, but fooles and knaues.
Come Malotin. Exeunt Pont' Mal

Enter Romont.

1 10 towne talkes — Town-Talk (C, M.

1 10, after beleeue— G. & S. insert it.

in you are — you're C, M.

11$ Sent—i. e. Scent; so all later editors.

123 ha' — have (G., S.

125 I am — I'm (C, M.

131 and 132 Farewell . . . you.— printed as one line in Q.

133 louing— living (G., S.

112 THE FATAL DOWRY

Lila. 'Sfoot, Colbran, the low gyant. 135

Aym. He has brought a battaile in his face, let's goe.

Page. Colbran d'ee call him? hee'l make fome of you fmoake,
I beleeue.

Rom. By your leaue, firs.

Aym. Are you a Confort?

Rom. D'ee take mee

For a fidler ? ya're deceiu'd : Looke. He pay you. Kickes 'em.

Page. It feemes he knows you one, he bumfiddles you fo. 140

Lila. Was there euer fo bafe a fellow?

Aym. A rafcall?

Lila. A moft vnciuill Groome?

Aym. Offer to kicke a Gentleman, in a Noblemans cham
ber? A pox of your manners. 145

Lila. Let him alone, let him alone, thou fhalt lofe thy
arme, fellow : if we ftirre againft thee, hang vs.

Page. S'foote, I thinke they haue the better on him,
though they be kickd, they talke fo.

Lila. Let's leaue the mad Ape. 150

Noil'. Gentlemen.

Lilad. Nay, my Lord, we will not offer to difhonour you
fo much as to ftay by you, fince hee's alone.

Nou. Harke you.

Aym. We doubt the caufe, and will not difparage you, fo 155

much as to take your Lordfhips quarrel in hand. Plague on
him, how he has crumpled our bands.

Page. He eene away with 'em, for this fouldier beates
man, woman, and child. Exeunt. Manent Nou. Rom.

Nou. What meane you, fir? My people.

Rom. Your boye's gone, Lockes the doore. 160

And doore's lockt, yet for no hurt to you,

137 d'ee— d'ye (C, f.

138 D'ee— D'ye (C., M.— Do you (G., S.

139 In Q., For is last word of line 138.
139 ya're — you're (G., S.

145 of—o' (C., f.

147 arme — aim (M., f.

150, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Going.

158 'em— them (G., S.

161 And doore's — And your door's (G, S.

THE FATAL DOWRY 113

But priuacy : call vp your blood againe, fir,

Be not airraid, I do befeach you, fir,

(And therefore come) without, more circumftance

Tell me how far re the paffages haue gone 165

'Twixt you and your faire Miftreffe Beaumelle,

Tell me the truth, and by my hope of Heauen

It neuer fhall goe further.

Nou. Tell you why fir?

Are you my confeffor?

Rom. I will be your confounder, if you doe not. Drawes a 170
Stirre not, nor fpend your voyce. pocket dag.

Nou. What will you doe?

Rom. Nothing but lyne your brayne-pan, fir, with lead,
If you not fatisfie me fuddenly,
I am defperate of my life, and command yours.

Nou. Hold, hold, ile fpeake. I vow to heauen and you, 175

Shee's yet vntouch't, more then her face and hands :
I cannot call her innocent; for I yeeld
On my follicitous wrongs fhe confented
Where time and place met oportunity
To grant me all requefts.

Rom. But may I build 180

On this affurance?

Nou. As vpon your fayth.

Rom. Write this, fir, nay you muft. • Drawes Inkehorne

jyOM> Pox of this Gunne. and paper.

Rom. Withall, fir, you muft fweare, and put your oath
Vnder your hand, (fhake not) ne're to frequent
This Ladies company, nor etier fend
Token, or meffage, or letter, to incline
This (too much prone already) yeelding Lady.

Nou. 'Tis done, fir.

162-164 -printed as two lines in Q. : But . . . do \ Befeach . . . cireum-
fiance.

163 —this line is omitted in M.

168 Tea you why fir-Tell yon? why sir? (C, M.-7VK yo»l why,

sir, G., S.

171, s. d. dag.— dagger (C, M.

174 / am — I'm (C., M.

178 wrongs-wooing (M., f. Perhaps the Ms. reading was wooings.

180 and 181 But . . . affurance f— printed as one line in Q.

114 THE FATAL DOWRY

Rom. Let me fee, this firft is right,

And heere you wifh a fudden death may light

Vpon your body, and hell take your foule, 190

If euer more you fee her, but by chance,
Much leffe allure. Now, my Lord, your hand.

Nou. My hand to this ?

Rom. Your heart elfe I affure you.

Nou. Nay, there 'tis.

Rom. So keepe this laft article

Of your fayth giuen, and ftead of threatnings, fir, 195

The feruice of my fword and life is yours :
But not a word of it, 'tis Fairies treafure ;
Which but reueal'd, brings on the blabbers, ruine.
Vfe your youth better, and this excellent forme
Heauen hath bef towed vpon you. So good morrow to your Lordfhip. 200

Nou. Good diuell to your roguefhip. No man's faf e :
He haue a Cannon planted in my chamber, Exit.

Againft fuch roaring roagues.
Enter Bellapert.

Bell. My Lord away

The Coach ftayes : now haue your wifh, and iudge,
If I haue been forgetfull.

Nou. Ha?

Bell. D'ee ftand 205

Humming and hawing now? Exit.

Nou. Sweet wench, . I come.

Hence feare,

I fwore, that's all one, my next oath 'ile keepe
That I did meane to breake, and then 'tis quit.

1 88, after -fee , —omitted by G. & S.

189, end G. & S. insert s. d. : Reading.
194, after So —, (C., M.— / (G., S.

198 blabbers, ruine — blabber's ruin (M., f. The emendation is plausible,
but not absolutely required.

202, s. d. Exit — C., f. place at end of line 200, its obviously correct
position, as would undoubtedly Q., but for insufficient margin in the page
at this point.

203 G. & S. give s. d. : Enter Bellapert, hastily.

204 Coach — caroch (G., S.

205 D'ee— D'ye (C., M.— Do you (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY U5

No paine is due to louers periury. 2IO

If loue himfelfe laugh at it, fo will I. Exit Nouall.

Scaena 2. Enter Charaloys, Baumont.
[An outer Room in Aymer's House]

Bau. I grieue for the diftafte, though I haue manners,
Not to inquire the caufe, falne out betweene
Your Lordfhip and Romont.

Cha. I loue a friend,

So long as he continues in the bounds

Prefcrib'd by friendfhip, but when he vfurpes 5

Too farre on what is proper to my felfe,
And puts the habit of a Gouernor on,
I muft and will preferue my liberty.
But fpeake of fomething, elfe this is a theame

I take no pleafure in : what's this Aywieire, 10

Whofe voyce for Song, and excellent knowledge in
The chief eft parts of Mufique, you beftow
Such prayfes on?

Bau. He is a Gentleman,

(For fo his quality fpeakes him) well receiu'd

Among our greateft Gallants ; but yet holds 15

His maine dependance from the young Lord Nouall:
Some tricks and crotchets he has in his head,
As all Muficians haue, and more of him
I dare not author : but when you haue heard him,
I may prefume, your Lordfhip fo will like him, 20

That you'l hereafter be a friend to Mufique.

Cha. I neuer was an enemy to't, Baumont,
Nor yet doe I fubfcribe to the opinion
Of thofe old Captaines, that thought nothing muficall,
But cries of yeelding enemies, neighing of horfes,
Clafhing of armour, lowd fhouts, drums, and trumpets :

211 loue — Jove (C., f.

6 on — omitted by C., M.

9 , following fomething transferred to follow elfe by C., f.

116 THE FATAL DOWRY

Nor on the other fide in fauour of it,

Affirme the world was made by muficall difcord,

Or that the happineffe of our life confifts

In a well varied note vpon the Lute : 30

I loue it to the worth of it, and no further.

But let vs fee this wonder.

Ban. He preuents

My calling of him.

Aym. Let the Coach be brought Enter Aymiere.

To the backe gate, and ferue the banquet vp :

My good Lord Charalois, I thinke my houfe 35

Much honor'd in your prefence.

Cha. To haue meanes

To know you better, fir, has brought me hither
A willing vifitant, and you'l crowne my welcome
In making me a witneffe to your fkill,
Which crediting from others I admire. 40

Aym. Had I beene one houre fooner made acquainted
With your intent my Lord, you fhould haue found me
Better prouided : now fuch as it is,
Pray you grace with your acceptance.

Ban. You are modeft.

Begin the laft new ayre.

Cha. Shall we not fee them? 45

Aym. This little diftance from the inftruments
Will to your eares conuey the harmony
With more delight.

Cha. He not confent.

Aym. Y'are tedious,

By this meanes fhall I with one banquet pleafe

31 of it— oft (G., S.

32 and 33 He . . . him.— printed as one line in Q.

33, s. d. — G. & S. read : Enter Aymer, speaking to one within.

45, after ayre.— G. & S. insert s. d. : To the Musicians within.

48 confent— content (C, f.— a correct emendation.

48 Y'are— You are (G., S.

48, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : To the Musicians.

Before 49 — S. inserts s. d. : Aside.

THE FATAL DOWRY 117

Two companies, thofe within and thefe Guls heere. 50

Song aboue.

Mufique and a Song, Beaumelle within— ha, ha, ha.

Cha. How's this? It is my Ladies laugh ! moft certaine
When I firft pleas'd her, in this merry language,
She gaue me thanks.

Bau. How like you this?

Cha. Tis rare,

Yet I may be deceiu'd, and mould be forry 55

Vpon vncertaine fuppofitions, rafhly
To write my felfe in the blacke lift of thofe
I haue declaym'd againft, and to Romont.

Aym. I would he were well of — perhaps your Lordfhip
Likes not thefe fad tunes, I haue a new Song 60

Set to a lighter note, may pleafe you better ;
Tis cal'd The happy husband.

Cha. Pray fing it.

Song below. At the end of the Song, Beaumelle within.

Beau. Ha, ha, 'tis fuch a groome.

Cha. Doe I heare this,

And yet ftand doubtfull? Exit

Aym. Stay him I am vndone, Chara.

And they difcouered.
, Bau. Whats the matter?

Aym. Ah! 65

That women, when they are well pleas'd, cannot hold,
But muft laugh out. Enter Nouall lu. Charaloys,

After 50, s. d. : Song— \. e. the Cittizcns Song of the Courtier, on page
146. —introduced here in text by Cunningham and S.
52, end — C. & M. punctuate with — ; G. & S. with . .
54, after thanks — G. & S. insert s. d. : Aside.
58, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Aside.

62 Pray fing — Pray you sing (G.

s. d. after 62, Song below— Song by Aymer (G., S. ; it is the Courtiers
Song of the Citizen, page 146. —introduced here in text by Cunningham
and S.

63 and 64 Doe . . . doubtfull f— printed as one line in Q.
66 they are— they're (C., f.

67, s. d. — Enter Nouall lu. Charaloys,— Enter Charalois, with his sword
drawn, pursuing Novall junior, etc. (G., S.

118 THE FATAL DOWRY

Nou. Helpe, faue me, murrher, murther. Beaumley,

Beau. Vndone foreuer. Bellapert.

Cha. Oh, my heart !

Hold yet a little — doe not hope to fcape

By flight, it is impoffible : though I might 70

On all aduantage take thy life, and iuftly ;
This (word, my fathers fword, that nere was drawne,
But to a noble purpofe, fhall not now
Doe th' office of a hangman, I referue it

To right mine honour, not for a reuenge 75

So poore, that though with thee, it fhould cut off
Thy family, with all that are allyed
To thee in luft, or bafeneffe, 'twere ftill fhort of
All termes of fatisfaction. Draw.

Nou. I dare not,

I haue already done you too much wrong, 80

To fight in fuch a caufe.

Cha. Why, dareft thou neyther

Be honeft, coward, nor yet valiant, knaue?
In fuch a caufe come doe not fhame thy felfe:
Such whofe bloods wrongs, or wrong done to themfelues
Could neuer heate, are yet in the defence 85

Of their whores, daring looke on her againe.
You thought her worth the hazard of your foule,
And yet ftand doubtfull in her quarrell, to
Venture your body.

Ban. No, he feares his cloaths,

More then his flefh

Cha. Keepe from me, garde thy life, 90

Or as thou haft liu'd like a goate, thou fhalt
Dye like a fheepe.

Nou. Since ther's no remedy They fight, Nouall

Defpaire of fafety now in me proue courage. is flaine.

Cha. How foone weak wrong's or'throwne ! lend me your hand,

68 Vndone foreuer — Undone, undone, forever! (G. — C. & M. give this
speech to Bellapert.
74 th'—the (G., S.

82 M., f. omit /s after honeft and "valiant.
86 daring looke — daring. Look (C., f.
' 89 and 90 No . . . flefh— printed as one line in Q.
93 of — its / is almost invisible in Q.

THE FATAL DOWRY 119

Beare this to the Caroach — come, you haue taught me 95

To fay you muft and fhall : I wrong you not,

Y'are but to keepe him company you loue.

Is't done? 'tis well. Raife officers, and take care,

All you can apprehend within the houfe

May be forth comming. Do I appeare much mou'd ? 100

Bau. No, fir.

Cha. My grief es are now, Thus to be borne.

Hereafter ile finde time and place to mourne.

Exeunt.

Scaena J. Enter Romont, Pontalier.
[A Street]

Pont. I was bound to feeke you, fir.

Rom. And had you found me

In any place, but in the ftreete, I fhould
Haue done, — not talk'd to you. Are you the Captaine ?
The hopefull Pontalier? whom I haue feene

Doe in the field fuch feruice, as then made you 5

Their enuy that commanded, here at home
To play the parafite to a gilded knaue,
And it may be the Pander.

Pont. Without this

I come to call you to account, for what

Is paft already. I by your example io

Of thankfulneffe to the dead Generall
By whom you were rais'd, haue practis'd to be fo
To my good Lord Nouall, by whom I Hue;
Whofe leaft difgrace that is, or may be offred,

With all the hazzard of my life and fortunes, 15

I will make good on you, or any man,

95 haue — its e is almost invisible in Q.

96 : -? (G.

96, after fhall G. & S. insert s. d. : Exeunt Beaumont and Bellapert,
with the body of Nouall; followed by Beaumelle.

97 Y'are — you are (G., S.

97, end G. & S. insert s. d. : Re-enter Beaumont.
3 not — nor (C.

8 . -? (C, f.

120 THE FATAL DOWRY

That has a hand in't ; and fince you allowe me

A Gentleman and a fouldier, there's no doubt

You will except againft me. You fhall meete

With a faire enemy, you vnderftand 20

The right I looke for, and muft haue.

Rom. I doe,

And with the next dayes funne you fhall heare from me.

Exeunt.

Scaena 4. Enter Charalois with a casket, Beaumelle, Baumont.
[A Room in Charalois' House]

Cha. Pray beare this to my father, at his leafure
He may perufe it : but with your beft language
Intreat his inftant prefence : you haue fworne
Not to reueale what I haue done.

Bau. Nor will I —

But—

Cha. Doubt me not, by Heauen, I will doe nothing 5

But what may ftand with honour : Pray you leaue me
To my owne thoughts. If this be to me, rife ;
I am not worthy the looking on, but onely
To feed contempt and fcorne, and that from you

Who with the loffe of your faire name haue caus'd it, 10

Were too much cruelty.

Beau. I dare not moue you

To heare me fpeake. I know my fault is farre
Beyond qualification, or excufe,
That 'tis not fit for me to hope, or you

To thinke of mercy ; onely I prefume 15

To intreate, you would be pleas'd to looke vpon
My forrow for it, and beleeue, thefe teares
Are the true children of my griefe and not
A womans cunning.

Cha. Can you Beaumelle,

4 and 5 Nor . . . but printed as one line in Q.

6, end — C, f. insert s. d. : Exit Beaumont.

7, end — C., f . insert s. d. : Beaumelle kneels.
8 worthy— worth (G., S.

THE FATAL DOWRY 121

Hauing deceiued fo great a truft as mine, 20

Though I were all credulity, hope againe

To get beleefe? no, no, if you looke on me

With pity or dare practife any meanes

To make my fufferings leffe, or giue iuft caufe

To all the world, to thinke what I muft doe 25

Was cal'd vpon by you, vfe other waies,

Deny what I haue feene, or iuftifie

What you haue done, and as you defperately

Made .fhipwracke of your fayth to be a whore,

Vfe th' armes of fuch a one, and fuch defence, 30

And multiply the finne, with impudence,

Stand boldly vp, and tell me to my teeth,

You haue done but what's warranted,

By great examples, in all places, where

Women inhabit, vrge your owne deferts, 35

Or want of me in merit ; tell me how,

Your dowre from the lowe gulfe of pouerty,

Weighed vp my fortunes, to what now they are :

That I was purchas'd by your choyfe and practife

To fhelter you from fhame : that you might finne 40

As boldly as fecurely, that poore men

Are married to thofe wiues that bring them wealth,

One day their husbands, but obferuers euer :

That when by this prou'd vfage you haue blowne

The fire of my iuft vengeance to the height, 45

I then may kill you : and yet fay 'twas done

In heate of blood, and after die my felfe,

To witneffe my repentance.

Beau. O my fate,

That neuer would confent that I fhould fee,

How worthy thou wert both of loue and duty 5°

Before I loft you; and my mifery made

30 th'—the (G., S.

33 variously emended for defective metre: That you have done but
what's warranted, (€., M. ; That you have done but what is warranted,
(G. ; You have done merely but what's warranted, (S.

36 of me in— in me of (C, M., S. The emendation is unnecessary.

38 now they — they now (G.

50 thou wert — you were (G., S.

122 THE FATAL DOWRY

The glaffe, in which I now behold your vertue :

While I was good, I was a part of you,

And of two, by the vertuous harmony

Of our faire minds, made one ; but fince I wandred 55

In the forbidden Labyrinth of luft,

What was infeparable, is by me diuided.

With iuftice therefore you may cut me off,

And from your memory, wafh the remembrance

That ere I was like to fome vicious purpofe 60

Within your better Judgement, you repent of

And ftudy to forget.

Cha. O Beaumelle,

That you can fpeake fo well, and doe fo ill !
But you had been too great a bleffing, if

You had continued chaft : fee how you force me 65

To this, becaufe my honour will not yeeld
That I againe fhould loue you.

Beau. In this life

It is not fit you fhou d : yet you fhall finde,
Though I was bold enough to be a ftrumpet,

I dare not yet Hue one : let thofe f am'd matrones 70

That are canoniz'd worthy of our fex,
Tranfcend me in their fanctity of life,
I yet will equall them in dying nobly,
Ambitious of no honour after life,
But that when I am dead, you will forgiue me. 75

Cha. How pity fteales vpon me ! fhould I heare her
But ten words more, I were loft — one knocks, go in. Knock
That to be mercifull fh uld be a finne. within.

O, fir, moft welcome. Let me take your cloake, Exit Beau-
I muft not be denyed — here are your robes, melle. 80

As you loue iuftice once more put them on : Enter

There is a caufe to be determind of Rochfort.

That doe's require fuch an integrity,
As you haue euer vs'd — ile put you to

60, after was — ; (C, f.
6 1 Within— Which in (M., f.

77, post — The three s. d.'s are made by C., f. to follow respectively
lines 76, 77, and 78.

THE FATAL DOWRY 123

The tryall of your conftancy, and goodneffe : 85

And looke that you that haue beene Eagle-eyd

In other mens affaires, proue not a Mole

In what concernes your felfe. Take you your feate:

I will be for you prefently. Exit.

Roch. Angels guard me,

To what ftrange Tragedy does this deftruction 90

Serue for a Prologue? Enter Charaloys with Nouals

Cha. So, fet it downe before body. Beaumelle, Bau-

The Judgement feate, and ftand you at the bar : mont.

For me ? I am the accufer.

Roch. Nouall flayne,

And Beaumelle my daughter in the place
Of one to be arraign'd.

Cha. O, are you touch'd? 95

I finde that I muft take another courfe,
Feare nothing. I will onely blind your eyes,
For Justice fhould do fo, when 'tis to meete
An obiect that may fway her equall doome

From what it fhould be aim'd at. — Good my Lord, 100

A day of hearing.

Roch. It is granted, fpeake —

You fhall haue iuftice.

Cha. I then here accufe,

Moft equall ludge, the prifoner your faire Daughter,
For whom I owed fo much to you : your daughter,
So worthy in her owne parts : and that worth 105

Set forth by yours, to whofe fo rare perfections,
Truth witneffe with me, in the place of feruice
I almoft pay'd Idolatrous facrifice

89 be for— before (C., M.

90 deftruction— induction (G., S., following the suggestion of M.

91, s. d. — G. & S. omit phrase with Nouals body, and affix to s. d.
with Servants bearing the Body of Novall junior.

92, after feate, — G. & S. insert s. d. : Exeunt Servants.
93 me — the e is obliterated in Q.

96, end — C. & M. insert s. d. : He hoodwinks Rochfort. G. & S. place
a similar s. d. at the end of the following line.

101 and 102 It . . iuftice— printed as one line in Q.

124 THE FATAL DOWRY

To be a falfe advltreffe.

Roch. With whom?

Cha. With this Nouall here dead.

Roch. Be wel aduis'd no

And ere you fay adultreffe againe,
Her fame depending on it, be moft fure
That fhe is one.

Cha. I tooke them in the act.

I know no proofe beyond it.

Roch. O my heart.

Cha. A ludge fhould feele no paffions.

Roch. Yet remember 115

He is a man, and cannot put off nature.
What anfwere makes the prifoner?

Beau. I confeffe

The fact I am charg'd with, and yeeld my felfe
Moft miferably guilty.

Roch. Heauen take mercy

Vpon your foule then : it muft leaue your body. 120

Now free mine eyes, I dare vnmou'd looke on her,
And fortifie my fentence, with ftrong reafons.
Since that the politique law prouides that feruants,
To whofe care we commit our goods fhall die,

If they abufe our truft : what can you looke for, 125

To whofe charge this moft hope full Lord gaue vp
All he receiu'd from his braue Anceftors,
Or he could leaue to his pofterity ?
His Honour, wicked woman, in whose fafety

All his lifes ioyes, and comforts were locked vp, 130

With thy luft, a theefe hath now ftolne from him,
And therefore —

Cha. Stay, iuft ludge, may not what's loft

By her owne fault, (for I am charitable,
And charge her not with many) be forgotten
In her f aire life hereafter ?

121, end — G. & S. insert s. d. : Charalois unbinds his eyes.

131 With— Which (M., f.

131, after thy — G. says a monosyllable has been lost here. S. inserts
foul. But an acceptable rhythm is secured by the natural stress of the
voice, which emphasizes and dwells upon thy, and again stresses kept.

133 owne — one (M., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 125

Roch. Neuer, Sir. 135

The wrong that's done to the chafte married bed,
Repentant teares can neuer expiate,
And be affured, to pardon fuch a finne,
Is an offence as great as to commit it.

Cha. I may not then f orgiue her.

Roch. Nor (he hope it. 140

Nor can fhe wifh to Hue no funne fhall rife,
But ere it fet, fhall fhew her vgly luft
In a new fhape, and euery on more horrid :
Nay, euen thofe prayers, which with fuch humble feruor
She feemes to fend vp yonder, are beate backe, 145

And all fuites, which her penitance can proffer,
As soone as made, are with contempt throwne
Off all the courts of mercy. He kills her.

Cha. Let her die then.

Better prepar'd I am. Sure I could not take her,
Nor fhe accufe her father, as a ludge 150

Partiall againft her.

Beau. I approue his fentence,

And kiffe the executioner ; my luft
Is now run from me in that blood ; in which
It was begot and nourifhed.

Roch. Is fhe dead then?

Cha. Yes, fir, this is her heart blood, is it not? 155

I thinke it be.

Roch. And you haue kild here?

Cha. True>

And did it by your doome

140, after her . — ? (C, f.

141 Hue no— Hue. No (C., M — Hue: no (G., S.

143 on — one (C., f.

147, end — G. & S. insert out, changing first word of 1. 148 to Of.
C & M. make Off of 1. 148 conclude 147, and insert From to begin 1. 148.
It is preferable to let the line stand as it is, letting the voice, in reading,
dwell and pause upon are.

148 s. d., He kils her. transferred to end of line by C, f.

149 / am. Sure— I am sure (M.— I'm sure (G., S.
154, after nourifhed. — C., f. inserts s. d. : Dies.

156 and 157 True . . . doome— printed as one line in Q.

126 THE FATAL DOWRY

Roch. But I pronounc'd it

As a ludge onely, and friend to iuftice,
And zealous in defence of your wrong'd honour,

Broke all the tyes of nature : and caft off 160

The loue and foft affection of a father.
I in your caufe, put on a Scarlet robe
Of red died cruelty, but in returne,
You haue aduanc'd for me no flag of mercy :

I look'd on you, as a wrong'd husband, but 165

You clos'd your eyes againft me, as a father.

0 Beaumelle, my daughter.

Cha. This is madneffe.

Roch. Keepe from me — could not one good thought rife vp,
To tell you that fhe was my ages comfort,

Begot by a weake man, and borne a woman, 170

And could not therefore, but partake of f railety ?
Or wherefore did not thankfulneffe ftep forth,
To vrge my many merits, which I may
Obiect vnto you, fince you proue vngratefull,
Flinty-hearted Charaloysf

Cha. Nature does preuaile 175

Aboue your vertue.

Roch. No ! it giues me eyes,

To pierce the heart of defigne againft me.

1 finde it now, it was my ftate was aym'd at,

A nobler match was fought for, and the houres

I liu'd, grew teadious to you : my compaffion 180

Towards you hath rendred me moft miferable,

And f oolifh charity vndone my felf e :

But ther's a Heauen aboue, from whofe iuft wreake

No mifts of policy can hide offenders. Enter Nouall fe.

Nou. fe. Force ope the doors — O monfter, caniball, with 185
Lay hold on him, my fonne, my fonne. — O Rochfort, Officers.

158 and friend — and a friend (C., f.

175 Flinty Flint- (G., S.

175 and 176 Nature . . . vertue. — printed as one line in Q.
177, after of — C., f. insert your. But the change is not required by the
sense ; nor by the metre, if the voice be allowed to dwell on heart.
184 s. d. : Enter Nouall, etc. — G. & S. place after doors in next line.
185, before Force — G. & S. insert s. d. : Within.

THE FATAL DOWRY 127

Twas you gaue liberty to this bloody wolfe
To worry all our comforts, — But this is
No time to quarrell ; now giue your affiftance
For the reuenge.

Rock. Call it a fitter name — 190

luftice for innocent blood.

Cha. Though all confpire

Againft that life which I am weary of,
A little longer yet ile ftriue to keepe it,
To fhew in fpite of malice, and their lawes,
His plea muft fpeed that hath an honeft caufe. Exeunt 195

190 and 191 Call . . . blood. — printed as one line in Q.

Actus quintus. Scaena prima

[A Street]

Enter Liladam, Taylor, Officers.

Lila

WHy 'tis both moft vnconfcionable, and vntimely
T'arreft a gallant for his cloaths, before
He has worne them out : befides you fayd you afk'd
My name in my Lords bond but for me onely,
And now you'l lay me vp for't. Do not thinke
The taking meafure of a cuftomer
By a brace of varlets, though I rather wait
Neuer fo patiently, will proue a fafhion
Which any Courtier or Innes of court man
Would follow willingly.

Tayl. There I beleeue you.

But fir, I muft haue prefent moneys, or
Affurance to fecure me, when I fhall. —
Or I will fee to your comming forth.

Lila. Plague on't,

You haue prouided for my enterance in :
That comming forth you talke of, concernes me.
What fhall I doe ? you haue done me a difgrace
In the arreft, but more in giuing caufe
To all the ftreet, to thinke I cannot ftand
Without thefe two fupporters for my armes :
Pray you let them loofe me : for their fatis faction
I will not run away.

Tayl. For theirs you will not,

Enter, etc. Officers — two Bailiffs. (G., S.
2 T'arreft— To arrest (G., S.
4 for me — for form (M., f.
1 6 you haue — you've (C., M.

128

THE FATAL DOWRY 129

But for your owne you would ; looke to them fellows.

Lila. Why doe you call them fellows ? doe not wrong
Your reputation fo, as you are meerely

A Taylor, faythfull, apt to beleeue in Gallants 25

You are a companion at a ten crowne fupper
For cloth of bodkin, and may with one Larke
Eate vp three manchets, and no man obferue you,
Or call your trade in queftion for't. But when

You ftudy your debt-booke, and hold correfpondence 30

With officers of the hanger, and leaue fwordmen,
The learned conclude, the Taylor and Sergeant
In the expreffion of a knaue are thefe
To be Synonima. Looke therefore to it,

And let vs part in peace, I would be loth 35

You fhould vndoe your felfe.

Tayl. To let you goe Enter old Nouall,

Were the next way. and Pontdier.

But fee! heeres your old Lord,
Let him but giue his worde I fhall be paide,
And you are free.

Lila. S'lid, I will put him to't :

I can be but denied : or what fay you ? 4°

His Lordfhip owing me three times your debt,
If you arreft him at my fuite, and let me
Goe run before to fee the action entred.
'Twould be a witty ieft.

Tayl. I muft haue erneft:

I cannot pay my debts fo.

Pont. Can your Lordfhip 45

Imagine, while I Hue and weare a fword,
Your fonnes death fhall be reueng'd?

22 them— him (C, f. The Q. reading is preferable in every way.

24 fo — M. omits.

26 You are — You're (C., M.

32, after and — G. & S. insert the.

33 are thefe— or thief (U.—and thief (G., S., which seems slightly the
more probable correction.

34 Synonima — synonymous (C., M.

36, end s. d. — C., f . place s. d. after felfe.

39 I will— I'll (C., m.

47 reueng'd— un-revenged (C, f.,— an obviously correct emendation.

130

THE FATAL DOWRY

Nou. fe. I know not

One reafon why you fhould not doe like others :
I am fure, of all the herd that fed vpon him,

I cannot fee in any, now hee's gone, 50

In pitty or in thank fulneffe one true figne
Of forrow for him.

Pont. All his bounties yet

Fell not in fuch vnthankfull ground : 'tis true
He had weakeneffes, but fuch as few are free from,
And though none footh'd them leffe then I : for now 55

To fay that I f orefaw the dangers that
Would rife from cherifhing them, were but vntimely.
I yet could wifh the iuftice that you feeke for
In the reuenge, had been trufted to me,

And not the vncertaine iffue of the lawes : 60

'Tas rob'd me of a noble teftimony
Of what I durft doe for him : but howeuer,
My forfait life redeem'd by him though dead,
Shall doe him feruice.

Nou. fe. As far re as my grief e

Will giue me leaue, I thanke you.

Lila. Oh my Lord, 65

Oh my good Lord, deliuer me from thefe furies.

Pont. Arrefted ? This is one of them whofe bafe
And obiect flattery helpt to digge his graue :
He is not worth your pitty, nor my anger.
Goe to the bafket and repent.

Nou. fe. Away 70

I onely know now to hate thee deadly :
I will doe nothing for thee.

Lila. Nor you, Captaine.

Pont. No, to your trade againe, put off this cafe,
It may be the difcouering what you were,

When your vnfortunate mafter tooke you vp, 75

May moue compaffion in your creditor.

57, end . -, (C.f f.
6 1 'Tas— It has (M., f.
68 obiect— abject (C, f.

70 and 71 A way . . . deadly: — printed as one line in Q.
71, after know — G. & S. insert thee, which secures a smoother metre, but
is not warranted.

THE FATAL DOWRY 131

Confeffe the truth. Exit Nouall ^ pont

LHa. And now I thinke on't better,

I will, brother, your hand, your hand, fweet brother.
I am of your feet, and my gallantry but a dreame,
Out of which thefe two fearefull apparitions 80

Againft my will haue wak'd me. This rich (word
Grew fuddenly out of a taylors bodkin ;
Thefe hangers from my vailes and fees in Hell :
And where as now this beauer fits, full often

A thrifty cape compos'd of broad cloth lifts, 85

Nere kin vnto the cufhion where I fate.
Croffe-leg'd, and yet vngartred, hath beene feene,
Our breakefafts famous for the buttred loaues,
I haue with ioy bin oft acquainted with,

And therefore vfe a confcience, though it be 90

Forbidden in our hall towards other men,
To me that as I haue beene, will againe
Be of the brotherhood.

Offi. I know him now:

He was a prentice to Le Robe at Orleance.

Lila. And from thence brought by my young Lord, now dead, 95
Vnto Dijon, and with him till this houre
Hath bin receiu'd here for a compleate Mounfieur.
Nor wonder at it : for but tythe our gallants,
Euen thofe of the firft ranke, and you will finde

In euery ten, one : peraduenture two, 100

That fmell ranke of the dancing fchoole, or fiddle,
The pantofle or preffing yron : but hereafter
Weele talke of this. I will furrender vp
My fuites againe : there cannot be much loffe,

Tis but the turning of the lace, with ones 105

Additions more you know of, and what wants

79 I am— I'm (C, f.

84 fits—M. reads fits, the first letter in Q. not being certainly distin
guishable as / or /.

85 cape— cap (C, f.

86 fate.— sat, (C., f.

93 Offi.— i Bail. (G., S.
97 Hath— Have (M., G.

105 ones — one (C, f.

106 Additions — Addition (C, f.

132

THE FATAL DOWRY

I will worke out.

Tayl. Then here our quarrell ends.

The gallant is turn'd Taylor, and all friends. Exeunt.

Scaena 2. Enter Romont, Baumont.
[The Court of Justice]

Rom. You haue them ready.

Ban. Yes, and they will fpeake

Their knowledg in this caufe, when thou thinkft fit
To haue them cal'd vpon.

Rom. 'Tis well, and fomething

I can adde to their euidence, to proue
This braue reuenge, which they would haue cal'd murther,
A noble luftice.

Ban. In this you expreffe

(The breach by my Lords want of you, new made vp)
A faythfull friend.

Rom. That friendfhip's rays'd on fand,

Which euery fudden guft of dif content,
Or flowing of our paffions can change,
As if it nere had bin : but doe you know
Who are to fit on him ?

Ban. Mounfieur Du Croy

Affifted by Charmi.

Rom. The Aduocate

That pleaded for the Marfhalls funerall,
And was checkt for it by Nouall.

Bau. The fame

Rom. How fortunes that?

Bau. Why, fir, my Lord Nouall

Being the accufer, cannot be the ludge,
Nor would grieue Rochfort, but Lord Charaloys

2, thou thinkft — you think (G., S.

7 new — now (M.

15, after Nouall . —? (G., S.

18 grieue — grieved (M., f., a correct emendation.

THE FATAL DOWRY 133

(Howeuer he might wrong him by his power,)
Should haue an equall hearing.

Rom- By my hopes 2O

Of Charaloys acquitall, I lament
That reuerent old mans fortune.

Bau- Had you feene him,

As to my griefe I haue now promis'd patience,
And ere it was beleeu'd, though fpake by him

That neuer brake his word, inrag'd againe 25

So far as to make warre vpon thofe heires
Which not a barbarous Sythian durft prefume
To touch, but with a fuperftitious feare,
As fomething facred, and then curfe his daughter,
But with more frequent violence himfelfe, 30

As if he had bin guilty of her fault,
By being incredulous of your report,
You would not onely iudge him worrhy pitty,
But fuffer with him. Enter Charalois, with

But heere comes the prifoner, Officers.

I dare not ftay to doe my duty to him, 35 .

Yet reft affur'd, all poffible meanes in me
To doe him feruice, keepes you company. Exit Bau.

Rom. It is not doubted.

Cha. Why, yet as I came hither,

The people apt to mocke calamity,

And tread on the opprefs'd, made no homes at me, 40

Though they are too familiar : I deferue them.
And knowing what blood my fword hath drunke
In wreake of that dif grace, they yet forbare
To fhake their heads, or to reuile me for

A murtherer, they rather all put on 45

(As for great loffes the old Romans vs'd)
A generall face of forrow, waighted on

23, after haue — C, f . insert , .

23 promis'd — promise (C., f.

26 heires — i. e., of course, hairs; — so modernized by C., f.

33 worrhy — Q. misprint for worthy; — corrected by C., f.

39, after people — C, f. insert , .

42, after knowing — M., f. insert too.

134 THE FATAL DOWRY

By a fad murmur breaking through their filence,

And no eye but was readier with a teare

To witneffe 'twas fhed for me, then I could 50

Difcerne a face made vp with fcorne againft me.

Why fhould I then, though for vnufuall wrongs,

I chofe vnufuall meanes to right thofe wrongs,

Condemne my felfe, as ouer-partiall

In my owne caufe Romont?

Rom. Beft friend, well met, 55

By my hearts loue to you, and ioyne to that,
My thank fulneffe that ftill Hues to the dead,
I looke vpon you now with more true ioy,
Then when I faw you married.

Cha. You haue reafon

To giue you warrant f or't ; my falling off 60

From fuch a friendfhip with the fcorne that anfwered
Your too propheticke counfell, may well moue you
To thinke your meeting me going to my death,
A fit encounter for that hate which iuftly
I haue deferu'd from you.

Rom. Shall I ftill then 65

Speake truth, and be ill vnderftood ?

Cha. You are not.

I am confcious, I haue wrong'd you, and allow me
Only a morall man to looke on you,
Whom foolifhly I haue abus'd and iniur'd,

Muft of neceffity be more terrible to me, 70

Then any death the Judges can pronounce
From the tribunall which I am to plead at.

Rom. Paffion tranfports you.

Cha. For what I haue done

To my falfe Lady, or Nouall, I can

Giue fome apparent caufe : but touching you, 75

In my defence, childlike, I can fay nothing,

55, after caufe — .— (C, M. — ?— (G., S., which is right.

67 / am — I'm (C., M.

68, after man — M. inserts , , and G. & S. ; — .

76, end G. & S. omit , .

THE FATAL DOWRY 135

But I am forry for't, a poore fatisfaction :
And yet miftake me not : for it is more
Then I will fpeake, to haue my pardon fign'd
For all I ftand accus'd of.

Rom- You much weaken go

The ftrength of your good caufe. Should you but thinke
A man for doing well could entertaine
A pardon, were it offred, you haue giuen
To blinde and flow-pac'd iuftice, wings, and eyes
To fee and ouertake impieties, gc

Which from a cold proceeding had receiu'd
Indulgence or protection.

Cha. Thinke you fo ?

Rom. Vpon my foule nor fhould the blood you chalenge
And took to cure your honour, breed more fcruple
In your foft confcience, then if your fword 90

Had bin fheath'd in a Tygre, or fhe Beare,
That in their bowels would haue made your tombe
To iniure innocence is more then murther:
But when inhumane lufts trans forme vs, then

Like beafts we are to fuffer, not like men 95

To be lamented. Nor did Charalois euer
Performe an act fo worthy the applaufe
Of a full theater of perfect men,
As he hath done in this : the glory got

By ouerthrowing outward enemies, 100

Since ftrength and fortune are maine fharers in it,
We cannot but by pieces call our owne :
But when we conquer our inteftine foes,
Our paffions breed within vs, and of thofe

The moft rebellious tyrant powerfull loue, 105

Our reafon fuffering vs to like no longer
Then the faire obiect being good deferues it,
That's a true victory, which, were great men
Ambitious to atchieue, by your example

77, after -But — G. & S. insert , .

80 and 81 You . . . caufe.— printed as one line in Q.

88 chalenge— challenged (G., S.— a correct emendation.

91 Tygre — tigress (C., M.

104 breed— bread (C., f. The Q. reading is perfectly satisfactory.

136 THE FATAL DOWRY

Setting no price vpon the breach of fayth, no

But loffe of life, 'twould fright adultery
Out of their families, and make luft appeare
As lothfome to vs in the first confent,
As when 'tis wayted on by punifhment.

Cha. You haue confirm'd me. Who would loue a woman 115
That might inioy in fuch a man, a friend ?
You haue made me know the iuftice of my caufe,
And mark't me out the way, how to defend it.

Rom. Continue to that refolution conftant,

And you mall, in contempt of their worft malice, 120

Come off with honour. Heere they come.

Cha. I am ready.

Scaena 3. Enter Du Croy, Charmi, Rochfort, Nouall fe.
Pontalier, Baunwnt.

Nou. fe. See, equall Judges, with what confidence
The cruel murtherer ftands, as if he would
Outface the Court and Iuftice !

Roch. But looke on him.

And you fhall find, for ftill methinks I doe,

Though guilt hath dide him black, fomething good in him, 5

That may perhaps worke with a wifer man
Then I haue beene, againe to fet him free
And giue him all he has.

Charmi. This is not well.

I would you had liu'd fo, my Lord that I,

Might rather haue continu'd your poore feruant, , 10

Then fit here as your ludge.

Du Croy I am forry for you.

Roch. In no act of my life I haue deferu'd
This iniury from the court, that any heere
Should thus vnciuilly vfurpe on what
Is proper to me only.

117 You haue — You've (C, M.

Scaena 3 — omitted by G. & S., — and correctly so, for there is no change
in place from the preceding, and the action is uninterrupted.

THE FATAL DOWRY j^y

DU Cr. What diftafte

Receiues my Lord ?

Rofh- You fay you are forry for him :

A grief e in which I muft not haue a partner :
Tis I alone am forry, that I rays'd
The building of my life for feuenty yeeres

Vpon fo fure a ground, that all the vices 2O

Practis'd to ruine man, though brought againft me,
Could neuer vndermine, and no way left
To fend thefe gray haires to the graue with forrow.
Vertue that was my patroneffe betrayd me :

For entring, nay, poffeffing this young man, 25

It lent him fuch a powerfull Maiefty
To grace what ere he vndertooke, that freely
I gaue myfelfe vp with my liberty,
To be at his difpofing ; had his perfon

Louely I muft confeffe, or far fain'd valour, 30

Or any other feeming good, that yet
Holds a neere neyghbour-hood, with ill wrought on me,
I might haue borne it better : but when goodneffe
And piety it felfe in her beft figure

Were brib'd to by deftruction, can you blame me, 35

Though I forget to fufTer like a man,
Or rather act a woman ?

Ban. Good my Lord.

Nou. fe. You hinder our proceeding.

Charmi. And forget

The parts of an accufer.

Bau. Pray you remember

To vfe the temper which to me you promis'd. 40

Roch. Angels themfelues muft breake Baumont, that promife
Beyond the ftrength and patience of Angels.
But I haue done, my good Lord, pardon me
A weake old man, and pray adde to that

18, after that—M., f. insert when. See Notes.

30 fain'd famed (M., f.

32 — , after neyghbour-hood in Q. is placed after ill by C, f.

35 by— my (C, f.

44, after pray — G. & S. insert you.

138

THE FATAL DOWRY

A miferable father, yet be carefull 45

That your compaffion of my age, nor his,
Moue you to anything, that may dif-become
The place on which you fit.

Charmi. Read the Inditement.

Cha. It fhall be needeleffe, I my felfe, my Lords,
Will be my owne accufer, and confeffe 50

All they can charge me with, or will I fpare
To aggrauate that guilt with circumftance
They feeke to loade me with : onely I pray,
That as for them you will vouchfafe me hearing:
I may not be, denide it for my felfe, 55

When I fhall vrge by what vnanfwerable reafons
I was compel'd to what I did, which yet
Till you haue taught me better, I repent not.

Roch. The motion honeft.

Charmi. And 'tis freely granted.

Cha. Then I confeffe my Lords, that I ftood bound, 60

When with my friends, euen hope it felfe had left me
To this mans charity for my liberty,
Nor did his bounty end there, but began:
For after my enlargement, cherifhing

The good he did, he made me mafter of 65

His onely daughter, and his whole eftate :
Great ties of thankfulneffe I muft acknowledge,
Could any one freed by you, preffe this further
But yet confider, my moft honourd Lords,

If to receiue a fauour, make a feruant, 70

And benefits are bonds to tie the taker
To the imperious will of him that giues,
Ther's none but flaues will receiue courtefie,
Since they muft fetter vs to our difhonours.

47 dif-become — mis-become (C., M.

50 — u in accuser is inverted in Q.

51 or — nor (C., f.

59 motion — motion's (C., f.

60 — n in confeffe is inverted in Q.
68 freed— feed (M., f.

68, end — f (C, f.

73 courtefie — courtesies (C., f. Q. reading is preferable. See Glossary.

THE FATAL DOWRY 139

Can it be cal'd magnificence in a Prince, 75

To powre downe riches, with a Jiberall hand,

Vpon a poore mans wants, if that muft bind him

To play the foothing parafite to his vices ?

Or any man, becaufe he fau'd my hand,

Prefume my head and heart are at his feruice ? 80

Or did I ftand ingag'd to buy my freedome

(When my captiuity was honourable)

By making my felfe here and fame hereafter,

Bondflaues to mens fcorne and calumnious tongues ?

Had his faire daughters mind bin like her feature, 85

Or for fome little blemifh I had fought

For my content elfewhere, wafting on others

My body and her dowry ; my f orhead then

Deferu'd the brand of bafe ingratitude :

But if obfequious vfage, and faire warning 90

To keepe her worth my loue, could preferue her

From being a whore, and yet no cunning one,

So to offend, and yet the fault kept from me ?

What fhould I doe? let any freeborne fpirit

Determine truly, if that thank fulneffe, 95

Choife forme with the whole world giuen for a dowry,

Could ftrengthen fo an honeft man with patience,

As with a willing necke to vndergoe

The infupportable yoake of flaue or wittoll.

Charmi. What proofe haue you me did play falfe, befides 100
your oath?

Cha. Her owne confeffion to her father.

I afke him for a witneffe.

Roch. 'Tis moft true.

I would not willingly blend my laft words
With an vntruth.

Cha. And then to cleere my felfe,

That his great wealth was not the marke I fhot at, 105

But that I held it, when faire Beaumelle

77 that— they (S.
88 dowry — dower (G., S.

91 could preferue — could not preserve (G, f. The emendation is clearly
required.

140 THE FATAL DOWRY

Fell from her vertue, like the fatall gold

Which Brennus tooke from Delphos, whofe poffeffion

Brought with it ruine to himfelfe and Army.

Heer's one in Court, Baumont, by whom I fent no

All graunts and writings backe, which made it mine,

Before his daughter dy'd by his owne fentence,

As freely as vnask'd he gaue it to me.

Ban. They are here to be feene.

Charmi. Open the casket.

Perufe that deed of gift.

Rom. Halfe of the danger 115

Already is difcharg'd : the other part
As brauely, and you are not onely free,
But crownd with praife for euer.

Du Cray. Tis apparent.

Charmi. Your ftate, my Lord, againe is yours.

Rock. Not mine,

I am not of the world, if it can prof per, 120

(And being iuftly got, He not examine
Why it fhould be fo fatall) doe you beftow it
On pious vfes. He goe feeke a graue.
And yet for proofe, I die in peace, your pardon

I aske, and as you grant it me, may Heauen 125

Your confcience, and thefe Judges free you from Exit

What you are charg'd with. So farewell for euer. — Rock.

Nouall fe. He be mine owne guide. Paffion, nor example
Shall be my leaders. I haue loft a fonne,

A fonne, graue Judges, I require his blood 130

From his accurfed homicide.

Charmi. What reply you

In your defence for this?

Cha. I but attended

Your Lordfhips pleafure. For the fact, as of
The former, I confeffe it, but with what

Bafe wrongs I was vnwillingly drawne to it, 135

To my few wordes there are fome other proofes
To witneffe this for truth, when I was married :

137, after truth , —. (M., f.

THE FATAL DOWRY 141

For there I muft begin. The flayne Nouall

Was to my wife, in way of our French courtfhip,

A moft denoted feruant, but yet aym'd at 140

Nothing but meanes to quench his wanton heate,

His heart being neuer warm'd by lawfull fires

As mine was (Lords:) and though on thefe prefumptions,

loyn'd to the hate betweene his houfe and mine,

I might with opportunity and eafe 145

Haue found a way for my reuenge, I did not ;

But ftill he had the freedome as before

When all was mine, and told that he abus'd it

With fome vnfeemely licence, by my friend

My appou'd friend Romont, I gaue no credit 150

To the reporter, but reprou'd him for it

As one vncourtly and malicious to him.

What could I more, my Lords ? yet after this

He did continue in his firft purfute

Hoter then euer, and at length obtaind it ; 155

But how it came to my moft certaine knowledge,

For the dignity of the court and my owne honour

I dare not fay.

Nou. fe. If all may be beleeu'd

A paffionate prifoner fpeakes, who is fo foolifh

That durft be wicked, that will appeare guilty? 160

No, my graue Lords : in his impunity
But giue example vnto iealous men
To cut the throats they hate, and they will neuer
Want matter or pretence for their bad ends.

Char ml. You muft find other proof es to ftrengthen thefe 165

But more prefumptions.

Du Croy. Or we fhall hardly

Allow your innocence.

Cha. All your attempts

138, after begin . — , (G., S— C. & M. inclose For . . . begin in ( )'s.
139 n in French is inverted in Q.

150 appou'd — i. e., approu'd; in Q. the r is wanting as above. Later
editors correct.
1 66 more — mere (C, f. See Notes.

142 THE FATAL DOWRY

Shall fall on me, like brittle fhafts on armour,

That breake themfelues ; or like waues againft a rocke,

That leaue no figne of their ridiculous fury 170

But foame and fplinters, my innocence like thefe

Shall ftand triumphant, and your malice ferue

But for a trumpet ; to proclaime my conqueft

Nor fhall you, though you doe the worft fate can,

How ere condemne, affright an honeft man. 175

Rom. May it pleafe the Court. 1 may be heard.

Nou. fe. You come not

To raile againe ? but doe, you fhall not finde,
Another Rochfort.

Rom. In Nouall I cannot.

But I come furnifhed with what will ftop

The mouth of his confpiracy againft the life 180

Of innocent Charaloys. Doe you know this Character?

Nou. fe. Yes, 'tis my fonnes.

Rom. May it pleafe your Lordfhips, reade it,

And you fhall finde there, with what vehemency
He did follicite Beaumelle, how he had got

A promife from her to inioy his wifhes, 185

How after he abiur'd her company,
And yet, but that 'tis fit I fpare the dead,
Like a damnd villaine, affoone as recorded,
He brake that oath, to make this manifeft
Produce his bands and hers.

Enter Aymer, Florimell, Bellapert.

Charmi. Haue they tooke their oathes? 190

Rom. They haue ; and rather then indure the racke,'
Conf effe the time, the meeting, nay the act ;
What would you more ? onely this matron made
A free difcouery to a good end ;

168 fall— fail (M.

169 like — omitted by G. & S.

170 figne — signs (S.

180 againft — 'gainst (G., S.

184 /zarf— omitted by G.

190 bands — bawds (C., f.

190, s. d. Enter Aymer, etc. — Enter Officers with Aymer, etc. (G., S.

190 tooke— ta' en (G.

THE FATAL DOWRY 143

And therefore I fue to the Court, fhe may not 195

Be plac'd in the blacke lift of the delinquents.

Pont. I fee by this, Nouals reuenge needs me,
And I fhall doe.

Charmi. Tis euident.

Nou. fe. That I

Till now was neuer wretched, here's no place
To curfe him or my ftars. Exit Nouall fenior.

Charmi Lord Charalois, 200

The iniurie : you haue fuftain'd, appeare
So worthy of the mercy of the Court,
That notwithftanding you haue gone beyond
The letter of the Law, they yet acquit you.

Pont. But in Nouall, I doe condemne him thus. 205

Cha. I am flayne.

Rom. Can I looke on ? Oh murderous wretch,

Thy challenge now I anfwere. So die with him.

Charmi. A guard : difarme him.

Rom. I yeeld vp my fword

Vnforc'd. Oh Charaloys.

Cha. For fhame, Romont,

Mourne not for him that dies as he hath liu'd, 210

Still conftant and vnmou'd : what's f alne vpon me,
Is by Heauens will, becaufe I made my felfe
A ludge in my owne caufe without their warrant :
But he that lets me know thus much in death,
With all good men forgiue mee.

Pont. I receiue 215,

The vengeance, which my loue not built on vertue,
Has made me worthy, worthy of.

Charmi. We are taught

201 iniurie:— C, f. read injuries, the colon in the Q. being blurred to
appear like a broken j.
205, end. — C., f. insert s. d. : Stabs him.
206 I am — I'm (C., M.

207, end — C., f. insert s. d. : Stabs Pontalier. See Notes
215, after mee. — C., f. insert s. d. : Dies.
215-217 —lines in Q. are : / . . . loue \ Not . . . of.
217 worthy, worthy of — worthy of (C., M.
217, after of. — C., f. insert s. d. : Dies.
217 We are — We're (C, M.

144 THE FATAL DOWRY

By this fad prefident, how iuft foeuer

Our reafons are to remedy our wrongs,

We are yet to leaue them to their will and power, 220

That to that purpofe haue authority.

For you, Romont, although in your excufe

You may plead, what you did, was in reuenge

Of the dif honour done vnto the Court :

Yet fince from vs you had not warrant for it, 225

We banifh you the State : for thefe, they fhall,

As they are found guilty or innocent,

Be fet free, or fuffer punifhment. Exeunt omnes.

FINIS

220 We are— We're (C, M.

227 As — A (M., misprint

228 Be fet— Or be set (C., M., G.— Be or set (S.

Firft Song.

Fie, ceafe to wonder,
Though you are heare Orpheus with his luory Lute,
Moue Trees and Rockes.

Charme Buls, Beares, and men more fauage to be mute,
Weake foolifh finger, here is one,
Would haue transformed thy felfe, to ftone.

Second Song.

A Dialogue betweene Nouall, and Beaumelle.
Man.

SEt Phoebus, fet, a fayrer funne doth rife,
From the bright Radience of my Mrs. eyes
Then euer thou begat'ft. I dare not looke,
Each haire a golden line, each word a hooke,
The more I ftriue, the more I ftill am tooke.
Worn.

Fayre feruant, come, the day thefe eyes doe lend
To warme thy blood, thou doeft fo vainely fpend.
Come ftrangled breath.
Man.

These songs are printed thus in an Appendix at the end of the play in
Q., G., and the edition of Hartley Coleridge. The First Song is inserted
at its proper point in the text — II, i, after line 134 — by C, M., Cunning
ham, and S. ; — so, too, the Second Song, after line 131 of II, ii. The other
two songs were omitted in C., and appear in an appendix of vol. 4 of M., —
there wrongly assigned (by D.) to the "passage over the stage" which
closes Act II. Gifford correctly assigns them to follow respectively IV, ii,
50; and IV, ii, 62; — where they are printed in the text of Cunningham
and S.

Firft Song— A DIRGE (G., S.

Second Song— A SONG BY AYMER (G., S.

A . . . Nouall, and Beaumelle. — A . . . a Man and a Woman. (C., f.

2-4 — lines in Q. : From . . . begafft. \ I dare . . . line, \ Each word . . .
hooke, .

7 doeft— dost (C., f.

8 Come ftrangled — Come, strangle (M., f.

145

146 THE FATAL DOWRY

What noate fo fweet as this,
That calles the fpirits to a further bliffef
Worn.

Yet this out-fauours wine, and this Perfume. 10

Man.
Let's die, I languifh, I con fume.

CITTIZENS SONG OF THE COURTIER.

COurtier, if thou needs wilt wiue,
From this leffon learne to thriue.
If thou match a Lady, that
Pafles thee in birth and ftate,

Let her curious garments be 5

Twice aboue thine owne degree;
This will draw great eyes vpon her,
Get her feruants and thee honour.

COURTIERS SONG OF THE CITIZEN.

POore Citizen, if thou wilt be
A happy husband, learne of me;
To fet thy wife fir ft in thy fhop,

A faire wife, a kinde wife, a fweet wife, fets a poore man vp.
What though thy fhelues be ne're fo bare: 5

A woman ftill is currant ware:
Each man will cheapen, foe, and friend,
But whilst thou art at tother end,
What ere thou feeft, or what doft heare,

Foole, haue no eye to, nor an eare; 10

And after fupper for her fake,
When thou haft fed, fnort, though thou wake:
What though the Gallants call thee momef
Yet with thy- lanthorne light her home:

Then looke into the town and tell, 15

// no fuch Tradefmen there doe dwell.

(Citizens Song) 3 and 4 If . . . ftate, — printed as one line in Q.

7 feruants — its u is inverted in Q.

(Courtiers Song} 16 Tradefmen — tradesman (M.

NOTES

[Dramatis personae.] Charalois — the name Charalois is a corruption
of Charolais, the Count of Charolais being the hereditary title of the
heir-apparent of the Duchy of Burgundy, for whom the county of
Charolais, an arriere-fief of Burgundy, was reserved as an appanage.
This domain had been purchased by Philip the Bold for his son, John the
Fearless.

I, i, 4. argue me of — obsolete construction: "accuse me of." Cf. Ray,
Disc. II, v, 213 : " Erroneously argues Hubert Thomas ... of a mistake."

I, i, 7. dif pence with — give special exemption from. Cf. I, ii, 87.

I, i, 33- This fuch — This for this is is a common Elizabethan construc
tion. Cf. "O this the poison of deep grief" — Hamlet, IV, v, 76; "This a
good block"— Lear, IV, vi, 187.

I, i, 45. tooke "up — borrowed. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part II,
I, ii, 46: "if a man is through with them in honest taking up, they stand
upon security."

I, i, 55-6- Your fable habit, with the hat and cloak . . . haue power —
the details of hat, cloak, and ribbons, interposed between subject and verb,
have attracted the latter into the plural, to the violation of its agreement
with its substantive.

I, i, 70. in that — i. e., in the fact that justice had no such guards.

I, i, 73-7. For the allusion to Cerberus and the fops, cf. Virgil's picture
of Aeneas' journey to Hades (Aeneid, VI, 417-425): "Huge Cerberus
makes these realms to resound with barking from his tripple jaws,
stretched at his enormous length in a den that fronts the gate. To whom
the prophetess, seeing his neck now bristle with horrid snakes, flings a
soporific cake of honey and medicated grain. He, in the mad rage of
hunger, opening his three mouths, snatches the offered morsel, and, spread
on the ground, relaxes his monstrous limbs, and is extended at vast length
over all the cave. Aeneas, now that the keeper [of Hell] is buried [in
sleep], seizes the passage and swift overpasses the bank of that flood
whence there is no return." — Davidson's trans.

I, i, 75. fertyle headed — many kteaded. fertyle is used in the now
obsolete sense of abundant.

I, i, 92. fuch, whofe—ior the construction, cf . Shakespeare : " Such I
will have, whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy."— All's Well,
III, iv, 24.

I, i, 99. men religious — the adjective is regularly placed after its noun
in Eliz. Eng. when the substantive is unemphatic and the modifier not a
mere epithet, but essential to the sense. See Abbott, S. G. § 419.

I, i, 137-8. — The thought of these lines is undeveloped, the phrasing
being broken and disconnected. It is a scornful observation on the part

147

148

THE FATAL DOWRY

of Romont that whether or not Novall takes papers depends on how the
matter is brought before him — and he is about to add that there is a way
in which Charalois can manage to gain his point, when he breaks off with
the cry, " Follow him ! " Conuayance = contrivance.

I, i, 164. parchment toils — snares in the shape of documents upon
parchment, such as bonds, mortgages, etc.

I, i, 166. Luxury — used here in the modern sense, — not, as more com
monly in Elizabethan times, with the meaning, laciviousness, lust. The
thought of the somewhat involved period which ends with this line is,
that the creditors prayed only on an occasion when they feared to lose
their clutch on some rich spendthrift — on which occasion they would
pray to the devil to invent some new and fantastic pleasure which would
lure their victim back into the toils.

I, ii, ii. Dijon — the scene of the drama, — situated on the western
border of the fertile plain of Burgundy, and at the confluence of the
Ouche and the Suzon. It was formerly the capital of the province of
Burgundy, the dukes of which acquired it early in the eleventh century,
and took up their residence there in the thirteenth century. For the
decoration of the palace and other monuments built by them, eminent
artists were gathered from northern France and Flanders, and during
this period the town became one of the great intellectual centers of
France. The union of the duchy with the crown in 1477 deprived Dijon
of the splendor of the ducal court, but to counterbalance this loss it was
made the capital of the province and the seat of a parlement. To-day it
possesses a population of some 65,000, and is a place of considerable im
portance.

I, ii, 21-3. Nor now . . . that I vndertooke, forfake it. — The expression
is elliptical, the verb of the preceding period being in the future indicative,
— whereas here the incomplete verb is in the conditional mood. In full :
Nor now . . . that I undertook, would I forsake it.

I, ii, 56. determine of — of is the preposition in obs. usage which fol
lows determine used, as here, in the sense of decide, come to a judicial
decision, come to a decision on (upon). Cf. IV, iv, 82.

I, ii, 57. to — in addition to.

I, ii, 66. become — modern editors, beginning with Mason, read became;
but become may be taken as a variant form of the past tense (or even as
participle for having become, with nom. absolute construction, though
this is less likely).

I, ii, 91-2. May force you . . . plead at — i. e. " may cause your dismissal
from the bar."

I, ii, 107. purple-colour 'd — Novall wears the official red robe of judge.

I, ii, 123-4. the fubtill Fox of France, The politique Lewis — Louis XI
of France, an old enemy of Burgundy.

I, ii, 127. // that, etc. — Gradually, as the interrogatives were recognized
as relatives, the force of that, so, as, in " when that " , " when so ", " when
as ", seems to have tended to make the relative more general and indefinite ;

THE FATAL DOWRY 149

"who so" being now nearly (and once quite) as indefinite as "whoso
ever." ... In this sense, by analogy, that was attached to other words, such
as "if", "though", "why", etc.— Abbott, S. G. § 287.
Cf. "If that rebellion

Came like itself, in base and abject routs."

Henry IV, Part II, IV, i, 32.
The same construction appears in V, iii, 95.
I, ii, 163. Writ man — i. e., wrote himself down as a man.
I, ii, 170. Granfon, Morat, Nancy— the " three memorable overthrows "
which Charles the Bold suffered at the hands of the Swiss cantons and Duke
Rene of Loraine. The battle of Granson took place March 3, 1476; that
of Morat, June 22, 1476; that of Nancy, January 5, 1477. On each occa
sion the army of Charles was annihilated; and finally at Nancy he was
himself slain. These defeats ended the power of Burgundy.

I, ii, 171. The warlike Charloyes — Charles the Bold, the Duke of Bur
gundy.

I, ii, 185. /// ayres — noxious exhalations, miasma.
I, ii, 194-5. They are onely good men, that pay what they owe.
2 Cred. And fo they are.

i Cred. 'Tis the City Doctrine.

Cf. Shakespeare in The Merchant of Venice, I, iii, 12 ff. :
"Shy. Antonio is a good man.

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?
Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ! My meaning in saying he is a good man is
to have you understand me that he is sufficient."

I, ii, 201. right — so in all texts. With this word the meaning is per
fectly plain, but the substitution, in its place, of weight would better sustain
the figure used in the preceding line. Weight is a word which it is not
unlikely the printer would mis-read from the Ms. as right.

I, ii, 207. in your danger — regularly, " in your power ", " at your
mercy " ; so here, " in your debt ".

I, ii, 245. As — used here in its demonstrative meaning, to introduce a
parenthetical clause. Cf. Abbott, S. G. § no.

II, i, 13. fits — -the common Elizabethan 3rd. person plural in s, generally
and without warrant altered by modern editors. See Abbott, S. G. § 333-
Cf. keepes, V, ii, 37.

II, i, 28. was — monies is taken in the collective sense.

II, i, 46. interd a liuely graue — i. e., entered a lively [living] grave. G.,
who first prints it so, considers he has made a change in the first word,
taking it in the Q. for interr'd, as does M., who suggests in a footnote the
reading: enters alive the grave. But interd may be, and is best, taken as
merely an old spelling for enter'd, naturally attracted to the i-form by the
presence of the word interment in the preceding line.

II, i, 63. Remember beft, forget not gratitude— ellipsis for : Remember
best who forget not gratitude. Modern usage confines the omission of the
relative mostly to the objective. In Eliz. Eng., however, the nominative

150

THE FATAL DOWRY

relative was even more frequently omitted, especially when the antecedent
clause was emphatic and evidently incomplete, and where the antecedent im
mediately preceded the verb to which the relative would be subject. See
Abbott, S. G., § 244.
Cf. Ill, i, 134-5; i, 139; i, 332; IV, ii, 61.

II, i, 65. viperous — according to various classical authorities [e. g., Pliny,
X, 82], the young of vipers eat their way forth to light through the bowels of
their dam. The figure here seems to be somewhat confused, as the dead
hero is the son of the country, his mother, who devours him. The thought,
perhaps, in the mind of the dramatist, albeit ill-expressed, was that the
mother-country owed her existence to her son, and, viper-like had devoured
the author of her life.

II, i, 66. eate — owing to the tendency to drop the inflectional ending -en,
the Elizabethans frequently used the curtailed forms of past participles,
which are common in Early English : " I have spoke, forgot, writ, chid,"
etc.— Abbott, S. G., § 343. Cf. broke, II, ii, 27; fpoke, III, i, 3; begot,
IV, iv, 154; 170.

II, i, 83. golden calf — the figure, from its immediate application to a
dolt of great wealth, is transferred to the false god whom the children of
Israel worshipped at the foot of Mount Sinai.

II, i, 93~4- Would they not fo, etc. — the Q. reading is to be preferred
to either of the modern emendations. It is probably in the sense of
"Would they no more but so?", with the ensuing declaration that in that
case they would keep their tears to stop (fill?) bottles (probably meaning
lachrimatories or phials used in ancient times for the preservation of tears
of mourning).

II, i, 98-9. Y'are ne're content, Crying nor laughing — The meaning is,
of course : " You are never content with us, whether we are crying or
laughing."

II, i, loo. Both with a birth — i. e., both together, at the same time.

II, i, 137. Burmudas — The Bermuda islands, known only through the
tales of early navigators who suffered shipwreck there, enjoyed a most
unsavory reputation in Elizabethan times, as being the seat of continual
tempests, and the surrounding waters " a hellish sea for thunder, lightning,
and storms." Cf . Shakespeare, The Tempest, I, ii, 269 : " the still-vexed
Bermoothes." They were said to be enchanted, and inhabited by witches
and devils. They were made famous by the shipwreck there in 1609 of
Sir George Somers ; the following year one of his party, Sil. Jordan, pub
lished A Discovery of the Bermudas, otherwise called the' Isle of Devils.

Field has another reference to " the Barmuthoes " in Amends for Ladies,
III, iv; but there it is not clear whether he means the islands or certain
narrow passages north of Covent Garden, which went by the slang name
of " the Bermudas " or " the Streights." It is in this latter sense that the
word is used in Jonson's The Devil is an Ass, II, i.

II, i, 139. Exact the ftrictneffe — i. e., require a strict enforcement of
the sentence which limits Charalois to the confines of the prison.

THE FATAL DOWRY 151

II, i, 144. vfurers relief, etc. — a rather awkward expression, so phrased
for the sake of the end-scene rhyme. The thought seems to be : " The
relief which usurers have to offer mourns, if the debtors have (exhibit)
too much grief." Charalois' remark is, of course, ironical.

II, ii, 10. electuary — a medicinal conserve or paste, consisting of a pow
der or some other ingredient mixed with honey, preserve, or syrup of
some other kind. Beaumelle means that Florimal is the medicine and
Bellapert the sweet which makes it palatable.'

II, ii, 17. ferue — G. and S. read served, which is certainly correct.
Not only is there nothing throughout the play to suggest that Beaumelle's
mother is still alive, but she herself has just spoken of "you two my
women" (1. ii).

II, ii, 18. a peep>e out — a " pip " [old spelling peepe] is one of the spots
on playing cards, dice, or dominoes. The allusion is to a game of cards
called " one-and-thirty " ; thirty-two is a pip too many.

II, ii, 21-2. the mother of the maydes — a title properly applied to the
head of the maids of honour in a Royal household.

II, ii, 22. mortifie — there is a significant ambiguity to the word Bella-
pert uses. It means "bring into subjection," "render dead to the world
and the flesh;" it formerly had also a baleful meaning: "to kill;" "to
destroy the vitality, vigor, or activity of."

II, ii, 32. vanuable, to make you thus — valuable is used in its generic
sense of value-able, of sufficient value.

II, ii, 71. turrid in her varieties— G., S. read: trimm'd in her varieties
— i. e., "decked in her varieties [varied aspects]." But adherence to the
Q. is possible, with the meaning, " fashioned in her varieties."

II, ii, 82. walkes not' vnder a weede—i. e., " wears not a garment," " is
not in existence."

II, ii, 88. Tiffue—z rich kind of cloth, often interwoven with gold or
silver. So again in II, ii, 175-

II, ii, 89. a three-leg'd lord—the meaning is that Young Novall cannot
independently "stand upon his own legs," but requires the triple support
of himself, Liladam, and Aymer.

II, ii, 96. muficke houfe—z public hall or saloon for musical per
formances.

II, ii, 99-100. in the Galley foyft, etc.— a Galley-foist was a state barge,
especially that of the Lord Mayor of London. This, however, can hardly
be the meaning of the word here, used as it is in connection with Bullion,
which were trunk-hose, puffed out at the upper part, in several folds; and
with Quirpo, a variant of cuerpo— i. e., in undress. " Galley- foist" may
be the name of some dress of the period, so-called for its resemblance t
the gaily bedecked Mayor's-barge. But it is not unlikely, as Mason sug
gests, that The Galley-foist and The Bullion were the names of taverns <
that day or else of houses of public resort for some kind of amusement.

II ii 104 f kip— so in all texts. But Field has elsewhere (Woman is
a Weathercock, II, i.) : "and then my lord . . . casts a suit every quarter,

152 THE FATAL DOWRY

which I slip into." It is probable that the word was the same in both
passages, — though whether skip or slip I have no means of determining.

II, ii, 119. St Omers — more properly, St. Omer, a town of northern
France. A College of Jesuits was located there, and the point of Novall's
comparison is perhaps an allusion to the mean appearance of Jesuit spies
who would come from thence to England on some pretext, such as to see
their friends during the Christmas season.

II, ii, 122. ly'n perdieu — " to lie perdu " is properly a military term for,
" to be placed as a sentinel or outpost," especially in an exposed position.
Ly'n is one of the many obsolete forms of the past participle of the verb
" to lie."

II, ii, 125. tye my hand— I e., tie the ribbon-strings which depended
from the sleeve over the hand.

II, ii, 163. flight neglect— contemptuous disrespect.

II, ii, 174. bile— all editors after the Q. read boil. Bile was an old
spelling for boil; but in the other sense, one of the " four humours " of
medieval physiology, the passage is perfectly clear, and the figure perhaps
even more effective.

II, ii, 186. eager relifh— acrid taste. The figure is that the law in itself
is often like a sharp and bitter flavor, but that a good judge will sweeten
this.

II, ii, 250 s. d. Drawes a Curtayne—the curtain of the alcove or back
stage, within which was placed the " treasure," thus to be revealed.

II, ii, 298. in which yours— i. e., "because of the fact of her being
yours."

II, ii, 301. for poofle and worthleffe I — I for me, like other irregulari
ties in pronominal inflection, was not infrequent in* Elizabethan times. Cf.
Abbott, S. G., § 205.

II, ii, 326. Curtius-like — like Marcus Curtius, legendary hero of ancient
Rome. See Livy, vii, 6.

II, ii, final s. d. while the Act is playing — i. e., while the interlude music
is played, at the close of the Act.

III, i, 18. relifh — a trace or tinge of some quality, a suggestion.
— In III, i, 20: a flavor; or, if read with the Q.'s punctuation, a verb:

give a relish. It appears preferable, however, to take the passage as punc
tuated by G., S., which makes relifh a noun.

Ill, i, 29. take me with you — understand me.

Ill, i, 37. fudden — adv. for suddenly. The -ly suffix was frequently
omitted in Elizabethan times.

Ill, i, 45. Such as are fair\e, etc. — the connection goes back to 1. 42,
Bellapert taking up again the thread of her remark which Novall's objec
tion and her summary answer thereto had broken in upon.

Ill, i, 120. Chriftian — probably used here in the colloq. sense of: a
human being, as distinguished from a brute ; a " decent " or " respectable "
person. Cf . Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, I, iii, 89 : " Methinks ... I have
no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has."

THE FATAL DOWRY 153

III, i, 122. The entertaiment of your vifitation — i. e., the entertain
ment which your visit received.

Ill, i, 123. on [old spelling for one] — i. e., a visitation.

Ill, i, 126. Muske-cat — the civet-cat; applied as a term of contempt to
a fop, as being a person perfumed with musk.

Ill, i, 139. there is now f peaks to you — G., S. omit is, at the same time
clearing the construction and securing a more regular metre. The Q.
reading, however, is perfectly possible, as an ellipsis, by omission of the
subject relative, for, there is that now speaks to you [i. e., there is now
speaking to you], or even, by a change of punctuation, there is — now
speaks to you — , etc.

Ill, i, 148. As Caefar, did he Hue, could not except at — see Plutarch's
Life of Julius Caesar, Chapters 9 & 10, wherein it is narrated how Caesar
divorced his wife, Pompeia, when scandal assailed her name, although he
denied any knowledge as to her guilt; " ' Because ' said he, 'I would have
the chastity of my wife clear even of suspicion.' "

III, i, 148. except at — take exception at.

Ill, i, 159. pointed — all editors after the Q. read painted, an absolutely
unnecessary and unwarranted emendation. Pointed means " fitted or fur
nished with tagged points or laces ;" " wearing points ;" " laced." Cf.
Maurice Hewlett's novel, The Queen's Quair, p. 83 : " saucy young men,
trunked, puffed, pointed, trussed and doubleted." Huloet in his Dictionary
(1552) has: " Poynted, or tyed with poynts, ligulatus."

Ill, i, 167. This pretty rag — i. e., the " clout " mentioned in II, ii, 123.

Ill, i, 173. in fpite of — in scorn of, in defiance of.

Ill, i, 184. thy — so the Q. All later editors read this. It is not impos
sible, of course, that Romont should begin an oath " By thy hand," and
Beaumelle flash back at him " And sword," transferring the thy from her
self to him. But Romont would be more likely to swear by his own hand
than by Beaumelle's.

Ill, i, 188. caft fuburb whores — prostitutes who had been cashiered
from service. Houses of ill-fame were customarily located in the suburbs.

Ill, i, 191. legion — i. e., of evil spirits. Cf. Mark, v, 9.

Ill, i, 193. horne-mad — the word was originally applied to horned
beasts, in the sense : " enraged so as to horn any one ;" hence of persons :
" stark mad," " mad with rage," " furious." By word-play it acquires its
sense in the present passage, "mad with rage at having been made a
cuckold."

Ill, i, 202. yellow — this color was regarded as a token or symbol of
jealousy.

Ill, i, 211. Carted — carried in a cart through the streets, by way of
punishment or public exposure (especially as the punishment of a bawd).

Ill, i, 261. in diftance — within reach, in striking distance.

Ill, i, 331. as it would tire — as appears to be used for as if; in reality
the if is implied in the (conditional) subjunctive. — Abbott, S. G., § 107.

Ill, i, 331. a beadle — it was one of the duties of a beadle to whip petty
offenders.

154 THE FATAL DOWRY

III, i, 352. So I not heard them — Abbott explains this construction, not
uncommon in the Elizabethan period, as an omission of the auxiliary verb
"do" (S. G. § 305). But here the 'main verb is heard, whereas, according
to his explanation, grammar would require hear. May not the construc
tion be better taken as a simple, though to our ears cumbrous, inversion
of, So I heard them not?

Ill, i, 366. caufp — affair, business — so also in III, i, 377.

Ill, i, 388. Calenture — a disease incident to sailors within the tropics ;
a burning fever.

Ill, i, 428-9. flegme . . . choller — in the old physiologies the predom
inance of the " humour, phlegm," was held to cause constitutional indolence
or apathy, — the predominance of " choler " to cause irascibility.

Ill, i, 432. 'em — grammatical precision would require him, as is sub
stituted in M., f. In Field's rapid, loose style, however, a change of con
struction in mid-sentence is not improbable, and the Q. reading may very
well reproduce accurately what he wrote.

Ill, i, 441. thou curious impertinent — the epithet is from The Curious
Impertinent of Cervantes, a story imbedded in Don Quixote, Part I.

Ill, i, 463. / not accufe—ci. note on 1. 354.

Ill, i, 467. Ere Hue — Ere I should live is required in full by strict
grammar, but Field's verse is frequently elliptical. Gifford's emendation
to lived for the sake of grammatical regularity, which is followed by all
later editors, is unwarranted.

Ill, i, 467. mens marginall fingers — the figure is an allusion to the
ancient custom of placing an index hand in the margin of books, to direct
the reader's attention to a striking passage. So does Romont picture men's
fingers pointing to the story of Charalois as a noteworthy and lamentable
thing. Cf. IV, i, 56.

III, i, 469-470. An Emperour put away his wife for touching Another
man* — The source of this allusion is not apparent. Can it be a perversion
in the mind of Field of the story of Caesar's divorce of his wife, to which
Massinger has already referred above (1. 148) ?

IV, i, 3. a flaxe — the flax wick of a lamp or candle.

IV, i, 3. a red headed womans chamber — Since early times red-haired
individuals have been supposed to emit an emanation having a powerful
sexually exciting influence. In the Romance countries, France and Italy,
this belief is universally diffused. — I wan Block: The Sexual Life of our
Time — transl. by Eden Paul — p. 622.

Cf. also Gabrielle D'Annunzio : // Piacere, p. 90:
"Have you noticed the armpits of Madame Chrysoloras? Look!"

" The Duke di Beffi indicated a dancer, who had upon her brow, white
as a marble of Luni, a firebrand of red tresses, like a priestess of Alma
Tadema. Her bodice was fastened on the shoulders by mere ribbons,
and there were revealed beneath the armpits two luxuriant tufts of red
hair.

'" Bomminaco began to discourse upon the peculiar odour which red-
haired women have."

THE FATAL DOWRY 155

IV, i, 13. Cell— so in the Q. and all later texts. Yet the word is utterly
unsatisfactory to the sense of the passage; it should almost certainly be
coil— i. e., tumult, confusion, fuss, ado. Cf. Field in Amends for Ladies,
II, iv: "Here's a coil with a lord and his sister."

IV, i, 23. a lace — a trimming of lace.

IV, i, 27. pickadille—the expansive collar fashionable in the early part
of the seventeenth century.

IV, i, 27. in puncto—in point; i. e., in proper condition, in order.

IV, i, 32. Jacobs ftaffe—an instrument formerly used for measuring
the altitude of the sun; a cross-staff.

IV, i, 32. Ephimerides—a table showing the positions of a heavenly
body for a series of successive days.

IV, i, 39-40. if he would but cut the coate according to the cloth ftill

"to cut one's coat after one's cloth" was: "to adapt one's self to circum
stances ;" " to measure expense by income." The point of its employment
here is not plain; it is doubtful if anything were very clear in Field's own
mind, who was merely trying to hit off an epigrammatical phrase. Per
haps, " make the coat match the man."

IV, i, 72. Narciff us-like— like Narcissus, in classic myth. See Ovid,
Meta., iii, 341-510.

IV, i, 72. fhould—G., f. read shouldst, but the breach of agreement
between subject and verb is to be explained by the attraction of the verb
to the third person by the interposed Narciffus-like; just as four lines
further on we find fhouldst for should, because of the similar intrusion
between subject and verb of (but thy felfe fweete Lord}.

IV, i, 92. a Barber Surgeon — formerly the barber was also a regular
practitioner in surgery and dentistry. Cf. Beaumont & Fletcher, The
Knight of the Burning Pestle, III, iv.

IV, i, 96. ouerthrowne — M., f. read overflown, i. e., become excessive
or inordinate; so full that the contents run over the brim. The reading
of the Q., however, is quite intelligible, — taking overthrown in the sense
of thrown too strongly,

IV, i, 135. Colbran — more properly Colbrand or Collebrand, a wicked
giant in the medieval romance of Guy of Warwick. He is the champion
of the invading King of Denmark, who challenges the English King,
Athelstan, to produce a knight who can vanquish Colbrand, or to yield as
his vassal. In this hour of need Guy appears, fights with the giant, and
kills him.

IV, i, 137. hee'l make fome of you fmoake, — i. e., " make some of you
suffer." Cf. Beaumont & Fletcher, The Knight of the Burning Pestle, I,
ii, 136: "I'll make some of 'em smoke for't;" and Shakespeare, Titus
Andronicus, IV, iii, in: "Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome."
IV, i, 138. a Confort — " In the author's age, the taverns were infested
with itinerant bands of musicians, each of which (jointly and individually)
was called a noise or consort: these were sometimes invited to play for the
company, but seem more frequently to have thrust themselves, unasked,

156 THE FATAL DOWRY

into it, with an offer of their services : their intrusion was usually prefaced
with, 'By your leave, gentlemen, will you hear any music?'" — Gifford.

IV, i, 145. of — formerly sometimes substituted, as here, for on in col
loquial usage. So also on for of, as in 1. 148. Cf. also 1. 182.

IV, i, 197-8. 'tis Fairies treafure Which but reueal'd brings on the
blabbers mine. — To confide .in any one about a fairy's gift rendered it
void, according to popular tradition, and drew down the fairy giver's
anger. In instance, see John Aubrey's Remains (Reprinted in Publica
tions of the Folk-Lore Society, vol. IV, p. 102) : " Not far from Sir
Bennet Hoskyns, there was a labouring man, that rose up early every day
to go to worke; who for a good while many dayes together found a nine-
pence in the way that he went. His wife wondering how he came by so
much money, was afraid he gott it not honestlye; at last he told her, and
afterwards he never found any more."

There are numerous literary allusions to this superstition : e. g., Shake
speare, The Winter's Tale, III, iii, 127, ff. : " This is fairy gold, boy ; and
'twill prove so. Up with't, keep it close. . . . We are lucky, boy ; and to be
so still requires nothing but secrecy."

And Field himself in Woman is a Weathercock, I, i :
" I see you labour with some serious thing,
And think (like fairy's treasure) to reveal it,
Will cause it vanish."

IV, i, 2IO-I. loners periury, etc. — that Jove laughed at and overlooked
lovers' perjuries was a familiar proverb. Cf. Massinger, The Parliament
of Love, C-G. 192 a: "Jupiter and Venus smile At lovers' perjuries;" and
Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, II, ii, 92: "at lovers' perjuries, They say,
Jove laughs." The saying goes back to Ovid's Art of Love, book I ; — as
Marlowe has translated it :

" For Jove himself sits in the azure skies,
And laughs below at lovers' perjuries."

IV, ii, 71. On all aduantage take thy life — i. e., " Taking every ad
vantage of you, kill you."

IV, ii, 84. Such whofe bloods wrongs, or wrong done to themfelues —
the Q.'s regular omission of the possessive apostrophe has in this instance
confused later editors in their understanding of the passage. We would
write blood's, — with the meaning : " Those whom wrongs to kindred or to
themselves," etc.

IV, iii, 12. fo — there is no direct antecedent, but one is easily under
standable from the general sense of what precedes ; to be fo — i. e., " as
you were in thankfulness to the General."

IV, iv, 10. it — another case of a pronoun with antecedent merely im
plied in the general sense of what precedes ; it = " the fact that I am not
worthy the looking on, but only," etc.

IV, iv, 30. fuch defence— i. e., " the defence of such a one." Such =
qualis.

IV. iv, 66. To this— I e., to tears.

THE FATAL DOWRY 157

IV, iv, 70. thofe fam'd matrones—ci. Massinger in The Virgin Martyr
C-G. 33 a:

" You will rise up with reverence, and no more,
As things unworthy of your thoughts, remember
What the canonized Spartan ladies were,
Which lying Greece so boasts of. Your own matrons,
Your Roman dames, whose figures you yet keep
As holy relics, in her history
Will find a second urn : Gracchus' Cornelia,
Paulina, that in death desired to follow
Her husband Seneca, nor Brutus' Portia,
That swallowed burning coals to overtake him,
Though all their several worths were given to one,
With this is to be mention'd."

IV, iv, 112. on it — i. e., "on what you say."

IV, iv, 156. be — "be" expresses more doubt than "is" after a verb of
thinking. Cf. Abbott, S. G., § 299.

V, i, 5. lay me vp — imprison me.

V, i, 7. varlets — the name given to city bailiffs or sergeants. Perhaps
here, however, it is applied merely as a term of abuse.

V, i, 9. Innes of court man — a member of one of the four Inns of
Court (The Inner Temple, The Middle Temple, Lincoln's Inn, and Gray's
Inn), legal societies which served for the Elizabethan the function which
our law-schools perform to-day. Overbury says of the Inns of Court
Man, in his Characters: " Hee is distinguished from a scholler by a pair
of silk-stockings, and a beaver hat, which make him contemn a scholler
as much as a scholler doth a school-master. . . . He is as far behind a
courtier in his fashion, as a scholler is behind him. ... He laughs at every
man whose band sits not well, or that hath not a faire shoo-tie, and he is
ashamed to be seen in any mans company that weares not his clothes well.
His very essence he placeth in his outside. . . . You shall never see him
melancholy, but when he wants a new suit, or feares a sergeant. . . ."

V, i, 13. coming forth — appearance in court, or from prison.

V, i, 28. manchets — small loaves or rolls of the finest wheaten bread.
There seems to have been a commonplace concerning the huge quantities
of bread devoured by tailors. Cf. 1. 88 below, and Note.

V, i,. 31. leaue fwordmen — i. e., swordmen (swaggering ruffians who
claim the profession of arms) on leave. It is possible, however, that
leaue is a misprint (by inversion of a letter) for leane = hungry.

V, i, 83. hangers — not "short-swords", as in 1. 31, but here "pend
ants", perhaps a part of the hat-band hanging loose, or else loops or
straps on the swordbelt, often richly ornamented, from which the sword
was hung. Cf. Shakespeare, Hamlet, V, ii, 157-167.

V, i, 83. Hell— a place under a tailor's shop-board, in which shreds or
pieces of cloth, cut off in the process of cutting clothes, are thrown, and
looked upon as perquisites. Cf. Overbury's Characters, A Taylor: "Hee

158 THE FATAL DOWRY

differeth altogether from God ; for with him the best pieces are still
marked out for damnation, and without hope of recovery shall be cast
down into hell."

V, i, 88. Our breakefafts famous for the buttred loaues — Cf. above
1. 28, and Note ; also Glapthorne's Wit in a Constable, V, i :

" as easily as a Taylor

Would do six hot loaves in a morning fasting,
And yet dine after."

V, i, 90. vfe a conscience — show or feel compunction; be tender
hearted.

V, i, 91. hall — a house or building belonging to a guild or fraternity
of merchants or tradesmen. At such places the business of the respective
guilds was transacted; and in some instances they served as the market-
houses for the sale of the goods of the associated members.

V, i, 97. compleate Mounfieur — perfect gentleman.

V, i, 102. panto fle — slipper ; here used figuratively for : the shoe-maker's
profession.

V, ii, 27. a barbarous Sythian — Cf. Purchas' Pilgrimage (ed. 1613, p.
333) : " They [The Scythians] cut off the noses of men, and imprinted
pictures in the flesh of women, whom they overcame: and generally their
customes of warre were bloudie : what man soever the Scythian first
taketh, he drinketh his bloud : he offereth to the King all the heads of the
men he hath slaine in battell : otherwise he may not share in the spoile :
the skinnes of their crownes flaid off, they hang at their horse bridles :
their skinnes they use to flay for napkins and other uses, and some for
cloathing. . . . These customes were generall to the Scythians of Europe
and Asia (for which cause Scytharum facinora patrare, grew into a pro-
verbe of immane crueltie, and their Land was justly called Barbarous)."

V, ii, 40. made no homes at me — to " make horns " at any one was the
common method of taunting one with having horns, — i. e., with being a
cuckold.

V, ii, 51. made vp with — set with the expression of.

V, ii, 102. by pieces — in part.

V, iii, 8. — Charmi's speech is addressed to Charalois, as is that of Du
Croy which follows it.

V, iii, 18 ff. — M., f. insert when after that of 1. 18. This is probably
the correct reading. It would be possible, however, to let the line stand
without alteration, if the that of 1. 20 be taken as coordinate with the that
of 1. 18, introducing a second clause depending on am forry (instead of
correlative with fo to introduce a result-clause). With this reading, left
(1. 22) would be taken as an ellipsis for being left; with the emended
reading, for was left. Though the construction is in doubt, the sense is
easy.

V, iii, 22. -undermine — an object, it, is understood, — i. e., the building
of my life.

V, iii, 34. her — its was rare in Elizabethan usage. Cf. Abbott, S. G.,
§§ 228, 229.

THE FATAL DOWRY 159

V, in, 46. companion of— former obsolete construction for "com
passion for." Cf. Shakespeare, Henry VI, Part I, IV, i, 56; " Mov'd
with compassion of my country's wreck."

V, iii, 59. motion— €., f. read motion's,— an uncalled-for emendation,
since ellipsis of is was not infrequent. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry V, IV, i,
197: "Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill [is] upon his own head."

V, iii, 93. and yet the fault kept from me — loose construction, not
easily parsed, though the sense is clear.

V, iii, 98. As ... to vndergoe — again a loose construction. It should
be, properly: That . . . he would undergo, etc.

V, iii, 107-9. Kke the fatall gold, etc.— In this passage the two leaders
of the Gauls known to history by the same name appear to be confounded
— (i) : Brennus, who sacked Rome in 390 B. C, and consented to with
draw after receiving a large ransom of gold ; — and (2) : Brennus, who
led the irruption of the Gauls into Greece in the second century B. C.,
and attempted to despoil Delphi of its treasure, but did not succeed in
doing so. The fact that their respective expeditions are said to have
borne an immediate sequel of disaster and death for both alike, may be
responsible for the dramatist's mistake.

V, iii, 131. homicide — formerly, as here, = murderer.

V, iii, 139. in way of — in the manner of.

V, iii, 144. the hate betweene his houfe and mine — cf. Ill, i, 416.

V, iii, 166. more presumptions — C., f. read mere presumptions, which
is probably correct. An alternative possibility should be noted, however :
that presumptions by mis-reading from the Ms. (or by the mere inversion
of a u) may be a mis-print for presumptious (presumptuous) = presump
tive, in which case more would be retained, with the passage to mean :
"You must find other proofs to strengthen these, and they must, more
over, be of a nature to give more reasonable grounds for presumption."

V, iii, 174-5. — The last two lines of Charalois' speech are addressed to
his judges; what preceded them to Novall.

V, iii, 190. bands — the emendation bawds, proposed by Coxeter and
followed by all subsequent editors, seems almost surely correct. " Bawd "
prior to 1700 was a term applied to men as well as — and, indeed, more fre
quently than — to women. Cf. Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, iii, 130.

V, iii, 190. tooke — where the common Elizabethan custom of dropping
the -en inflectional ending of the past participle rendered a confusion
with the infinitive liable, the past tense of the verb was used for the
participle. Cf. Abbott, S. G., § 343-

V, iii, 193. this matron — i. e., Florimel.

V, iii, 205. in Nouall — i. e., " in the person of Novall."

V, iii, 207. Thy challenge now I anfwere — this phrase would indicate
that Romont crosses swords with Pontalier, and after a moment of
fencing runs him through; instead of striking him unawares, as the
modern stage direction, " Stabs Pontalier," would imply.

V, iii, 226. thefe — t. e., Aymer, Florimel, and Bellapert.

160

THE FATAL DOWRY

Court. Song, I 3. firft — i. e., " in the front part of," to meet the cus
tomers and be herself an attraction and an object of display, while the
husband remains "at tother end" (1. 8) of the store.

Court. Song, 1. 4. — This is a most unduly long line. It seems probable
that, in the Ms. from which the play was printed, the three phrases, " A
faire wife," " a kinde wife," and " a fweet wife," were three variant read
ings, which, by mistake, were all incorporated in the text. Any one of
them used alone would give a perfectly normal line.

GLOSSARY

affection, bent, inclination, penchant. I, ii, 32.

allow, command, approve. IV, i, 9.

anfwere, correspond to. Ill, i, 82.

arrefts, stoppages, delays. Ill, i, 43.

author, to be the author, of a statement ; to state, declare, say. IV, ii, igj-

baffled, disgraced, treated with contumely. IV, i, 112.

balm, an aromatic preparation for embalming the dead. II, i, 79.

band, a collar or ruff worn round the neck by man or woman. II, ii, 77;

etc.
banquerout, early spelling of bankrupt, which was originally banke rota

(see N. E. D. for variants under bankrupt), from Italian banca rotta,

of which banqueroute is the French adaptation. The modern spelling,

bankrupt, with the second part of the word assimilated to the equivalent

Latin ruptus, as in abrupt, etc., first appears in 1543. I, i, 127; ii, 88.
black, a funereal drapery. II, i, 51; ii, 117.
brabler, a quarrelsome fellow; a brawler. Ill, i, 358.
braue, in loose sense of approbation, good, excellent, worthy, etc. I, ii,

256; 292; etc.

bum fiddles, beats, thumps. IV, i, 140.
cabinet, a secret receptacle; a jewel-box. II, ii, 34.

canniball, a strong term of abuse for " blood-thirsty savage." IV, iv, 185.
Caroch, coach. II, ii, 28; IV, ii, 95.
cafe, exterior; skin or hide of an animal, or garments — hence, perhaps,

disguise. V, i, 73.
cenfure, a judicial sentence. I, ii, 53. — in the sense of sentence to punish-

m.ent. II, ii 166; 172.
chalenge, demand. V, ii, 88.

change, exchange. Ill, i, 117. — chang'd, I, i, 66.
charges, expenses. I, ii, 191.

charitable, benevolent, kindly, showing Christian charity. I, i, 117.
circumstance, the adjuncts of a fact which make it more or less criminal.

V, iii, 52.

clofe, close-fitting. IV, i, 124.
cold, unimpassioned, deliberate. V, ii, 86.
coloured, specious. Ill, i, 139.
comely, becoming, proper, decorous. Ill, i, 163.
complement, observing of ceremony in social relations; formal civility,

politeness. Ill, i, 439.

conference, subject of conversation. II, ii, 139.
confcious, inwardly sensible of wrong-doing. Ill, i, 353. — aware. V,

ii, 67.

161

162 THE FATAL DOWRY

confifts, lies, has its place. Ill, i, 489.

courtefie, generosity, benevolence. V, iii, 73.

Courtfhip, courteous behavior, courtesy. Ill, i, 276; 439.

credits, reputations, good name. I, ii, 67.

curiosity, elegance of construction. II, ii, 67.

curious, careful, studious, solicitous. IV, i, 102. — made with art or care;

elaborately or beautifully wrought; fine; "nice". Cit. Song. 1. 5.
dag, a kind of heavy pistol or hand-gun. IV, i, 170 s. d.
debate, strife, dissension, quarreling. Ill, i, 443.
decent,/ becoming, appropriate, fitting. I, ii, 77.
defeatures, defeats. I, ii, 177.

demonftrauely, in a manner that indicates clearly or plainly. IV, i, 55.
deferued, deserving. II, ii, 189.
determine, decree. II, ii, 172.

detract, disparage, traduce, speak evil of. I, ii, 271.
dif-become, misbecome, be unfitting for or unworthy of. V, iii, 47.
difcouery, revelation, disclosure. Ill, i, 91 ; V, iii, 194.
diftafte, estrangement, quarrel. IV, ii, i. — offence. V, iii, 15.
doubtfull, fearful, apprehensive. IV, ii, 88.
doubts, apprehensions. Ill, i, 246.
earth'd, buried. II, i, 126.

edify, gain instruction ; profit, in a spiritual sense. IV, i, 62.
engag'd, obliged, attached by gratitude. Ill, i, 242.
engender, copulate. Ill, i, 423.
engine, device, artifice, plot. Ill, i, 157.
enfignes, signs, tokens, characteristic marks. I, i, 144.
entertaine, accept. V, ii, 82.
entertainment, provision for the support of persons in service — especially

soldiers; pay, wages. I, ii, 188.
erneft, a sum of money paid as an installment to secure a contract. V,

i, 44-

except against, take exception against. IV, iii, 19.

exhauft, " draw out " ; not as to-day, " use up completely." II, i, 103.
expreffion, designation. V, i, 33.
factor, one who has the charge and manages the affairs of an estate; a

bailiff, land-steward. I, ii, 135. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part I,

III, ii, 147 : " Percy is but my factor," etc.
familiar, well acquainted. I, i, 3.
feares, fears for. IV, ii, 89.
fit, punish; visit with a fit penalty. Ill, i, 253.
forefpake, foretold, predicted. Ill, i, 251.
fortunes, happens, chances, occurs. V, ii, 16.
gallimaufry, contemptuous term for " a man of many accomplishments " ;

a ridiculous medley; a hodge-podge. II, ii, 95. ,
gamefters, those addicted to amorous sport. Ill, i, 33.
Geometrician, one who measures the earth or land; a land-surveyor. IV,

i, 21.

THE FATAL DOWRY 163

get, beget. I, ii, 246.

gigglet, a lewd, wanton woman. Ill, i, 308.

honeftie, honorable character, in a wide, general sense. To the Elizabethan

it especially connoted fidelity, trustiness. II, i, 115.
horflock, a shackle for a horse's feet; hence applied to any hanging lock;

a padlock. IV, i, 78.

humanity, learning or literature concerned with human culture: a term
including the various branches of polite scholarship, as grammar, rhet
oric, poetry, and esp. the study of the ancient Latin and Greek classics.
II, i, 3-
humour, used here in the specific Jonsonian sense of a dominating trait

or mood. I, i, 124; ii, 31.
imployments, services (to a person). I, ii, 28.
individually, indivisibly, inseparably. II, ii, 316.
Infanta, the title properly applied to a daughter of the King and Queen

of Spain or Portugal. IV, i, 75.
iffues, actions, deeds. II, ii, 198.
kinde, agreeable, pleasant, winsome. Court. Song. 1. 4.
Lard, an obsolete form of Lord. IV, i, 2. Cf. Congreve, Old Bach., II,

iii : " Lard, Cousin, you talk oddly."
League, probably used for Leaguer (so emended by M., f.) : a military

camp, especially one engaged in a siege. Ill, i, 175.
learnd, informed. Ill, i, 156.
legge, an obeisance made by drawing back one leg and bending the other;

a bow, scrape. Ill, i, 124.
liuely, living. II, i, 46. — gay, full of life. II, ii, 76. — life-like. II,

i, 232.

map, embodiment, incarnation. II, ii, 136. Cf. H. Smith, Sinf. Man's
Search, Six Sermons : " What were man if he were once left to him
self e? A map of misery."

mome, blockhead, dolt, fool. Court. Song, 1. 13.
monument, sepulchre. I, ii, 212.
moue, urge, appeal to, make a request to. IV, iv, n.
next, shortest, most convenient or direct. V, i, 37.
nice, petty, insignificant, trifling. Ill, i, 442.
note, show forth; demonstrate. Ill, i, 504.
Obiect, bring forward in opposition as an adverse reason, or by way of

accusation. IV, iv, 174.

obnoxious, liable, exposed, open, vulnerable. Ill, i, 354-
obfequious, prompt to serve or please, dutiful. V, iii, 90.
obferuers, those who show respect, deference, or dutiful attention; ob
sequious followers. IV, iv, 43.

Orphants, obsolete corrupt form of Orphans. I, ii, 206. It survives in
dialect. Cf. James Whitcomb Riley's Little Orphant Annie.

164 THE FATAL DOWRY

ouercome, usually, " conquer ", " prevail " ; but here, " out-do ", " sur
pass". I, i, 187.
parts, function, office, business, duty. Formerly used in the plural, as

here, though usually when referring to a number of persons. I, i, 9;

ii, 9; V. iii, 39. — qualities. IV, iv, 105.
pious, used in the arch, sense of dutiful I, i, 101.
practicke, practical work or application ; practice as opposed to theory.

II, i, 2.
Praecipuce (mis-print for precipice}, a precipitate or headlong fall or

descent, especially to a great depth. Ill, i, 464.
prefently, immediately, quickly, promptly. IV, iv, 89.
president [variant of precedent], example, instance, illustration. V, iii,

226.

preuent', anticipate. I, i, 64; ii, 17; IV, ii, 32.

Prouince, duty, office, function; branch of the government. I, ii, 23.
punctual, punctilious, careful of detail. IV, i, 42.
purl, the pleat or fold of a ruff or band; a frill. II, ii, 77.
quick, alive. I, ii, 178.
Ram-heads, cuckolds. II, i, 31.
recent, fresh. II, i, 19.

roaring, riotous, bullying, hectoring. IV, i, 203.
fawcily, formerly a word of more serious reprobation than in modern

usage : " with presumptuous insolence." I, ii, 106.
fcandall, to spread scandal concerning; to defame. I, ii, 58.
feet, class, order. V, i, 79.
feene, experienced, versed. Ill, i, 268.
feruant, a professed lover; one who is devoted to the service of a lady.

II, ii, 40; etc.

feruice, the devotion of a lover. Ill, i, 81 ; IV, iv, 107.
fet forth, adorned. IV, iv, 106.
skills, signifies, matters. I, i, 286.
fnort, snore. Court. Song. 1. 12.
foft, tender-hearted, pitiful. II, i, 23.

footh'd, assented to; humoured by agreement or concession. V, i, 55.
Spittle, hospital. Ill, i, 210. Cf. Shakespeare, Henry V, II, i, 78; V, i, 86.
fpleene, caprice. I, i, 49.

ftate, estate. II, ii, 294; III, i, 24; IV, iv, 178; V, iii, 119.
fubmiffe, submissive. I, i, 179.
take, charm, captivate. I, ii, 206.

taske, take to task ; censure, reprove, chide, reprehend = tax. I, ii, 64.
temper, temperateness, calmness of mind, self-restraint. V, iii, 40.
theorique, theory; theoretical knowledge, as opposed to practice. II, i, 2.
Thrift, here used in the old sense of prosperity or success. I, i, 170.
toyes, whims, caprices, trifles. Ill, i, 442.

THE FATAL DOWRY 165

"uncivil, unrefined, ill-bred, not polished. Ill, i, 490.
vailes, perquisites. V, i, 83.
Visitation, visit. II; ii, 310.

ivagtaile, a term of familiarity and contempt; a wanton. II, ii, 7.
where, whereas. I, i, 71.

wittoll, a man who knows of his wife's infidelity and submits to it; a sub
missive cuckold. V, iii, 99.
wreake, vengeance, revenge. IV, iv, 183 ; V, ii, 43.

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

THE Quarto, and the various modern editions and translations
of The Fatal Dowry have already been recorded in the opening
pages of the INTRODUCTION. In the editions there noted of the
collected works of Massinger will be found all the plays which
bear his name. (Believe As You List appears only in Cunning
ham's edition of Gifford and in the Mermaid Series' Massinger.)
Field's two independent plays, Woman is a Weathercock (Q.
1612) and Amends for Ladies (Q's. 1618, 1639), were reprinted
by-J. P. Collier, London, 1829. They are included in Thomas
White's Old English Dramas, London, 1830; in W. C. Hazlitt's
edition of Dodsley's Old English Plays, London, Reeves and
Turner, 1875 J and in the Mermaid Series volume, Nero and
Other Plays, with an Introduction by A. W. Verity, London and
New York, 1888. All other extant dramas in which either Mas-
singer or Field had a share may be found in any edition of the
collected works of Beaumont & Fletcher, with the exception of
Sir John van Olden Barnavelt, which appears in vol. II of Bullen's
Old Plays, London, Weyman and Sons, 1883.

The stage version of The Fatal Dowry by Sheil is printed in
French's Acting Edition, vol. 9. Of the related plays, The
Lady's Trial and The Fair Penitent may be found in all editions
of the collected works respectively of John Ford and Nicholas
Rowe; The Fair Penitent is also published along with Rowe's
Jane Shore in the Belles Lettres Series, 1907. For The In
solvent, see The Dramatic Works of Aaron Hill, Esq., 2 vols.,
1760. DER GRAF VON CHAROLAIS ein Trauerspiel von
Richard Beer-Hofmann is printed by S. Fischer, Berlin, 1906.

The following works have bearing upon the play or its authors :
Beck, C.: Phil. Massinger, THE FATALL DOWRY. Einlei-

tung zu einer neuen Ausgabe. Beyreuth, 1906.
Boyle, R. : Beaumont, Fletcher and Massinger. Englische Stu-

dien, vol. V.
CAMBRIDGE HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, THE, — vol. VI.

Cambridge, 1910.
Courthope, W. J. : A History of English Poetry, vol. IV. Mac-

millan, 1903.

166

THE FATAL DOWRY 167

Cumberland : His famous comparison of The Fatal Dowry with
The Fair Penitent, which originally appeared in The Observer,
Nos. LXXVII-LXXIX, is reprinted in Gifford's Edition of
Massinger.

DICTIONARY OF NATIONAL BIOGRAPHY — Field, by J. Knight;
Massinger, by R. Boyle.

Fleay, F. G. : A Biographical Chronicle of the English Drama
(I559~I^42}' 2 vols- London. Reeves and Turner. 1891.
Annals of the Career of Nathaniel Field. Englische Studien,
vol. XIII.

Genest, John : Some Account of the English Stage from the
Restoration in 1660 to 1830. 10 vols. Bath, 1832.

Gosse, E. W. : The Jacobean Poets. (Univ. Series). Scribner's,
1894.

Koeppel, E. : Quelenstudien zu den Dramen George Chapman's,
Philip Massing er's und John Ford's. Strassburg. 1897.

Murray, John Tucker: English Dramatic Companies (1558-
1642). 2 vols. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1910.

Oliphant, E. F. : The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher. Eng
lische Studien, vols. XIV-XVI. [This is not concerned with
The Fatal Dowry, but contains inquiry into other collaboration
work of Massinger and Field in plays of the period, with an
analysis of the distinctive characteristics of Massinger (XIV,
71-6) and the same for Field (XV, 330-1).]

Phelan, James : On Philip Massinger. Halle. 1878. Reprinted
in Anglia, vol. II, 1879.

Schelling, F. E. : Elizabethan Drama. 2 vols. Houghton, Mifflin
& Co. 1908.

Schwarz, F. H. : Nicholas Rowe's FAIR PENITENT. A Con
tribution to Literary Analysis. With a Side-reference to Rich
ard Beer-Hofmann's GRAF VON CHAROLAIS, Berne. 1907.

Stephens, Sir Leslie : Philip Massinger. The Cornhill Magazine.
Reprinted in Hours in a Library, Third Series. 1879.

Swinburne, A. C. : Philip Massinger. The Fortnightly Review,
July, 1889.

Thorndike, Ashley H. : Tragedy. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1908.

Ward, A. W. : A History of English Dramatic Literature. 3
vols. Macmillan.. 1899.

Wurzbach, W. von: Philip Massinger. Shakesp. Jahrb., vols.
XXXV and XXXVI.

University of Toronto
*****~»*********»«**#*^^£^#

2704

1918

Ocb JTul 9-5

NAME s

PHILIP DAVID COLLINGTON

BOOKs

The fatal dowry,

;E£

Massinp;er, Philip
The fatal dowry

Internet Archive Audio

Featured

Top

Images

Featured

Top

Software

Featured

Top

Books

Featured

Top

Video

Featured

Top

Mobile Apps

Browser Extensions

Archive-It Subscription

Save Page Now

Full text of "The fatal dowry"

See other formats