ALEXANDER YOUNG, WRITER.
ALEXANDER FRANCIS YOUNG, WRITER, GLASGOW,
i
This book belongs to
THE LIBRARY ,
of
ICTORIA UNIVERSITY
Toronto 5, Canada
THE WORKS
OF
JOHN MARSTON.
REPRINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS.
WITH NOTES, AND SOME ACCOUNT OF HIS
LIFE AND WRITINGS.
BY
J. O. HALLIWELL, F.R.S., F.S.A.
IN THBEE TOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON :
JOHN BUSSELL SMITH,
SOHO SQUARE.
1856.
pp
l'
L. b-J i
H3
cop
(8S2
•CUCKEK AND CO., PRINTEBS,
PEEEY'S PLACE, OXFORD STKEBT.
PREFACE.
!Q few particulars have been recovered respect-
ing the life and personal character of JOHN
MARSTON, whose dramatic and satirical
writings are now for the first time collected
together, it would be futile to attempt to promote them
to the dignity of Biography. The circumstances known,
or rather conjectured, respecting this author, for nearly
all of which we are indebted to Antony a Wood, may be
stated in a very few words. According to the Oxford
biographer, John Marston, the dramatist, was a student
in Corpus Christi College, Oxford, and was admitted
Bachelor of Arts on the twenty-third of February, 1592 ;
but, adds Wood, " in what county he was born I can-
not yet find, because, 1st, that he was not matricu-
lated; 2nd, that he was not scholar of that house, or
Fellow, in the admissions of both which, their counties of
nativity are constantly registered." Even this statement,
however, appears to be formed upon a mere conjecture
originating in the identity of name, not upon the authority
of trustworthy information ; for he previously mentions a
John Marston, " son of a father of both his names, of the
vi PREFACE,
City of Coventry esquire," who " became either a com-
moDer or a gentleman-commoner of Brasen-nose College
in 1591, and in the beginning of February, 1593, he was
admitted Bachelor of Arts, as the eldest son of an esquire"
(Jonson, in the Poetaster, expressly alludes to the respecta-
bility of Marston's birth); "and soon after compleating that
degree by determination, he went his way, and improved
his learning in other faculties." This John Marston died
in June, 1634, and was buried near his father, some time
a Counsellor of the Middle Temple, in the Temple Church
in London, "under the stone which hath written on it,
Oblivioni Sacrum" Dugdale mentions a John Marston,
who was appointed Lecturer of the Middle Temple in
1592, and who was probably the " father " referred to by
Wood.
It is remarked by Wood, that the person last named
cannot be the dramatist, because the latter died before the
publi cation of the collective edition of his plays in 1633 ;
an observation which clearly shows that he was. speaking
somewhat at random, for that Marston was living in that
year is proved by the dedication prefixed to the work by
William Sheares, in which he is spoken of as being "now
in his autumn and declining Qge," and as being "far
distant from this place," meaning, the place of publication.
This objection removed, there can be but little doubt that
the John Marston who was buried in. the Temple Church
in 1634 was really the eminent dramatist. According to
Oldys, Marston sprung probably from a family of that
name settled in Aftcot (?), in Shropshire ; and he married
PREIACE. vii
Mary, daughter of the Rev. William Wilkes, Chaplain to
James I., and Eector of St. Martin's, co. Wilts. Now
Wood, in a notice of Wilkes, says that the latter " died at
Barford St. Martin, in Wiltshire, of which he was rector,
leaving a daughter named Mary, who was married to John
Marston of the city of Coventry, gentleman ; which John,
dying 25 June, 1634, was buried in the church belonging
to the Temple in London, near to the body of John
Marston his father, sometimes a Counsellor of the Middle
Temple." The John Marston in the first notice, and the
son-in-law of the King's Chaplain, are thus shown to be
the same person. He is also the dramatic writer, unless
another link in the chain of evidence be unnecessarily
regarded as a curious but possible coincidence. In Ben
Jonson's Conversations with William Drummond, it is
stated — -" Marston wrott his father-in-lawes preachings,
and his father r in- law his commedies;" which seems,
observes Gifford, a humorous allusion to the sombre air of
Marston' s comedies, as. contrasted with the cheerful tone
of his father-in*law's discourses.
A few days before his death, afflicted with an illness so
serious that he • was compelled to make a mark instead of
signing his name, Marston gave instructions for his Will,
which was duly proved by his widow in the Prerogative
Court Of Canterbury on July 9th, 16 3 4. In this docu-
ment he is ^styled clarke,, probably .in. reference to his
collegiate degree. He mentions a cousin in Shropshire,
which is the county, according to Oldys, whence his family
originated; and other friends and relatives are named, whose
viii PREFACE.
connection with him is otherwise unnoticed. A copy of
the whole is here given : —
"In the name of God, Amen. I John Marston of
London clarke, being sicke in bodie, but of perfect and
sound mind and memorie, doe make my last Will and
Testament in manner and forme followeing. Imprimis,
I give and bequeath my soule into the handes of Almightie
God, my Maker and Redeemer, and my bodie to be
buried in Christian buryall in some convenient place
where my executor hereafter named shall appointe. Item,
I give and bequeath to James Coghill and James Boynton,
both of Christchurch in the County of Southampton, the
soiume of fortie shillinges apeece to be paide within
sixe monthes after my decease. Item, I give and be-
queath to Marie Fabian, the wiefe of William Fabian of
Christchurch aforesaide, towards the educacion of hir
five sonnes, the somme of twentie eighte pound of cur-
rant money of England to bee paied to hir within sixe
monthes after my decease. Item, I give to the parrish
church of Christchurch aforesaide the somme of five
poundes, to be paide within sixe monthes next after my
decease. Item, I give and bequeath to my couzin Hunt
of Ashford, in the countye of Saloppe, the somme of
twentie poundes to be paied within sixe moneths after my
decease. Item, I give and bequeath to my eozen Griffins,
daughter of .... Kingston in the Countie of Surrey, the
somme of five poundes to be paied unto hir within sixe
monthes after my decease. Item, I give to Marie Collice,
the daughter of my cozen, Anne Collis of Chancerie Lane,
PREIACE. ix
the somme of five poundes to be paied unto hir sixe
inonthes after my decease. Item, I give and bequeath
to my cozen Richard Marston of Newe Inne in the
Countie of Middlesex, my silver bason and ewre, but my
Will is that my wiefe shall have the use of it untill it
shall be demaunded of hir by the said Richard, or his
attorney in that behalfe lawfully deputed. Item, I give
and bequeath unto George Wallie, and James Walley,
sonnes of Mr. Henry Wallie, the somme of five poundes
apeece to be paide to the saide Henrie for theier use within
sixe monthes after my decease. Item, all the rest of my
goodes and catties, moveable and unmoveable (my debts
and legacies and funeral expenses being charged) I give
arid bequeath to my wel-beloved wiefe Marie, whome
I ordaine my sole Executrixe of this my last Will and
Testament. And I doe hereby renounce and make voyde
all former Wills by me heretofore made. In Wittness
whereof I have hereunto putt my hand and scale the
seaventeenth daie of June, in the tenth yeare of the raigne
of oure Soveraigne Lord Charles, &c., A.D. 1634."
According to Wood, after Marston had obtained his
degrees, " he went his way, and improved his learning in
other faculties" alluding probably to his poetical and
dramatic efforts. His earliest work, as far as is at present
known, is the Scourge of Villanie, first published in 1598,
and in the following year, 1599, he is mentioned in Hens-
lowe's Diary as the new poete : — " Lent unto Wm. Borne,
the 28 of Septembr, 1599, to lend unto Mr. Mastone, the
b
x PREFACE.
new poete, in earneste of a booke called . . . . , the
some of xxxx. s." What this play was is not stated ; but
the following curious undated letter, discovered by Mr.
Collier in the archives of Dulwich College, may possibly
relate to the same production : —
" Mr. Hensloe, at the rose on the Bankside.
" If you like my play of Columbus, it is verie well and
you shall give me uoe more then twentie poundes for it,
but If nott, lett mee have it by this Bearer againe, as I
knowe the kinges Men will freelie give mee asmuch for it,
and the profitts of the third daye moreover.
" Soe I rest yours
" JOHN MABSTON."
It thus appears that Marston originally treated for his
plays with Henslowe, and it was probably some dispute
connected with the value of this drama of Columbus that
caused him afterwards to write for the King's Company.
The Malcontent, published in 1604, is expressly stated in
the title-page to have been acted by the "King's Majesty's
Servants." The following is a list of the writings of
Marston here reprinted : —
1. The Scourge of Villanie— First printed in 1598. and
reprinted in 1599, with the addition of the tenth Satire.
It is thus alluded to in Jonson's Every Man out of his
Humour : — " and how dost thou, tJiou grand Scourge^ or
second Untruss of the time ?"
PEEIACK xi
2. Satires. — "The Metamorphosis of Pigmalion's Image
and certaine Satyres," 16mo. Lond. 1598. The first poem
in this volume was republished in Alcilia, a very rare
collection of poems, 1619 and 1628. The present work
was issued under Marston's assumed name of William
Kinsayder, which is also alluded to in What You Will,
and ill Hall's epigram against him. The poet Lampatho
Doria, in the former, seems intended for Marston himself.
The reason of the quarrel between Hall and Marston -is
unknown; but the Satire entitled Reactio (vol. iii. p. 226)
is certainly levelled at the former, and in another satire he
again returns to the charge. Mr. Singer is of opinion
that " he was angry at being forestalled by the publica-
tion of Hall's Satires ; he also accuses him of having
caused an epigram to be pasted to the latter page of every
Pigmalion that came to the stationers of Cambridge."
Marston's poem of Pigmalion's Image, "with his
transform'd delight," is mentioned as part of the library
of a courtezan in a rare poem, Cranley's Amanda, 1635 ;
and its licentious character had, SOOH after its publication,
occasioned an order from the prelates Whitgift and Ban-
croft for its suppression and destruction, a circumstance
that accounts for its excessive rarity.
3. Antonio and Mellida. — Published at London, in
1602, 4to. A. modern edition of it is given in Mr. Dilke's
Collection of Old Plays, 1814, vol. ii.
4. Antonio's Revenge.^- This is the second part of the
xii PREFACE.
preceding drama, published also in in 1602. The fol-
lowing observations by Gifford, respecting the allusion to
these two plays in the Poetaster, are too judicious to be
omitted : —
" I have already observed, in opposition to the whole
string of commentators, that Crispinus is Marston : if
any doubts of it should remain, after what has been
advanced, the lines which follow will be more than suffi-
cient to remove them. In these, Jonson has accumu-
lated many of the uncouth and barbarous terms which
characterise Marston's poetry. The works which our
author had chiefly in view, were the Scourge of Villainie,
and the two parts of Antonio and Mellida. In the former
of these, Jonson is ridiculed under the name of Torquatus,
for his affected use of ' new-minted words, such as real,
intrinsicate, and delpliicke* which are all found in his
earliest comedies ; so that we have here, in fact, little more
than 'the retort courteous.' But, indeed, Marston
deserved some reprehension. He boasts, and his boasts
have been repeated by the commentators who generally
take all upon trust, that he is ' free from licentiousness of
language.' The fact is not so ; he is extremely gross, and
impure. This is what Jonson means, when he makes
him ' boldly nominate a spade a spade ;' and this too is
the just object of the attack upon him, in the old
play of the Return from Parnassus (see vol. ii. p. 303).
I will not affirm that Marston's manner is very
correctly imitated in this collection of his words and
phrases; yet those who read his Satires cannot fail
PREFACE. xiii
to be struck with the arrogance, pedantry, and harshness
(qualities here attempted to be caricatured) which pervade
every part of them: while his dramatic works, more
particularly those noticed by Jonson, are distinguished by
nothing so much as a perpetual bluster, an overstrained
reaching after sublimity of expression, which ends in
abrupt and unintelligible starts, and bombast anomalies
of language. It is but fair to add that, whatever
Marston might think of the present castigation, he had
the good sense to profit by it, since his latter works
exhibit but few of the terms here ridiculed."
According to Ben Jonson' s Conversations with Wil-
liam Drummond, " he (Jonson) had many quarrells with
Marston, beat him, and took his pistol from him, wrote
his Poetaster on him ; the beginning of them were, that
Marston represented him in the stage, in his youth given
to venerie." Were more known of the literary history of
this period, it would perhaps be found, that as there was
probably more than one quarrel between these dramatists,
so also was there more than one sincere reconciliation.
That Marston had, at one time, a fervent admiration for
Jonson, is shown by the dedication to the Malcontent,
1604, and by the verses prefixed to Sejanus, 1605,- —
f< Amicis, amici nostri dignissimi, dignissimis, Epigramma
d. Johannes Marstonius," —
" Yee ready friendes, spare your unneedfull bayes ;
This worke dispairefull Envie must even praise :
xiv PREFACE.
Phoebus hath voic'd it loud, through ecchoing skies,
Sejanus Pall shall force thy merit rise ;
For never English shall, or hath before,
Spoake fuller grac'd. He could say much, not more." .
5. The Malcontent. — Two editions, the first containing
much less matter than the second, appeared in 1604.
The latter is the one here reprinted ; and an excellent criti-
cal modern edition of the play will be found in Mr. Dyce's
collection of the works of Webster, who contributed some
portions of the later copy. The additions were probably
made in the year 1600.
%
6. Eastward Hoe. — At least three different editions of
this play appeared in 1605, and the several copies of each
edition frequently vary from each other, but the variations
are generally of small importance. A modern text of it
is given in Dodsley's Old Plays, vol. iv. Eespecting this
play, there is the following entry in Cunningham's Bevels
Accounts, Introd. p. 44 : —
" To Joseph Taylor for himselfe and the reste of his
fellowes servauntes to the Lady Eliz. her grace upon the
Councells Warraunt dated at Whitehall 21 June 1614 for
presenting before his Ma^ a Comedy called Eastward
Howe on the xxvth of January last past — vju. xiijs. iiijd.
and by way of his Mat9 reward Ixvj3. viijd. In all x11."
In the first impression of Eastward Hoe, is a passage
reflecting upon the Scots, for the publication of which
PREIACE. xv
the authors got into serious trouble. The story is thus
related in Ben Jonson's Conversations with Drummond : —
" He was dilated by Sir James Murray to the King, for
writting something against the Scots, in a play Eastward
Hoe, and voluntarly imprissonned himself with Chapman
and Marston, who had written it amongst them. The
report was, that they should then [have] had their ears
cut and noses. After their delivery, he banqueted all his
friends; there was Camden, Selden, and others; at the
midst of the feast his old Mother dranke to him, and
shew him a paper which she had (if the sentence had taken
execution) to have mixed in the prisson among his
drinke, which was full of lustie strong poison, and that
she was no churle, she told, she minded first to have
drunk of it herself." Eastward Hoe was altered by Tate
in 1685, and represented at Dorset Gardens under the
title of Cuckolds Haven, or an Alderman no Conjuror.
7. The Dutch Courtezan.— Published in 1605, 4to. It
is mentioned in the Black Yeare, 1606, as "corrupting
English conditions." This play "was some few years
since reviv'd with success on the present stage, under the
title of the Revenge, or the Match in Newgate," Lang-
baine's Account of the English Dramatick Poets, 1691.
" Cockledemoy's cheating Mrs. Mulligrub the Yintner's
"Wife, of the Goblet and the Salmon, is borrow'd from an
old French Book called Les Contes du Monde: see the
same Story in English, in a Book of Novels, call'd The
Palace of Pleasure, in the last Novel," ibid.
xvi PREIACE.
8. Parasitaster. — Two editions of this play were pub-
lished in 1606, and the latter being issued as " corrected
of many faults, which, by reason of the author's absence,
were let slip in the first edition." There is a modern text
of it in Mr. Dilke's Old Plays, vol. ii. " The plot of
Dulcimel her cozening the Duke by a pretended discovery
of Tiberio's love to her, is borrow'd from Boccace's
Novels, Day 3. Nov. 3. This novel is made use of as an
incident in several other plays, as Flora's Vagaries, Soul-
diers Fortune ; and Nymphadoro's humour of loving the
whole sex, act iii. sc. l,is copy'd from Ovid's Amor.ii. 4,"
Langbaine, ibid., p. 351. It is to this comedy that Wood
possibly refers, when he asserts that Marston " was in
great renown for his wit and ingenuity in 1606."
9. SopJwnisba. — The Wonder of Women, or the Tra-
jedie of Sophonisba, 4to. Lond. 1606. "This play is
founded on history; see Livy, Dec. 3. lib. 10, Corn.
Nepos in vit. Annibal, Polibius, Appian, Orosius. The
English reader may read this story lively describ'd by
Sir W. Rawleigh, in his History of the World, book the
5," Langbaine, p. 351. The allusion to quoting authori-
ties, &c., mentioned in the Epistle to the Eeader, is said
by Langbaine, p. 350, to be directed against Ben Jonson;
but this opinion is justly questioned by Gilford. The
play itself, however, observes the same author, " I take to
be an honest general Satyr, and not (as some malicious
Enemies endeavour'd to perswade the World) design'd to
strike at any particular Persons." An adaptation of the
PREFACE. xvii
story of Sopkonisba in another tragedy was written in
Dutch, and acted at Amsterdam in 1620.
10. What You Will.-- Published in 1607, and inserted,
with a modern text, in Mr. Dilke's Collection of Old Plays,
vol. ii. " Francisco's zanying the person and humour of
Albano is an incident in several plays, as Mr. Cowley's
Guardian, Albumazer, &c., tho' I presume the design was
first copy'd from Plautus his Amphitruo : this I take to be
one of our author's best plays," Langbaine, p. 351.
11. The Insatiate Countess. — A tragedy, published in
1613, 1616, and 1631. Langbaine mentions an earlier
edition of 1603, but no copy printed in that year has yet
been discovered. It is a work of so little merit, that the
memory of our author will not suffer by an attempt made
by some critics to assign it to the hand of William Bark-
sted, whose name appears as the author in some copies of
the edition of 1631. The following judicious observa-
tions upon it are extracted from a criticism by an anony-
mous editor : — " For the several personages in this Play,
little interest is excited. The heroine is truly a disgusting
wretch. Langbaine asserts that the character was in-
tended for a covert satire upon Joan, Queen of Naples ;
though I believe he has ' found in Homer what was never
there/ and imputed to Marston what he had not in his
thoughts. Joan, 'tis true, married four husbands, and
Isabella, it will be seen, has one husband and three para-
mours; but there the resemblance, such as it is, completely
xviii PREIACE.
ends. Joan, with all her vices, was a woman of talent ;
whilst Isabella is a mere ' remorseless, treacherous, leche-
rous, landless ' wanton, who spends her life in the com-
mission of every crime, and terminates her career upon
the scaffold, quibbling and cursing, an object of contempt
and detestation. The remaining characters are too weakly
sketched, for us to feel much interest about them. Clari-
diana and Mizaldus are a couple of pitiful fools, and their
wives scarcely better than two strumpets. The indecency
which pervades the comic portions of the dialogue, does
Marston little honour, and forms a curious commentary
upon that part of the Dedication prefixed to his Six Plays
published in 1633, wherein the purity of his writings is
commended."
" It being a common custom with our author to dis-
guise his story, and to personate real persons under
feign'd characters: I am perswaded that in this Play,
under the title of Isabella, the Insatiable Countess of
Suevia, he meant Joane, the first Queen of Jerusalem,
Naples, and Sicily : and I doubt not but the reader who
will compare the Play with the History, will assent to my
conjecture. Many are the writers that have related her
life, as Collenuccio, Simmoneta, Yillani, Montius, &c. ;
but I refer my English reader to Dr. Fuller's Prophane
State, ch. 2. That her life has been the subject not only
of history, but of poetry and novels also, is manifest from
this Play, and the novels of Bandello, who has related her
story under the title of the Inordinate Life of the Countess
of Celant. This novel is translated into French bv
PREFACE. xix
Belleforest, torn. 2, nov. 20, and possibly our author
might build his Play on this foundation. The like story
is related in God's Eevenge against Adultery, under the
name of Anne of Werdeiiberg, Dutchess of Ulme: see
Hist. 5," Langbaine, ibid.
12. City Pageant. — This "spectacle" is preserved in
manuscript in the British Museum, MS. Bibl. Beg. ISA.
xxxi, here reprinted from an edition by P. Hall.
Other pieces have incorrectly been attributed to
Marston the dramatist. A sermon by one John Marston,
Master of Arts, and Bector of the Parish Church of
St. Mary Magdalen in Canterbury, " preached at St. Mar-
garett's in Westminster," Feb. 6th, 1642, is unquestion-
ably by a different author. The Elegiacall Poem on the
Death of Lord Grey, Baron of Wilton, inserted in the list
of his works in Lowndes' Manual, is by Robert Marston ;
and an unpublished poem, mentioned in the same work,
entitled the Newe Metamorphosis, has equally slender
claims to be considered the production of our author. It is
a long rambling poem, and parts of it resemble in some
degree his style ; but the anonymous author expressly states
that his name was derived from the French language, a
condition that is inapplicable to that of Marston. Win-
stanley, in the Lives of the English Poets, 1687, p. 137,
mentions "the Faithful Shepherd, a Pastoral," amongst
his writings ; another attribution which is equally erroneous
with the others above alluded to.
The plays of Marston, with the exception of the Mai-
xx PREFACE.
content and the Insatiate Countess, were collected into
one volume in the year 1633 by a publisher named
William Sheares, whom Wood, by a curious oversight, has
metamorphosed into William Shakespeare, a mistake
which was followed by more than one subsequent writer.
This little volume is now rare, and copies of it differ in
minute particulars, especially in the dedications. The
following general Epistle Dedicatory, prefixed by the
publisher, is worth reprinting, the rather as it is only
occasionally found in copies of the original work : —
" To THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE LADY ELIZABETH
CARIE, YISCOUNTESSE FAWKLAND.
" Many opprobies and aspersions have not long since
been cast upon Playes in generall, and it were requisite
and expedient that they were vindicated from them ; but,
I referre that taske to those whose leasure is greater, and
learning more transcendent. Yet, for my part, I cannot
perceive wherein they should appeare so vile and abomi-
nable, that they should bee so vehemently inveighed
against. Is it because they are PLAYES ? The name, it
seemes, somewhat offends them; whereas, if they were
styled WORKES, they might have their approbation also.
I hope that I have now somewhat pacified that precise
sect, by reducing all our Author's severall Playes into one
volume, and so stiled them THE WOKKS OF MR. JOHN
MARSTON, who was not inferiour unto any in this kinde
of writing, in those dayes when these were penned ; and,
I am perswaded, equall unto the best poets of our times.
PREFACE. xxi
If the lines bee not answerable to my encomium of him,
yet herein beare with him, because they were his JUVE-
NILIA and youthfull recreations. Howsoever, hee is free
from all obscene speeches, which is the chiefe cause that
makes Playes to bee so odious unto most men. Hee
abhorres such writers, and their workes ; and hath pro-
fessed himselfe an enemie to all such as stuffe their scenes
with ribaldry, and lard their lines with scurrilous taunts
and jests ; so that, whatsoever, even in the Spring of his
yeeres, hee hath presented upon the private and publike
Theater, now, in his Autumne and declining age, hee need
not bee ashamed of. And, were it not that hee is so farre
distant from this place, hee would have beene more care-
full in revising the former impressions, and more circum-
spect about this, then I can. In his absence, Noble Lady,
I have been imboldened to present these WORKES unto
your Honour's view ; and the rather, because your Honour
is well acquainted with the Muses. In briefe, Fame hath
given out, that your Honour is the mirror of your sex,
the admiration, not onely of this Hand, but of all adjacent
countries and dominions, which are acquainted with your
rare vertues and endowments. If your Honour shall
vouchsafe to accept this Worke, I, with my Booke, am
ready prest and bound to be
" Tour truly devoted,
"WILLIAM SHEAEES."
Marston's wit is much commended by Wood, but one of
the few specimens extant of his conversational powers in
xxii PREIACE.
this way will scarcely convey a favourable impression on
modern readers. It is recorded in Manningham's Diary,
under the date of November 21st, 1602 :— " Jo. Marstone,
the last Christmas, when he daunct with Alderman Mores
wives daughter, a Spaniard borne, fell into a strange com-
mendation of hir witt and beauty. When he had done,
she thought to pay him home, and told him, she thought
he was a poet. "Tis true, said he, for poets feigne and
lye, and soe did I, when I commended your beauty, for
you are exceeding foule," ap. Collier's Annals of the
Stage, i. 335.
The dramas now collected together are reprinted abso-
lutely from the early editions, which were placed in the
hands of our printers, who thus had the advantage of
following them without the intervention of a transcriber.
They are given as nearly as possible in their original
state, the only modernizations attempted consisting in the
alternations of the letters i and /, and u and v, the reten-
tion of which would have answered no useful purpose,
while it would have unnecessarily perplexed the modern
reader.
ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.
THE PLAY CALLED
ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.
"tMl»
INDUCTION.
f Enter GALEATZO, PIEEO, ALBEETO, ANTONIO, FOEO-
BOSCO, BALUEDO, MATZAGENTE, and FELICHE,
with parts in their hands ; having cloakes cast over
their apparell.
O M E, sirs, come ! the musique will
sOunde straight for entrance. Are yee
readie, are yee perfect ?
Pie. Faith ! we can say our parts ; but
wee are ignorant in what mould we must cast our actors.
Alb. Whome doe you personate ?
Pie. Piero, Duke of Yenice.
Alb. 0 ! ho ! then thus frame your exterior shape,
To hautie forme of elate majestic ;
As if you held the palsey shaking head
Of reeling chaunce, under your fortunes belt
In strictest vassalage : growe big in thought,
As swolne with glory of successfull armes.
1
2 THE FIRST PART OF [INDUCTION.
Pie. If that be all, fear not, I'le sute it right.
Who cannot be proud, stroak up the haire, and strut ?
Alb. Truth ; such ranke custome is growne popular ;
And now the vulgar fashion strides as wide,
And stalkes as proud upon the weakest stilts
Of the slight' st fortunes, as if Hercules
Or burly Atlas shouldred up their state.
Pie. Good ; but whome act you ?
Alb. The necessitie of the play forceth me to act two
parts : Andrugio, the distressed Duke of Genoa, and
Alberto, a Venetian gentleman, enamoured on the Ladie
Bossaline; whose fortunes being too weake to sustaine
the port of her, he prov'd alwaies desastrous in love ; his
worth being much underpoised by the uneven scale, that
currants all thinges by the outwarde stamp of opinion.
Gal. Wei, and what dost thou play ?
Sal. The part of all the world.
Alb. The part of all the world ? What 's that ?
Sal. The foole. I, in good deede law now, I play
Balurdo, a wealthie mountbanking burgomasco's heire of
Venice.
Alb. Ha ! ha ! one whose foppish nature might seem
great, only for wise men's recreation ; and, like a juice-
lesse barke, to preserve the sap of more strenuous spirits.
A servile hounde, that loves the sent of forerunning
fashion, like an emptie hollow vault, still giving an eccho
to wit: greedily champing what any other well valued
judgement had beforehand shew'd.
Foro. Ha ! ha ! ha ! tolerably good ; good faith, sweet
wag.
Alb. Umh; why, tolerably good; good faith, sweet
wag ? Go, goe ; you natter me.
INDUCTION.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 3
Foro. Bight ; I but dispose my speacli to the habit of
my part.
Alb. Why, what plaies he? [To Feliche.
Fell. The wolfe that eats into the breasts of princes ;
that breeds the lethargy and falling sicknesse in honour ;
makes justice looke asquint; and blinds the eye of
merited rewarde from viewing desertfull vertue.
Alb. What 's all this periphrasis, ha ?
Fell. The substance of a supple-chapt flatterer.
Alb. 0 ! doth he play Forobosco the Parasite ? Good,
i-faith. Sirrah, you must seeme now as glib and straight,
in outward semblance as a ladies' buske, though in-
wardly as crosse as a paire of tailors' legs; having a
tongue as nimble as his needle, with servile patches of
glavering flattery to stitch up the bracks of (the) un-
worthily honour'd.
*Foro. I warrant you, I warrant you, you shall see mee
proove the very perewig to cover the balde pate of braine-
lesse gentilitie. Ho ! I will so tickle the sense of bella
gratiosa madonna with the titillation of hyperbolicall
praise, that He strike it in the nick, in the very nick,
chuck.
Fell. Thou promisest more than I hope any spectator
gives faith of performance ; but why looke you so duskie,
ha ? [To Antonio.
Ant. I, was never worse fitted since the nativitie of my
actorshippe ; I shall be hist at, on my life now.
Feli. Why, what must you play ?
Ant. Faith, I know not what : an hermaphrodite ; two
parts in one ; my true person being Antonio, son to the
Duke of Genoa ; though for the love of Mellida, Piero's
daughter, I take this fained presence of an Amazon,
4 THE FIRST PART OF [INDUCTION.
calling myself Florizell, and I know not what. I a voice
to play a lady ! I shall nere doe it.
Alb. O ! an Amazon should have such a voice, virago -
like. Not play two parts in one ? away, away, 'tis com-
mon fashion. Nay, if you cannot bear two subtle fronts
under one hood ; ideot, goe by, goe by ; off this world's
stage ! O times impuritie !
Ant. I, but when use hath taught me action to hit thje
right point of a ladies' part, I shall growe ignorant when
I must turne young prince againe, how but to trusse my
hose.
Fell. Tushe, never put them off ; for women weare the
breaches still.
Hat. By the bright honour of a Millanoise, and the
resplendent fulgor of this steele, I will defende the femi-
nine to death ; and ding his spirit to the verge of hell,
that dares divulge a ladies' prejudice.
[Exeunt Antonio and Alberto.
Fell. Eampum scrampum, mount tuffcie Tamburlaine.
What rattling thunderclappe breakes from his lips ?
Alb. O ! 'tis native to his part. Tor acting a moderne
bragadoch under the person of Matzagente, the Duke of
Millaines' sonne, it may seeme to suite with good fashion
of coherence.
Pie. But me thinks he speakes with a spruce attick
accent of adulterate Spanish.
Alb. So 'tis resolv'd. For Millane being halfe Spanish,
halfe high Dutch, and halfe Italians, the blood of chiefest
houses is corrupt and mungrel'd ; so that you shal see a
fellow vaine-glorious for a Spaniard, gluttonous for a
Dutchman, proud for an Italian, and a fantastick ideot for
all. Such a one conceipt this Matzagente.
INDUCTION.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 5
Fell. But I have a part allotted mee, which I have
neither able apprehension to conceipt, nor what I conceipt
gratious abilitie to utter.
Gal. Whoop, in the old cut ! Good, shew us a draught
of thy spirit.
Fell. 'Tis steddie, and must seme so impregnably fort-
rest with his own content that no envious thought could
ever invade his spirit ; never surveying any man so un-
measuredly happie, whome I thought not justly hatefull
for some true impoverishment; never beholding any
favour of Madam Felicity gracing another, which his well
bounded content perswaded not to hang in the front of
his owne fortune ; and therefore as farre from envying any
man, as he valued all men infinitely distant from ac-
complisht beatitude. These native adjuncts appropriate
to me the name of Feliche. But last, good, thy humour.
[Exit Alberto.
Ant. 'Tis to be describ'd by signes and tokens. For
unlesse I were possest with a legion of spirits, 'tis impos-
sible to be made perspicuous by any utterance : for some-
times he must take austere state, as for the person of
Galeatzo, the son of the Duke of Florence, and possesse
his exteriour presence with a formall majestic : keepe
popularitie in distance, and on the sudden fling his
honour so prodigally into a common arme, that hee may
seeme to give up his indiscretion to the mercy of vulgar
censure. Now as solemne as a travailer, and as grave as
a Puritanes ruffe; with the same breath as slight and
scattered in his fashion as a — a — any thing. Now, as
sweet and neat as a barbour's casting-bottle ; straight as
slovenly as the yeasty breast of an ale-knight : now
lamenting ; then chafing ; straight laughing ; then .
6 ANTONIO AND MELL1DA. [INDUCTION.
Fell. What then?
Ant. Faith, I know not what ; 'tad bene a right part
for Proteus or Gew. Ho ! blinde Gew would ha' don't
rarely, rarely.
Fell. I feare it is not possible to limme so many per-
sons in so small a tablet as the compasse of our playes
afford,
Ant. Eight ! therefore I have heard that those persons,
as he and you, Peliche, that are but slightly drawen in
this Comedie, should receive more exact accomplishment
in a second part ; which, if this obtaine gratious accept-
ance, meanes to try his fortune.
Fell. Peace, here comes the Prologue ; cleare the Stage.
\Exeunt.
f THE PROLOGUE.
)HE wreath of pleasure and delicious sweetes,
Begirt the gentle front of this faire troope ;
Select and most respected auditours,
For wit's sake doe not dreame of miracles.
Alas ! we shall but falter, if you lay
The least sad weight of an unused hope
Upon our weaknesse ; onely we give up
The worthlesse present of slight idlenesse
To your authentick censure. O I that our Muse
Had those abstruse and synowy faculties,
That, with a straine of fresh invention.
She might presse out the raritie of Art ;
The pur'st elixed juyce of rich conceipt
In your attentive cares ; that with the lip
Of gratious elocution we might drinke
A sound carouse unto your health of wit.
But 0 ! the heathy drynesse of her braine,
Foyle to your fertile spirits, is asham'd
To breath her blushing numbers to such eares ;
Yet (most ingenious) deigne to vaile our wants.
With sleek acceptance polish these rude sceanes ;
And if our slightnesse your large hope beguiles,
Check not with bended brow, but dimpled smiles.
[Exit Prologue.
ACTUS PRIMUS.
^[ The Cornets sound a battle within.
Enter ANTONIO, disguised like an Amazon.
, wilt not break? and thou abhorred
life,
Wilt thou still breath in my enraged bloud?
Vaines, synewes, arteries,why crackyeenot ?
Burst and divul'st with anguish of my griefe.
Can man by no meanes creepe out of himselfe,
And leave the slough of viperous griefe behinde ?
Antonio, hast thou seene a fight at sea,
As horrid as the hideous day of doome,
Betwixt thy father, Duke of Genoa,
And proud Piero, the Venetian Prince ?
In which the sea hath swolne with Genoa's bloud,
And made spring tydes with th' warme reeking gore,
That gusht from out our gallies scupper holes ;
In which thy father, poore Andrugio,
Lyes sunk, or leapt into the armes of chaunce,
Choakt with the laboring ocean's brackish fome ,
Who even, despite Pietro's cancred hate,
Would with an armed hand have seized thy love,
And linkt thee to the beautious Mellida.
Have I outlived the death of all these hopes ?
10 THE FIRST PART 01 [ACT i.
Have I felt anguish pour'd into my heart,
Burning like balsamum in tender wounds,
And yet dost live ? Could not the fretting sea
Have rowl'd me up in wrinkles of his browe ?
Is death growen coy ? or grim confusion nice ?
That it will not accompany a wretch,
But I must needs be cast on Venice shoare,
And try new fortunes with this strange disguise ?
To purchase my adored Mellida.
[The Cornets sound a flourish ; cease.
Harke how Piero's triumphs beat the ayre ;
O, rugged mischiefe, how thou grat'st my heart !
Take spirit, blood ; disguise, be confident ;
Make a firme stand ; here rests the hope of all, —
Lower than hell, there is no depth to fall.
^] The Cornets sound a synnet. Enter FELICHE and
ALBERTO, CASTILIO and FOROBOSCO, a Page carry-
ing a shield; PIERO in armour ; CATZO and DILDO
and BALURDO. All these (saving PIERO) armed
with petronels. Seeing entred, they make a stand
in divided foyles.
Pie. Victorious Fortune, with tryumphant hand,
Huiieth my glory 'bout this ball of earth,
WhiTst the Venetian Duke is heaved up,
On wings of faire successe, to over-looke
The low cast ruines of his enemies,
To see my selfe ador'd and Genoa quake ;
My fate is firmer than mischance can shake.
Fell. Stand ; the ground trembleth.
Pie. Hah ! an earthquake ?
Bal. Oh ! I smell a sound.
ACT i.] ANTONIO AND MELLIVA. 11
Feli. Piero, stay, for I descry a fume
Creeping from out the bosome of the deepe,
The breath of darknesse, fatall when 'tis whist
In greatnes stomacke ; this same smoake, call'd pride,
Take heede ; shee'le lift thee to improvidence,
And breake thy neck from steepe securitie ;
Shee'le make thee grudge to let Jehova share
In thy successful battailes. O ! shee's ominous ;
Inticeth princes to devour heaven,
Swallow omnipotence, out- stare dread fate,
Sirodiie eternitie in giant thought, —
Heaves up their hurt with swelling, puft conceit,
Till their soules burst with venom'd arrogance.
Beware Piero, Eome itselfe hath tried,
Confusions traine blowes up this babell pride.
Pie. Pish ! Dimitto superos, summa votorum attigi.
Alberto, hast thou yeelded up our fixt decree
Unto the Genoan embassadour ?
Are they content, if that their duke returne,
To sende his and his sonne Antonio's head
As pledges steept in bloud to gaine their peace?
Alb. With most obsequious sleek-brow'd intertain,
They all embrace it as most gratious.
Pie. Are proclamations sent through Italy,
That whosoever brings Andrugio's head,
Or young Anthonio's, shall be guerdoned
With twentie thousand double pistolets,
And be endeered to Piero's love ?
Faro. They are sent every way. Sound policy ; sweete
lord.
Fell. Confusion to these limber sycophants.
No sooner mischief's borne in regency,
But flattery christens it with policy. [Tacite.
12 TEE FIRST PART OF [ACT i.
Pie. Why then ; 0 me Celitmn excelsissimum !
The intestine malice and inveterate hate
I alwaies bore to that Andrugio,
Glories in triumph ore his misery ;
Nor shall that carpet-boy Antonio
Match with my daughter, sweet -cheekt Mellida.
No ; the publick power makes my faction strong.
Fell. Ill; when public power strengthneth private wrong.
Pie. 'Tis horse-like not for a man to know his force.
Feli. 'Tis god-like for a man to feele remorse.
Pie. Pish ! I prosecute my families revenge,
Which I'le pursue with such a burning chace,
Till I have dri'd up all Andrugio 's bloud ;
Weake rage that with slight pittie is withstoode
[The Cornets sound a flourish.
What meanes that fresh triumphall florish sound ?
Alb. The prince of Millane, and young Florence heir,
Approach to gratulate your victorie.
Pie. Weele girt them with an ample waste of love ;
Conduct them to our presence royally.
Let vollies of the great artillery
From of our gallies banks play prodigall,
And sound lowd welcome from their bellowing mouths.
Exit Piero
The Cornets sound a cynet. Enter above, MELLIDA,
ROSSALINE, and FLAVIA. Enter belowe, GALEATZO
with Attendants; PIERO meeteth him, embraceth;
at which the Cornets sound a florisli; PIERO and
GALEATZO exeunt', the rest stand still. fffuard?
Mel. What prince was that passed through my father's
Fla. 'Twas Galeatzo, the young Florentine.
Ros. Troth, one that will besiege thy maidenhead ;
ACT i.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 13
Enter the wals, yfaith (sweet Mellida)
If that thy flankers be not canon-proofe.
Mel. Oh, Mary Ambree ! good, thy judgement, wench ;
Thy bright elections cleere : what will he proove ?
Ros. Hath a short finger and a naked chinne,
A skipping eye ; dare lay my judgement (faith)
His love is glibbery ; there's no hold ont, wench.
Give me a husband whose aspect is firme ;
A full cheekt gallant with a bouncing thigh :
Oh, he is the paradizo dell madonne contento.
Mel. Even such a one was my Antonio.
[The Cornets sound a cynet.
Ros By my nine and thirteth servant (sweete)
Thou art in love, but stand on tiptoed faire ;
Here comes Saint Tristram Tiiiery Whiffe, yfaith.
^[ Enter MATZAGENTE ; PIERO meetes kirn ; embraceth ;
at which the Cornets sound aflorish : they two stand)
using seeming complements ,- whilst the sceane passeth
Mel. S. Marke, S. Marke I what kind of thing appears ?
Ros. For fancies passion, spit upon him ; figh !
His face is varnisht. In the name of love,
What country bred that creature ?
Mel. What is he, Flavia?
Fla. The heire of Millane, Segnior Matzagent.
Ros. Matzagent ! now, by my pleasures hope,
He is made like a tilting staffe ; and lookes
For all the world like an ore-roasted pigge :
A great tobacco taker too, that's flat ;
For his eyes looke as if they had bene hung
In the smoake of his nose.
14 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT i.
Mel. What husband wil he proove, sweete Eossaline ?
Ros. Avoid him ; for he hath a dwindled legge,
A lowe forehead, and a thinne cole-black beard ;
And will be jealous too, beleeve it, sweete ;
For his chin sweats, and hath a gander neck,
A thinne lippe, and a little monkish eve ;
Pvetious, what a slender waste he hath !
He lookes like a may-pole, or notched stick ;
Heele snap in two at every little straine.
Give me a husband that will fill mine armes,
Of steddie judgement, quicke and nimble sense ;
Fooles relish not a ladies excellence.
[Exeunt all on the lower Stage ; at which the Cornets
sound a flourish, and a peale of shot is given.
Mel. The tryumph's ended, but looke, Rossaline,
What gloomy soule in strange accustrements '
Walkes on the pavement.
Ros. Good sweete, let's to her ; pree thee, Mellida.
Mel. How covetous thou art of novelties !
Ros. Pish ! 'tis our nature to desire things
That are thought strangers to the common cut.
Mel. I am exceedingly willing, but —
Ros. But what ? pree thee goe downe ; let's see her face :
God send that neither wit nor beauty wants
Those tempting sweets, affections adamants. [Exeunt.
Ant. Come downe, she comes like — O, no simile
Is pretious, choyce, or elegant enough
To illustrate her descent ; leape heart she comes, —
She comes ! smile heaven, and softest southern winde
Kisse her cheese gently with perfumed breath.
She comes : creations puritie, admir'd,
Ador'd amazing raritie, — she comes !
ACT i.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 15
O, now, Antonio, presse thy spirit forth
In following passion, knit thy senses close,
Heape up thy powers, double all thy man.
^f Enter MELLIDA, EOSSALINE, and FLAVIA.
She comes ! O, how her eyes dart wonder on my heart !
Mount bloode, soule to my lips, taste Hebe's cup ;
Stand firme on decke, when beauties close fight's up.
Mel. Ladie, your strange habit doth beget
Our pregnant thoughts, even great of much desire,
To be acquaint with your condition.
Ros. Good, sweete lady, without more ceremonies,
What country claims your birth ? and, sweet, your name ?
Ant. In hope your bountie will extend itselfe
In selfe same nature of faire curtesie ;
Fie shunne all nicenesse ; my nam's Florizell,
My country Scythia ; I am Amazon
Cast on this shore by fane of the sea. [names.
Ros. Nay, faith, sweete creature, weele not vaile our
It pleas'd the font to dip me Eossaline ;
That ladie beares the name of Mellida,
The Duke of Venice daughter.
Ant. Madam, I am oblig'd to kisse your hand,
By imposition of a now dead man.
[To Mellida, kissing her hand.
Ros. Now, by my troth, I long, beyond all thought,
To know the man ; sweete beauty, deigne his name.
Ant. Ladie, the circumstance is tedious.
Ros. Troth, not a whit ; good faire, let's have it all :
I love not, I, to have a jot left out,
If the tale come from a lov'd orator.
Ant. Vouchsafe me, then, your hush't observances.
Vehement in pursuite of strange novelties,
16 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT i.
After long travaile through the Asian maine,
I shipt my hopefull thoughts for Brittany ;
Longing to viewe great Nature's miracle,
The giorie of our sex, whose fame doth strike
Eemotest eares with adoration.
Sayling some two monthes with inconstant winds,
We view'd the glistering Venetian forts,
To which we made : when loe ! some three leagues off,
We might descry a horred spectacle ;
The issue of black fury strow'd the sea
With tattered carcasses of splitting ships,
Halfe sinking, burning, floating, topsie turvie.
Not farre from these sad ruines of fell rage,
We might behold a creature presse the waves ;
Senseless he sprauld, all notcht with gaping wounds ;
To him we made, and (short) we tooke him up ;
The first thing he spake was, — Mellida !
And then he swooned.
Mel. Aye me !
Ant. Why sigh you, faire ?
Ros. Nothing but little humours ; good sweet, on.
Ant. His wounds being drest, and life recovered,
We gan discourse ; when loe ! the sea grewe mad,
His bowels rumbling with winde passion ;
Straight swarthy darknesse popt out Phoebus eye,
And blurd the jocund face of bright cheekt-day ;
Whilst crudl'd fogges masked even darknesse brow :
Heaven bad 's good night, and the rocks gron'd
At the intestine uprore of the maine.
Now gustie flawes strook up the very heeles
Of our maine mast, whilst the keene lightning shot
Through the black bowels of the quaking ayre ;
ACT. i.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 17
Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred panch
Downe fals our ship, and there he breaks his neck :
Which in an instant up was belkt againe.
When thus this martyrd soule began to sigh :
" Give me your hand (quoth he) now doe you graspe
Th' unequal mirrour of ragg'd misery :
Is't not a horrid storme ? 0, well shap't sweete,
Could your quicke eye strike through these gashed wounds,
You should beholde a heart, a heart, faire creature,
Raging more wilde then is this franticke sea.
Wolt doe me a favour, if thou chance survive ;
But visit Venice, kisse the pretious white
Of my most, — nay, all epithites are base
To attribute to gratious Mellida :
Tell her the spirit of Antonio
Wisheth his last gaspe breath'd upon her breast."
Ros. Why weepes soft hearted Florisell ?
Ant. Alas, the flintie rocks groand at his plaints.
Tell her (quoth he) that her obdurate sire
Hath crackt his bosome ; therewithal! he wept,
And thus sigh't on. The sea is merciful ;
Looke how it gapes to bury all my griefe :
Well, thou shalt have it, thou shalt be his toumbe :
My faith in my love live ; in thee, dy woe,
Dye unmatcht anguish, dye Antonio :
With that he totterd from the reeling decke,
And downe he sunke.
Ros. Pleasures bodie, what makes my Lady weepe ?
Mel. Nothing, sweet Eossaline, but the ayer 's sharpe.
My fathers palace, Madam, will be proud
To entertaine your presence, if youle daine
To make repose within. Aye me !
2
18 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT i.
Ant. Ladie, our fashion is not curious.
Ros. Faith, all the nobler, tis more generous.
Mel. Shall I then know how fortune fell at last,
What succour came, or what strange fate insew'd ?
Ant. Most willingly : but this same court is vast,
And publike to the staring multitude.
Ros. Sweet Lady, nay good sweet, now by my troth
Weele be bedfellowes : durt on complement froth.
[Exeunt ; Rossaline giving Antonio the way.
ACT ii.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 19
ACTUS SECUNDUS.
Enter CATZO (with a Capon) eating, DILDO following him.
<3>^WW>?>^
Dil. pOirtiw^-H' Catzo, your master wants a cleane
trencher : doe you heare ?
Balurdo cals for your diminutive attend-
ance.
Cat. The belly hath no eares, Dildo.
Dil. Good pugge, give me some capon. •
Cat. No capon, no not a bitte, yee smooth bully;
capon's no meat for Dildo : milke, milke, yee glibbery
urchin, is foode for infants.
Dil. Upon mine honour.
Cat. Your honour with a paugh ? slid, now every Jack-
an-apes loads his backe with the golden coat of honour ;
every asse puts on the lyons skinne and roars his honour ;
upon your honour ! By my ladies pantable, I feare I shall
live to heare a vintners boy cry, Tis rich neat canary,
upon my honour.
Dil. My stomack's up.
Cat. I think thou art hungry.
Dil. The match of furie is lighted, fastned to the
linstock of rage, and will presently set fire to the touch-
hole of intemperance, discharging the double coulvering
of my incensement in the face of thy opprobrious speach.
Cat. He stop the barrell thus ; good Dildo, set not fire
to the touch-hole.
Dil. My rage is stopt, and I will eate to the health of
the foole, thy master Castilio.
20 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT n.
Cat. And Twill suck the juyce of the capon, to the
health of the idiot, thy master Bahirdo.
Dil. Faith, our masters are like a case of rapiers
sheathed in one scabberd of folly.
Cat. Right Dutch blades. But was't not rare sport at
the sea-battle, whilst rounce robble hobble roared from
the ship sides, to viewe our masters pluck their plumes and
droppe their feathers, for feare of being men of marke.^
Dil. Slud (cri'd Signior Balurdo) 0 for Don Bessiclers
armour, in the mirror of knighthood : what coil's here ?
O for an armour, canon proofe : O, more cable, more
fetherbeds, more fetherbeds, more cable, till hee had as
much as my cable hatband, to fence him.
^f Enter FLAVIA in haste, with a rebato.
Cat. Buxome Flavia : can you sing ? song, song.
Ma. My sweete Dildo, I am not for you at this time :
Madam Eossaline stayes for a fresh ruffe to appeare in the
presence : sweete, away.
Dil. Twill not be so put off, delicate, delicious, spark
eyed, sleek skind, slender wasted, clean legd, rarely shapt.
Ma. Who, lie be at all your service another season :
my faith, ther 's reason in all things.
Dil. Would I were reason then, that I might be in all
things.
Cat. The breefe and the semiquaver is, wee must have
the descant you made upon our names, ere you depart.
Ma. Faith, the song will seeme to come off hardly.
Cat. Troth not a whit, if you seeme to come off quickly.
Ma. Peart Catzo, knock it lustily then.
CANTANT.
ACT IT.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 21
^[ Enter FOEOBOSCO, with two torches: CASTILIO singing
fantastically; Ross ALINE running a caranto pose,
and BALUEDO, FELICHE following, wondering at
them all.
Foro. Make place, gentlemen ; pages, hold torches, the
prince approacheth the presence.
Dil. What squeaking cart-wheel have we here? ha?
Make place, gentlemen ; pages, holde torches, the prince
approacheth the presence.
Eos. Faugh, what a strong sent Js here, some bodie
useth to weare socks.
Bal. By this faire candle light, tis not my feete ; I never
wore socks since I suckt pappe.
Ros. Savourly put off.
Cast. Hah, her wit stings, blisters, galles off the skinne
with the tart acrimony of her sharpe quicknesse : by sweete-
nesse, she is the very Pallas that flewe out of Jupiter's
brainepan. Delicious creature, vouchsafe mee your ser-
vice : by the puritie of bounty, I shall be proud of such
bondage.
Ros. I vouchsafe it; be my slave. Signior Balurdo,
wilt thou be my servant too ?
Bal. 0 god : forsooth in very good earnest, law, you
wold make me as a man should say, as a man should say.
Teli. Slud, sweet beauty, will you deign him your service?
Ros. O, your foole is your only servant. But good
Feliche, why art thou so sad ? a pennie for thy thought,
man.
Fell. I sell not my thought so cheap : I valewe my
meditation at a higher rate.
22 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT n.
Bal. In good sober sadnesse, sweet mistris, you should
have had my thought for a penny : by this crimson satten
that cost eleven shillings, thirteene pence, three pence
halfepenriie a yard, that you should, law !
Ros. What was thy thought, good servant ?
Bal. Marrie forsooth, how many strike of pease would
feed a hog fat against Christide.
Ros. Paugh ! servant, rub out my rheum, it soiles the
presence.
Cast. By my wealthiest thought, you grace my shoo
with an unmeasured honour : I will preserve the soale of
it, as a most sacred relique for this service.
Ros. He spit in thy mouth, and thou wilt, to grace thee.
Jeli. 0 that the stomack of this queasie age
Digestes, or brookes such raw unseasoned gobs,
And vomits not them forth. 0 ! slavish sots.
Servant, quoth you ? faugh ! if a dogge should crave
And beg her service, he should have it straight :
Shee'd give him favours too ; to licke her feete,
Or fetch her fanne, or some such drudgery :
A good dogs office, which these amorists
Tryumph of : tis rare, well give her more asse,
More sot, as long as dropping of her nose
Is sworne rich peaiie by such low slaves as those.
Ros. Flavia, attend me to attire me.
[Exeunt Kossaline and Flavia.
Bal. In sad good earnest, sir, you have toucht the very
bare of naked truth ; my silk stocking hath a good glosse,
and I thanke my planets, my legge is not altogether un-
propitiously shap't. There 's a word : unpropitiously ? I
thinke I shall speake unpropitiously as well as any cour-
tier in Italy.
ACT ii.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 23
Foro. So helpe me your sweete bounty, you have the
most gracefull presence, applausive elecuty, amazing volu-
bility, polisht adornation, delicious affabUitie.
Fell. Whop : fut, how he tickles yon trout under the
gilles ! you shall see him take him by and by, with gro-
ping flattery.
Foro. That ever ravisht the eare of wonder. By your
sweete selfe, then whome I knowe not a more exquisite,
illustrate, accomplished, pure, respected, ador'd, observed,
pretious, reall, magnanimous, bountious : if you have an
idle rich cast jerkin, or so, it shall not be cast away, if;
hah ? heres a foreheade, an eye, a heade, a haire, that
would make a : or if you have any spare paire of silver
spurs, ile doe you as much right in all kinde offices.
Fell. Of a kinde parasite.
Foro. As any of my meane fortunes shall be able to.
Bal. As I am a true Christian now, thou hast wonne
the spurres.
Fell. For flattery.
O how I hate that same Egyptian louse ;
A rotten maggot, that lives by stinking filth
Of tainted spirits : vengeance to such dogs,
That sprout by gnawing senselesse carion.
^f Enter ALBEETO.
Alb. Gallants, saw you my mistresse, the Ladie Rossaline?
Foro. My mistresse, the Ladie Rossaline, left the pre-
sence even now.
Cast. My mistresse, the Ladie Rossaline, withdrewe her
gratious aspect even now.
Bal. My mistresse, the Ladie Rossaline, withdrewe her
gratious aspect even now.
24 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT n.
Feli. Well said, eccho.
Alb. My mistresse, and his mistresse, and your mis-
tresse, and the dogs mistresse : pretious dear heaven, that
Alberto lives to have such rivals.
Slid, I have bin searching every private rome,
Corner, and secret angle of the court :
And yet, and yet, and yet she lives conceal'd.
Good sweete Feliche, tell me how to finde
My bright fac't mistresse out.
Fell. Why man, cry out for lanthorne and candle-light.
For tis your onely way, to find your bright flaming wench
with your light burning torch : for most commonly, these
light creatures live in darknesse.
Alb. Away you heretike, youle be burnt for
Fell. Goe, you amorous hound, follow the sent of your
mistresse shooe ; away.
Foro. Make a faire presence, boyes, advance your lightes :
The princesse makes approach.
Bal. And please the gods, now in very good deede,
law, you shal see me tickle the measures for the heavens.
Doe my hangers showe ?
U Enter PIEEO, ANTONIO, MELLIDA, Eos SALINE, GA-
LEATZO, MATZAGENTE, ALBERTO, and FLAVIA. As
they enter, FELICHE and CASTILIO make a rankefor
the DUKE to pass through. FOEOBOSCO ushers the
DUKE to his state : then whilst PIEEO speaketh his
first speech, MELLIDA is taken by GALEATZO and
MATZAGENTE, to daunce ; they supporting her : EOS-
SALINE, in like manner, by ALBERTO and BALURDO :
FLA VIA, by FELICHE and CASTILIO.
Pie. Beautious Amazon, sit and seat your thoughts
ACT ii.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 25
In the reposure of most soft content.
Sound musick there. Nay, daughter, cleare your eyes,
From these dull fogs of mistie discontent :
Look sprightly, girl. What ? though Antonio's droun'd,
That peevish dotard on thy excellence,
That hated issue of Andrugio :
Yet maist thou tryumph in my victories ;
Since, loe, the high borne bloodes of Italy
Sue for thy seate of love. [Let musique sound.
Beautie and youth run descant on loves ground.
Mat. Ladie, erect your gratious simmetry :
Shine in the spheare of sweete affection :
Your eye as heavie, as the heart of night.
Mel. My thoughts are as black as your bearde; my
fortunes as ill proportioned as your legs; and all the
powers of my minde as leaden as your wit, and as dustie
as your face is swarthy.
Gal. Faith, sweet, ile lay thee on the lips for that jest.
Mel. I pree thee intrude not on a dead mans right.
Gal. No, but the livings just possession.
Thy lips, and love, are mine.
Mel. You nere tooke seizin on them yet : forbeare :
There 's not a vacant corner of my heart,
But all is fild with deade Antonios losse.
Then urge no more ; 0 leave to love at all ;
Tis lesse disgracefull, not to mount, then fall.
Mat. Bright and refulgent ladie, daine your eare :
You see this blade, — had it a courtly lip,
It would divulge my valour, plead my love,
Justle that skipping feeble amorist
Out of your loves seat ; I am Matzagent.
Gal. Harke thee, I pray thee taint not thy sweete eare
26 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT n.
With that sots gabble ; by thy beautious cheeke,
He is the flagging'st bulrush that ere droopt
With each slight mist of raine. But with pleas'd eye
Smile on my courtshippe.
Mel. What said you, sir ? alas my thought was fixt
Upon another object. Good, forbeare :
I shall but weepe. Aye me, what bootes a teare !
Come, come, lets daunce. 0 musicke, thou distill'st
More sweetnesse in us then this jarring world :
Both time and measure from thy straines doe breath,
Whilst from the channell of this durt doth flowe "
Nothing but timelesse griefe, unmeasured woe.
Ant. 0 how impatience cramps my cracked veins,
And cruddles thicke my blood, with boiling rage !
0 eyes, why leape you not like thunderbolts,
Or canon bullets in my rivals face ;
Oy me infeliche misero, o lamentevol fato ?
Alb. What meanes the lady fal upon the ground ?
Ros. Belike the falling sicknesse. [wilde :
Ant. I cannot brooke this sight, my thoughts grow
Here lies a wretch, on whome heaven never smilde.
Ros. What, servant, nere a word, and I here man ?
1 would shoot some speach forth, to strike the time
With pleasing touch of amorous complement.
Say sweete, what keepes thy minde, what think'st thou on ?
Alb. Nothing.
Ros. Whats that nothing?
Alb. A womans constancie.
Ros. Good, why, would' st thou have us sluts, and never
shift the vestur of our thoughts ? Away for shame.
Alb. O no, thart too constant to afflict my heart,
Too too firme fixed in unmooved scorne.
ACT ii.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 27
Eos. Pish, pish ; I fixed in unmooved scorne ?
Why, He love thee to night.
Alb. But whome to morrow?
Eos. Faith, as the toy puts me in the head.
Bal. And pleased the marble heavens, now would I
might be the toy, to put you in the head, kindly to con-
ceipt my my my : pray you give in an epithite for love.
Feli. Eoaring, roaring.
O love, thou hast murdred me, made me a shadowe, and
you heare not Balurdo, but Balurdos ghost.
Eos. Can a ghost speake ?
Bal. Scurvily, as I doe.
Eos. And walke ?
Bal. After their fashion.
Eos. And eate apples ?
Bal. In a sort, in their garbe.
Feli. Pree thee, Flavia, be my mistresse.
Fla. Your reason, good Feliche ?
Feli. Faith, I have nineteene mistresses abeadie, and I
not much disdeigne that thou shold'st make up the ful score.
Fla. Oh, I heare you make common places of your
mistresses, to performe the office of memory by. Pray
you, in auncient times were not those satten hose ? In
good faith, now they are new dyed, pinkt and scoured,
they showe as well as if they were new.
What, mute, Balurdo ?
Feli. I, in faith, and twere not for printing, and painting,
my breech and your face would be out of reparation.
Bal. I, an faith, and twere not for printing, and point-
ing, my breech and your face would be out of reparation.
Feli. Good againe, Echo.
Fla. Thou art, by nature, too foule to be affected.
28 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT n.
Fell. And them, by art, too faire to be beloved.
By wits life, most sparke spirits, but hard chance.
La ty dine.
Pie. Gallants, the night growes old ; and do'wny sleep
Courts us, to entertaine his company :
Our tyred limbes, brus'd in the morning fight,
Intreat soft rest, and gentle husht repose.
Fill out Greeke wines ; prepare fresh cressit light :
Weele have a banquet : Princes, then good night.
^[ The cornets sound a synnet, and the DUKE goes out
in state. As tliey are going out, ANTONIO stayes
MELLIDA ; the rest exeunt.
Ant. What meanes these scattred looks ? why tremble
Why quake your thoughts, in your distracted eyes ? [you?
Collect your spirits, Madam ; what doe you see ?
Dost not beholde a ghost ?
Look, look where he stalks, wrapt up in clouds of grief,
Darting his sowle upon thy wondring eyes.
Looke,* he comes towards thee ; see, he stretches out
His wretched armes to girt thy loved waste,
With a most wisht embrace : see'st him not yet?
Nor yet ? Ha, MeUida ; thou well maist erre :
For looke ; he walkes not like Antonio :
Like that Antonio, that this morning shone,
In glistering habilliments of armes,
To seize his love, spight of her fathers spite :
But like himselfe, wretched, and miserable,
Banisht, forlorne, despairing, strook quite through,
With sinking griefe, rowled up in seaven-fould doubles
Of plagues, vanquishable : harke, he speakes to thee. •
Mel. Alas, I can not heare, nor see him.
ACT ii.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 29
Ant. Why ? al this night about the roome he stalkt,
And groand, and houL'd, with raging passion,
To view his love (life blood of all his hopes,
Crowne of his fortunes) clipt by strangers armes.
Looke but behinde thee.
Mel. O, Antonio ; my lord, my love, my
Ant. Leave passion, sweet, for time, place, aire, and
earth,
Are all our foes : feare, and be jealous, faire,
Lets fly.
Mel. Deare heart ; ha, whether ?
Ant. O, tis no matter whether, but lets fly.
Ha ! now I thinke ont, I have nere a home :
No father, friend, no country to imbrace
These wretched limbes : the world, the All that is,
Is all my foe : a prince not worth a tloite :
Onelie my head is hoised to high rate,
Worth twentie thousand double pistolets,
To him that can but strike it from these shoulders.
But come, sweete creature, thou shalt be my home ;
My father, country, riches, and my friend :
My all, my soule ; and thou and I will live :
(Lets thinke like what) and thou and I will live
Like unmatcht mirrors of calamitie.
The jealous eare of night eave-drops our talke.
Holde thee, thers a Jewell ; and looke thee, thers a note
That will direct thee when, where, how to fly ;
Bid me adieu.
Mel. Farewell, bleak misery !
Ant. Stay, sweet, lets kisse before you goe !
Mel. Farewell, deare soule !
Ant. Farewell, my life, mv heart !
30 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT in.
ACTUS TERTIUS.
Enter ANDRTJGIO in armour, Lucio
gowne in his hand, and a Page.
|S not yon gleame, the shuddering morne
that flakes,
With silver tinctur, the east vierge of
heaven ?
IM. I thinke it is, so please your excellence.
And. Away, I have no excellence to please.
Free the observe the custome of the world,
That onely flatters greatnesse, States exalts.
And please my excellence ! 0 Lucio,
Thou hast bin ever held respected deare,
Even pretious to Andrugios inmost love.
Good, flatter not. Nay, if thou giv'st not faith
That I am wretched, 0 read that, read that !
£^fc? PIEKO SFOKZA to ^ITALIAN PRINCES, fortune.
EXCELLENT, the just overthrowe ANDRUGIO tooke
in the Venetian gulfe, hath so assured the Genowaies of
the justice of his cause, and the hatefulnesse of his person,
that they have banisht him and all his family : and, for
confirmation of their peace with us, have vowed, that if he,
or his sonne, can be attached, to send us both their heads.
Wee therefore, by force of our united league, forbid you to
ACT in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 31
harbour Mm, or Ms blood: but if you apprehend his person,
we intreat you to send him, or his head, to us. For wee
vowe, by the honour of our blood, to recompence any man
that bringeth his head, with twentie thousand double pistolets,
and the indeering to our choysest love.
From Venice : PIERO SFORZA.
And. My thoughts are fixt in contemplation
Why this huge earth, this monstrous animal,
That eates her children, should not have eyes and ears.
Philosophic maintaines that Natur's wise,
And formes no uselesse or unperfect thing.
Did Nature make the earth, or the earth Nature ?
For earthly durt makes all things, makes the man,
Moulds me up honour ; and like a cunning Dutchman,
Paints me a puppit even with seeming breath,
And gives a sot appearance of a soule :
Goe to, goe to ; thou liest, Philosophy.
Nature formes things unperfect, uselesse, vaine.
Why made she not the earth with eyes and eares ?
That she might see desert, and heare men's plaints :
That when a soule is splited, sunke with griefe,
He might fall thus, upon the breast of earth ;
And in her eare, halloo his misery :
Exclaming thus, O thou all-bearing earth,
Which men doe gape for, till thou cramst their mouths,
And choakst their throts with dust : O chaune thy brest,
And let me sinke into thee. Looke who knocks ;
Andrugio cals. But 0, she's deafe and blinde.
A wretch but leane reliefe on earth can finde.
IM. Sweet lord, abandon passion, and disarme.
Since by the fortune of the tumbling sea,
32 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT in.
We are rowl'd up upon the Venice marsh,
Lets clip all fortune, least more lowring fate.
And. More lowring fate ? 0 Lucio, choak that breath.
Now I defy chance. Fortunes browe hath frown'd,
Even to the utmost wrinkle it can bend :
Her venom's spit. Alas, what country rests,
What sonne, what comfort that she can deprive ?
Tryumphes not Venice in my overthrow ?
Gapes not my native country for my blood ?
Lies not my sonne tomb'd in the swelling maine ?
And yet more lowring fate ? There's nothing left
Unto Andrugio, but Andrugio :
And that nor mischief, force, distresse, nor hel can take,
Fortune my fortunes, not my minde shall shake.
Lu. Speake like your selfe ; but give me leave, my Lord,
To wish your safetie. If you are but scene,
Your armes display you ; therefore put them off,
And take . [foes?
And. Would' st thou have me go unarm'd among my
Being besieg'd by passion, entring lists,
To combat with despaire and mightie griefe :
My soule beleaguerd with the crushing strength
Of sharpe impatience. Ha Lucio, goe unarm'd ?
Come soule, resume the valour of thy birth ;
My selfe, my selfe will dare all opposits :
lie muster forces, an unvanquisht power :
Cornets of horse shall presse th' ungratefull earth ;
This hollow wombed masse shall inly grone.
And murmur to sustaiue the waight of armes :
Gastly amazement, with upstarted haire,
Shall hurry on before, and usher us,
Whil'st trumpets clamour, with a sound of death.
ACT in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 33
IM. Peace, good, my Lord, your speach is al too light.
Alas, survey your fortunes, looke what 's left
Of all your forces, and your utmost hopes ?
A weake old man, a Page, and your poor selfe.
And. Andrugio lives, and a faire cause of armes, —
Why that's an armie all invincible !
He who hath that, hath a battalion
Royal, armour of proofe, huge troups of barbed steeds,
Maine squares of pikes, millions of harguebush.
0, a faire cause stands firme, and will abide.
Legions of Angels fight upon her side.
Lu. Then, noble spirit, slide, in strange disguise,
Unto some gratious Prince, and sojourne there,
Till time and fortune give revenge firme meanes.
And. No, He not trust the honour of a man,
Golde is growne great, and makes perfidiousnesse
A common water in most princes courts :
He's in the Chekle-roule : He not trust my blood ;
I know none breathing, but will cogge a dye
For twentie thousand double pistolets.
How goes the time ?
IM. I saw no sunne to day.
And. No sun wil shine, where poor Andrugio breaths •
My soule growes heavie : boy, let's have a song :
Weele sing yet, faith, even despite of fate.
CANTANT.
And. Tis a good boy, and by my troth, well sung.
0, and thou felt'st my grief e, I warrant thee,
Thou would' st have strook division to the height,
And made the life of musicke breath : hold, boy : why so ?
For Gods sake call me not Andrugio,
3
34 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT in.
That I may soone forget what I have bin.
For heavens name, name not Antonio,
That I may not remember he was mine.
Well, ere yon sunne set, He shew myselfe myselfe,
Worthy my blood. I was a Duke ; that's all.
No matter whether, but from whence we fall. [Exeunt.
^f Enter F ELI CHE walking, unbract.
Fell. Castilio? Alberto? Balurdo ? none up ?
Forobosco ? Flattery, nor thou up yet :
Then there's no courtier stirring : that's firme truth ?
I cannot sleepe : Feliche seldome rests
In these court lodgings. I have walkt all night,
To see if the nocturnall court delights
Could force me envie their felicitie :
And by plaine troth ; I will confesse plaine troth :
I envie nothing, but the Travense light.
0, had it eyes, and eares, and tongues, it might
See sport, heare speach of most strange surquedries,
0, if that candle-light were made a Poet,
He would proove a rare firking Satyrist,
And drawe the core forth of impostum'd sin.
Well, I thanke heaven yet, that my content
Can envie nothing, but poore candle-light.
As for the other glistering copper spangs,
That glisten in the tyer of the Court,
Praise God, I eyther hate, or pittie them.
Well, here ile sleepe till that the sceane of up
Is past at Court. 0 calme husht rich content,
Is there a being blessednesse without thee ?
How soft thou down'st the couch where thou dost rest, —
Nectar to life, thou sweet Ambrosian feast.
ACT in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 35
^[ jEnter CASTILIO and Ms Page : CASTILIO with a casting
bottle of sweete water in Ms hand, sprinkling Mmselfe.
Cast. Am not I a most sweete youth now?
Cat. Yes, when your throat's perfum'd ; your verie words
Doe smell of ambergreece. O stay, sir, stay ;
Sprinkle some sweete water to your shooes heeles,
That your mistresse may swear you have a sweet foot.
Cast. Good, very good, very passing passing good.
Feli. Fut, what trebble minikin squeaks there? ha? good?
very good, very very good ?
Cast. I will warble to the delicious concave of my
Mistresse eare : and strike her thoughts with
The pleasing touch of my voice.
CANTANT.
Cast. Feliche, health, fortune, mirth, and wine.
Feli. To thee my love divine.
Cast. I drinke to thee, sweeting.
Feli. Plague on thee for an asse !
Cast. Now thou hast seene the court ; by the perfec-
tion of it, dost not envie it ?
Feli. I wonder it doth not envie me.
Why, man, I have bene borne upon the spirits wings,
The soules swift Pegasus, the fantasie :
And from the height of contemplation,
Have view'd the feeble joynts men totter on.
I envie none ; but hate, or pittie all.
For when I viewe, with an intentive thought,
That creature faire, but proud : him rich, but sot :
Th'other wittie, but unmeasured arrogant :
Him great, yet boundlesse in ambition :
36 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT nr.
Him high borne, but of base life : to'ther feard ;
Yet feared feares, and fears most, to be most loved :
Him wise, but made a foole for publick use :
Th'other learned, but selfe-opinionate :
When I discourse all these, and see my selfe
Nor faire, nor rich, nor wittie, great, nor fear'd,
Yet amply suted with all full content,
Lord, how I clap my hands, and smooth my brow,
Bubbing my quiet bosome, tossing up
A gratefull spirit to Omnipotence !
Cast. Ha, ha : but if thou knew'st my happinesse,
Thou wouldst even grate away thy soule to dust,
In envy of my sweete beatitude :
I can not sleepe for kisses ; I can not rest
For ladies letters, that importune me
With such unused vehemence of love,
Straight to solicit them, that .
Fell. Confusion seize me, but I thinke thou lyest.
Why should I not be sought to then as wel ?
Fut, me thinks I am as like a man.
Troth, I have a good head of haire, a cheeke
Not as yet wan'd ; a legge, faith, in the full.
I ha not a red beard, take not tobacco much :
And S'lid, for other parts of manlinesse —
Cast. Pew waw, you nere accorted them in pompe :
Put your good parts in presence, gratiously.
Ha, and you had, why, they would ha come of, sprung
To your armes ; and su'd, and prai'd, and vow'd ;
And opened all their sweetnesse to your love.
Fell. There are a number of such things, as then
Have often urg'd me to such loose beliefe :
But S'lid, you all doe lye, you all doe lie.
ACT in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 37
I have put on good cloathes, and smugd my face,
Strook a faire wench with a smart speaking eye :
Courted in all sorts, blunt, and passionate ;
Had opportunitie put them to the ah !
And, by this light, I finde them wondrous chaste,
Impregnable ; perchance a kisse, or so :
But for the rest, O most inexorable !
Cast. Nay then ifaith, pree thee looke here.
Shewes him the superscription of a seeming letter.
Fel. To her most esteemed, lov'd, and generous servant,
Sig. Castilio Balthazar.
Pree the from whome comes this ? faith, I must see.
From her that is devoted to thee, in most private sweetes
of love; Rossaline.
Nay, God's my comfort, I must see the rest ;
I must, sans ceremonie ; faith, I must.
[Feliche takes away the letter by force.
Cast. 0, you spoyle my ruffe, unset my haire ; good,
away.
Feli. Item, for strait canvas, thirteene pence halfe penny.
Item, for an elle and a halfe of taffata to cover your olde
canvas dubblet, foureteen shillings and three pence. S'light,
this is a tailors bill.
Cast. In sooth, it is the outside of her letter, on which
I tooke the copie of a tailors bill.
Dtt. But tis not crost, I am sure of that. Lord have
mercie on him, his credit hath given up the last gaspe.
Faith, ile leave him ; for hee lookes as melancholy as a
wench the first night she . [Exit.
Feli. Honest musk-cod, twill not be so stitched to-
gether; take that, and that, and belie no ladies love:
sweare no more by Jesu : this madam, that ladie ; hence,
38 , THE FIRST PART OF [ACT m.
goe, forsweare the presence, travaile three years to bury
this bastinado : avoide, puffe paste, avoide.
Cast. And tell not my ladie mother. Well, as I am
a true gentleman, if she had not wild me on her blessing,
not to spoyle my face ; if I could not finde in my heart to
fight, would I might nere eate a potatoe pye more.
^f Enter BALURDO, backward; DILDO following Mm with
a looking-glasse in one hand, and a candle in the other
hand : FLAVIA following him backward, with a look-
ing glasse in one hand, and a candle in the other ;
KOSSALINE following her. BALURDO and EOSSA-
LINE stand setting of faces : and so the Sceane begins.
Feli. More foole, more rare fooles ! O, for time and
place, long enough, and large enough, to acte these fooles !
Here might be made a rare Scene of folly, if the plat could
beare it.
Bal. By the suger-candy sky, hold up the glasse
higher, that I may see to sweare in fashion. O, one loofe
more would ha made them shine; Gods neakes, they
would have shone like my mystresse browe. Uten so the
Duke frownes for all this cursond world : oh, that gerne
kils, it kils. By my golden — what's the richest thing about
me?
Dil. Your teeth.
Bal. By my golden teeth, hold up ; that I may put in :
hold up, I say, that I may see to put on my gloves.
Dil. 0, delicious, sweet cheekt master, if you discharge
but one glance from the levell of that set face, O, you will
strike a wench ; youle make any wench love you.
Bal. By Jesu, I think I am as elegant a Courtier,
as . How lik'st thou my suite ?
ACT in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 39
Cat. All, beyond all, no peregal : you are wondered at
for an asse.
Bal. Well, Dildo, no Christen creature shall knowe
hereafter, what I will doe for thee heretofore.
Ros. Here, wants a little white, Flavia.
Dil. I, but master, yOu have one little fault ; you sleepe
open mouth' d.
Bal. Pewe, thou jestst. In good sadnesse, He have a
looking glasse nail'd to the testarn of the bed, that I may
see when I sleep, whether tis so, or not ; take heed you
lye not : goe to, take heede you lye not.
Ila. By my troth, you looke as like the princesse, now
I, but her lip is lip is a little redder, a very
little redder : but by the helpe, of Art, or Nature, ere I
change my perewigge, mine shall be as red.
Ma. O, I, that face, that eye, that smile, that writhing
of your bodie, that wanton dandling of your fan, becoms
prethely, so sweethly, tis even the goodest Ladie that
breathes, the most amiable . Faith, the fringe of your
sattin peticote is ript. Good faith, madam, they say you
are the most bounteous Lady to your women that ever
0 most delitious beautie ! Good Madam, let me kith it.
f Enter PIE no.
Fell. Rare sport, rare sport ! A female foole, and a
female flatterer.
Ros. Bodie a mee, the Duke : away the glasse.
Pie. Take up your paper, Eossaline.
Ros. Not mine, my Lord.
Pie. Not yours, my Ladie ? lie see what tis.
Bal. And how does my sweete mistresse? 0 Ladie
cleare, even as tis an olde say, Tis an old horse can neither
40 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT in.
wighy, nor wagge his taile : even so doe I holde my set
face still : even so, tis a bad courtier that can neither dis-
course, nor blow his nose.
Pie. Meet me at Abraham's, the Jewes, where I bought
my Amazon's disguise. A shippe lies in the port, ready bound
for England; make haste, come private. ANTONIO.
^[ Enter CASTILIO, FOROBOSCO.
Forobosco, Alberto, Feliche, Castillo, Balurdo? run,
keepe the Palace, post to the ports, goe to my daugh-
ters chamber : whether now ? scud to the Jewes, stay,
runne to the gates, stop the gundolets, let none passe the
marsh, doe all at once. Antonio? his head, his head.
Keep you the Court, the rest stand still, or runne, or goe,
or shoute, or search, or scud, or call, or hang, or doe doe
doe, su su su, somthing : I know not who who who,
what I do do do, nor who who who, where I am.
0 trista traditriche, rea, ribalda fortuna,
Negando mi vindetta mi causa f era morte.
Fell. Ha ha ha ! I could breake my splene at his im-
patience.
Ant. Alma et gratiosa fortuna siate favor evole,
Etfortunati siano vuoti del mia dulce Mellida, Mellida.
Mel. Alas, Antonio, I have lost thy note !
A number mount my staires ; ile straight returne.
Fel. Antonio,
Be not affright, sweete Prince ; appease thy feare,
Buckle thy spirits up, put all thy wits
In wimble action, or thou art surpriz'd.
Ant. I care not.
Fel. Art mad, or desperate ? or .
Ant. Both, both, all, all : I pree thee let mee ly ;
Spight of you all, I can, and I will dy.
ACT in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 41
FeL You are distraught ; 0, this is madnesse breath !
Ant. Each man take hence life, but no man death :
Hee's a good fellow, and keepes open house :
A thousand thousand waies lead to his gate,
To his wide-mouth'd porch : when niggard life
Hath but one little, little wicket through.
We wring our selves into this wretched world,
To pule, and weepe, exclaime, to curse and rajle,
To fret, and ban the fates, to strike the earth,
As I doe now. Antonio, curse thy birth,
And die !
Fell. Nay, heavens my comfort, now you are perverse ;
You know I alwaies lov'd you ; pree thee live.
Wilt thou strike deade thy friends, drawe mourning teares ?
Ant. Alas, Feliche, I ha nere a friend ;
No country, father, brother, kinsman left
To weepe my fate, or sigh my funerall :
I roule but up and downe, and fill a seat
In the darke cave of dusky misery. [key,
Fell. Fore heaven, the Duke comes : hold you, take my
Slinke to my chamber, looke you ; that is it :
There shall you finde a suite I wore at sea ;
Take it, and slippe away. Nay, pretious,
If youle be peevish, by this light, He sweare,
Thou rail'dst upon thy love before thou dyedst,
And call'd her strumpet.
Ant. Sheele not credit thee.
Fel. Tut, that's all one : ile defame thy love ;
And make thy deade trunke held in vile regard.
Ant. Wilt needs have it so ? why then, Antonio,
Vive esperanza, in despetto dellfato.
42 THI IIRST PART 01 [ACT m.
^[ Enter PIERO, GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE, FOROBOSOO,
BALURDO, and CASTILIO, with weapons.
Pie. O, my sweet princes, was't not bravely found ?
Even there I found the note, even there it lay.
I kisse the place for joy, that there it lay.
This way he went, here let us make a stand :
He keepe this gate my selfe : 0 gallant youth !
He drinke carouse unto your countries health,
^ Enter ANTONIO.
Even in Antonio's scull.
Bal. Lord blesse us : his breath is more fearefull then
a sergeants voice, when he cries, I arrest.
Ant. Stoppe Antonio, keepe, keepe Antonio.
Pie. Where, where man, where ?
Ant. Here, here : let me pursue him downe the
marsh.
Pie. Hold, there's my signet, take a gundelet :
Bring me his head, his head, and, by mine honour, .
He make thee the wealthiest mariner that breathes.
Ant. He sweate my blood out, till I have him safe.
Pie. Speake heartily ifaith, good mariner.
O, wee will mount in triumph : soone at night,
He set his head up. Lets thinke where.
Bal. Up on his shoulders, that's the fittest place for it.
If it be not as fit as if it were made for them, say,
Balurdo, thou art a sot, an asse.
IF Enter MELLIDA in Pages attire, daunting.
Pie. Sprightly, ifaith. In troth he's somwhat like
My daughter Mellida : but alas poore soule,
Her honour heeles, God knowes, are halfe so light.
ACT HI.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 43
Mel. Escap't I am, spite of my fathers spight.
Pie. Ho, this will warm my bosome ere I sleepe.
^f Enter FLAVIA running.
Ma. 0 my Lord, your daughter.
Pie. I, I, my daughter's safe enough, I warrant thee.
This vengeance on the boy will lengthen out
My daies unmeasuredly.
It shall be chronicled, time to come ;
Piero Sforza slewe Andrugio's sonne.
Fla. I, but my Lord, your daughter.
Pie. I, I, my good wench, she is safe enough.
Fla. O, then, my Lord, you know she's run away.
Pie. Eun away, away, how run away ?
Ma. She's vanisht in an instante, none knowes whether.
Pie. Pursue, pursue, fly, run, post, scud away !
[FELICHE sing ; And was not good king Salomon.
Fly, call, run, rowe, ride, cry, shout, hurry, haste :
Haste, hurry, shoute, cry, ride, rowe, run, call, fly
Backward and forward, every way about.
Maldetta fortuna chy condura sorta
Che faro, eke diro, pur fugir tanto malf
Cast. Twas you that struck me even now : was it not ?
Fel. It was I that struck you even now.
Cast. You bastinadoed me, I take it.
Fel. I bastinadoed you, and you tooke it.
Cast. Faith, sir, I have the richest tobacco in the court
for you; I would be glad to make you satisfaction, if I
have wronged you. I would not the sun should set upon
your anger ; give me your handjb
Feli. Content faith, so thou'lt breed no more such lies.
I hate not man, but man's lewd qualities.
44 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT iv.
ACTUS QUARTUS.
Enter ANTONIO, in his s?a gowne running.
jTOP, stop Antonio, stay, Antonio.
Vaine breath, vaine breath, Antonio's lost;
He can not finde himselfe, not seize him-
selfe.
Alas, this that you see is not Antonio,
His spirit hovers in Piero's court,
Hurling about his agill faculties,
To apprehend the sight of Mellida :
But poore, poore soule, wanting apt instruments
To speake or see, stands dumbe and blinde, sad spirit,
Eoul'd up in gloomie clouds as black as ayer,
Through which the rustic coach of Night is drawne.
Tis so, He give you instance that tis so.
Conceipt you me. As having clasp't a rose
Within my palme, the rose being tane away,
My hand retaines a little breath of sweete :
So may man's trunke ; his spirit slipt awaie,
Holds still a faint perfume of his sweet ghest.
Tis so ; for when discursive powers flie out,
And rome in progresse through the bounds of heaven,
The soule itselfe gallops alotig with them,
As chiefetaine of this winged troope of thought,
Whilst the dull lodge of spirit standeth waste,
ACT iv.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 45
Untill the soule returne from . What wast I said ?
O, this is naught, but speckling melancholic.
I have beene —
That Morpheus tender skinp — Cosen germane
Beare with me good —
Mellida : clod upon clod thus fall.
Hell is beneath ; yet heaven is over all.
^f Enter ANDRUGIO, Lucio, COLE, and NORWOD.
And. Come, Lucio, lets goe eat : what hast thou got ?
Bootes, rootes ? alas, they are seeded, new cut up.
O, thou hast wrong'd Nature, Lucio :
But bootes not much ; thou but pursu'st the world,
That cuts off vertue, fore it comes to growth,
Least it should seed, and so orerun her sonne,
Dull pore-blind error. Give me water, boy.
There is no poison in't I hope, they say
That lukes in massie plate : and yet the earth
Is so infected with a generall plague,
That hee's most wise, that thinks there's no man foole :
Right prudent, that esteemes no creature just :
Great policy the least things to mistrust.
Give me Assay . How we mock greatnesse now !
Lu. A strong conceit is rich, so most men deeme.
If not to be, tis comfort yet to seeme.
And. Why man, I never was a Prince till now.
Tis not the bared pate, the bended knees,
Guilt tipstaves, Tyrrian purple, chaires of state,
Troopes of pide butterflies, that nutter still
In greatnesse summer, that confirme a prince :
Tis not the unsavory breath of multitudes,
Showting and clapping, with confused dinne ;
46 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT iv.
That makes a prince. No, Lucio, he's a king,
A. true right king, that dares doe aught, save wrong,
Feares nothing mortall, but to be unjust,
Who is not blowne up with the nattering puffes
Of spungy sycophants : Who stands unmov'd,
Despight the justling of opinion :
Who can enjoy himselfe, maugre the throng
That strive to presse his quiet out of him :
Who sits upon Jove's footestoole, as I doe,
Adoring, not affecting, majestic :
Whose brow is wreathed with the silver crowne
Of cleare content : this, Lucio, is a king.
And of this empire, every man's possest,
That's worth his soule.
Lu. My Lord, the Genowaies had wont to say —
And. Name not the Genowaies : that very word
Unkings me quite, makes me vile passions slave.
O, you that made open the glibbery ice
Of vulgar favour, viewe Andrugio.
Was never prince with more applause confirm'd,
With louder shouts of tryumph launched out
Into the surgy maine of government :
Was never Prince with more despight cast out,
Left shipwrackt, banisht, on more guiltlesse ground.
Q rotten props of the craz'd multitude,
How you stil double, faulter, under the lightest chance
That straines your vaines. Alas, one battle lost, [shouts,
Your whorish love, your drunken healths, your houts and
Your smooth God save's, and all your divels last,
That tempts our quiet, to your hell of throngs.
Spit on me, Lucio, for I am turned slave :
Observe how passion domineres ore me.
ACT iv.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 47
Lu. No wonder, noble Lord, having lost a sonne,
A country, crowne, and .
And. I, Lucio, having lost a sonne, a sonne,
A country, house, crowne, sonne. 0 lares, misereri lares.
Which shall I first deplore ? My sonne, my sonne,
My deare sweete boy, my deare Antonio.
Ant. Antonio.
And. I, eccho, I ; I meane Antonio.
Ant. Antonio, who means Antonio ?
And. Where art ? what art ? know'st thou Antonio ?
Ant. Yes.
And. Lives hee ?
Ant. No.
And. Where lies hee deade ?
Ant. Here.
And. Where?
Ant. Here.
And. Art thou Antonio ?
Ant. I thinke I am.
And. Dost thou but think ? What dost not know thy
selfe?
Ant. He is a foole that thinks he knowes himselfe.
And. Upon thy faith to heaven, give thy name.
Ant. I were not worthy of Andrugio's blood,
If I denied my name's Antonio.
And. I were not worthy to be call'd thy father,
If I denied my name Andrugio.
And dost thou live ? 0, let me kisse thy cheeke,
And deaw thy browe with trickling drops of joy.
Now heavens will be done : for I have lived
To see my joy, my sonne Antonio.
Give me thy hand ; now fortune doe thy worst,
48 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT iv.
His blood, that lapt thy spirit in the wombe,
Thus (in his love) will make his armes thy tombe.
Ant. Blesse not the bodie with your twining armes,
Which is accurst of heaven. 0, what black sinne
Hath bin committed by our auntient house,
Whose scalding vengeance lights upon our heads,
That thus the world, and fortune casts us out,
As loathed objects, ruines branded slaves.
And. Doe not expostulate the heavens will :
But, O, remember to forget thy selfe :
Forget remembrance what thou once hast bin.
Come, creepe with me from out this open ayre.
Even trees have tongues, and will betray our life.
I am a raising of our house, my boye :
Which fortune will not envie, tis so meane,
And like the world (all durt) there shalt thou rippe
The inwards of thy fortunes, in mine eares,
Whilst I sit weeping, blinde with passions teares :
Then ile begin, and weele such order keepe,
That one shall still tell greefes, the other weepe.
[Exit Andrugio, leaving Antonio, and his Page.
Ant. Ile follow you. Boy, pree thee stay a little.
Thou hast had a good voice, if this colde marshe,
Wherein we lurke, have not corrupted it.
^] Enter MELLIDA, standing out of sight, in her Pages suite.
I pree thee sing, but sirta (marke you me)
Let each note breath the heart of passion,
The sad extracture of extreamest grief e.
Make me a straine ; speake, groning like a bell,
That towles departing soules.
Breath me a point that may inforce me weepe,
ACT iv.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 49
To wring my hands, to breake my cursed breast,
Eave, and exclaime, lie groveling on the earth,
Straight start up frantick, crying, Mellida !
Sing but, Antonio hath lost Mellida,
And thou shalt see mee (like a man possestr)
Howie out such passion, that even this brinish marsh
Will squease out teares from out his spungy cheekes :
The rocks even groane, and —
Free thee, pree thee sing :
Or I shall nere ha done when I am in,
Tis harder for me end, then to begin.
\The Boy runnes a note, Antonio breaJces it.
For looke thee, boy, my griefe that hath no end,
I may begin to playne, but pree thee sing.
CANTANT.
Mel. Heaven keep you, sir !
Ant. Heaven keepe you from me, sir !
Mel. I must be acquainted with you, sir.
Ant. Wherefore ? Art thou infected with misery,
Sear'd with the anguish of calamitie ?
Art thou true sorrow, hearty griefe ? canst weepe ?
I am not for thee if thou canst not rave,
[Antonio falls on the ground.
Fall flat on the ground, and thus exclaime on heaven ;
0 trifling Nature, why enspiredst thou breath ?
Mel. Stay, sir, I thinke you named Mellida.
Ant. Know'st thou Mellida ?
Mel. Yes.
Ant. Hast thou seene Mellida ?
Mel. Yes.
Ant. Then hast thou seene the glory of her sex,
4
50 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT iv.
The musick of Nature, the unequall'd lustre
Of unmatched excellence, the united sweete
Of heavens graces, the most adored beautie,
That ever strooke amazement in the world !
Mel. You seeme to love her.
Ant. With my very soule.
Mel. Shele not requite it : all her love is nxt
Upon a gallant, on Antonio,
The Duke of Genoas sonne. I was her page :
And often as I waited, she would sigh ;
0, deere Antonio ! and to strengthen thought,
Would clip my neck, and kisse, and kisse me thus.
Therefore leave loving her : fa, faith me thinks
Her beautie is not halfe so ravishing
As you discourse of; she hath a freckled face,
A lowe forehead, and a lumpish eye.
Ant. O heaven, that I should heare such blasphemie !
Boy, rogue, thou liest ! and
Spavento dell mio core dolce Mellida,
Di grava morte restore vero dolce MeUida,
Celesta salvatrice sovrana Mellida
Del mio sperar ; trofeo vero Mellida.
Mel, Diletta e soave anima mia Antonio,
Godevole belezza cortese Antonio.
Signior mio e vir.ginal amore bell' Antonio
Gusto delli mei sensi, car' Antonio.
Ant. 0 suamisce il cor in un soave baccio,
Mel. Murono i sensi nel desiato dessio :
Ant. Nel Cielo puo lesser belta pia ckiara ?
Mel. Nel mondo pol esser belta pia chiara ?
Ant. Dammi un baccio da quella bocca beata,
ACT iv.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 51
Bassiammi, coglier Vaura odorata
Che in sua neggia in yuello dolce labra.
Mel. Dammipimpero del tuo gradit' amore
Che lea me, cosempiterno honore,
Cosi, cost mi converra morir.
Good sweet, scout ore the marsh : for my heart trembles
At every little breath that strikes my eare.
When thou returnest, then ile discourse
How I deceiv'd the court : then thou shall tell
How thou escapt'st the watch : weele point our speech
With amorous kissing, kissing commaes, and even suck
The liquid breath from out each others lips.
Ant. Dul clod, no man but such sweete favour clips.
I goe, and yet my panting blood perswades me stay.
Turne cowarde in her sight ? away, away !
IMC. I thinke confusion of Babell is falne upon those
lovers, that they change their language ; but I feare mee,
my master having but fained the person of a woman, hath
got their unfained imperfection, and is growne double
tongu'd : as for Mellida, she were no woman, if shee could
not yeelde strange language. But howsoever, if I should
sit in judgement, tis an errour easier to be pardoned by
the auditors, then excused by the authours; and yet
some private respect may rebate the edge of the keener
censure.
^f Enter PIERO, CASTILIO, MATZAGENTE, FOROBOSCO,
FELICHE, G-ALEATZO, BALURDO, and his Page, at
another dore.
Pie. This way shee took : search, my sweet gentlemen.
How now, Balurdo, canst thou meete with any body ?
Bal. As I am a true gentleman, I made my horse
52 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT iv.
sweat, that he hath nere a dry thread on him : and I can
meete with no living creature, but men and beastes. In
good sadnesse, I would have sworne I had seene Mellida
even now : for I sawe a thing stirre under a hedge, and I
peep't, and I spyed a thing : and I peer'd, and I tweerd
underneath : and truly a right wise man might have beene
deceived : for it was .
fie. What, in the name of heaven ?
Bal. A dun cowe.
Feli. Sh'ad nere a kettle on her head ?
Pie. Boy, didst thou see a yong lady passe this way ?
Gal. Why speake you not ?
Bal. Gods neakes, proude elfe, give the Duke reverence,
stand bare with a .
Whogh ! heavens bless me : Mellida, Mellida !
Pie. Where man, where ?
Bal. Turnd man, turnd man : women weare the breaches,
loe here !
Pie. Light and unduteous ! kneele not, peevish elfe,
Speake not, entreate not, shame unto my house,
Curse to my honour. Where's Antonio ?
Thou traitresse to my hate, what is he shipt
For England now ? well, whimpering harlot, hence !
Mel. Good father!
Pie. Good me no goods. Seest thou that sprightly
youth? ere thou canst tearme to morrow morning old,
thou shalt call him thy husband, lord, and love.
Mel. Ay me.
Pie. Blirt on your ay mees, gard her safely hence.
Drag her away, ile be your gard to night.
Young Prince, mount up your spirits, and prepare
To solemnise your nuptials eve with pompe.
ACT iv.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 53
Gal. The time is scant : now nimble wits appeare :
Phoebus begins gleame, the welkin's cleare.
[Exeunt all, but Balurdo and his Page.
Bal. Now nimble wits appeare : ile my selfe appeare,
Balurdo's selfe, that in quick wit doth surpasse,
Will shew the substance of a compleat .
Dil. Asse, asse.
Bal. lie mount my courser, and most gallantly prick .
Dil. Gallantly prick is too long, and stands hardly in
the verse, sir.
Bal. lie speake pure rime, and will so bravely pranke
it, that ile tosse love like a pranke, prarike it : a rime fo/
pranke it ?
Dil. Blankit.
Bal. That ile tosse love, like a dogge in a blanket : ha
ha, in deede law. I thinke, ha ha ; I thinke, ha ha, I
think I shall tickle the Muses. And I strike it not deade,
say, Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.
Dil. Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.
^f Enter ANDRDGIO and ANTONIO wreathed togetlier>
Lucio.
And. Now, come, united force of chap-falne death :
Come, power of fretting anguish, leave distresse.
O, thus infoulded, we have breasts of proofe
Gainst all the venom'd stings of misery.
Ant. Father, now I have an antidote
Gainst all the poyson that the world can breath :
My Mellida, my Mellida doth blesse
This bleak waste with her presence. How now, boy,
Why dost thou weepe ? alas ! where's Mellida ?
Ant. Ay me, my Lord.
54 THE IIRST PART OF [ACT iv.
And. A sodden horror doth invade my blood,
My sinewes tremble, and my panting heart
Scuds round about my bosome to goe out,
Dreading the assailant, horrid passion.
O, be no tyrant, kill me with one blowe.
Speake quickly, briefely, boy.
Pa. Her father found, and seis'd her ; she is gone.
And. Son, heat thy bloode, be not frose up with grief.
Courage, sweet boy, sinke not beneath the waight
Of crushing mischiefe. 0 where's thy dantlesse heart,
Thy fathers spirit ! I renounce thy blood,
If thou forsake thy valour.
IM. See how his grief speakes in his slow-pac't steps :
Alas, tis more than he can utter, let him goe.
Dumbe solitary path best suteth woe.
And. Give me my armes, my armour, Lucio. [use
IM. Deare Lord, what means this rage, when lacking
Scarce safes your life, will you in armour rise ?
And. Fortune feares valour, presseth cowardize.
Lu. Then valour gets applause, when it hath place,
And meanes to blaze it.
And. Nunquam potest non esse.
IM. Patience, my lord, may bring your ils some end.
Ant. What patience, friend, can ruin'd hopes attend ?
Come, let me die like old Andrugio :
Worthy my birth. 0 blood-true-honor'd graves
Are farre more blessed then base life of slaves. [Exeunt.
ACT v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 55
ACTUS QUINT US.
Enter BALURDO, a Painter with two pictures, and
DILDO.
are y°u a Pamter ? sir> can y°u drawe,
can you drawe ?
Pa. Yes sir.
Bal. Indeede, lawe ! now so can my fathers forehorse.
And are these the workmanshippe of your hands ?
Pa. I did lymne them.
Bal. Lymne them ? a good word, lymne them : whose
picture is this? Anno Domini 1599. Beleeve me, master
Anno Domini was of a good settled age when you lymn'd
him. 1599 yeares old? Lets see the other. Etatis sues
24. Bir Ladie, he is somewhat younger. Belike master
Etatis SUBS was Anno Dominies sonne.
Pa. Is not your master a
Dil. He hath a little proclivitie to him.
Pa. Proclivitie, good youth? I thank you for your
courtly proclivitie.
Bal. Approach, good sir. I did send for you to drawe
me a devise, an Imprezza, by Sinecdoche a Mott. By
Phoebus crymson taffata mantle, I thinke I speake as
melodiously, — looke you, sir, how thinke you on't? I
wold have you paint mee, for my device, a good fat legge
56 THE IIRST PART OF [ACT v.
of ewe mutton, swimming in stewde broth of plummes
(boy, keele your mouth, it runnes over) and the word shall
be, Holde my dish, whilst I spill my pottage. Sure, in
my conscience, twould be the most sweete device, now.
Pa. Twould sent of kitchin- stuff e too much.
Bal. Gods neakes, now I remember mee, I ha the rarest
devise in my head that ever breathed. Can you paint me
a driveling reeling song, and let ths word be, Uh.
Pa. A belch.
Bal. O, no no : Uh, paint me uh, or nothing.
Pa. It can not be done, sir, but by a seeming kind of
drunkennesse.
Bal. No ? well, let me have a good massie ring, with
your owne poesie graven in it, that must sing a small
trebble, worde for word, thus ;
And if you will my true lover be,
Comefollowe me to the greene wodde.
Pa. 0 Lord, sir, I can not make a picture sing, [sweet ;
Bal. Why? z'lid, I have seen painted things sing as
But I hav't will tickle it, for a conceipt ifaith.
If Enter FELICHE and ALBERTO.
Alb. O deare Fetiche, give me thy device.
How shall I purchase love of Kossatine ?
Feli. S'will, flatter her soundly.
Alb. Her love is such, I can not flatter her :
But with my utmost vehemence of speach,
I have ador'd her beauties.
Feli. Hast writ good moving unaffected rimes to her ?
Alb. 0, yes, Fetiche, but she scornes my writ.
Fell Hast thou presented her with sumptuous gifts ? /
ACT v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 57
A16. Alas, my fortunes are too weake to offer them.
Fell. O, then I have it, He tell thee what to doe.
Alb. What, good Feliche ?
Fell. Goe and hang thy selfe ; I say, goe hang thy selfe,
If that thou canst not give, goe hang thy selfe :
lie time thee dead, or verse thee to the rope.
How thinkst thou of a poet that sung thus :
Munera sola pacant, sola addunt munera formam :
Munere solicites Pallada, Cypris erit.
Munera, munera.
Alb. He goe and breath my woes unto the' rocks,
And spend my griefe upon the deafest seas.
He weepe my passion to the senselesse trees,
And loade most solitarie ayre with plaints.
For wods, trees, sea, or rocky Appenine,
Is not so ruthlesse as my Kossaline.
Farewell, deare friend, expect no more of mee,
Here ends my part, in this loves Comedy.
[JExit Alberto. Exit Paynter.
Fell. Now, master Balurdo, whether are you going, ha ?
Bal. Signior Feliche, how doe you, faith, and by my
troth, how doe you ?
Fell. Whether art thou going, bully ?
Bal. And as heaven helpe mee, how doe you ?
How, doe you ifaith he ?
Fell. Whether art going, man ?
Bal. 0 God, to the court ; ile be willing to give you
grace and good countnance, if I may but see you in the
presence.
Fell. O, to court ? farewell.
Bal. If you see one in a yellow taffata dubblet, cut
upon carnation velure, a greene hat, a blewe paire of
58 THE IIRST PART OF [ACT v.
velvet hose, a gilt rapier, and an orenge tawny pair of
worsted silk stockings, thats I, thats I.
Feli. Very good, farewell.
Bal. Ho, you shall knowe me as easily ; I ha bought
mee a newe greene feather with a red sprig ; you shall see
my wrought shirt hang out at rny breeches ; you shall
know me.
Fell. Very good, very good, farewell.
Bal. Manic, in the maske twill be somewhat harde.
But if you heare any bodie speake so wittily, that hee
makes all the roome laugh ; that's I, that's I. Farewell,
good Signior.
^f Enter FOKOBOSCO, CASTILIO, a Boy carrying a gilt
karpe : PIERO, MELLIDA in night apparrell, KOSSA-
LINE, FLA VIA, two Pages.
Pie. Advance the musiques prize ; now, capring wits,
Rise to your highest mount ; let choyce delight
Garland the browe of this tryumphant night.
Sfoote, a sits like Lucifer himselfe.
Ros. Good sweete Duke, first let their voyces strain for
musicks price. Give mee the golden harpe : faith with
your favour, ile be umperesse.
Pie. Sweete neece, content : boyes, cleare your voice and
sing.
1. CANTAT.
Ros. By this goulde, I had rather have a servant with a
short nose, and a thinne haire, than have such a high
stretcht minikin voice.
Pie. Faire neece, your reason ?
Ros. By the sweete of love, I should feare extreamely
that he were an eunuch.
ACT v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 59
Cas. Sparke spirit, how like you his voice ?
Ros. Spark spirit, how like you his voice ?
So helpe me, youth, thy voice squeakes like a dry cork
shoe : come, come ; lets heare the next.
2. CANTAT.
Pie. Trust me, a stronge meane. Well sung, my boy.
^f Enter BALUKDO.
Bal. Hold, hold, hold : are yee blind ? could ye not see
my voice comming for the harpe ? And I knock not divi-
sion on the head, take hence the harpe, make mee a slip,
and let me goe but for nine pence. Sir Marke, strike up
for master Balurdo.
3. CANTAT.
Judgement, gentlemen, judgement. Wast not above line ?
I appeale to your mouthes that heard my song.
Doe me right, and dub me knight, Balurdo.
Ros. Kneele downe, and ile dub thee knight of the
golden harpe.
Bal. Indeed law, doe, and ile make you ladie of the
silver fiddlestick.
Ros. Come, kneele, kneele.
^f Enter a Page to BALUEDO.
Bal. My troth, I thank you, it hath never a whistle in't.
Ros. Naie, good sweet cuz, raise up your drooping eies ;
and I were at the point of To have and to hold, from this
day forward, I would be asham'd to looke thus lumpish.
What, my prettie cuz, tis but the losse of an od maiden-
60 THE IIRST PART OF [ACT v.
head : shall's daunce ? thou art so sad, harke in mine eare.
I was about to say, but ile forbeare.
£al. I come, I come; more then most hunny-suckle
sweete ladies, pine not for my presence, ile returne in
pompe. Well spoke, sir Jeffrey Balurdo. As I am a true
knight, I feele honourable eloquence begin to grope mee
alreadie. \_Exit.
Pie. Faith, mad neece, I wonder when thou wilt marrie ?
Ros. Faith, kinde uncle, when men abandon jelosy,
forsake taking of tobacco, and cease to weare their beardes
so rudely long. Oh, to have a husband with a mouth
continually smoaking, with a bush of furs on the ridge of
his chinne, readie still to flop into his foming chaps ; ah,
tis more than most intollerable.
Pie. Nay faith, sweete neece, I was mightie strong in
thought we should have shut up night with an olde
comedie : the Prince of Millane shall have Mellida, and
thou shouldst have .
Ros. No -bodie, good sweete uncle. I tell you, sir, I
have thirty-nine servants, and my munkey that makes the
fortieth. Now I love al of them lightly for something, but
affect none of them seriously for anything. One's a pas-
sionate foole, and hee flatters mee above beliefe : the
second's a teastie ape, and hee railes at mee beyond rea-
son : the third's as grave as some Censor, and hee strokes
up his mustachoes three times, and makes six plots of
set faces, before he speakes one wise word : the fourth's
as dry as the burre of an heartichoke ; the fifth paints,
and hath alwaies a good colour for what hee speakes : the
sixt .
Pie. Stay, stay, sweet neece, what makes you thus sus-
pect young gallants worth ?
ACT v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 61
Eos. Oh, when I see one were a perewig, I dreade his
haire ; another wallowe in a greate sloppe, I mistrust the
proportion of his thigh ; and weares a ruffled boot, I feare
the fashion of his legge. Thus, something in each thing,
one tricke in every thing makes me mistrust imperfection
in all parts ; and there's the full point of my addiction.
The Cornets sound a cynet.
«[[ Enter GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE, and BALURDO in
maskery.
Pie. The roome's too scant : boyes, stand in there,
close.
Mel. In faithe, faire sir, I am too sad to daunce.
Pie. How's that, how's that ? too sad ? By heaven,
And grace him to, or, goe to, — I say no more. [dance,
Mel. A burning glasse, the word splendente Phcebo ?
Tis too curious, I conceipt it not.
Gal. Faith, ile tel thee. He no longer burne, then
youle shine and smile upon my love. For looke yee, fairest,
by your pure sweets,
I doe not dote upon your excellence.
And faith, unlesse you shed your brightest beames
Of sunny favour, and acceptive grace
Upon my tender love, I doe not burne :
Marry but shine, and ile reflect your beames,
With fervent ardor. Faith! I wuld be loath to natter
thee, faire soule, because I love, not doat, court like thy
husband, which thy father sweares, to morrowe morne, I
must be. This is all ; and now from henceforth, trust me,
Mellida, lie not speake one wise word to thee more.
Mel. I trust yee.
Gal. By my troth, lie speak pure foole to thee now.
62 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT v.
Mel. You will speake the liker your selfe.
Gal. Good faith, He accept of the cockescombe, so you
will not refuse the bable.
Mel. Nay, good sweet, keepe them both; I am ena-
mour'd of neither.
Gal. Goe to, I must take you downe for this. Lende
me your eare.
Ros. A glowe worme ? the word, — Splendescit tantum
tenebris.
Mat. 0, ladie, the glowe worme figurates my valour,
which shineth brightest in most darke, dismal, and horrid
achievements.
Ros. Or rather, your glowe worme represents your wit,
which only seems to have fire in it, though indeed tis
but an ignis fatuus, and shines onely in the darke, deade
night of fooles admiration.
Mat. Ladie, my wit hath spurs, if it were dispos'd to
ride you.
Ros. Eaith, sir, your wits spurs have but walking
rowels ; dull, blunt, they will not drawe blood : the gentle-
men ushers may admit them the presence, for anie wrong
they can doe to ladies.
Bal. Tmely, I have strained a note above Ela for a
devise ; looke you, tis a faire rul'd singing booke : the
word, Perfect, if it were prickt.
Ma. Though you are mask't, I can guesse who you are
by your wit. You are not the exquisite Balurdo, the most
rarely shap't Balurdo.
Bal. Who, I ? No, I am not Sir Jeffrey Balurdo. I
am not as well knowne by my wit as an alehouse by a
red lattice. I am not worthy to love and be beloved of
Flavia.
ACT v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 63
Fla. I will not scorne to favour such good parts as are
applauded in your rarest selfe.
Bal. Truely, you speake wisely, and like a jantlewoman
of foureteene yeares of age. You know the stone called
lapis ; the nearer it comes to the fire, the hotter it is :
and the bird, which the geometricians cal avis, the farther
it is from the earth, the nearer it is to the heaven ; and
love, the nigher it is to the flame, the more remote (ther's
a word, remote), the more remote it is from the frost.
Your wit is quicke ; a little thinge pleaseth a young ladie,
and a smal favour contenteth an ould courtier ; and so,
sweete mistresse, I trusse my codpeece point.
^f Enter EELICHE.
Pie. What might import this florish ? Bring us word.
Fell. Stand away : here's such a companie of flibotes,
hulling about this galleasse of greatnesse, that there's no
boarding him.
Doe you heare yon thing calTd duke ?
Pie. How now, blunt Feliche ; what's the newes ?
Feli. Yonder's a knight, hath brought Andrugio's head,
and craves admittance to your chaire of state.
^[ Cornets sound a cynet. Enter ANDRUGIO, in armour.
Pie. Conduct liim with attendance sumptuous ;
Sound all the pleasing instruments of joy ;
Make tryumph stand on tiptoe whil'st we meete :
O sight most gratious, O revenge most sweete !
And. TTe vowe, by the honour of our birth, to recompence
any man that bringeth Andrugio's head, with twentie thou-
sand double pistolets, and the endeering to our choysest love.
Pie. We still with most unmov'd resolv'd confirme
Our large munificence : and here breath
64 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT v.
A sad and solemne protestation :
When I recall this vowe, 0, let our house
Be even commaunded, staind, and trampled on,
As worthlesse rubbish of nobilitie.
And. Then here, Piero, is Andrugio's head,
Boyally casked in a helme of steele :
Give me thy love, and take it. My dauntlesse soule
Hath that unbounded vigor in his spirits
That it can beare more ranke indignitie,
With lesse impatience than thy cancred hate
Can sting and venome his untainted worth
With the most viperous sound of malice. Strike ;
O, let no glimse of honour light thy thoughts,
If there be any heat of royall breath
Creeping in thy vaines, O stifle it.
Be still thy selfe, bloodie and trecherous.
Fame not thy house with an admired acte
Of princely pittie. Piero, I am come
To soyle thy house with an eternall blot
Of savage crueltie ; strike, or bid me strike.
I pray my death ; that thy nere dying shame
Might live immortall to posteritie.
Come, be a princely hangman, stoppe my breath.
0 dread thou shame, no more then I dread death.
Pie. "We are amaz'd, our royall spirits numrn'd,
In stifte astonisht wonder at thy prowesse,
Most mightie, valiant, and high towring heart.
We blush, and turne our hate upon our selves,
For hating such an unpeer'd excellence.
1 joy my state : him whome I loath'd before,
That now I honour, love, nay more, adore.
[The still flutes sound a monrnfull cynet. Enter a cofin.
ACT v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 65
But stay ; what tragic spectacle appeares !
Whose bodie beare you in that mournefull hearse ?
IM. The breathlesse trunke of young Antonio.
Mel. Antonio (aye me), my lord ! my love ! my .
And. Sweete pretious issue of most honor'd blood,
Bich hope, ripe vertue, 0 untimely Ipsse !
Come hither, friend. Pree thee, doe not weepe.
Why, I am glad hee's deade ; he shall not see
His fathers vanquisht by his enemie.
Even in princely honour ; nay, pree thee, speake !
How dy'd the wretched boy ?
IM. My lord !
And. I hope he dyed yet like my sonne, ifaith.
Lu. Alas, my lord !
And. He died unfor4, I trust, and valiantly.
IM. Poore gentleman, being
And. Did his hand shake, or his eye looke dull,
His thoughts reele, fearefull when he struck the stroke ?
And if they did, He rend them out the hearse,
Eip up his cearecloth, mangle his bleake face,
That when he comes to heaven, the powers divine
Shall nere take notice that he was my sonne.
He quite disclaime his birth. Nay, pree thee, speake :
And twere not hoopt with steele, my brest wold break.
Mel. 0 that my spirit in a sigh could mount
Into the spheare, where thy sweet soule doth rest !
Pie. 0 that my teares, bedeawing thy wan cheeke,
Gould make new spirit sprout in thy could blood !
Bal. Verely, he lookes as pittifully as a poore John ; as
I am true knight, I could weepe like a ston'd horse.
And. Villaine, tis thou hast murdred my sonne !
Thy unrelenting spirit (thou black dogge,
66 THE FIRST PART OF [ACT v.
That took'st no passion of his fatall love)
Hath forst him give his life untimely end.
Pie. Oh ! that my life, her love, my dearest blood
Would but redeeme one minute of his breath !
Ant. I seize that breath. Stand not amaz'd, great states :
I rise from death that never liv'd till now.
Piero, keepe thy vowe, and I enjoy
More unexpressed height of happinesse
Then power of thought can reach ; if not, loe here
There stands my toumbe, and here a pleasing stage :
Most wisht spectators of my tragedie,
To this end have I fain'd, that her faire eye,
For whom I liv'd, might blesse me ere I die.
Mel. Can breath depaint my unconceived thoughts ?
Can words describe my infinite dejight
Of seeing thee, my lord Antonio ?
0 no ; conceipt, breath, passion, words, be dumbe,
Whilst I instill the deawe of my sweete blisse,
In the soft pressure of a melting kisse I
Sic, sic juvatire sub umbras.
Pie. Faire sonne (now He be proud to call thee sonne),
Enjoy me thus : my verie breast is thine ;
Possesse me freely, I am wholly thine.
Ant. Deare father.
And. Sweet son, sweet son, I can speake no more :
My joyes passion flowes above the shoare,
And choakes the current of my speach.
Pie. Young Florence prince, to you my lips must beg
For a remittance of your interest.
Gal. In your faire daughter, with all my thought,
So helpe me faith, the naked truth He unfold ;
He that was nere hot will soone be cold.
Pie. No man els makes claime unto her ?
ACT v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 67
Mat. The valiant speake truth in briefe : no —
Bal. Trulie, for Sir Jeffrey Balurdo, he disclaimes to have
had anie thing in her.
Pie. Then here I give her to Antonio.
Royall, valiant, most respected prince,
Let's clippe our hands ; He thus observe my vowe :
I promised twenty thousand double pistolets,
With the indeering to my dearest love,
To him that brought thy head ; thine be the golde,
To solemnize our houses unitie ;
My love be thine, the all I have be thine.
Fill us fresh wine, the forme weele take by this ;
Weele drinke a health, while they two sip a kisse.
Now there remaines no discord that can sound
Harsh accents to the eare of our accord :
So please your neece to match.
Ros. Troth, uncle, when my sweet fac't cuz hath tolde
me how she likes the thing called wedlock, may be He
take a survey of the checkroll of my servants ; and he that
hath the best parts of, He pricke him downe for my
husband.
Bal. For passion of love now, remember me to my
mistresse, lady Eossaline, when she is pricking down the
good parts of her servants. As I am true knight, I grow
stiffe.; I shall carry it.
Pie. I will.
Sound Lidian wires, once make a pleasing note,
On Nectar streames of your sweete ayres, to note.
Ant. Here ends the comick crosses of true love ;
Oh ! may the passage most succesfull prove !
IINIS.
EP IL O G US.
ENTLEMEN, though I remaine an armed Epilogue,
I stand not as a peremptory chalenger of desert,
either for him that composed the Comedy, or for us that
acted it ; but a most submissive supplyant for both. What
imperfection you have seene in us, leave with us, and weele
amend it ; what hath pleased you, take with you, and cherish
it. You shall not be more ready to embrace anything com-
mendable, then we will endeavour to amend all things
reproveable. What we are, is by your favour. What we
shall be, rests all in your applausive incouragements.
[Exit.
ANTONIOS REVENGE.
The Second Part of the Historic of
ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.
ANTONIOS REVENGE.
1 THE PROLOGUE.
[E rawish danke of clumzie winter ramps
The fluent summers vaine ; and drizling sleete
Chilleth the wan bleak cheek of the numd earth}
Whilst snarling gusts nibble the juyceles leaves,
From the nak't shuddring branch ; and pils the skinne
From off the soft and delicate aspectes.
O now, me thinks, a sullen tragick sceane
Would suite the time, with pleasing congruence.
May we be happie in our weake devoyer,
And all parte pleas'd in most wisht content ;
But sweate of Hercules can nere beget
So blest an issue. Therefore, we proclaime,
If any spirit breathes within this round,
Uncapable of waightie passion
(As from his birth, being hugged in the armes,
And nuzzled twixt the breastes of happinesse),
Who winkes, and shuts his apprehension up
From common sense of what men were, and are,
Who would not knowe what men must be — let such
Hurrie amaine from our black visag'd showes :
72 THF SECOND PART OF [PROLOGUE.
We shall affright their eyes. But if a breast
Nail'd to the earth with griefe, if any heart
Pierc't through with anguish pant within this ring,
If there be any blood whose heate is choakt
And stifled with true sense of misery,
If ought of these straines fill this consort up —
TV arrive most welcome. 0 that our power
Could lackie or keepe wing with our desires,
That with unused paize of stile and sense,
We might waigh massy in judicious scale.
Yet heere 's the prop that doth support our hopes,
When our sceanes falter, or invention halts,
Your favour will give crutches to our faults. [Exit.
ACT i.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 73
ACTUS PRIMUS.
SCENA PKIMUS.
^[ Enter PIERO, unbrac't, his armes bare, smeer'd in blood,
a poniard in one hand bloodie, and a torch in the
other ; STROTZO, following him with a corde.
Pie. jffl JilSlKO' Gasper Strotzo, binde Feliches trunke
Unto the panting side of Mellida. [Exit Str.
'Tis yet dead night, yet al the earth is cloucht
In the dull leaden hand of snoring sleepe.
No breath disturbs the quiet of the ayre,
No spirit moves upon the breast of earth,
Save howling dogs, night crowes, and screeching owls,
Save meager ghosts, Piero, and black thoughts.
One, two. Lord, in two houres what a toplesse mount
Of unpeer'd mischiefe have these hands cast up !
^[ Enter STROTZO.
I can scarce coope triumphing vengeance up
From bursting forth in bragart passion.
Str. My lord, 'tis firmely saide that .
Pie. Andrugio sleepes in peace : this braine hath choakt
The organ of his breast. Feliche hangs
But as a baite upon the line of death,
To tice on mischiefe. I am great in blood,
Unequald in revenge. You horrid scouts
That centinell swart night, give lowde applause
From your large palms. First know, my hart was rais'd
"Unto Andrugios life upon this ground.
74 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT I.
Sir. Duke, 'tis reported
Pie. We both were rivals in our May of blood.
Unto Maria, faire Ferraras heire.
He wan the laclie to my honours death,
And from her sweetes cropt this Antonio ;
For which I burnt in inward sweltring hate,
And festred rankling malice in my breast,
Till I might belke revenge upon his eyes :
And now (0 blessed now !) 'tis done. Hell, night,
Give lowde applause to my hypocrisie.
When his bright valour even dazled sense,
In offring his owne heade, publick reproach
Had blurd my name. Speake, Strotzo, had it not ?
I had If then
Sir. It had, so please
Pie. What had so please ? Unseasoned sycophant,
Piero Sforza is no nummed lord,
Senselesse of all true touch ; stroake not the head
Of infant speach, till it be duly borne ;
Goe to.
Sir. How now ! Fut, He not smother your speach.
Pie. Nay, right thine eyes : twas but a little spleene ;
(Huge plunge !
Sinn's growne a slave, and must observe slight evils ;
Huge villaines are inforc't to clawe all divels.)
Pish, sweete thy thoughts and give me .
Str. Stroake not the heade of infant speach ! Goe to !
Pie. Nay, calme this storme. I ever held thy breast
More secret, and more firme in league of blood,
Then to be struck in heate with each slight puffe.
Give me thy eares ; huge infamie
Presse downe my honour ; if even then, when
sc. I.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 75
His fresh act of prowesse bloom'd out full,
I had tane vengeance on his hated head .
Str. Why it had .
Pie. Could I avoyde to give a seeming graunt
Unto fruition of Antonios love ?
Sir. No.
Pie. And didst thou ever see a Judas kisse,
With a more covert touch of fleering hate ?
Sir. No.
Pie. And having dipt them with pretence of love,
Have I not erush't them with a cruell wring ?
Str. Yes.
Pie. Say, faith, didst thou ere heare, or reade, or see
Such happie vengeance, unsuspected death ?
That I should drop strong poyson in the boawle,
Which I my selfe carous't unto his health * '.
And future fortune of our unitie,
That it should worke even in the husht of night,
And strangle him on sodaine ; that faire showe
Of death, for the excessive joy of his fate,
Might choake the murder ? Ha Strotzo, is't not rare ?
Nay, but waigh it. Then Fetiche stabd
(Whose sinking thought frightned my conscious hart),
And laid by Mellida, to stop the match,
And hale on mischiefe. This all in one night ?
Is't to be equall'd, thinkst thou ? O, I could eate
Thy fumbling throat, for thy lagd censure. Fut,
Is't not rare ?
Str. Yes.
Pie. No ? yes ? nothing but no, and yes, dull lumpe ?
Canst thou not hony me with fluent speach,
And even adore my toplesse villany ?
76 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT i.
Will I not blast my owne blood for revenge ?
^Must not thou straight be perjur'd for revenge ?
And yet no creature dreame tis my revenge.
Will I not turne a glorious bridall morne
Unto a Stygian night ? Yet naught but no, and yes !
Sir. I would have told you, if the incubus
That rides your bosome would have patience.
It is reported that, in private state,
Maria, Genoas dutchesse, makes to court,
Longing to see him, whom she nere shall see,
Her lord Andrugio. Belike she hath receiv'd
The newes of reconciliation :
Reconciliation with a death ?
Poore ladie, shall but finde poore comfort in't.
Pie. O, let me swoone for joy. By heaven, I thinke
I ha said my prayers, within this month at least ;
I am so boundlesse happie. Doth she come ?
By this warme reeking goare, He marrie her.
Looke I not now like an inamorate ?
Poyson the father, butcher the son, andmarrie the mother, ha!
Strotzo, to bed : snort in securest sleepe ;
For see, the dapple gray coursers of the morne
Beat up the light with their bright silver hooves,
And chase it through the skye. To bed, to bed !
This morne my vengeance shall be amply fed. [Exit.
SCENA SECUNDA.
^[ Enter LUCEO, MARIA, and NUTRICHE.
Mar. Stay, gentle Luceo, and vouchsafe thy hand.
Lu. 0, Madam .
sc. ii. j ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 77
Mar. Nay, pree thee give me leave to say, vouchsafe ;
Submisse intreats beseeme my humble fate.
Here let us sit. 0 Luceo, fortunes gilt
Is rubd quite off from my slight tin-foild state,
And poore Maria must appeare ungrac't
Of the bright fulgor of gloss'd majestic.
IM. Cheer up your spirits, Madam, fairer chance
Then that which courts your presence instantly
Can not be formed by the quick mould of thought.
Mar. Art thou assur'd the dukes are reconcil'd ?
Shall my wombes honour wed faire Mellida ?
Will heaven at length grant harbour to my head ?
Shall I once more clip my Andrugio ?
And wreath my armes about Antonios necke ?
Or is glib rumor growne a parasite,
Holding a false glasse to my sorrowes eyes,
Making the wrinkl'd front of griefe seeme faire,
Though tis much riveld with abortive care.
IM. Most virtuous princesse, banish straggling feare,
Keepe league with comfort. For these eyes beheld
The dukes united ; yon faint glimmering light
Nere peeped through the crannies of the east,
Since I beheld them drinke a sound carouse,
In sparkling Bacchus,
Unto cache others health ;
Your sonne assur'd to beatious Mellida,
And all clouds clear'd of threatning discontent.
Mar. What age is morning of?
IM. I thinke 'bout five.
Mar. Nutriche, Nutriche. !
Nut. Beshrow your fingers marry, you have disturb'd
the pleasure of the finest dreame. 0 God ! I was even
78 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT i.
comming to it, lawe. 0 Jesu ! twas comming of the swetest
lie tell you now, me thought I was marled, and mee thought
I spent (0 Lord, why did you wake mee ?), and mee thought
I spent three spur roials on the fidlers for striking up a
fresh homepipe. Saint Ursula, I was even going to bed,
and you, mee thought, my husband, was even putting
out the tapers, when you, Lord — I shall never have such a
dreame come upon mee, as long as .
Mar. Peace, idle creature, peace !
When will the court rise ?
Lu. Madam, twere best you tooke some lodging up,
And lay in private till the soile of griefe
Were cleard your cheeke, and new burnisht lustre
Cloath'd your presence, 'fore you sawe the dukes,
And enterd 'mong the proud Venetian States.
Mar. No, Lucio, my deare lord's wise, and knowes
That tinsill glitter, or rich purfled robes,
Curled haires, hung full of sparkling carcanets,
Are not the true adornements of a wife.
So long as wives are faithfull, modest, chaste,
Wise lords affect them. Vertue doth not waste,
With each slight flame of crackling vanitie.
A modest eye forceth affection,
Whilest outward gainesse light lookes but entice.
Fairer then natures faire is fowlest vice.
She that loves art to get her cheeke more lovers,
Much outward gaudes slight inward grace discovers.
T care not to seeme faire but to my lord.
Those that strive most to please most strangers sight,
Follie may judge most faire, wisdome most light.
^[ Musique sounds a short straine,
But harke, soft musique gently mooves the ayre :
sc. in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 79
I thinke the bridegroom's up. Lucio, stand close.
O, n<fvv Mary a, chalenge griefe to stay
Thy joyes encounter. Looke, Lucio, tis cleare day.
SCENA TERTIA.
^f Enter ANTONIO, GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE, BALURDO,
PANDIJLPHO EELICHE, ALBERTO, FOROBOSCO,
CASTILIO, and a Page.
Ant. Darknesse is fled : looke, infant mom hath drawne
Bright silver curtains 'bout the couch of night ;
And now Auroras horse trots azure rings,
Breathing faire light about the firmament.
Stand, what's that?
Mat. And if a horned divell should burst forth,
I would passe on him with a mortall stocke.
Alb. Oh, a horned divell would proove ominous
Unto a bridegroomes eyes.
Mat. A horned divell ? Good : ha, ha, ha ! — very good !
Alb. Good tand prince, laugh not. By the joyes of love,
When thou dost girne, thy rusty face doth looke
Like the head of a rosted rabbit : fie upont.
Bal. By my troth, me thinks his nose is just colour de roy.
Mat. I tel thee, foole, my nose will abide no jest.
Bal. No, in truth, I do not jeast ; I speake truth. Truth
is the touchstone of all things ; and, if your nose will not
abide the truth, your nose will not abide the touch ; and,
if your nose will not abide the touch, your nose is a copper
nose, and must be nail'd up for a slip.
Mat. I scorne to retort the obtuse jeast of a foole.
[Balurdo drawes out his writing tables, and writes.
80 THE SECOND PART 01 [ACT i.
Bal. Eetort and obtuse, good words, very good words.
Gal. Young prince, looke sprightly ; fie, a bridegroom
sadde !
Bal. In truth, if he were retort, and obtuse, no question,
hee would bee merrie ; but and please my genius, I will be
most retort and obtuse ere night. He tell you what He
beare soone at night in my shielde, for my device.
Gal. What, good Balurdo ?
Bal. 0, doe me right, Sir Gefferey Balurdo ; sir, sir, as
long as ye live, sir.
Gal. What, good Sir Gefferey Balurdo ?
Bal. Marry forsooth, He carrie for my device my grand-
fathers great stone-hors, flinging up his head, and jerking
out his left legge. The word " Wighy Purt," as I am a
true knight, wil't not bee most retort and obtuse, ha ?
Ant' Blowe hence these saplessejestes. I tell you, bloods !
My spirit's heavy, and the juice of life
Creepes slowly through my stifned arteries.
Last sleep, my sense was steep't in horrid dreames ;
Three parts of night were swallow'd in the gulfe
Of ravenous time, when to my slumbring powers, .
Two meager ghosts made apparition.
The on's breast seem'd fresh pauncht with bleeding wounds,
Whose bubling gore sprang in frighted eyes ;
The other ghost assum'd my fathers shape :
Both cride, " Eevenge ! " At which my trembling joynts
(Iced quite over with a froz'd cold sweate)
Leap't forth the sheets. Three times I gasp't at shades ;
And thrice, deluded by erroneous sense,
I forc't my thoughts make stand — when loe, top't
A large bay window, through which the night
Struck terror to my soule. The verge of heaven
sc. in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 31
Was ringd with flames, and all the upper vault
Thick lac't with flakes of fire ; in midst whereof
A blazing comet shot his threatning traine
Just on my face. Viewing these prodigies,
I bow'd my naked knee and pierc't the starre,
With an outfacing eye ; pronouncing thus :
Dem imperat astris. At which, my nose straight bled ;
Then doubl'd I my word, so slunke to bed.
Bal. Verely, Sir Gefferey had a monstrous strange
dream the last night. For mee thought I dreamt I was
asleepe, and me thought the ground yaun'd and belkt up
the abhominable ghost of a misshapen simile, with two ugly
pages ; the one called master, even as going before ; and
the other mounser, even so following after ; whilst Signior
Simile stalked most prodigiously in the midst. At which
I bewrayed the fearefulnesse of my nature, and being
readie to forsake the fortresse of my wit, start up, called
for a cleane shirt, eate a messe of broth, and with that I
awakt.
Ant. I pree thee, peace. I tell you, gentlemen,
The frightfull shades of night yet shake my braine :
My gellied blood's not tha\\ 'd : the sulphur damps,
That flowe in winged lightning 'bout my couch,
Yet stick within my sense, my soule is great
In expectation of dire prodigies.
Pan. Tut, my young prince, let not thy fortunes see
Their lord a coward. He that 's nobly borne
Abhorres to feare. Basefeare's the brand of slaves.
Hee that observes, pursues, slinks back for fright,
Was never cast in mould of noble spright.
Gal. Tush, there 's a sun will straight exhale these damps
Of chilling feare. Come, shal's salute the bride ?
6.
82 THE SECOND PART 01 [ACT i.
Ant. Castillo, I pree thee mixe thy breath with his :
Sing one of Signior Eenaldo's ayres,
To rouse the slumbring bride from gluttoning,
In surfet of superfluous sleepe. Good signior, sing.
CANTANT.
What meanes this silence and unmooved calme 1
Boy, winde thy cornet : force the leaden gates
Of lasie sleepe fly open, with thy breath.
My Mellida not up ? nor stirring yet ? umh !
Mar. That voice should be my sonnes Antonio's.
Antonio !
Ant. Here, who cals ? here stands Antonio.
Mar. Sweete sonne.
Ant. Deare mother.
Mar. Faire honour of a chaste and loyall bed,
Thy father's beautie, thy sad mother's love,
Were I as powerfull as the voice of fate,
Felicitie compleat should sweete thy state ;
But all the blessings that a poore banisht wretch
Can powre upon thy heade, take, gentle sonne :
Live, gratious youth, to close thy mothers eyes,
Lov'd of thy parents, till their latest hower :
How cheares my lord, thy father ? 0 sweet boy,
Part of him thus I clip, my deare, deare joy.
Ant. Madam, last night I kissed his princely hand,
And tooke a treasur'd blessing from his lips :
O mother, you arrive in jubilee,
And firme attonement of all boystrous rage ;
Pleasure, united love, protested faith,
Guard my lov'd father, as sworne pensioners :
The dukes are leagu'd in firmest bond of love,
sc. iv.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 83
And you arrive even in the solsticie
And highest point of sun-shine happinesse.
[One windes a cornet within.
Harke, madam, how yon cornet jerketh up
His straind shrill accents, in the capering ayre ;
As proud to summon up my bright cheek't love.
Now, mother, ope wide expectation :
Let loose your amplest sense, to entertaine
Th' impression of an object of such worth,
That life's too poore to.
Gal. Nay, leave hyperboles.
Ant. I tel thee, prince, that presence straight appears,
Of which thou canst not forme hyperboles :
The trophy of tryumphing excellence,
The heart of beautie, Mellida appeares.
See, looke, the curtaine stirs, shine natures pride,
Loves vitall spirit, deare Antonio's bride.
[The curtain 's drawne, and the bodie of Eeliche, stabd
thick with wounds, appeares hung up.
What villaine bloods the window of my love ?
What slave hath hung yon gorie ensigne up
In flat defiance of humanitie ?
Awake, thou faire unspotted puritie.
Death 's at thy windowe, awake, bright Mellida,
Antonio cals !
SCENA QUAETA.
^f Enter PIERO as atjirst, with FOROBOSCO.
Pie. Who gives these il-befitting attributes
Of chast, unspotted, bright, to Mellida ?
He lies as lowde as thunder, shee 's unchast,
84 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT i.
Tainted, impure, blacke as the soule of hell.
[He drawes his rapier, offers to run at Piero, but
Maria holds his arme and stales him.
Ant. Dog ! I will make thee eate thy vomit up,
Which thou hast belk't gainst taintlesse Mellida.
Pie. Eamm't quicklie downe, that it may not rise up
To imbraid my thoughts. Behold my stomack :
Strike me quite through with the relentlesse edge
Of raging furie. Boy, He kill thy love.
Pandulfe Feliche, I have stabd thy sonne :
Looke, yet his lifeblood reekes upon this steele.
Albert, yon hangs thy friend. Have none of you
Courage of vengeance ? Forget I am your duke,
Thinke Mellida is not Pieros bloode.
Imagine on slight ground, He blast his honour !
Suppose I sawe not that incestuous slave,
Clipping the strumpet with luxurious twines :
O, nuinme my sense of anguish, cast my life
In a dead sleepe, whilst lawe cuts off yon maine,
Yon putred ulcer of my roiall bloode.
For. Keepe league with reason, gratious soveraigne. .
Pie. There glowe no sparkes of reason in the world ;
All are rak't up in ashie beastlinesse.
The bulke of man's as darke as Erebus,
No branch of reasons light hangs in his trunke :
There lives no reason to keepe league withall.
I ha no reason to be reasonable.
Her wedding eve, linkt to the noble blood
Of my most firmely reconciled friend,
And found even clingd in sensualitie !
O heaven ! O heaven ! Were she as neare my heart
As is my liver, I 'would rend her off.
sc.v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 85
SCENA QUINTA.
^f Enter STROTZO.
Sir. Whither, 0 whither shall I hurle vast griefe ?
Pie. Here, into my breast : tis a place built wide
By fate, to give receipt to boundlesse woes.
Sir. 0 no ; here throb those hearts, which I must cleave
With my keene pearcingnewes. Andrugio 's dead.
Pie. Dead?
Mar. 0 me, most miserable !
Pie. Dead, alas, how dead ? [Give seeming passion.
Put, weepe, act, faine. Dead ! alas, how dead?
Sir. The vast delights of his large sodaine joyes
Opned his powers so wide, that 's native heate
So prodigally flow'd t' exterior parts,
That thinner citadell was left unmand,
And so surpriz'd on sodaine by colde death.
Mar. O fatal, disastrous, cursed, dismall !
Choake breath and life. I breath, I live too long.
Andrugio, my lord, I come, I come !
Pie. Be cheerefull, princesse ; help, Castilio,
The ladie 's swouned ; helpe to beare her in.
Slow comfort to huge cares is swiftest sin.
Sal. Courage, courage, sweet ladie, tis sir Gefferey
Balurdo bids you courage. Truly I am as nimble as an.
elephant about a ladie.
Pan. Dead?
Ant. Dead?
All. Dead?
Ant. Why, now the womb of mischiefe is deliver'd,
Of the prodigious issue of the night. *
86 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT i.
Pan. Ha, ha, ha !
Ant. My father dead? my love attaint of lust :
That 's a large lye, as vast as spatious hell :
Poore guiltlesse ladie ! 0, accursed lye !
What, whome, whether, which shall I first lament ?
A deade father, a dishonour'd wife. Stand.
Me thinkes I feele the frame of nature shake.
Cracks not the joynts of earth to beare my woes ?
Alb. Sweet prince, be patient.
Ant. S'lid, sir, I will not in despight of thee.
Patience is slave to fooles : a chaine that 's fixt
Onely to postes, and senselesse log-like dolts.
Alb. Tis reasons glorie to commaund affects.
Ant. Lies thy cold father dead, his glossed eyes
New closed up by thy sad mothers hands ?
Hast thou a love as spotlesse as the browe
Of clearest heaven, blurd with false defames ?
Are thy moyst entrals crumpled up with griefe
Of parching mischiefs ? Tel me, does thy hart
With punching anguish spur thy galled ribs ?
Then come and let's sit and weep and wreath our arms :
He heare thy counsell.
Alb. Take comfort.
Ant. Confusion to all comfort ! I defie it.
Comfort 's a parasite, a flattering Jack :
And melts resolv'd despaire. O boundlesse woe,
If there be any black yet unknowen griefe,
If there be any horror yet unfelt,
Unthought of mischiefe in thy fiendlike power,
Dash it upon my miserable heade :
Make me more wretch, more cursed if thou canst.
O, now my fate is more than I could feare :
My woes more waightie than my soule can beare. [Exit.
sc. v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 87
Pan. Ha, ha, ha !
Alb. Why laugh you, uncle ? That 's my cuz, your son,
Whose brest hangs cased in his cluttered gore.
Pan. True, man, true : why, wherefore should I weepe ?
Come, sit, kinde nephew : come on ; thou and I
Will talke as chorus to this tragedie.
Intreat the musick straine their instruments,
With a slight touch, whilst we. — Say on, faire cuz.
Alb. He was the very hope of Italy,
[Musick sounds softly.
The blooming honour of your drooping age.
Pan. True, cuz, true. They say that men of hope are
Good are supprest by base desertlesse clods, [crusht :
That stifle gasping vertue. Look, sweet youth,
How provident our quick Venetians are,
Least hoves of jades should trample on my boy :
Looke how they lift him up to eminence,
Heave him, bove reach of flesh. Ha, ha, ha !
Alb. Uncle, this laughter ill becomes your griefe.
Pan. Would' st have me cry, run raving up and down,
For my sons losse ? would' st have me turn rank mad,
Or wring my face with mimic action ;
Stampe, curse, weepe, rage, and then my bosom strike ?
Away, tis aspish action, player-like.
If hee is guiltlesse, why should teares be spent ?
Thrice blessed soule that dyeth innocent.
If he is leapred with so foule a guilt,
Why should a sigh be lent, a teare be spilt ?
The gripe of chaunce is weake to wring a teare
From him that knowes what fortitude should beare.
Listen, young blood. Tis not true valors pride
To swagger, quarrell, sweare, stampe, rave, and chide,
88 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT I.
To stab in fume of blood, to keepe lowde coyle,
To bandie factions in domestick broyles,
To dare the act of sins, whose filth excels
The blackest customes of blinde infidels.
No, my lov'd youth : he may of valour vaunt
Whom fortunes lowdest thunder can not daunt,
Whom fretful gaules of chance, sterne fortunes siege,
Makes not his reason slinke, the soules faire liege,
Whose well pais'd action ever rests upon,
Not giddie humours, but discretion.
This heart in valour, even Jove out-goes :
Jove is without, but this 'bove sense of woes :
And such a one, eternitie : Behold —
Good morrow, sonne ; thou bidst a fig for colde.
Sound lowder musick : let rny breath exact,
You strike sad tones unto this dismal act.
r
ACT ii.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 39
ACT US SECUNDUS.
SCENA PKIMUS.
The cornets sound a cynet.
Enter two mourners with torcJies, two, with streamers ;
CASTILIO and FOROBOSCO, with torches; a Heralde
bearing ANDRUGIO'S helme and sword; the coffin ;
MARIA supported by Locio and ALBERTO ; ANTONIO,
by himselfe ; PIERO and STROZZO, talking ; GALE-
ATZO and MATZAGENTE, BALURDO «W^PANDULFO:
the coffin set downe ; helme, sworde and streamers
hung up, placed by the Herald ; whilst ANTONIO and
MARIA wet their handkerchers with teares, kisse them,
and lay them on the hearse, kneeling ; all goe out but
PIERO. Cornets cease, and he speakes.
o-s^x-g^gyyOv.
Pie. oil l^fo •$ OT ther, thou cearcloth that infolds the
flesh [dust ;
Of my loath'd foe ; moulder to crumbling
Oblivion choake the passage of thy fame.
Trophees of honor'd birth droppe quickly downe :
Let naught of him, but what was vitious, live.
Though thou art deade, thinke not my hate is dead :
I have but newly twone my arme in the curld locks
Of snakie vengeance. Pale, beetle -brow'd hate
But newly bustles up. Sweet wrong, I clap thy thoughts.
O let me hug my bosome, rub thy breast,
90 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT 11.
In hope of what may happe. Andrugio rots :
Antonio lives : umh : how long ? ha, ha ! how long ?
Antonio packt hence, lie his mother wed,
Then cleare my daughter of supposed lust,
Wed her to Florence heire. 0 excellent !
Venice, Genoa, Florence at my becke,
At Piero's nod. Balurdo, O ho !
0 twill be rare, all unsuspected donne.
1 have bin nurst in blood, and still have suckt
The steeme of reeking gore. Balurdo, ho !
^[ Enter BALURDO with a beard, Jialfe of, halfe on.
Bal. When my beard is on, most noble prince, when
my beard is on.
Pie. Why, what dost thou with a beard ?
Bal. In truth, one tolde me that my wit was balde, and
that a meremaide was halfe fish, and halfe flesh, and there-
fore to speake wisely, like one of your counsel!, as indeede
it hath pleased you to make me, not onely being a foole,
of your counsell, but also to make me of your counsell,
being a foole. If my wit be bald, and a mermaid be halfe
fish and halfe cunger, then I must be forced to conclude,
the tyring man hath not glewd on my beard halfe fast
enough. Gods bores, it wil not stick to fal off.
Pie. Dost thou know what thou hast spoken all this
while?
Bal. O lord Duke, I would be sorie of that. Many men
can utter that which no man, but themselves, can conceive :
but I thanke a good wit, I have the gift to speake that
which neither any man els, nor my selfe, understands.
Pie. Thou art wise. He that speaks he knows not
what, shal never sin against his own conscience : go to,
thou art wise.
sc. I.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 91
Sal. Wise ? 0 no, I have a little natural discretion, or
so ; but for wise, I am somewhat prudent ; but for wise,
0 lord !
Pie. Hold, take those keyes, open the castle vault, and
put in Mellida.
Bal. And put in Mellida ? Well, let me alone.
Pie. Bid Porobosco and Castilio guard,
Indeere thy selfe Pieros intimate.
Bal. . Indeere, and intimate ; good, I assure you. 1
will indeere and intimate Mellida into the dungeon pre-
sently.
Pie. Will Pandulfo Eeliche waite on me ?
Bal. I will make him come, most retort and obtuse, to
you presently. I thinke, Sir Jeffrey talks like a counseller.
Go to, gods neaks, I thinke I tickle it.
Pie. lie seeme to winde yon foole with kindest arme.
He that 's ambitious minded, and but man,
Must have his followers beasts, dubd slavish sots,
Whose service is obedience, and whose wit
Eeacheth no further then to admire their lord,
And stare in adoration of his worth.
1 love a slave rak't out of common mud
Should seeme to sit in counsell with my heart.
High honour'd blood 's too squemish to assent,
And lend a hand to an ignoble act.
Poyson from roses who could ere abstract ?
How now, Pandulfo, weeping for thy sonne ?
SCENA SECUNDA.
Enter PANDULFO.
Pan. No, no, Piero, weeping for my sinnes :
Had I bin a good father, he had bin a gratious sonne.
92 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT n.
Pie. Pollution must be purg'd.
Pan. Why tainst thou then the ayre with stench of flesh,
And humane putrifactions noysome sent ?
I pray his bodie. Wlio lesse boone can crave
Than to bestowe upon the deade his grave ?
Pie. Grave ? why ? think'st thou he deserves a grave,
That hath defil'd the temple of .
Pan. Peace, peace !
Me thinks I heare a humming murmur creepe
From out his gelli'd wounds. Looke on those lips,
Those now lawne pillowes, on whose tender softnesse,
("haste modest speach, stealing from out his breast,
Had wont to reste it selfe, as loath to poast
From out so faire an inne : look, look, they seeme to stir,
And breath defyance to black obloquie.
Pie. Think'st thou thy sonne could suffer wrongfully ?
Pan. A wise man wrongfully, but never wrong
Can take ; his breast 's of such well tempered proofe,
It may be rac'd, not pearc't, by savage tooth
Of foaming malice : showers of dartes may darke
Heavens ample browe, but not strike out a sparke,
Much lesse pearce the suns cheek ; Such songs as these,
I often dittied till my boy did sleepe ;
But now I turne plaine foole (alas) I weepe ;
Pie. Fore heaven he makes me shrug; wold a were deade.
He is a vertuous man. What has our court to doe
With vertue, in the divels name ! Pandulpho, harke :
My lustfull daughter dies ; start not, she dies.
I pursue justice ; I love sanctitie,
And an undefiled temple of pure thoughts.
Shall I speake freely ? Good Andrugio 's dead :
And I doe feare a fetch ; but (umh) would I durst speake.
sc. ii.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 93
I doe mistrust ; but (umh) death : is he all, all man ;
'Hath he no part of mother in him, ha?
No licorish womanish inquisitivenesse ?
Pan. Andrugio's deade!
Pie. I ; and I feare, his owne unnaturall blood,
To whome he gave life, hath given death for life.
How could he come on ? I see false suspect
Is vicde ; wrung hardly in a vertuous heart.
Well, I could give you reason for my doubts.
You are of honour'd birth, my very friende.
You know how god-like tis to roote out sin.
Antonio is a villaine. Will you joyne
In oath with me, against the traitors life,
And sweare, you knewe he sought his fathers death ?
I lov'd him well, yet I love justice more.
Our friends we should affect, justice adore.
Pan. My lord, the clapper of my mouth's not glibd
With court oyle, twill not strike on both sides yet.
Pie. Tis just that subjectes acte commaunds of kings.
Pan. Commaund then just and honorable things.
Pie. Even so, my selfe then will traduce his guilt.
Pan. Beware, take heed, least guiltlesse blood be spilt.
Pie. Where onely honest deeds to kings are free,
It is no empire, but a beggery.
Pan. Where more than noble deeds to kings are free,
It is no empire, but a tyranny.
Pie. Tush, juicelesse graybeard, tis immunity,
Proper to princes, that our state exactes,
Our subjects not alone to beare, but praise our acts.
Pan. O, but that prince that worthfull praise aspires,
From hearts, and not from lips, applause desires.
94 THE SECOND PART 01 [ACT n.
Pie. Pish, true praise, the brow of common men doth ring,
False, only girts the temple of a king.
He that hath strength and 's ignorant of power,
He was not made to rule, but to be rul'd.
Pan. Tis praise to doe, not what we can, but should.
Pie. Hence, doting Stoick : by my hope of blisse,
He make thee wretched.
Pan. Defyance to thy power, thou rifted jawne.
Now, by the lov'd heaven, sooner thou shalt
Eince thy foule ribs from the black filth of sinne
That soots thy heart, then make me wretched. Pish,
Thou canst not coupe me up. Hadst thou a jaile
With trebble walles, like antic Babilon,
Pandulpho can get out. I tell thee, duke,
I have ould Fortunatus wishing cappe :
And can be where I list, even in a trice.
He skippe from earth into the armes of heaven :
And from tryumphall arch of blessednesse,
Spit on thy froathy breast. Thou canst not slave
Or banish me ; I will be free at home,
Maugre the bearde of greatnesse. The port holes
Of sheathed spirit are nere corb'd up :
But still stand open readie to discharge
Their pretious shot into the shrouds of heaven.
Pie. O torture ! slave, I banish thee the towne,
Thy native seat of birth. [blasts
Pan. How proud thou speak'st ! I tell thee, duke, the
Of the swolne cheekt winds, nor all the breath of kings
Can puffe me out my native seat of birth.
The earth 's my bodies, and the heaven 's my soules
Most native place of birth, which they will keepe,
sc. ii.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 95
Despite the menace of mortalitie.
Why, duke,
That's not my native place, where I was rockt.
A wise mans home is wheresoere he is wise ;
Now that, from man, not from the place, doth rise.
Pie. Wold I were deafe (0 plague !)? Hence, dotard wretch :
Tread not in court. All that thou hast, I seize.
His quiet's firmer then I can disease.
Pan. Goe, boast unto thy flattring sycophants ;
Pandulpho's slave, Piero hath orethrowne.
Loose fortunes rags are lost ; my owne 's my owne.
[Piero's going out, lookes backe. Exeunt at severall doores.
Tis true, Piero, thy vext heart shall see,
Thou hast but tript my slave, not conquered mee.
SCENA TEBTIA.
^[ Enter ANTONIO with a booke, Lucio, ALBERTO,
ANTONIO in blacke.
Alb. Nay, sweet, be comforted, take counsel! and .
Ant. Alberto, peace : that griefe is wanton sick,
Whose stomacke can digest and brooke the dyet
Of stale ill relisht counsell. Pigmie cares
Can shelter under patience shield ; but gyant griefes
Will burst all covert.
IM. My lord, tis supper time.
Ant. Drinke deepe, Alberto ; eate, good Lucio ;
But my pin'd heart shall eat on naught but woe.
Alb. My lord, we dare not leave you thus alone.
Ant. You cannot leave Antonio alone.
The chamber of my breast is even throngd
With firme attendance that forsweares to flinch.
96 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT n.
I have a thing sits here ; it is not griefe,
Tis not despaire, nor the most plague
That the most wretched are infected with ;
But the most greefull, despairing, wretched,
Accursed, miserable. 0, for heavens sake
Forsake me now ; you see how light I am,
And yet you force me to defame my patience.
Lu. Faire gentle prince .
Ant. Away, thy voice is hateful! : thou dost buzze,
And beat my eares with intimations,
That Mellida, that Mellida is light,
And stained with adulterous luxury !
I cannot brook't. I tell the, Lucio,
Sooner will I give faith, that vertue's scant
In princes courts, will be adorn'd with wreath
Of choyce respect, and indeerd intimate.
Sooner will I beleeve that friendships raine
Will curbe ambition from utilitie,
Then Mellida is light. Alas, poore soule,
Didst ere see her (good heart), hast heard her speake ?
Kinde, kinde soule. Incredulitie it selfe
Would not be so brasse hearted, as suspect so modest cheeks.
Lu. My lord .
Ant. Away, a selfe-one guilt doth onely hatch distrust ;
But a chaste thought 's as farre from doubt as lust.
I entreat you, leave me.
Alb. Will you endeavour to forget your griefe ?
Ant. I faith I will, good friend, I faith I will,
lie come and eate with you. Alberto ; see,
I am taking physicke, heer's philosophic.
Good honest, leave me, He drinke wine anone.
sc. in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 97
Alb. Since you enforce us, faire prince, we are gone.
[Exeunt Alberto and Lucio.
^[ ANTONIO reades.
A. Fertefortiter: hoc est quo deum antecedatis. Hie enim
extra patientiam malorum, vos supra. Contemnite dolorem :
aut solvetur, aut solvet. Contemnite fortunas : nullm
telus, qiioferiret animwn habet.
Pish, thy mother was not lately widdowed,
Thy deare affied love lately defam'd
With blemish of foule lust, when thou wrot'st thus,
Thou wrapt in furres, beaking thy lymbs 'fore fiers,
Forbidst the frozen zone to shudder. Ha, ha ! tis naught
But foamie bubling of a fleamie braine,
Naught els but smoake. 0 what danke marrish spirit,
But would be fyred with impatience,
At my No more, no more ; he that was never blest
With height of birth, faire expectation
Of mounted fortunes, knowes not what it is
To be the pittied object of the worlde.
0, poore Antonio, thou maist sigh !
Mel. Aye me.
Ant. And curse.
Pan. Black powers.
Ant. And cry.
Mar. O Heaven.
Ant. And close laments with .
Alb. O me, most miserable !
Pan. Woe for my deare, deare sonne.
Mar. Woe for my deare, deare husband.
Mel. Woe for my deare, deare love.
Ant. Woe for me all, close all your woes in me :
7
98 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT n.
In me, Antonio, ha ? Where live these sounds ?
[ can see nothing ; griefe 's invisible,
And lurkes in secret angles of the heart.
Come, sigh againe, Antonio beares his part.
•Mel. O here, here is a vent to passe my sighes.
I have surcharged the dungeon with my plaints.
Prison and heart will burst, if void of vent.
I, that is Phosbe, empresse of the night,
That gins to mount ; O chastest deitie :
If I be false to my Antonio,
If the least soyle of lust smeers my pure love,
Make me more wretched, make me more accurst
Then infamie, torture, death, hell, and heaven.
Can bound with amplest power of thought : if not,
Purge my poore heart, with defamations blot.
Ant. Purge my poore heart from defamations blot !
Poore heart, how like her vertuous selfe she speakes.
Mellida, deare Mellida, it is Antonio :
Slinke not away, tis thy Antonio.
Mel. How found you out, my lord (alas !), I knowe
'Tis easiein this age to find out woe.
I have a sute to you.
Ant. What is 't, deare soule ?
Mel. Kill me ; ifaith He winke, not stir a jot.
For God sake kill mee ; insooth, lov'd youth,
I am much injur'd ; looke, see how I creepe.
I cannot wreake my wrong, but sigh and weepe.
Ant. May I be cursed, but I credit thee.
Mel. To-morrowe I must die.
Ant. Alas, for what ?
Mel. For loving thee. Tis true, my sweetest breast,
I must die falsely : so must thou, deare heart.
sc. in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 99
Nets are a knitting to intrappe thy life.
Thy fathers death must make a Paradice
To my (I shame to call him) father. Tell me, sweet,
Shall I die thine ? dost love mee still, and still?
Ant. I doe.
Mel. Then welcome Heavens will.
Ant. Madam, I will not swell, like a Tragedian, in
forced passion of affected straines.
If I had present power of ought but pittying you, I would
be as readie to redresse your wrongs as to pursue your
love. Throngs of thoughts crowde for their passage;
somewhat I will doe.
Reach me thy hand ; thinke this is honors bent,
To live unslav'd, to die innocent.
Mel. Let me entreat a favour, gratious love.
Be patient, see me die ; good, doe not weepe :
Goe sup, sweete chuck, drinke, and securely sleepe.
Ant. I faith I cannot ; but He force my face
To palliate my sicknesse.
Mel. Give me thy hand. Peace on thy bosome dwel.
Thats all my woe can breath : kisse. Thus farewell.
Ant. Farewell : my heart is great of thoughts ;
Stay, dove :
And therefore I must speake : but what ? O love !
By this white hande : no more : reade in these teares,
What crushing anguish thy Antonio beares. I
[Antonio Jcissetk Mellida 's hand : then Mellida goes
from the grate.
Mel. Good nighte, good harte.
Ant. Thus heate from blood, thus soules from bodiespart.
100 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT n.
^" Enter PIEKO am? STROTZO.
Pie. He greeves ; laughe, Strotzo, laugh. He weepes.
Hath he teares ? O pleasure ! hath he teares ?
Now doe I scourge Andrugio with steele whips
Of knottie vengeance. Strotzo, cause me straight
Some plaining dittie to augment despaire.
Tryumph, Piero : harke, he groanes. 0 rare !
Ant. Beholde a prostrate wretch laid on his toumbe.
His epitaph, thus : Ne plus ultra. Ho !
Let none out-woe me : mine 's Hurculean woe.
CANTANT.
[Exit Piero at the end of the song.
SCENA QUAKTA.
If .EWifer MAEIA.
Ant. May I be more cursed then Heaven can make me,
If I am not more wretched
Then man can conceive me. Sore forlorne
Orphant, what omnipotence can make thee happie ?
•••I Mar. How now, sweete sonne ? Good youth,
What dost thou ?
Ant. Weepe, weepe.
Mar. Dost naught but weepe, weepe ?
Ant. Yes, mother, I do sigh, and wring my hands,
Beat my poore breast, and wreath my tender armes.
Harke yee ; He tel you wondrous strange, strange news.
sc. iv.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 101
Mar. What, my good boy, starke mad?
Ant. I am not.
Mar. Alas ! is that strange newes ?
Ant. Strange newes ? why, mother, is 't not wondrous
I am not mad — I run not frantic, ha? [strange
Knowing my fathers trunke scarce colde, your love
Is sought by him that doth pursue my life !
Seeing the beautie of creation,
Antonio 's bride, pure heart, defam'd, and stoad
Under the hatches of obscuring earth.
Heu quo labor, quo vota ceciderunt mea !
Enter PIERO.
Pie. Good evening to the faire Antonio ;
Most happie fortune, sweete succeeding time,
Rich hope : think not thy face a bankrout though.
Ant. Umh ! the divell in his good time and tide forsake
thee.
Pie. How now ? harke ye, prince.
Ant. God be with you.
Pie. Nay, noble blood, I hope yee not suspect
Ant. Suspect ! I scorn 't. Here 's cap and leg good night :
Thou that wants power, with dissemblance fight.
[Exit Antonio.
Pie. Madam, 0 that you could remember to forget
Mar. I had a husband and a happie sonne.
Pie. Most powreful beautie, that inchanting grace
Mar. Talke not of beautie, nor inchanting grace, —
My husband 's deade, my son 's distraught, accurst !
Come, I must vent my griefes, or heart will burst.
[Exit Maria.
102 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT 11.
Pie. Shee's gone (and yet she 's here) : she hath left a
print
Of her sweete graces fixt within my heart,
As fresh as is her face. He marrie her.
Shee 's most fair, true, most chaste, most false ; because
Most faire, tis firme He marrie her.
SCENA QUINTA.
^f Enter STROTZO.
• Str. My lord,
Pie. Ha, Strotzo, my other soule, my life !
Deare, hast thou steel'd the point of thy resolve ?
Wilt not turne edge in execution ?
Str. No.
Pie. Doe it with rare passion, and present thy guilt
As if twere wrung out with thy conscience gripe.
Sweare that my daughter 's innocent of lust,
And that Antonio brib'd thee to defame
Her maiden honour, on inveterate hate
Unto my bloode ; and that thy hand was feed
By his large bountie for his fathers death.
Sweare plainly that thou chok'tst Andrugio,
By his sons onely egging. Eush me in
WhiTst Mellida prepares herself to die ,
Halter about thy necke, and with such sighs,
Laments, and applications lyfen it,
As if impulsive power of remorse
Str. He weepe.
Pie. I, I fall on thy face and cry : why suffer you
So lewde a slave as Strotzo is to breath ?
Str. He beg a strangling, growe importunate
sc. v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 103
Pie. As if thy life were loathsome to thee : then I
Catch straight the cords end ; and, as much incens'd
With thy damn'd mischiefes, offer a rude hand
As readie to girde in thy pipe of breath ;
But on the sodaine straight He stand amaz'd,
And fall in exclamations of thy vertues.
Sir. Applaud my agonies and penitence.
Pie. Thy honest stomack, that could not digest
The crudities of murder ; but surcharg'd,
Vomited'st them up in Christian pietie.
Str. Then clip me in your armes.
Pie. And call thee brother, mount thee straight to state,
Make thee of counsell : tut, tut, what not ? what not ?
Thinke ont, be confident, pursue the plot.
Str. Looke, here 's a troop, a true rogues lips are mute ;
1 doe not use to speake, but execute.
[He lay es finger on Ms mouth, and drawee his dagger.
Pie. So, so ; run headlong to confusion :
Thou slight brain'd mischiefe, thou art made as durt,
To plaster up the bracks of my defects,
lie wring what may be squeas'd from out his use :
And good night, Strotzo. Swell, plump, bold heart ;
For now thy tide of vengeance rowleth in :
O now Tragcedia Cothurnata mounts,
Piero's thoughts are fixt on dire exploites.
Pell mell — confusion and black murder guides
The organs of my spirit : shrinke not, heart.
Capienda rebus in mails prceceps via est.
1 04 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT in.
ACTUS TERTIUS.
SCENA PKIMA.
^[ A dumbe sJiowe. The cornets sounding for the Acte.
If Enter CASTILIO and FOROPOSCO, ALBERTO and BA-
LURDO, with polaxes : STROTZO, talking with PIERO,
seemeth to send out STROTZO. Exit STROTZO. Enter
STROTZO, MARIA, NUTRICHE, and LUCEO. PIERO
passeth through his guard, and talkes with her with
seeming amorousnesse ; she seemeth to reject his
suite, flyes to the toumbe, kneeles, and kisseth it.
PIERO bribes NUTRICHE aw^Lucio ; they goe to her,
seeming to solicite his suite. She riseth, offers to goe
out, PIERO stayeth her, teares open his breast, im-
braceth and kisseth her, and so they goe all out in
state.
^[ Enter two Pages, the one with tapers, the other with a
chafing dish: a perfume in it. ANTONIO, in his
night gowne and a night cap, unbrac't, following
after.
HE black jades of swart night trot foggy
rings
Bout heavens browe. Tis now starke
deade night.
Is this Saint Markes Church?
1st Pa. It is, my lord.
Ant. Where stands my fathers hearse ?
2nd Pa. Those streamers beare his armes. I, that is it.
sc, i.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 105
Ant. Set tapers to the toumbe, and lampe the church.
Give me the fire. Now depart and sleepe. [Exeunt Pages.
I purifie the ayre with odorous fume.
Graves, valts, andtoumbes, groane not to beare my weight;
Colde flesh, bleake trunkes, wrapt in your half-rot shrowdes,
I presse you softly with a tender foote.
Most honour'd sepulchre, vouchsafe a wretch
Leave to weepe ore thee. Toumbe, He not be long
Ere I creepe in thee, and with bloodlesse lips
Kisse my cold fathers cheeke. I pree thee, grave,
Provide soft mould to wrap my carcasse in.
Thou royal spirit of Andrugio, where ere thou hoverst
(Ayrie intellectt) I heave up tapers to thee (viewe thy son)
In celebration of dewe obsequies.
Once every night, lie dewe thy funerall hearse
With my religious teares.
O, blessed father of a cursed son,
Thou diedst most happie, since thou livedst not
To see thy sonne most wretched, and thy wife
Pursu'd by him that seekes my guiltlesse blood !
O, in what orbe thy mightie spirit soares,
Stoop and beat downe this rising fog of shame,
That strives to blur thy blood, and girt defame
About my innocent and spotlesse browes.
Non est mori miserum, sed misere mori.
And. Thy pangs of anguish rip my cerecloth up :
And loe the ghoast of ould Andrugio
Forsakes his coffin. Antonio, revenge !
I was impoyson'd by Piero's hand :
Revenge my bloode ; take spirit, gentle boy ;
Eevenge my bloode. Thy Mellida is chaste :
Onely to frustrate thy pursuite in love,
106 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT .m.
Is blaz'd unchaste. Thy mother yeelds consent
To be his wife, and give his bloode a sonne,
That made her husbandlesse, and doth complot
To make her sonlesse ; but before I touch
The banks of rest, my ghost shall visite her.
Thou vigor of my youth, juyce of my love,
Seize on revenge, graspe the sterne bended front
Of frowning vengeance with unpaized clutch.
Alarum Nemesis, rouse up thy blood ;
Invent some stratageme of vengeance,
Which, but to thinke on, may like lightning glide
With horor through thy breast. Remember this.
Scelera non ulcisceris, nisi vincis. [Exit Andrugio's GJiost.
SCENA SECUNDA.
^f Enter MARIA, her Jiaire about her eares ; NUTKJCHE
and Lucio, with pages > and torches.
Mar. Where left you him? shewe mee, good boyes, away.
Nut. Gods mee, your haire !
Mar. Nurse, tis not yet prowde day :
The neat gay mistes of the light's not up,
Her cheekes not yet slurd over with the paint
Of borrowed crimsone ; the unpranked world
Wears yet the night-clothes : let flare my loosed hair.
I scorne the presence of the night.
Where 's my boy ? Bun : He range about the church,
Like frantick Bachanell or Jasons wife,
Invoking all the spirits of the graves
To tell me where. Hah ? O my poore wretched blood !
What dost thou up at midnight, my kinde boy ?
Deare soule, to bed ! O thou hast struck a fright
sc. i.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 107
Unto thy mothers panting
0 quisquis nova
Suppliciaf metis dims umbrarum arbiter
Disponis, quisquis exeso jaces
Pavidus sub antro, quisquis venturi times
Montis ruinam, quisquis avidomm feres,
Rictus leonum, et dira furiarum agmina
Implicitus Jiorres, Antonii vocem excipe
Proper antis ad vos — Ulciscar.
Mar. Alas ! my son 's distraught. Sweete boy, appease
Thy mutinous affections.
Ant. By the astonning terror of swart night,
By the infectious damps of clammie graves,
And by the mould that presseth downe
My deade fathers sculle, He be revenged !
Mar. Wherefore ? on whom ? for what ? Go, go to bed,
Good dutious sonne. Ho, but thy idle
Ant. So I may sleepe toumb'd in an honour'd hearse,
So may my bones rest in that sepulcher,
Mar. Forget not dutie, sonne : to bed, to bed.
Ant. May I be cursed by my fathers ghost,
And blasted with incensed breath of Heaven,
If my heart beat on ought but vengeance.
May I be numd with horror, and my vaines
Pucker with sing'ing torture, if my braine
Disgest a thought but of dire vengeance ;
May I be fetter'd slave to coward Chaunce,
If blood, heart, braine, plot ought save vengeance.
Mar. Wilt thou to bed ? I wonder when thou sleepst !
Ifaith thou look'st sunk-ey'd ; go couch thy head :
Now, faith, tis idle : sweet, sweet sonne, to bed.
Ant. I have a prayer or two to offer up
108 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT in.
For the good, good prince, my most deare, deare lord,
The duke Piero, and your vertuous selfe ;
And then, when those prayers have obtain'd successe,
In sooth He come (beleeve it now) and couch
My heade in downie moulde. But first He see
You safely laide : He bring yee all to bed.
Piero, Maria, Strotzo, Luceo,
He see you all laid : He bringe you all to bed,
And then, ifaith, He come and couch my head,
And sleepe in peace.
Mar. Looke then, wee goe before.
[Exeunt all but Antonio.
Ant. I, so you must, before we touch the shore
Of wisht revenge. 0, you departed soules,
That lodge in coffin' d trunkes, which my feet presse
(If Pythagorian Axiomes be true,
Of spirits transmigration), fleete no more
To humane bodies, rather live in swine,
Inhabit wolves flesh, scorpions, dogs, and toads,
Eather then man. The curse of Heaven raines
In plagues unlimited through all his daies.
His mature age growes onely mature vice,
And ripens onely to corrupt and rot
The budding hopes of infant modestie.
Still striving to be more then man, he prooves
More then a divell, divelish suspect, divelish crueltie :
All hell-straid juyce is powred to his vaines,
Making him drunke with fuming surquedries,
Contempt of Heaven, untam'd arrogance,
Lust, state, pride, murder.
And. Murder. 1
Fel. Murder. >From above and beneath.
Pan. Murder.
sc. in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIVA. 109
Ant. I, I \vill murder : graves and ghosts
Fright me no more, He suck red vengeance
Out of Pieros wounds. Pieros wounds.
Enter two boyes, with PIERO in Ms- night gown and
night cap.
Pie. Maria, love, Maria ! she tooke this He.
Left you her here ? On, lights, away !
I thinke we shall not warme our beds to day.
Enter JULIO, FOROBOSCO, and CASTILIO.
Jul. Ho, father ! father !
Pie. How now, Julio, my little prettie sonne ?
Why suffer you the child to walke so late ?
For. He will not sleepe, but calls to followe you,
Crying that bug-beares and spirits haunted him.
[Antonio offers to come nere and stab ; Piero presently
icithdrawes.
Ant. No, not so.
This shall be sought for ; He force him feede on life
Till he shall loath it. This shall be the close
Of vengeance straine.
Pie. Away there, pages, lead on fast with light ;
The church is full of damps ; tis yet deade night.
[Exit all, saving Julio.
SCENA TEBTIA.
Jul. Brother Antonio, are you here, ifaith ?
Why doe you frowne ? Indeed my sister said
That I should call you brother, that she did,
When you were married to her. Busse me : good
110 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT in.
Truth, I love you better then my father, deede.
Ant. Thy father ? Gratious, 0 bounteous Heaven !
I doe adore thy justice : Venit in nostras manus
Tandem vindicta, venit et tota quidem.
Jul. Truth, since my mother dyed, I lov'd you best.
Something hath angred you ; pray you, look merily.
Ant. I will laugh, and dimple my thinne cheeke
With capring joy ; chuck, my heart doth leape
To graspe thy bosome. Time, place, and blood,
How fit you close togither ! Heavens tones
Strike not such musick to immortall soules
As your accordance sweetes my breast withall.
Me thinks I pase upon the front of Jove,
And kick corruption with a scornefull heele,
Griping this flesh, disdaine mortalitie.
O that I knewe which joynt, which side, which Km,
Were father all, and had no mother in 't,
That I might rip it vaine by vaine, and carve revenge
In bleeding races ; but since 'tis mixt together,
Have at adventure, pel mell, no reverse.
Come hither, boy. This is Andrugio's hearse.
Jul. O God, youle hurt me. For my sisters sake,
Pray you doe not hurt me. And you kill me, deede,
lie tell my father.
Ant. 0, for thy sisters sake, I flagge revenge.
And. Bevenge !
Ant. Stay, stay, deare father, fright mine eyes no more.
Eevenge as swift as lightning bursteth forth,
And cleares his heart. Come, prettie tender childe,
It is not thee I hate, not thee I kill.
Thy fathers blood that Howes within thy veines,
Is it I loath ; is that, revenge must sucke.
sc. in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. Ill
I love thy soule : and were thy heart lapt up
In any flesh but in Piero's bloode,
I would thus kisse it ; but being his, thus, thus,
And thus lie punch it. Abandon feares.
WhiPst thy wounds bleede, my browes shall gush out teares.
Jul. So you will love me, -doe even what you will.
Ant. Now barkes the wolfe against the fulle cheekt moon ;
Now lyons half-clamd entrals roare for food ;
Now croakes the toad, and night crowes screech aloud,
Fluttering 'bout casements of departed soules ;
Now gapes the graves, and through their yawnes let loose
Imprison' d spirits to revisit earth ;
And now swarte night, to swell thy hower out,
Behold I spurt warme bloode in thy blacke eyes.
[From under the stage a groane.
Ant. Howie not, thou pury mould ; groan not, ye graves.
Be dumbe, all breath. Here stands Andrugio's sonne,
Worthie his father. So : I feele no breath.
His jawes are falne, his dislodg'd soule is fled :
And now there 's nothing but Piero left.
He is all Piero, father all. This blood,
This breast, this heart, Piero all :
Whome thus I mangle. Spirit of Julyo,
Forget this was thy trunke. I live thy friend.
Maist thou be twined with the softst imbrace
Of clere eternitie : but thy fathers blood
I thus make incense of, to vengeance.
Ghost of my poysoned syre, sucke this fume :
To sweet revenge perfume thy circling ayre,
With smoake of bloode. I sprinkle round his goare,
And dewe thy hearse with these fresh reeking drops.
Loe thus I heave my blood-died handes to heaven,
112 THE SECOND PART 01 [ACT in.
Even like insatiate hell, still crying, More.
My heart hath thirsting dropsies after goare.
Sound peace and rest to church, night ghosts, and graves.
Blood cries for bloode ; and murder, murder craves.
SCENA QUAKTA.
^f Enter two pages witli torches ; MARY A, her hayre loose,
and NUTRTCHE.
Nut. Fy, fie; to morrowe your wedding day, and
weepe ! Gods my comfort ! Andrugio could do well :
Piero may doe better. I have had foure husbands my selfe.
The first I called, sweet duck ; the second, deare heart ;
the third, prettie pugge; but the fourth, most sweete,
deare, prettie, all in all : he was the very cockeall of a
husband. What, ladie ? your skinne is smooth, your
bloode warme, your cheeke fresh, your eye quick : change
of pasture makes fat calves ; choice of linnen, cleane bodies,
and (no question) variety of husbands, perfect wives. I
would you should knowe it : as fewe teeth as I have in my
heade, I have red Aristotles Problemes, which saith, that
woman receiveth perfection by the man. What then be
the men ? Goe to, to bed, lye on your backe, dream not on
Piero ; I say no more. To morrowe is your wedding : doe
dreame not of Piero.
^[ Enter BALUKDO with a base vyole.
Mar. What an idle prate thou keep'st, good nurse ; goe
I have a mightie taske of teares to weepe. [sleepe.
Sal. Ladie, with a most retort and obtuse legge,
I kisse the curled locks of your loose haire. The duke
hath sent you the most musical Sir Gefferey, with his not
sc. iv.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 113
base, but most innobled viole, to rock your baby thoughts
in the cradle of sleepe.
Mar. I give the noble Duke respective thanks.
Bal. Eespective ; truely a verie prettie word. Indeed,
madam, I have the most respective fiddle ; did you ever
smell a more sweete sounde ? My dittie must goe thus ;
verie wittie, I assure you : I myselfe in an humorous
passion made it, to the tune of my mistresse Nutriches
beautie. Indeede, verie prettie, verie retort, and obtuse ;
He assure you tis thus : —
My mistresse eye doth oyle my joints,
And makes my fingers nimble :
O love, come on, untrusse your points,
My fiddlestick wants rozzen.
My ladies dugges are all so smooth,
That no flesh must them handle :
Her eyes doe shine, for to say- sooth,
Like a newe snuffed candle.
Mar. Truelie, verie patheticall, and unvulgar.
Bal. Patheticall, and unvulgar; words of worth, ex-
cellent words. In sooth, madam, I have taken a murre,
which makes my nose run most patheticallie, and unvul-
garlie. Have you any tobacco ?
Mar. Good Signior, your song.
Bal. Instantlie, most unvulgarlie, at your service.
Truelie, here 5s the most patheticall rozzen. Umh.
CANTANT.
Mar. In sooth, most knightlie sung, and like Sir Gef-
ferey.
Bal. Why, looke you, ladie, I was made a knight only
for my voice ; and a counseller, only for my wit.
114 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT in.
Mar. I beleeve it. Good night, gentle sir, good night.
Bal. You will give me leave to take my leave of my
mistresse, and I will do it most famously in rime.
Farewell, adieu ! saith thy love true,
As to part loath.
Time bids us parte, mine own sweete heart,
God blesse us both. [Exit Balurdo.
Mar. Good night, Nutriche. Pages, leave the roome.
The life of night growes short, tis almost dead.
[Exeunt Pages and Nutriche.
0 thou cold widdowe bed, sometime thrice blest,
By the warme pressure of my sleeping lord :
Open thy leaves, and whilst on thee I treade,
Groane out, Alas, my deare Andrugio's deade !
[Maria draweth the courtaine : and the ghost of Andrugio
is displayed, sitting on the bed.
Amazing terror, what portent is this ?
SCENA QUINTA.
And. Disloyal to our hymniall rites,
What raging heat rains in thy strumpet blood ?
Hast thou so soone forgot Andrugio ?
Are our love-bands so quickly cancelled ?
Where lives thy plighted faith unto this breast ?
0 weake Marya ! Go to, calme thy feares.
1 pardon thee, poore soule ! 0 shed no teares ;
Thy sexe is weake. That black incarnate fiende
May trippe thy faith that hath orethrowne my life :
sc. v.] .ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 115
I was impoyson'd by Piero's hand.
Joyne with my sonne to bend up straind revenge.
Maintaine a seeming favour to his suite,
Till time may forme our vengeance absolute.
^f Enter ANTONIO, Ms armes bloody: a torch and a
poniard.
Ant. See, unamazed, I will beholde thy face;
Outstare the terror of thy grimme aspect,
Daring the horred'st object of the night.
Looke how I smoake in blood, reeking the steame
Of foming vengeance. 0 my soule 's inthroan'd
In the tryumphant chariot of revenge !
Me thinks I am all ayre, and feele no waight
Of humane dirt clogge. This is Julios blood.
Kich musique, father ; this is Julios blood.
Why lives that mother ?
And. Pardon ignorance. Fly, deare Antonio :
Once more assume disguise, and dog the court
In fained habit, till Piero's blood
May even ore-flowe the brimme of full revenge.
[Exit Antonio.
Peace, and all blessed fortunes to you both.
Fly thou from court, be pearelesse in revenge :
Sleepe thou in rest, loe here I close thy couch.
[Exit Maria to her bed, Andrugio drawing the curtaines.
And now yq^ sootie coursers of the night,
Hurrie your chariot into hels black wombe.
Darkenesse, make flight ; graves, eat your dead again :
Let 's repossesse our shrowdes. Why lags delay ?
Mount sparkling brightnesse, give the world his day.
{Exit Andrugio.
116 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT iv.
ACTUS QUART US.
SCENA PEIMA.
<[[ Enter ANTONIO in a fooles habit, with a little toy of a
walnut shell, and sope, to make bubbles : MARIA and
ALBERTO.
JWAY with this disguise in any hand.
Alb. Fie, tis unsuting to your elate
spirite :
Rather put on some transhap't cavalier,
Some habit of a spitting critick, whose mouth
Voids nothing but gentile and unvulgar
Eheume of censure : rather assume
Ant. Why, then, should I put on the verie flesh
Of solid folly ? No, this cockscombe is a crowne
Which I affect, even with unbounded zeale.
Alb. Twil twhart your plot, disgrace your high resolve,
Ant. By wisdomes heart there is no essence mortal,
That I can envie, but a plumpe cheekt foole :
0, he hath a patent of immunities
Confirm'd by custome, seald by pollicie,
As large as spatious thought. *
Alb. You can not press among the courtiers,
And have accesse to
Ant. What? not a foole? Why, friend, a golden asse,
A babl'd foole are sole canonical!,
Whil'st pale cheekt wisdome, and leane ribd arte
so. i.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 117
Are kept in distance at the halberts point :
All held Apocrypha, not worth survey.
Why, by the genius of that Florentine,
Deepe, deepe observing, sound brain'd Macheveil,
He is not wise that strives not to seeme foole.
When will the Duke holde feed Intelligence,
Keepe wane observation in large pay,
To dogge a fooles act ?
Mar. I, but faining, known, disgraceth much.
Ant. Pish ! Most things that morally adhere to soules,
Wholly exist in drunke opinion :
Whose reeling censure, if I valew not,
It valewes naught,
Mar. You are transported with too slight a thought,
If you but meditate of what is past,
And what you plot to passe.
Ant. Even in that, note a fooles beatitude :
He is not capeable of passion ;
Wanting the power of distinction,
He beares an unturned sayle with every winde :
Blowe east, blowe west, he stirs his course alike.
I never sawe a foole leane : the chub-fac't fop
Shines sleeke with full cramm'd fat of happinesse,
Whil'st studious contemplation sucks the juyce
From wisards cheekes : who making curious search
For natures secrets, the first innating cause
Laughes them to scorne, as man doth busie apes
When they will zanie men. Had Heaven bin kinde,
Creating me an honest senselesse dolt,
A good poore foole, I should want sense to feele
The stings of anguish shoot through every vaine ;
I should not know what twere to loose a father ;
118 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT iv.
I should be deade of sense, to viewe defame
Blur my bright love ; I could not thus run mad,
As one confounded in a maze of mischiefe,
Staggerd, starke feld with brusing stroke of chance.
I should not shoote mine eyes into the earth,
Poring for mischiefe, that might counterpoise
^f Enter LUCEO.
mischiefe, murder and How now, Lucio ?
IM. My lord, the Duke, with the Venetian state s,
Approach the great hall to judge Mellida.
Ant. Askt he for Julio yet ?
Lu. No motion of him : dare you trust this habit ?
Ant. Alberto, see you streight rumour me dead.
Leave me, good mother ; leave me, Luceo ;
Forsake me, all. Now patience hoope my sides
[Exeunt omnes, saving Antonio.
With steeled ribs, least I doe burst my breast
With struggling passions. Now disguise, stand bolde,
Poore scorned habits, oft choyce soules infould.
^[ The cornets sound a cynety
SCENA SECUNDA.
^f Enter CASTILIO, FOROBOSCO, BALURDO, and ALBERTO,
with pol-axes: LUCEO bare. PIERO and MARIA
talking together: two SENATORS, GALEATZO, and
MATZAGENTE, NUTRICHE.
Pie. Intreat me not : ther 's not a beauty lives
Hath that imperiall predominance
Ore my affectes, as your inchanting graces :
Yet give me leave to be my selfe.
sc. ii.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 119
Ant. A villaine.
Pie. Just.
Ant. Most just.
Pie. Most just and upright in our judgement seat.
Were Mellida mine eye, with such a blemish
Of most loath'd loosenesse, I would scratch it out.
Produce the strumpet in her bridall robes.
That she may blush t'appeare so white in showe,
And blacke in inward substance. Bring her in.
[Exeunt Forobosco and Castilio.
I holde Antonio, for his fathers sake,
So verie dearely, so entirely choyce,
That knewe I but a thought of prejudice
Imaign'd 'gainst his high innobled blood,
I would maintaine a mortal! feude, undying hate,
Gainst the conceivers life. And shall justice sleepe
In fleshly lethargic, for myne own bloods favour,
When the sweete prince hath so apparant scorne
By my (I wil not call her) daughter ? Goe,
Conduct in the loved youth Antonio :
[Exit Alberto to fetch Antonio.
He shall beholde me spume my private good;
Piero loves his honour more then 's blood.
Ant. The divell he does more then both.
Bal. Stand backe there, foole ; I do hate a foole most
most pathetically. 0, these that have no sappe of retort
and obtuse wit in them : faugh !
Ant. Puffe, holde world ; puffe, hold bubble ; puffe,
holde world ; puffe, breake not behind ; puife, thou art
full of winde; puffe, keep up by winde; puffe, 'tis broake!
and now I laugh like a good foole at the breath of mine
owne lips, he, he, he, he, he !
120 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT iv,
JBal. You foole !
Ant, You foole, puffe !
Bal. I cannot disgest thee, the unvulgar foole. Goe,
foole.
Pie. Eorbeare, Balurdo ; let the foole alone,
Come hither (fictd). Is he your foole ?
Mar. Yes, my lov'd lord.
Pie. Would all the states in Yenice were like thee !
0 then I were secur'd.
He that 's a villaine, or but meanely sowl'd,
Must stil converse, and cling to routes of fooles,
That can not search the leakes of his defectes.
0, your unsalted fresh foole is your onely man :
These vinegar tart spirits are too pearcing,
Too searching in the unglewd joynts of shaken wits.
Finde they a chinke, they 1 wriggle in and in,
And eat like salt sea in his siddowe ribs,
Till they have opened all his rotten parts
Unto the vaunting surge of base contempt,
And sunke the tossed galleasse in depth
Of whhiepoole scorne. Give me anr honest fopp.
Dud a dud a ! Why loe, sir, this takes he
As grateful now as a monopolie.
SCENA TEKTIA.
^[ The still flutes sound softly.
-Z^erEonoBosco and CASTILIO : MELLIDA supported
by two waiting women.
Mel. All honour to this royall confluence.
Pie. Forbeare (impure) to blot bright honours name
sc. in.] ANTONIO, AND MELLIDA. 121
With thy defiled lips. The fluxe of sinne
Flowes from thy tainted bodie : thou so foule,
So all dishonour'd, canst no honour give,
No wish of good, that can have good effect
To this grave senate, and illustrate bloodes.
Why staies the doome of death ?
1st Sen. Who riseth up to manifest her guilt ?
%d Sen. You must produce apparant proofe, my lord.
Pie. Why, where is Strotzo ? — he that swore he saw
The verie acte : and vow'd that Eeliche fled
Upon his sight : on which I brake the breast
Of the adulterous letcher with five stabbes.
Goe, fetch in Strotzo. Now, thou impudent,
If thou hast any droppe of modest bloode
Shrowded within thy cheeks, blush, blush for shame,
That rumor yet may say, thou felt'st defame.
Mell. Produce the divel ; let your Strotzo come :
I can defeat his strongest argument,
With
Pie. With what ?
Mel. With teares, with blushes, sighes, and clasped hands,
With innocent upreared armes to Heaven :
With my unnookt simplicitie. These, these
Must, will, can only quit my heart of guilt.
Heaven permits not taintlesse bloode be spilt,
If no remorse live in your savage breast.
Pie. Then thou must die.
Mel. Yet dying, He be blest.
Pie. Accurst by me.
Mel. Yet blest, in that I strove
To live, and die.
Pie. My hate.
122 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT iv.
Mel. Antonio's love.
Ant. Antonio's love !
^f Enter STROTZO, a corde about Ms necke.
Sir. 0 what vast ocean of repentant teares
Can cleanse my breast from the polluting filth
Of ulcerous sinne ! Supreame Efficient,
Why cleav'st thou not my breast with thunderbolts
Of wing'd revenge ?
Pie. What meanes this passion ?
Ant. What villanie are they decocting now ? Umh !
Str. In me convertite ferrum, 0 proceres.
Nihil iste, nee ista.
Pie. Lay holde on him. What strange portent is this ?
Str. I will not flinch. Death, hel more grimly stare
Within my heart, then in your threatning browes.
Eecord, thou threefolde garde of dreadest power,
What I here speake is forced from my lips
By the pulsive straine of conscience.
I have a mount of mischiefe clogs my soule,
As waightie as the high-nol'd Appenine,
Which I must straight disgorge, or breast will burst.
I have defam'd this ladie wrongfully,
By instigation of Antonio,
Whose reeling love, tost on each fancies surge,
Began to loath before it fully joyed. [Exit Forobosco.
Pie. Goe, seize Antonio ; guard him strongly in.
Str. By his ambition, being only brib'd,
Feed by his impious hand, I poysoned
His aged father, that his thirstie hope
Might quench their dropsie of aspiring drought
With full unbounded quaife.
sc. in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 123
Pie. Seize me, Antonio.
Sir. 0, why permit you now such scum of filth,
As Strotzo is, to live and taint the ayre
With his infectious breath !
Pie. My selfe will be thy strangler, unmatcht slave.
^[ PIEEO comes from his chair e, snatcheth the cords end,
and CASTILIO aydetJi him : both strangle STROTZO.
Sir. Now change your
Pie. I pluck Castilio — I change my humour : plucke
CastiHo.
Dye, with thy deathes intreats even in thy jawes.
Now, now, now, now, now, my plot begins to worke !
Why, thus should statesmen doe,
That cleave through knots of craggie pollicies,
Use men like wedges, one strike out another,
Till by degrees the tough and knurly trunke
Be riv'd in sunder. Where 's Antonio ?
^f Enter ALBEETO, running.
Alb. O, black accursed fate. Antonio's drowned.
Pie. Speake, on thy faith, on thy allegiance, speake.
Alb. As I do love Piero, he is drownde.
Ant. In an inundation of amazement.
Mel. I, is this the close of all my straines in love ?
O me most wretched maide.
Pie. Antonio drownde ! how ? how ? Antonio drownd !
Alb. Distraught and raving, from a turrets top
He threwe his bodie in the swolne sea,
And as he headlong topsie turvie dingd downe,
He still cri'd«MeUida!"
Ant. My loves bright crowne.
124 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT iv.
Mel. He still cry'd "Mellida 1"
Pie. Daughter, methinks your eyes should sparkle joy,
Your bosome rise on tiptoe at this news.
Mel. Aye me.
Pie. How now ? Ay me ! why, art not great of thanks
To gratious Heaven, for the just revenge
Upon the author of thy obloquies !
Mar. Sweete beautie, I could sigh as fast as you,
But that I knowe that, which I weepe to knowe,
His fortunes should be such he dare not showe
His open presence.
Mel. I knowe he lov'd me dearely, dearely, I :
And since I cannot live with him, I dye.
Pie. Tore Heaven, her speach falters ; look, she swoons.
Convey her up into her private bed.
[Maria, Nutriche, and the Ladies^ beare out Mellida,
as being swouned.
I hope sheele live. If not
Ant. Antonio's dead ! the foole wil follow too, he, he, he !
Now workes the sceane ; quick observation scud
To coate the plot, or els the path is lost :
My verie selfe am gone, my way is fled :
I, all is lost, if Mellida is deade. [Exit Antonio.
Pie. Alberto, I am kinde ; Alberto, kinde.
I am sorie for thy couz, ifaith I am.
Goe, take him downe, and beare him to his father.
Let him be buried ; looke yee, He pay the priest.
Alb. Please you to admit his father to the court ?
Pie. No.
Alb. Please you to restore his lands and goods againe ?
Pie. No.
Alb. Please you vouchsafe him lodging in the city ?
sc. in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 125
Pie. Gods fut, no, thou odde uncivill fellow.
I thinke you doe forget, sir, where you are.
Alb. I know you doe forget, sir, where you must be.
Foro. You are too malepert, ifaith you are.
Your honour might do well to
Alb. Peace, parasite ; thou bur, that only sticks
Unto the nappe of greatnesse.
Pie. Away with that same yelping cur — away.
Alb. I — I am gone; but marke, Piero, this.
There is a thing cald scourging Nemesis. [Exit Alberto,
Bal. Gods neakes, he has wrong, that he has ; and
S'fut, and I were as he, I would beare no coles. Lawe I,
I begin to swell — puffe.
Pie. How now, foole, fop, foole ?
Bal. Foole, fop, foole ! Marry muffe. I pray you, how
manie fooles have you scene goe in a suite of sattin ? I hope
yet, I doe not looke a foole ifaith ! a foole ! Gods bores,
I scorn't with my heele. S'neaks, and I were worth but
three hundred pound a yeare more, I could sweare richly ;
nay, but as poore as I am, I will sweare the fellowe hath
wrong.
Pie. Young Galeatzo ! I, a proper man ;
Florence, a goodly citie : it shall be so.
He marrie her to him instantly.
Then Genoa mine, by my Mariaes match,
Which lie solemnize ere next setting sun.
Thus Venice, Florence, Genoa, strongly leagu'd.
Excellent, excellent ! He conquer Eome,
Pop out the light of bright religion ;
And then, helter skelter, all cock sure.
Bal. Goe to, tis just, the man hath wrong : go to.
Pie. Goe to, thou shalt have right. Go to, Castilio,
126 THE SECOND PART 01 [ACT iv.
Clap him into the palace dungeon ;
Lappe him in rags, and let him feed on slime
That smeares the dungeon cheeke. Away with him.
Bal. In verie good truth, now, lie nere do so more ;
this one time and
Pie. Away with him — observe it strictly — goe !
Bal. Why then, O wight ! alas, poor knight !
0, welladay, Sir Geffery. Let poets roare,
And all deplore ; for now I bid you good night.
[Exit Balm-do with Castilio.
Mar. 0 pittious end of love ! 0 too, too rude hand
Of unrespective death ! Alas, sweete maide !
Pie. Forbear me, Heaven. What intend these plaints ?
Mar. The beautie of admir'd creation,
The life of modest unmixt puritie,
Our sexes glorie, Mellida is — —
Pie. What, 0 Heaven, what !
Mar. Deade !
Pie. May it not sad your thoughts, how ?
Mar. Being laid upon her bed, she graspt my hand,
And kissing it, spake thus : Thou very pore,
Why dost not weepe ? The Jewell of thy browe,
The rich adornement that inchac't thy breast,
Is lost. Thy son, my love, is lost, is deade.
And doe I live to say Antonio 's deade ?
And have I liv'd to see his vertues blurd
With guiltlesse blots ? 0 world, thou art too subtile
"For honest natures to converse withall,
Therefore He leave thee ; farewell, mart of woe,
I fly to clip my love, Antonio !
With that her head sunk down upon her brest ;
Her cheeke ehang'd earth, her senses slept in rest,
sc. iv.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 127
Untill my foole, that press'd unto the bed,
Screch't out so lowd that he brought back her soule,
Calde her againe, that her bright eyes gan ope,
And starde upon him. He, audatious foole,
Dar'd kisse her hand, wisht her soft rest, lov'd bride ;
She fumbled out, thanks good, and so she dide.
Pie. And so she dide ! I doe not use to weepe ;
But by thy love (out of whose fertile sweete
I hope for as faire fruite) I am deepe sad.
I will not stay my manage for all this.
Castilio, Forobosco, all,
Straine all your wits, winde up invention
Unto his highest bent ; to sweete this night,
Make us drinke Lethe by your queint conceipts ;
That for two daies oblivion smother griefe.
But when my daughters exequies approach,
Let 's all tume sighers. Come, despight of fate,
Sound lowdest musick, lets pase out in state.
^f The cornets sound. [Exeunt.
SCENA QUAKTA.
^f Enter ANTONIO solus, infooks habit.
Ant. I Heaven, thou maist, thou maist omnipotence.
What vermine bred of putrifacted slime
Shall dare to expostulate with thy decrees !
O Heaven, thou maist indeede : she was all thine,
All heavenly : I did but humbly beg
To borrowe her of thee a little time.
Thou gav'st her me, as some weake breasted dame
Giveth her infant, puts it out to nurse ;
And when it once goes high-lone, takes it back.
128 THE SECOND PART 01 [ACT iv.
She was my vitall blood, and yet, and yet,
He not blaspheame. Looke here ! beholde !
[Antonio puts off his cap, and lyethjust upon his back.
I turne my prostrate breast upon thy face,
And vent a heaving sigh, 0 heare but this !
I am a poore, poore orphant — a weake, weak childe,
The wrack of splitted fortune, the very ouze,
The quicksand that devours all miserie.
Beholde the valiant'st creature that doth breath.
For all this I dare live, and I will live,
Onely to numme some others cursed bloode
With the dead palsie of like misery.
Then death, like to a stifling incubus,
Lie on my bosome. Loe, sir, I am sped.
My breast is Golgotha, grave for the deade.
SCENA QUINTA.
^ Enter PANDULPHO, ALBEKTO, and a Page, carrying
FELICHES trunke in a winding sheete, and lay it
thwart ANTONTOS breast.
Pan. Antonio, kisse my foote : I honour thee,
In laying thwart my blood upon thy breast.
I tell thee, boy, he was Pandulphos sonne ;
And I doe grace thee with supporting him,
Young man.
The dominering monarch of the earth,
He who hath naught that fortunes gripe can seize,
He who is all impregnably his owne,
Hee whose great heart Heaven can not force with force,
Vouchsafes his love. Non servio Deo, sed assentio.
Ant. I ha lost a good wife.
sc. v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 129
Pan. Didst finde her good, or didst thou make her good ?
If found, thou maist refinde, because thou hadst her.
If made, the worke is lost ; but thou that mad'st her
Liv'st yet as cunning. Hast lost a good wife ?
Thrice blessed man that lost her whilst she was good,
Faire, young, unblemisht, constant, loving, chaste.
I tell thee, youth, age knows, young loves seeme grac't,
Which with gray cares, rude jarres, are oft defac't.
Ant. But shee was full of hope.
Pan. May be, may be ; but that which may be, stood,
Stands now without all may. She died good,
And dost thou grieve ?
Alb. I ha lost a true friend. *
Pan. I live encompast with two blessed soules.
Thou lost a good wife, thou lost a trew friend, ha !
Two of the rarest lendings of the heavens.
But lendings, which at the fixed day of pay
Set downe by fate, thou must restore againe.
0 what unconscionable soules are here !
Are you all like the spoke-shaves of the church ?
Have you no mawe to restitution ?
Hast lost a true friend, cuz ? then thou hadst one.
1 tell thee, youth, tis all as difficult
To finde true friend in this apostate age
(That balkes all right affiance twixt two hearts)
As tis to finde a fixed modest heart,
Under a painted breast. Lost a true friend !
O happie soule that lost him whilst he was true.
Beleeve it cuz, I to my teares have found,
Oft durts respect makes firmer friends unsound.
Alb. You have lost a good sonne.
9
130 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT iv.
Pan. Why there 's the comfort ont, that he was good.
Alas, poore innocent !
Alb. Why weepes mine uncle ?
Pan. Ha, dost aske me why ? ha, ha !
Good cuz, looke here !
[He showes him his sonnes breast.
Man will breake out, despight philosophic.
Why, all this while I ha but plaid a part,
Like to some boy, that actes a tragedie,
Speakes burly words, and raves out passion ;
But, when he thinks upon his infant weaknesse,
He droopes his eye. I spake more then a god.
Ye^ am lesse then a man.
I am the miserablest sowle that breathes.
[Antonio starts up.
Ant. S'lid, sir, ye lye ! by the heart of griefe, thou lyest !
1 scorn't that any wretched should survive,
Outmounting me in that superlative,
Most miserable, most unmatcht in woe.
Who dare assume that, but Antonio ?
Pan. Wilt still be so, and shall yon blood-hound live ?
Ant. Have I an arme, a heart, a sword, a sowle ?
Alb. Were you but private unto what we know.
Pan. He knowe it all ; first let 's interre the dead.
Let 's dig his grave, with that shall dig the heart,
Liver, and intrals of the murderer.
[They strike the stage icith their daggers, and the
grave openeth.
Ant. Wilt sing a dirge, boy ?
Pan. No, no song ; twill be vile out of tune.
Alb. Indeede, he's hoarcej the poor boye's voice is
crackt.
sc. v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 131
Pan. Why cuz ! why shold it not be hoarce and crackt,
When all the strings of natures symphony
Are crackt and jar ? Why should his voice keepe tune,
When ther 's no musick in the breast of man ?
lie say an honest antick rime I have,
(Helpe me, good sorrow-mates, to give him grave).
[They all helpe to carie Feliche to Ms grave.
Death, exile, plaints, and woe,
Are but mans lackies, not his foe.
No mortall scapes from fortunes warre
Without a wound, at least a scarre.
Many have led these to the grave ;
But all shall followe, none shall save.
Bloode of my youth, rot and consume ;
Virtue, in dirt, doth life assume.
With this ould sawe, close up this dust ;
Thrice blessed man that dyeth just.
Ant. The gloomie wing of night begins to stretch
His lasie pinion over all the ayre.
We must be stiffe and steddie in resolve ;
Let 's thus our hands, our hearts, our armes involve.
[They wreath their armes.
Pan. Now sweare we by this Gordian knot of love,
By the fresh turned up mould that wraps my sonne ;
By the deade browe of triple Hecate ;
Ere night shall close the lids of yon bright stars,
Weele sit as heavie on Pieros heart,
As ./Etna doth on groning Pelorus.
Ant. Thanks, good old man ;
Weele cast at royall chaunce.
Let 's thinke a plot — then pell mell vengeance !
[Exeunt, their armes wreathed.
132 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT v.
^f The Cornets sound for the Acte.
^[ The dumb showe.
ACTUS QUINT US.
SCENA PKIMA.
^f Enter at one dore CASTILIO and FOROBOSCO, with
halberts ; foure Pages, with torches; LUCEO, bare;
PIERO, MARIA, and ALBERTO, talking ; ALBERTO
drawes out his dagger, MARIA her knife, ayming to
menace the Duke. Then GALEATZO, betwixt two
Senators, reading a paper to them, at which they all
make semblance of loathing PIERO, and knit their
fists at him ; two Ladies and NTJTRICHE. All these
goe softly over the Stage, whilst at the other doore
enters the ghost of ANDRUGIO, who passeth by them,
tossing his torch about his heade in triumph. All
forsake the Stage, saving ANDRUGIO, who, speaking,
begins the Acte.
, tempusque, quo reddat suis
.Animam squallentem sceleribus.
I The fist of strenuous vengeance is clutcht,
And sterne Vindicta towreth up aloft,
That she may fal with a more waightie paise,
And crush lives sap from out Pieros vaines.
Now gins the leprous cores of ulcered sins
Wheale to a heade : now is his fate growne mellow,
sc. ii.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 133
Instant to fall into the rotten jawes
Of chap-fame death. Now downe lookes Providence,
T'attend the last act of my sons revenge.
Be gratious, observation, to our sceane,
For now the plot unites his scattred limbes
Close in contracted bands. The Florence Prince
(Drawne by firme notice of the Dukes black deeds)
Is made a partner in conspiracie.
The States of Venice are so swolne in hate
Against the Duke for his accursed deeds
(Of which they are confirm'd by some odde letters
Found in dead Strotzos studie, which had past
Betwixt Piero and the murdring slave),
That they can scarce retaiue from bursting foorth
In plaine revolt. O, now tryumphes my ghost,
Exclaiming, Heaven's just, for I shal see
The scourge of murder and impietie ! [Exit.
SCENA SECUNDA.
BALTJKDO from under the Stage.
Bal. Hoe, who 's above there, hoe ? A murren on all
proverbes. They say, hunger breakes thorough stone
walles ; but I am as gant as leane ribd famine, yet I can
burst through no stone walles. O now, Sir Grefferey,
shewe thy valour, breake prison and be hangd. Nor
shall the darkest nooke of hell containe the discontented
Sir Balurdos ghost. Well, I am out well ; I have put
off the prison to put on the rope. 0 poore shotten
herring, what a pickle art thou in ! 0 hunger, how thou
dominer'st in my guts ! O for a fat leg of ewe mutton in
stewde broth, or drunken song to feede on. I could belch
134 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT v.
rarely, for I ani all winde. O colde, colde, colde, colde,
colde I O poore knight ! O poore Sir Gefferey, sing like
an unicorne before thou dost dip thy home in the water
of death. 0 cold, 0 sing, 0 colde, O poore Sir Geffrey,
sing, sing !
CANTAT.
SCENA TERTTA.
^[ Enter ANTONIO and ALBERTO at severall doores, their
rapiers drawne, in their masking attyre.
Ant. Vindicta !
Alb. Mellida!
Ant. Alberto!
Alb. Antonio !
Ant. Hath the Duke supt ?
Alb. Yes, and tryumphant revels mount aloft.
The Duke drinkes deepe to overflowe his griefe.
The court is rackt to pleasure ; each man straines
To faine a jocund eye. The Florentine
Ant. Young Galeatzo !
Alb. Even he is mightie on our part. The States of
Venice
^[ Enter PANDULPHO, running, in masking attyre.
Pan. Like high-sworn floods drive down the muddie
dammes
Of pent allegeance. O, my lustie bloods,
Heaven sits clapping of our enterprise.
I have beene labouring generall favour firme,
And I doe finde the citizens growne sick
With swallowing the bloodie crudities
sc. in.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 135
Of black Pieros acts ; they faine would cast
And vomit him from off their governement.
Now is the plot of mischiefe ript wide ope ;
Letters are found twixt Strotzo and the Duke
So cleare apparent, yet more firmely strong
By suiting circumstance ; that as I walkt
Muffled, to eves-drop speech, I might observe
The graver statesmen whispering fearefully.
Here one gives nods and hums what he would speake.
The rumour 's got 'mong troope of citizens,
Making lowde murmur, with confused dinne.
One shakes his head and sighes, 0 illus'd powre !
Another frets, and sets his grinding teeth,
Foaming with rage, and sweares this must not be.
Here one complots, and on a sodaine starts,
And cries, O monstrous, 0 deepe villanie !
All knit there nerves, and from beneath swoln brows
Appeares a gloting eye of much mislike ;
Whilst swart Pieros lips reake steame of wine,
Swallowes lust-thoughts, devours all pleasing hopes,
With strong imagination of, what not ?
O now Vindicta, that 's the word we have,
A royall vengeance, or a royall grave !
Ant. Vindicta!
Bal. I am acolde.
Pan. Who's there ? Sir Geffrey ?
Sal. A poor knight, god wot : the nose of thy knight-
hoode is bitten off with cold. 0 poore Sir Geffrey, cold,
cold !
Pan. What chance of fortune hath tript up his heels,
And laid him in the kennell, ha ?
Alb. I will discourse it all. Poore honest soule,
136 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT v.
lladst thou a bever to clasp up thy face,
Thou shouldst associate us in masquery,
And see revenge.
Sal. Nay, and you talke of revenge, my stomack 's up,
for I am most tyrannically hungry. A bever ! I have
a headpeece, a skull, a braine of proofe, I warrant yee.
Alb. Slinke to my chamber then, and tyre thee.
Bal. Is there a fire ?
Alb. Yes.
Bal. Is there a fat leg of ewe mutton ?
Alb. Yes.
Bal. And a cleane shirt ?
Alb. Yes.
Bal. Then am I for you, most pathetically, and un-
vulgarly, law ! [Exit.
Ant. Eesolved hearts, time curtals night, opportunity
shakes us his foretop. Steel your thoughts, sharp your
resolve, imbolden your spirit, grasp your swords ; alarum
mischief, and with an undanted brow, out scout the grim
opposition
Of most menacing perill.
Harke here, proud pomp shoots mounting tryumph up,
Borne in lowde accents to the front of Jove.
Pan. O now, he that wants sowle to kill a slave,
Let him die slave, and rot in pesants grave.
Ant. Give me thy hand, and thine, most noble heart ;
Thus will wee live, and, but thus, never part.
[Exeunt, twirfd togethw.
^[ Cornets sound a cynet.
sc. iv.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 137
SCENA QUAKTA.
^[ Enter CASTILIO and FOROBOSCO ; two Pages, with
torches; Lucio, bare; PIEKO and MARIA, GALEATZO,
two Senators, and NUTRICHE.
^[ PIERO to MAEIA.
Pie. Sit close unto my breast, heart of my love,
Advance thy drooping eyes.
Thy sonne is drownde.
Kich happinesse that such a sonne is drownde.
Thy husband 's deade, life of my joyes most blest,
In that the saplesse logge, that prest thy bed
With an unpleasing waight, being lifted hence,
Even I, Piero, live to warme his place.
I tell you, ladie, had you view'd us both
With an unpartiall eye, when first we woo'd
Your maiden beauties, I had borne the prize,
Tis firme I had ; for, faire, I ha done that
Mar. Murder !
Pie. Which he would quake to have adventur'd ;
Thou know'st I have
Mar. Murdred my husband.
Pie. Borne out the shock of war, and done, what not,
That valour durst. Dost love me, fairest ? Say.
Mar. As I doe hate my son, I love thy soule.
Pie. Why then lo to Hymen, mount a loftie note.
Eul red cheekt Bacchus, let Lyeus note
In burnisht gobblets. Eorce the plump lipt god,
Skip light lavoltaes in your full sapt vaines.
Tis well brim fall. Even I have glut of blood.
Let quaffe carouse. I drinke this Burdeaux wine
138 TEE SECOND PART OF [ACT v.
Unto the healtli of deade Andrugio,
Feliche, Strotzo, and Antonios ghosts.
Would I had some poyson to infuse it with ;
That having done this honour to the dead,
I might send one to give them notice ont.
I would indeere my favour to the full.
Boy, sing alowd ; make heavens vault to ring
With thy breaths strength. I drink. Now lowdly sing.
CANTAT.
^[ TJie song ended,, the cornets sound a cynet.
SCENA QUINTA.
^] Enter ANTONIO, PANDULPHO, and ALBERTO, in
maskery ; BALUBDO, and a Torclibearer.
Pie. Call Julio hither. Where 's the little sowle ?
I sawe him not to-day. Here 's sport alone
For him, ifaith ; for babes and fooles, I know,
Eelish not substance, but applaud the showe.
[To the conspirators, as they stand in rankefor the measure.
Gal. All blessed fortune crown your brave attempt.
[To Antonio.
1 have a troope to second your attempt. [To Pandulpho.
The Venice States joyne hearts unto your hands.
[To Alberto.
Pie. By the delights in contemplation
Of comming joyes, 'tis magnificent.
You grace my manage eve with sumptuous pompe.
Sound still, lowde musick. 0, your breath gives grace
To curious feete, that in proud measure pase.
sc. v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 189
Ant. Mother, is Julios bodie
Mar. Speake not, doubt not ; all is above all hope.
Ant. Then wil I daunce and whirle about the ayre.
Methinks I am all sowle, all heart, all spirit.
Now murder shall receive his ample merite.
^[ TJie measure.
^f While the measure is dauncing, A.NDRUGIO'S gtost is
placed betwixt the musick houses.
Pie. Bring hither suckets, canded delicates.
Weele taste some sweete meats, gallants, ere we sleep.
Ant. Weele cooke your sweete meats, gallants, with
tart sower sawce.
And. Here will I sit, spectator of revenge,
And glad my ghost in anguish of my foe.
[The maskers whisper with Piero.
Pie. Marry and shall ; ifaith I were too rude,
If I gainesaide so civill fashion.
The maskers pray you to forbeare the rooine
Till they have banqueted. Let it be so :
No man presume to visite them, on death.
[The maskers whisper againe.
Onely my selfe ? 0, why with all my heart ;
He fill your consort. Here Piero sits ;
Come on, unmaske, lets fall to.
[The conspirators linde Piero, pluck out his tongue,
and tryumph over him.
Ant. Murder and torture ! no prayers, no entreats !
Pan. Weele spoyle your oratory. Out with his tong.
Ant. I have 't, Pandulpho ; the vaines panting bleede,
Trickling fresh goare about my fist. Bind fast — so, so !
140 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT v.
And. Blest be thy hand ! I taste the joyes of heaven,
Viewing my sonne tryumph in his blacke bloode.
Bal. Downe to the dungeon with him; He dungeon
with him ! He foole you ; Sir Gefferey will be Sir Geffrey,
lie tickle you.
Ant. Beholde, black dogge !
Pan. Grinst thou, thou snurling curre ?
Alb. Eate thy black liver.
Ant. To thine anguish see
A foole tryumphant in thy misery.
Vex him, Balurdo.
Pan. He weepes; now do I glorifie my hands ;
I had no vengeance, if I had no teares.
Ant. Fal to, good Duke. O these are worthlesse cates,
You have no stomack to them ; looke, looke here :
Here lies a dish to feast thy fathers gorge.
Here 's flesh and blood, which I am sure thou lov'st.
[Piero seemes to condole Ms sonne.
Pan. Was he thy flesh, thy son, thy dearest sonne ?
Ant. So was Andrugio my dearest father.
Pan. So was Feliche my dearest sonne.
^[ Enter MARIA.
Mar. So was Andrugio my dearest husband.
Ant. My father found no pittie in thy blood.
Pan. Remorse was banisht, when thou slew'st my son.
Mar. When thou impoysoned'st my loving lord,
Exilde was pietie.
Ant. Now therefore pittie, piety, remorse,
Be aliens to our thoughts ; grim fier-ey'd rage
Possess us wholly.
sc. v.] ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. 141
Pan. Thy son ? true ; and which is my most joy,
I hope no bastard, but thy very blood,
Thy true begotten, most legitimate
And loved issue — there 's the comfort ont.
Ant. Scum of the mud of hell !
Alb. Slime of aU filth !
Mar. Thou most detested toad !
Bal. Thou most retort and obtuse rascall !
Ant. Thus charge we death at thee ; remember hel,
And let the howling murmurs of black spirits,
The horrid torments of the damned ghosts,
Affright thy sowle as it descendeth downe
Into the intrals of the ugly deepe.
Pan. Sa, sa ; no, let him die, and die, and stil be dying.
[They offer to runne all at Piero, and on a sodain stop.
And yet not die till he hath di'd and di'd
Ten thousand deathes in agonie of heart.
Ant. Now pel mell ; thus the hand of Heaven chokes
The throate of murder. This for my fathers blood.
[He stabs Piero.
Pan. This for my sonne.
Alb. This for them all.
And this, and this, sinke to the heart of hell !
[They run all at Piero with their rapiers.
Pan. Murder for murder, blood for blood, doth yell !
And. Tis done, and now my sowle shal sleep in rest.
Sons that revenge their fathers blood are blest.
[The curtaines being drawne, exit Andrugio.
142 THE SECOND PART OF [ACT v.
SCENA SEXTA.
*[ Enter GALEATZO, two Senators, LUCEO, EOROBOSCO,
CASTILIO, and Ladies.
1st Sen. Whose hand presents this gory spectacle ?
Ant. Mine.
Pan. No, mine.
Alb. No, mine.
Ant. I will not loose the glorie of the deede,
Were all the tortures of the deepest hell
Eixt to my limbs. I pearc't the monsters heart
With an undaunted hand.
Pan. By yon bright spangled front of heaven twas I ;
Twas I sluc't out his life bloode.
Alb. Tush, to say truth, twas all.
%d Sen. Blest be you all, and may your honours live
Religiously helde sacred, even for ever and ever.
Gal. (to Antonio). Thou art another Hercules to us,
In ridding huge pollution from our State.
\st Sen. Antonio, beliefe is fortified
With most invincible approvements of much wrong,
By this Piero to thee. We have found
Beadroles of mischiefe, plots of villany,
Laide twixt the Duke and Strotzo, which we found
Too firmely acted.
%d Sen. Alas, poore orphant !
Ant. Poore, standing tryumphant over Belzebub !
Having large interest for blood, and yet deeni'd poor?
1st Sen. What satisfaction outward pomp can yield,
Or cheefest fortunes of the Venice State,
Claime freely. You are well seasond props,
sc. vi.] ANTONIO AND MELLID A. 143
And will not warpe, or leane to either part ;
Calamity gives man a steady Jieart.
Ant. We are amaz'd at your benignitie ;
But other vowes constraine another course.
Pan, We know the world, and did we know no more,
Wee would not live to know ; but since constraint
Of holy bands forceth us keepe this lodge
Of durts corruption, till dread power cals
Our soules appearance, we will live inclos'd
In holy verge of some religious order,
Most constant votaries.
[The curtaines are drawne, Piero departeih.
Ant. First let 's cleanse our hands,
Purge hearts of hatred, and intombe my love,
Over whose hearse He weepe away my braine
In true affections teares.
For her sake, here I vowe a virgine bed.
She lives in me ; with her my love is deade.
2d Sen. We will attend her mournfull exequies ;
Conduct you to your calme sequestred life,
And then
Mar. Leave us to meditate on misery,
To sad our thought with contemplation
Of past calamities. If any aske
Where lives the widdowe of the poisoned lord ?
Where lies the orphant of a murdered father ?
Where lies the father of a butchered sonne ?
Where Kves all woe ? — conduct him to us there,
The downe-cast ruines of calamitie.
And. Sound dolefull tunes, a solemne hymne advance,
To close the last act of my vengeance,
And when the subject of your passion's spent,
144 ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. [ACT v.
Sing Mellida is deade, all hearts will relent,
In sad condolement at that heavie sound.
Never more woe in lesser plot was found.
And, 0, if ever time create a muse,
That to th' immortall fame of virgine faith
Dares once engage his pen to write her death,
Presenting it in some black tragedie,
May it prove gratious ; may his stile be deckt
With freshest bloomes of purest elegance ;
May it have gentle presence, and the sceans suckt up
By calme attention of choyce audience ;
And when the closing Epilogue appeares,
Instead of claps, may it obtaine but teares.
CANTANT.
[Exeunt owne*.
Antonii mndictce.
THE WONDER OF WOMEN;
OE,
THE TBAGEDIE OF
SOPHONISBA.
10
TO THE GENERAL READER.
NOW, that 1 have not laboured in this
Poeme, to tye my selfe to relate any
thing as an historian, but to inlarge
every thing as a poet. To transcribe authors,
quote authorities, and translate Latine prose
Orations into English blank verse, hath, in this
subject, been the least ayme of my studies. Then
(equall Reader) peruse me with no prepared
dislike; and, if ought shall displease thee, thanke
thy selfe; if ought shall please thee, thanke not
me : for I confesse in this it was not my onely
f ARGUMENTUM.
A GRATEFULL hearts just height : ingratitude ;
•*-*• And vowes base breach with worthy shame pursude ;
A womans constant love as finne as fate ;
A blamelesse counsellor well borne for state ;
The folly to inforce free love. These know,
This subject with full light doth amply show.
ISTERL OCUTOEES.
MASSIXISSA, ) ^ T , . . „ ^
> Kings of ^ybia, ntalUfor JSOPHOMSBA
ASDRUBALL, Father tv SOPHOXISBA.
GELOSSO, a Senator of Carthage.
BTTHZUS. a Senator of Carthage.
HAXNO MAGXTS, Captaixe for Carthage.
JUGUBTH, MASSIXISSA'S Nephev.
SCIPIO ~)
- ^ j General!* of Rome.
VAXGUE. an JEtkiopia* Slave.
TABTHAXOX, a SeMator of Carthage.
Gisco, a Surgeon of Carthage.
XUXTITS.
SOPHOXISBA, Daughter to ASDRUBALL of Carthage.
ZAXTHLA, her Mayd.
ERICTHO. an Ltckantresse.
ARCATHLA. 7
XTCEA \ Va&**9 Wome* to SOPHOXISBA.
THE TRAGEDIE
OP
SOPHONISBA
PROLOGUS.
f Cornets somnd a march.
f Enter at one doore fke PROLOGUE, two Pages with
torches, ASDBUBALL and JUGURTH, txo Pages wit*
light*, MASSIXISSA leading SOPHOXISBA, ZASTHIA.
bearing SOPHONISBAS traine, ABCATHIA awJXiCEA,
HAXNO and BTTHE AS : at the other doare two Pages
with targets and javelins, too Pages with lights,
SYPHAX armdfrmn top to toe, VANGUE foUowes.
«[ These, thus entred, stand still, whilst the PROLOGUE,
resting betweene both trompes, speakes.
smtfect thus
HE sceanei
Whilst Carthage stood the onely awe of Borne,
As most imperial! seate of Lvbia,
Govern'd by statesmen, each as great as kings
(For serenteene kings were Carthage feodars) ;
Whilst thus shee flourisht, whilst her Hannfball
150 PROLOGVS.
Made Rome to tremble, and the walles yet pale :
Then in this Carthage Sophonisba liv'd,
The farre fam'd daughter of great Asdruball :
For whom ('mongst others) potent Syphax sues,
And well-grac'd Massinissa rivalls him,
Both princes of proud scepters : but the lot
Of doubtfull favour Massinissa grac'd,
At which Syphax growes blacke : for now the night
Yeelds lowd resoundmgs of the nuptiall pompe :
Apollo strikes his harpe : Himen his torch,
Whilst lowring Juno, with ill-boading eye,
Sits envious at too forward Venus : loe,
The instant night : and now yee worthier minds,
To whom wee shall present a female glory
(The wonder of a constancie so fixt,
That fate it selfe might well grow envious),
Be pleas'd to sit, such as may merit oyle,
And holy deaw, still' d from diviner heat :
For rest thus knowing, what of this you heare,
The Author lowly hopes, but must not feare :
For just worth never rests on popular frowne,
To have done well isfayre deeds onely crowne.
Nee se qucesiverit extra.
Cornets sound a
The Prologue leades Massinissas troupes over the stage,,
and departs - Syphax troups onely stay.
ACTUS PRIMUS.
SCENA PEIMA.
SYPHAX and VANGUE.
YPHAX, Syphax ! why wast thou curst
a king ?
What angry god made thee so great, so
vile?
Contemn'd, disgraced ; think, wert thou a slave,
Though Sophonisba did reject thy love,
Thy low neglected head unpoynted at,
Thy shame unrumour'd, and thy suite unscoft,
Might yet rest quiet. Keputation,
Thou awe of fooles and great men : thou that choakst
Freest addictions, and mak'st mortalls sweat
Blood and cold drops in feare to lose, or hope
To gaine thy never certaine seldome worthy gracings.
Imputation !
Wert not for thee, Syphax could beare this scorne,
Not spouting up his gall among his bloud
In blacke vexations : Massinissa might
Injoy the sweets of his preferred graces
Without my dangerous envie or revenge :
152 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT i.
VVert not for thy affliction, all might sleepe
In sweet oblivion : but (O greatnesse scourge !)
Wee cannot without envie keepe high name,
Nor yet disgraced can have a quiet shame.
Van. Scipio
Sy. Some light in depth of hell. Vangue, what hope ?
Tan. I have receiv'd assur'd intelligence,
That Scipio, Eomes sole hope, hath raisd up men,
Drawne troupes together for invasion
Sy. Of this same Carthage ?
Van. With this pollicie,
To force wild Hannibal from Italy
Sy. And draw the war to Africk.
Van. Eight. [annes.
Sy. And strike this secure countrey with unthought of
Van. My letters beare lie is departed Koine,
Directly setting course and sayling up
Sy. To Carthage, Carthage ! O thou eternall youth,
Man of large fame, great and abounding glory,
Renounefull Scipio, spread thy two-necked eagles,
Fill full thy sailes with a revenging wind,
Strike through obedient Neptune, till thy powers
Dash up our Lybian house, and thy just annes
Shine with amazefull terror on these wals !
O now record thy fathers honord blood
Which Carthage drunke, thy uncle Publius blood
Which Carthage drunke, 30000 soules
Of choice Italians Carthage set on wing :
Kemember Hannibal, yet Hannibal
The consul-queller : 0 then enlarge thy heart,
Be thousand soules in one ; let all the breath,
The spirit of thy name and nation, be mixt strong
In thy great heart : 0 fall like thunder shaft,
sc. i.] OF SOPHONISBA. 153
The wing%'d vengeance of incensed Jove,
Upon this Carthage : for Syphax here flies off
From all allegeance, from all love or service ;
His (now freed) scepter once did yeeld this citie :
Yee universall gods, light, heate, and ayre,
Prove all unblessing Syphax, if his hands
Once reare themselves for Carthage but to curse it !
It had beene better they had chang'd their faith,
Deni'd their gods, then slighted Syphax love.
So fearefully will I take vengeance :
Tie interleague with Scipio ; — Vangue,
Deare Ethiopian negro, goe wing a vessell,
And fly to Scipio : say his confederate
Vow'd and confirm'd is Syphax : bid him hast
To mix our palmes and armes ; will him make up,
Whilst we are in the strength of discontent,
Our unsuspected forces well in armes ;
For Sophonisba, Carthage, Asdruball,
Shall feele their weaknesse in preferring weaknesse,
And one lesse great then we. To our deare wishes,
Haste, gentle negro, that this heape may know
Me and their wrong.
Van. Wrong?
Sy. I, tho' twere not ; yet know while kings are strong,
What thei'le but thinke, and not what is, is wrong : •
I am disgrac'd in, and by that which hath
No reason, love, and woman ; my revenge
Shall therefore beare no argument of right.
Passion is reason when it speakes from might :
I tell thee, man, nor kings nor gods exempt,
But they grow pale if once they find contempt. Haste.
[Exeunt.
154 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT i.
SCENA SECUNDA.
If Enter ARCATHIA; NYCEA, with tapers; SOPHONISBA,
in tier night attire, followed by ZANTHIA.
So. Watch at the doores : and till wee be repos'd
Let no one enter. Zanthia, undoe me.
Za. With this motto under your girdle,
You had beene undone if you had not beene undone
humblest service.
So. I wonder, Zanthia, why the custome is,
To use such ceremonie, such strict shape,
About us women : forsooth the bride must steale
Before her lord to bed ; and then delayes
Long expectations, all against knowen wishes.
I hate these figures in locution,
These about phrases forc'd by ceremonie ;
We must still seeme to fly what we most seeke,
And hide our selves from that wee faine would find ;
Let those that thinke and speake and doe just acts,
Know forme can give no vertue to their acts,
Nor detract vice.
Za. Alas ! faire princes, those that are strongly form'd
And truely shapt, may naked walke ; but we,
We things cal'd women, only made for shew
And pleasure, created to beare children,
And play at shuttle-cocke : we imperfect mixtures,
Without respective ceremonie us'd,
And ever complement, alas ! what are we ?
Take from us formall custome and the curtesies
Which civill fashion hath still us'd to us,
sc. ii.] OF SOPHONISSA. 155
We fall to all contempt. O women, how much,
How much are you beholding to ceremony !
So. You are familiar. Zanthia, my shooe.
Za. Tis wonder, madam, you tread not awry.
So. Your reason, Zanthia.
Za. You goe very high.
So. Harke ! musicke ! musicke !
^f The Ladies lay thePrincesse in a fair e bed, and close the
curtaines, whil'st MASSINISSA enters.
Ni. The bridegrome !
Area. The bridegrome !
So. Haste, good Zanthia : helpe ! keepe yet the doores !
Za. Eaire fall you, lady ; so admit, admit.
^[ Enter fours Boyes, antiquely attired, with bows and
quivers, daunting to the cornets, a phantastique mea-
sure ; MASSINISSA, in his night-gowne, led by
ASDKUBALL and HANNO, followed by BYTHEAS and
JUGURTH. The Boyes draw the curtaines, discovering
SOPHONISBA, to whom MASSINISSA speakes.
Ma. You powers of joy, — gods of a happy bed,
Shew you are pleas'd, sister and wife of Jove,
High fronted Juno, and thou Carthage patron,
Smooth chind Apollo, both give modest heate
And temperate graces.
[Massinissa drawes a white ribbon forth of the
bed, as from the waste of Sophonisba.
Mass. Loe, I unloose thy waste !
She that is just in love is godlike chaste. lo to Hymen.
15G THE TRAGEDIE [ACT i.
^] Chorus, with cornets, organ and voices. lo to Hymen.
So. A modest silence., tho't bee thought
A virgins beautie and her highest honour,
Though bashfull fainings nicely wrought,
Grace her that vertue takes not in ; but on her
What I dare thinJce I boldly speake;
After my word, my well bold action rusheth,
In open Jtame then passion breake,
Where vertue prompts, thought, word, act never blusheth.
Revenging gods, whose marble hands
Crush faithlesse men with a confounding terror,
Give me no mercy if these bands
I covet not with an unfained fervor ;
Wliich zealous vow when ought can force me claime,
Load with that plague Atlas would groane at, shame.
[lo to Hymen.
^[ Chorus. lo to Hymen.
Asdru. Live both, high parents of so happy birth,
Your stems may touch the skies and shaddow earth ;
Most great in fame, more great in vertue shining,
Prosper, 0 powers ! a just, a strong divining.
\Io to Hymen.
If Chorus. lo to Hymen.
If Enter CARTHALO ; his sword drawen, his body wounded,
his shield strucke full of darts. MASSINISSA being
ready for bed.
Car. To bold hearts Fortune, be not you amaz'd,
Carthage ! O Carthage ! be not you amaz'd.
Ma. Jove made us not to feare ; resolve, speake out ;
The highest misery of man is doubt. Speake, Carthalo.
sc. ii.] 01 SOPHONISBA. 157
Car. The stooping sun, like to some weaker prince,
Let Ms shades spread to an unnatural! hugenesse,
When we the campe that lay at Utica,
From Carthage distant but five easie leagues,
Descride from of the watch three hundred saile,
Upon whose tops the Eoman eagles stretch' d
Their large spread wings, which fann'd the evening aire
To us cold breath ; for well we might discerne
Eome swam to Carthage.
Asd. Hanniball, our ancor, is come backe ; thy slight,
Thy stratagem, to lead warre unto Eome,
To quite our selves, hath now taught desperate Eome
T'assaile our Carthage : now the warre is here.
Ma. He is nor blest, nor honest, that can feare.
Ha. I but to cast the worst of our distresse
Ma. To doubt of what shall be, is wretchednesse :
Desire, feare, and hope, receive no bond
By whom, we in our selves are never but beyond. On.
Car. Th' allarum beates necessity of fight ;
Th' unsober evening drawes out reeling forces,
Souldiers, halfe men, who to their colours troope
With fury, not with valour : whil'st our ships
Unrigg'd, unus'd, fitter for fire then water,
We save in our barr'd haven from surprize.
By this our army marcheth toward the shore,
Undisciplin'd young men, most bold do doe,
If they knew how, or what, when we descry
A mighty dust, beat up with horses hooves,
Straight Eoman ensignes glitter. Scipio.
Asd. Scipio.
Car. Scipio, advanced like the god of blood,
Leades up grim warre, that father of foule wounds,
158 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT i.
Whose sinewy feet are steept in gore, whose hideous voice
Makes turrets tremble, and whole cities shake ;
Before whose browes, flight and disorder hurry ;
With whom march burnings, murder, wrong, wast, rapes ;
Behind whom a sad traine is scene, woe, feares,
Tortures, leane need, famine, and helplesse teares.
Now make we equall stand, in mutuall view :
We judg'd the Eomans eighteen thousand foote
Five thousand horse ; we almost doubled them
In number, not in vertue ; yet in heat
Of youth and wine, jolly, and full of blood,
We gave the signe of battaile : shouts are rais'd,
That shooke the heavens ; pell-mell our armies joyne ;
Horse, targets, pikes, all against each oppos'd,
They give fierce shocke, armes thunder'd as they clos'd :
Men cover earth, which straight are covered
With men and earth ; yet doubtfull stood the fight ;
More faire to Carthage : when loe, as oft we see,
In mines of gold, when labouring slaves delve out
The richest ore, being in sudden hope,
With some unlookt-for veine to fill their buckets,
And send huge treasure up, a sudden dampe
Stifles them all, their hands yet stuffd with gold,
So fell our fortunes ; for looke, as we stood proud,
Like hopeful victors, thinking to returne
With spoyles worth triumph, wrathfull Syphax lands
With full ten thousand strong Numidian horse,
And joynes to Scipio ; then loe, we all were dampt ;
We fell in clusters, and our wearyed troopes
Quit all. Slaughter ran through us straight ; we flie,
Eomans pursue, but Scipio sounds retreat,
As fearing traines and night : we make amaine
sc. ii.] OF SOPHONISBA. 159
For Carthage most, and some for Utica,
All for our lives ; new force, fresh armes with speed.
Ha. You have said truth of all j no more : I bleed.
0 wretched fortune !
Mas. Old lord, spare thy haires :
What dost thou thinke baldnesse will cure thy griefe ?
What decree the Senate ?
1[ Enter GELOSSO, with commissions in Ms hand, seaVd.
Gelo.. Aske old Gelosso, who returnes from them,
Inform'd with fullest charge, strong Asdruball,
Great Massinissa, Carthage generall,
So speakes the Senate : counsell for this warre,
In Hanno Magnus, Bitheas, Carthalon,
And us Gelosso, rests : imbrace this charge,
You never yet dishonour'd Asdruball.
High Massinissa ! by your vowes to Carthage, —
By th' god of great men,— Glory, — fight for Carthage !
Ten thousand strong Massulians, ready troopt,
Expect their king ; double that number wayts
The leading of lov'd Asdruball : beat lowd
Our Affricke drummes ; and, whil'st our ore-toyl'd foe
Snores on his unlac'd cask, all faint, though proud,
Through his successefull fight, strike fresh alarmes.
Gods are not, if they grace not, bold, just armes.
Mas. Carthage, thou straight shalt know
Thy favours have been done unto a king.
[Exit with Asdruball and the Page.
So. My lords, tis most unusuall such sad haps
Of suddaine horror should intrude 'rnong beds
Of soft and private loves ; but strange events
Excuse strange formes. O you that know our blood
160 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT i.
Bevenge if I doe feigne : I here protest,
Though my lord leave his wife a very mayd,
Even this night, in stead of my soft armes
Clasping his well-strung limbs with glossefull steele,
What's safe to Carthage shall be sweet to me.
I must not, nor am I once ignorant
My choyce of love hath given this sudden danger
To yet strong Carthage : twas I lost the fight ;
My choyce vext Syphax, inrag'd Syphax struck
Armes fate ; yet Sophonisba not repents.
0 we were gods if that we knew events !
But let my lord leave Carthage, quit his vertue,
I will not love him ; yet must honour him,
As still good subjects must bad princes. Lords,
From the most ill-grac'd hymeneall bed
That ever Juno frown'd at, I entreat
That you'l collect from our loose-formed speed)
This firme resolve : that no low appetite
Of my sex weakenesse can or shall orecome
Due gracefull service unto you or vertue.
Witnesse, ye gods, I never untill now
Eepin'd at my creation : now I wish
I were no woman, that my armes might speake
My heart to Carthage. But in vaine : my tongue
Sweares I am woman still, I talke so long.
If Cornets a march. Obiter two Pages with targets and
javelins; two Pages, with torches. MASSINISSA
armed capeapee ; ASDRUBAL armed.
Mas. Ye Carthage lords : know Massinissa knowes
Not only termes of honour, but his actions ;
Nor must I now inlarge how much my cause
sc. ii.] OF SOPHONISBA. 161
Hath danger'd Carthage, but how I may show
My selfe most prest to satisfaction.
The loathsome staine of kings ingratitude
From me 0 much be farre ! And since this torrent,
Warres rage admits no anchor — since the billow
Is risen so high, we may not hull, but yield
This simple state to stroke of speedy swords.
What you with sober hast have well decreed,
Wee'l put to sudden armes : no, not this night,
These daynties, these first fruits of nuptialls,
That well might give excuse for feeble lingrings,
Shall hinder Massinissa. Appetite,
Kisses, loves, dalliance, and what softer joyes
The Venus of the pleasingst ease can minister,
I quit you all. Vertue perforce is vice ;
But he that may, yet holds, is manly wise.
Loe then, ye lords of Carthage, to your trust
I leave all Massinissa's treasure : by the oath
Of right good men stand to my fortune just.
Most hard it is for great hearts to mistrust.
Car. We vow by al high powers.
Mas. No, do not swear ;
I was not borne so small to doubt or feare.
So. Worthy, my lord.
Mas. Peace, my eares are steele ;
I must not heare thy much inticing voice.
So. My Massinissa, Sophonisba speakes
Worthy thy wife : goe with as high a hand
As worth can reare. I will not stay my lord.
Fight for our countrey ; vent thy youthfull heat
In field, not beds : the fruite of honour, Fame,
Be rather gotten then the oft disgrace
11
1G2 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT j.
Of haplesse parents, children. Goe, best man,
And make me proud to be a souldiers wife,
That valews his renowne above faint pleasures :
Thinke every honour that doth grace thy sword
Trebbles my love. By thee I have no lust
But of thy glory. Best lights of heaven with thee !
Like wonder stand, or fall ; so, though thou die,
My fortunes may be wretched, but not I.
Mas. Wondrous creature ! even fit for gods, not men :
Nature made all the rest of thy faire sexe
As weake essaies, to make thee a patterne
Of what can be in woman ! Long farewell.
He 's sure unconquer'd in whom thou dost dwell, —
Carthage palladium. See that glorious lampe —
Whose lightfull presence giveth suddaine flight
To phansies, fogs, feares, sleepe, and slothfull night —
Spreads day upon the world : march swift amaine ; —
Fame got with losse of breath is god-like game.
[The Ladies draw the curtaines about Sophonisba ;
the rest accompany Massmissa/o/1^: the cornets
and organs playing loud/ull musicke for the Act.
ACT ii.] 01 SOPHONISBA. 163
ACTUS SECUNDUS.
SCENA PEIMA.
^f WhiVst the musiclce for the first Act sounds, HAN NO,
OAETHALO, BYTHEAS, GELOSSO, enter: they place
themselves to counsell; Gisco, the impoisoner, waiting
on them; HAN NO, CARTHALO, and BYTHEAS setting
their hands to a writing, which being offered to
GELOSSO, hee denies his hand, and, as much offended,
impatiently starts up and speakes.
If Enter GELOSSO, HANNO, BITHEAS, CARTHALO.
hand ? my hand ? rot first ; wither in
aged shame.
Will you be so unseasonably wood ?
Hold such preposterous zeale, as stands
The full decree of Senate ! all thinke fit ! [against
Car. Nay, most inevitable necessary
For Carthage safety, and the now sole good
Of present state, that we must breake all faith
With Massinissa : whil'st he fights abroad,
Let 's gaine backe Syphax, making him our owne,
By giving Sophonisba to his bed.
Han. Syphax is Massinissa's greater, and his force
Shall give more side to Carthage : as for's queene,
And her wise father, they love Carthage fate ;
Profit and honesty are not one in state.
Gel. And what decrees our very vertuous Senate
Of worthy Massinissa, that now fights,
164 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT n.
And (leaving wife and bed) bleeds in good armes,
For right old Carthage ?
Car. Thus tis thought fit :
Her father, AsdrubaU, on suddain shall take in
Bevolted Syphax ; so with doubled strength,
Before that Massinissa shall suspect,
Slaughter both Massinissa and his troopes,
And likewise strike, with his deep stratagem,
A sudden weakenesse into Scipio's armes,
By drawing such a limbe from the maine body
Of his yet powerfull army : which being done,
Dead Massinissa' s kingdome we decree
To Sophonisba and great Asdruball
For their consent ; so this swift plot shall bring
Two crownes to her, make Asdruball a king.
Gel. So first faiths breach, murder, adultery, theft !
Car. What else ?
Gel. Nay, all is done, no mischief left. [glorie ;
Car. Pish! prosprous successe gives blackest actions
The meanes are unremembred in most storie.
Gel. Let me not say gods are not.
Car. This is fit ;
Conquest by blood is not so sweet as wit :
For howsoere nice vertue censures it,
He hath the grace of wane that hath warres profit.
But Carthage well advis'd, that states come on
With slow advice, quicke execution,
Have heere an engineere long bred for plots,
CalTd an impoysner, who knowes this sound excuse :
The onely dew that makes men sprout in court is me ;
Bee't well or ill, his thrift is to bee mute.
Such slaves must act commands, and not dispute.
Knowing foule deeds with danger doe begin,
sc. I.] OF SOPHONISBA. 165
But with rewards doe end: sinne is no sinne,
But in respects
Gel. Politike lord, speake low : though Heaven beares
A face far from us, gods have most long eares ;
Jove has a hundred marble marble hands.
Car. 0 I, in poetry or tragique sceane !
Gel. I feare gods onely know what poets meane.
Car. Yet heare mee : I will speake close truth and cease :
Nothing in Nature is unserviceable, -
No, not even inutilitie it selfe.
Is then for nought dishonesty in being ?
And if it bee sometimes of forced use,
Wherein more urgent then in saving nations,
State shapes are souldred up with base, nay faultie,
Yet necessary functions : some must lie,
Some must betray, some murder, and some all ;
Each hath strong use, as poyson in all purges :
Yet when some violent chance shall force a state
To breake given faith, or plot some stratagems,
Princes ascribe that vile necessity
Unto Heavens wrath ; and sure, though't be no vice,
Yet tis bad chance : states must not sticke to nice,
For Massinissas death sence bids forgive.
Beware t'offend great men, and let them live ;
For tis of empires body the maine arme, —
He that wil do no good shal do no harm. You have my mind.
Gel. Although a stagelike passion, and weake heat,
Full of an empty wording, might sute age,
Know He speake strongly truth. Lordes, nere mistrust,
That he who'l not betray a private man
For his countrey, will nere betray his countrey
For private men ; then give Gelosso faith :
166 -THE TRAGEDIE [ACT n.
If treachery in state be serviceable,
Let hangmen doe it. I am bound to lose
My life, but not mine honour, for my countrey.
Our vowes, our faith, our oaths, why th'are our selves,
And he that's faithlesse to his proper selfe,
May be excus'd if he breake faith with princes.
The gods assist just hearts, and states that trust
Plots before Providence, are tost like dust.
For Massinissa (0, let me slacke a little
Austere discourse, and feele humanity !)
Me thinkes I heare him cry, O fight for Carthage !
Charge home : wounds smart not for that so just, so great,
So good a city. Me thinks I see him yet
Leave his faire bride, even on his nuptiall night,
To buckle on his armes for Carthage. Harke !
Yet, yet, I heare him cry, — Ingratitude !
Vile staine of man : O ever be most farre
From Massinissa's brest. Up, march amaine ;
Fame got by losse of breath is god-like gaine !
And see, by this he bleeds in double fight,
And cryes for Carthage, whil'st Carthage. Memory,
Forsake Gelosso ; would I could not thinke,
Nor heare, nor be, when Carthage is
So infinitely vile. See, see ! looke here !
If Cornets. Enter two Ushers. SOPHONISBA, ZANTHIA,
ARCATHIA, HANNO, BYTHEAS, and CARTHALO, pre-
sent SOPHONISBA with a paper, which she having
perused, after a short silence, speakes.
So. Who speakes? What, mute? Faire plot! What?
blush to breake it ?
sc. i.] OF SOPHONISBA. 1 67
How lewd to act when so sham'd but to speake it.
Is this the Senates firme decree ?
Car. It is.
So. Is this the senates firme decree ?
Car. It is.
So. Hath Syphax entertayned the stratagem ?
Car. No doubt he hath or will.
So. My answer's thus,
What 's safe to Carthage shall be sweet to us.
Car. Eight worthy.
Ha, Eoyallest.
Gel. 0 very woman !
So. But tis not safe for Carthage to destroy ;
Be most unjust, cunningly politique ;
Your head 's still under heaven : 0 trust to Fate :
Gods prosper more a just then era/tie state ;
Tis lesse disgrace to have a pitied losse,
Tlien shame/nil victory.
Gel. 0 very angell !
So. We all have sworne good Massinissa faith ;
Speech makes us men, and ther 's no other bond
Twixt man and man but words. O equall gods !
Make us once know the consequence of vowes —
Gel. And we shall hate faith-breakers worse than
maneaters.
So. Ha ! good Gelasso, is thy breath not here ?
Ge. You doe me wrong, as long as I can die,
Doubt you that old Gelasso can be vile ?
States may afnct, tax, torture, but our minds
Are only sworne to Jove. I grieve, and yet am proud
That I alone am honest : high powers, yee know
Vertue is seldome scene with troopes to goe.
16.8 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT IT.
So. Excellent man ! Carthage and Rome shall fall
Before thy fame : our lords, know I the worst ?
Car. The gods foresaw, 'tis fate we thus are forc'd.
So. Gods naught foresee, but see, for to their eyes
Naught is to come or past; nor are you vile
Because the gods foresee ; for gods not we
See as things are things, are not as we see.
But since affected wisedome in us women
Is our sexe highest folly, I am silent ;
I cannot speake lesse well, unlesse I were
More void of goodnesse. Lords of Carthage, thus
The ayre and earth of Carthage owes my body ;
[t is their servant : what decree they of it ?
Car. That you remove to Cirta, to the palace
Of well-form'd Syphax, who with longing eyes
Meets you : he that gives way to Fate is wise. [evill
So. I goe : what power can make me wretched ? what
Is there in life to him that knowes life's losse
To be no evill : shew, shew thy ugliest brow,
0 most blacke chaunce ; make me a wretched story ;
Without misfortune vertue hath no glory :
Opposed trees makes tempests shew their power,
And waves forc'd back by rocks makes Neptune tower —
Tearlesse O see a miracle of life,
A maide, a widdow, yet a haplesse wife !
[Cornets. Sophonisba, accompanied with the Senators,
depart ; onely Gelosso stayes.
Gel. A prodigie ! let Nature run crosse legd.
Ops goe upon his head, — let Neptune burne, —
Cold Saturne cracke with heate, — for now the world
Hath seene a woman !
Leape nimble lightning from Joves ample shield,
sc. ii.] OF SOPHONISBA. 169
And make at length an end ; the proud hot breath
Of thee contemning greatnesse, the huge drought
Of sole selfe loving vast ambition.
Th' unnaturall scorching heate of all those lamps,
Thou reard'st to yeeld a temperate fruitfull heate.
Relentlesse rage, whose heart hath no one drop
Of humane pitie. All all loudly cry,
Thy brand, 0 Jove, for know the world is dry !
0 let a generall end save Carthage fame,
When worlds doe burne, unseen 's a cities flame.
Phoebus in me is great ; Carthage must fall ;
Jove hates all vice, but vowes breach worst of all.
[Exit.
SCENA SECUNDA.
^f Cornets sound a charge. Enter MASSINISSA, in his
gorges and shirt, shield, sword; his arme transjixt
with a dart. JUGURTH followes, with Ms cures and
caske.
Mas. Mount us againe ; give us another horse !
Jug. Uncle, your blood flowes fast : pray ye withdraw.
Mas. O, Jugurth, I cannot bleed too fast, too much,
For that so great, so just, so royall Carthage !
My wound smarts not, bloods losse makes me not faint,
''For that lov'd citie. O nephew, let me tell thee,
How good that Carthage is : it nourish'd me,
And when full time gave me fit strength for love,
The most adored creature of the citie,
To us before great Syphax did they yeeld, —
Faire, noble, modest, and 'bove all, my,
My Sophonisba ! 0, Jugurth, my strength doubles :
170 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT li.
I know not how to turne a coward, — drop
In feeble basenesse I cannot. Give me horse !
Know I am Carthage very creature, and am grac'd
That I may bleed for them. Give me fresh horse !
Jug. He that doth publike good for multitude,
Finds few are truely gratefull.
Mas. O, Jugurth ! Fie ! you must not say so. Jugurth,
Some common weales may let a roble heart
Even bleed to death abroad, and not bemoan'd
Neither reveng'd at home. But, Carthage, fie !
It cannot be ungrate, faithlesse through feare :
It cannot, Jugurth. Sophonisba's there :
Beate a fresh charge.
^| Enter ASDKUBALL, his sword drawne, reading a letter.
Gisco followes him.
Asd. Sound the retraite, respect your health, brave prince,
The waste of blood throws palenesse on your face.
Ma. By light, my heart 's not pale : 0 my lov'd father,
We bleed for Carthage, balsum to my wounds,
We bleed for Carthage ; shalt restore the fight ?
My squadron of Massalians yet stands firme.
Asd. The day lookes off from Carthage ; cease alarmes,
A modest temperance is tlie life of armes.
Take our best surgeon Gisco, he is sent
From Carthage to attend your chaunce of warre.
Gis. We promise sudden ease.
Ma. Thy comfort's good.
Asd. That nothing can secure us but thy blood?
Infuse it in his wound, t'will worke amaine.
Gis. 0 Jove !
sc. ii.] OF SOPHONISBA. 171
Asd. What Jove ? thy god must be thy gaine,
And as for me Apollo Pythean,
Thou know'st a statist must not be a man.
[Exit AsdrubalL
^[ Enter GELOSSO disguised like an old souldier, delivering
to MASSINISSA (as he preparing to be dressed by
Gisco) a letter, which MASSINISSA reading, starts
and speaks to Gisco.
Ma. Eorbeare ; how art thou cald ?
Gi. Gisco, my lord.
Ma. Urn, Gisco. Ha! touch not my arme, most only man.
Sirra, sirra, art poore? [To Gelasso.
Gi. Not poore.
Ma. Nephew, command.
[Massinissa begins to drawe.
Our troopes of horse make indisgrac'd retraite ;
Trot easie off; not poore. Jugurth, give charge :
My souldiers stand in square battalia,
[Exit Jugurth.
Intirely of themselves. Gisco, th5 art old ;
Tis time to leave off murder ; thy faint breath
Scarce heaves thy ribs, thy gummy blood-shut eyes
Are sunke a great way in thee, thy lanke skinne
Slides from thy fleshlesse veines : be good to men ;
Judge him, yee gods : I had not life to kill
So base a creature. Hold, Gisco, live ;
The god-like part of kings is to forgive.
Gis. Command astonisht Gisco.
Mas. No returne.
Hast unto Carthage, quit thy abject feares,
172 THE TRACrEDIE [ACT n.
Massinissa knowes no use of murderers.
*fi Enter JUGURTH, amaz'd, Ms sword drawne.
Speake, speake ; let terrour strike slaves mute,
Much danger makes great hearts most resolute.
Ju. Uncle, I feare foule armes ; my selfe beheld
Syphax on high speed run his well breath'd horse
Direct to Cirta, that most beautious city
Of all his kingdome ; whil'st his troops of horse, •
With carelesse trot, pase gently toward our campe,
As friends to Carthage, stand on guard, deare uncle ;
For Asdruball, with yet his well-rankt army,
Bends a deep threatning brow to us, as if
He wayted but to joyne with Syphax horse,
And hew us all to pieces. O my king,
My uncle, father, captaine, 0 over all !
Stand like thy selfe, or like thy selfe now fall !
Thy troopes yet hold good ground : unworthy wounds
Betray not Massinissa.
Mas. Jugurth, pluck, pluck, so, good cuz.
Ju. 0 God ! Doe you not feele?
Mas. Not Jugurth, no ; now all my flesh is steele.
Gel. Of base disguise ; high lights scorne not to view
A true old man. Up, Massinissa, throw
The lot of battel upon Syphax troopes,
Before he joyne with Carthage ; then amaine
Make through to Scipio ; he yields safe abodes :
Spare treachery, and strike the very gods.
Mas. Why wast thou borne at Carthage, O my fare,
Divinest Sophonisba ! I am full
Of much complaint, and many passions,
The least of which express'd would sad the gods,
And strike compassion into ruthlesse hell.
sc. ii.] OF SOPHONISBA. 173
Up, umnaim'd heart, spend all thy griefe and rage
Upon thy foe : the field 's a souldier's stage,
On which his action showes. If you are just,
And hate those that contemne you, O you gods,
Eevenge worthy your anger, your anger, O,
Downe man, up heart : stoop Jove, and bend thy chin
To thy large brest ; give signe th' art pleas'd, and just
Sweare good mens foreheads must not print the dust.
[Excnnt.
If Enter ASDRUBALL, HANNO, BYTHEAS.
As. What Carthage hath decreed, Hanno, is done ;
Advanc'd and borne was Asdruball for state ;
Onely with it, his faith, his love, his hate,
Are of one piece. Were it my daughters life
That fate hath sung te Carthage safety brings,
What deed so red but hath bin done by kings ?
Ephygenia, he that 's a man for men,
Ambitious as a god, must like a god
Live free from passions, his full aym'd at end
Immense to others, sole selfe to comprehend
Bound in 's owne globe, not to be clasp'd, but holds
Within him all : his heart being of more folds
Then shield of Telamon, not to be pierc'd, though struck,
The god of wise men is themselves, not lucke.
^f Enter Gisco.
See hun by whom now Massinissa is not.
Grisco, is 't done ?
Gis. Your pardon, worthy lord,
It is not done, my heart sunk in my brest,
His vertue mazd me, faintnesse seizd me all,
Some god 's in kings, that will not let them fall.
174 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT n.
As. His vertue mazd thee (umh), why now I see
Th' art that just man that hath true touch of blood,
Of pitty, and soft piety. Forgive ?
Yes, honour thee ; we did it but to try
What sense thou hadst of blood. Goe, Bytheas,
Take him into our private treasury,
And cut his throat ; the slave hath all betrayd.
By. Are you assur'd ?
As. Afeard, for this I know,
Who thinketh to buy villany with gold,
Shall everfinde such faith so bought, so sold.
Reward him throughly.
[A shout; the cornets giving a flourish.
Han. "What meanes this shout ?
Asd. Hanno, tis done. Syphax revolt by this
Hath securd Carthage ; and now his force come in,
And joyn'd with us, give Massinissa charge,
And assured slaughter. 0 ye powers ! forgive,
Through rottenst dung best plants both sprout and live;
By blood vines grow.
Han. But yet thinke, Asdraball,
Tis fit at least you beare griefes outward show ;
It is your kinsman bleeds. What need men know
Your hand is in his wounds ? Tis well in state
To doe close ill, but voyd a publike hate.
Asd. Tush, Hanno ! let me prosper, let rowts prate,
My power shall force their silence or my hate.
I scorn their idle malice : men of weight
Know, he that feares envie, let him cease to raigne ;
The peoples hate to some hath been their gaine.
For howsoere a monarch faines his parts,
Steale any thing from kings but subjects hearts.
so. ii.] OF SOPHONISBA. 175
^f Enter CARTHALO leading in bound GELOSSO.
Car. Guard, guard the campe ! — make to the trench !
— stand firme !
Asd. The gods of boldnes with us ! — how runs chance ?
Car. Think, think, how wretched thou canst be, thou art ;
Short words shall speak long woes.
Gel. Mark, Asdrubal.
Car. Our bloody plot to Massinissas eare
Untimely by this lord was all betrayd.
Gel. By me it was ; by me, vile Asdrubal] ;
I joy to speak't.
Asd. Downe, slave !
Gel. I cannot fall.
Car. Our traines disclos'd ; strait to his wel usde armes
He tooke himselfe, rose up with all his force,
On Syphax carelesse troupes (Syphax being hurried
Before to Cirta, fearlesse of successe,
Impatient Sophonisba to injoy).
Gelosso rides to head of all our squadrons,
Commands make stand in thy name, Asdruball,
In mine, in his, in all : they all obey ;
Whilst Massinissa, now with more then fury,
Chargeth the loose and much amazed rankes
Of absent Syphax, who with broken shoute
(In vaine expecting Carthage secondings)
Give faint repulse : a second charge is given.
Then looke as when a faulcon towres aloft,
Whole shoales of foule, and flockes of lesser birds
Crouch fearefully, and dive, some among sedge,
Some creepe in brakes. So Massinissas sword,
Brandisht aloft, tost 'bout his shining caske,
176 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT IT.
Made stoop whole squadrons, quick as thought he strikes,
Here hurles he darts, and there his rage-strong arme
Fights foot to foot. Here cries he strike : they sinke,
And then grim slaughter followes ; for by this.
As men betrayd, they curse us, dye, or flie, or both ;
Six thousand fell at once. Now was I come,
And straight perceiv'd all bled by his vile plot.
Gel. Vile ! Good plot ! my good plot, Asdruball !
Car. I forc'd our armie beat a running march ;
But Massinissa stracke his spurres apace
Upon his speedie horse, leaves slaughtering ;
All flie to Scipio, who with open rankes
In view receives them : all I could effect
Was but to gaine him.
Asd. Die!
Gel. Do what thou can,
Thou canst but kill a weake old honest man.
[Gelosso departs, guarded.
Car. Scipio and Massinissa, by this strike
Their clasped palmes, then vow an endlesse love ;
Straight a joynt shout they raise, then turne they breasts
Direct on us, march strongly toward our campe,
As if they dar'd us fight. O Asdruball,
T feare they'l force our campe.
Asd. Breake up and flie.
This was your plot.
Ha. But 'twas thy shame to chuse it.
Car. He that forbids not offence, he does it.
Asd. The curse of womens words goe with you. Flie !
You are no villaines ; gods and men, which way ?
Advise, vile things.
Ha. Vile?
.so. ii.] OF SOPHONISBA. 177
Asd. I!
Car. Not?
By. You did all.
Asd. Did you not plot ?
Cay. Yeelded not Asdrubal ?
Asd. But you intic'd me.
Ha. How?
Asd. With hope of place.
Car. He that for. wealth leaves faith, is abject.
Ha. Base.
Asd. Doe not provoke my sword ; I live.
Car. More shame,
T" outlive thy vertue and thy once great name.
Asd. Upbraid ye me ?
Ha. Hold!
Car. Know that onely thou
Art treacherous : thou shouldst have had a crowne.
Ha. Thou didst all ; all he for whom mischiefes done,
He does it.
Asd, Brooke open scorne, faint powers !
Make good the campe ! No, flie ! yes, what ? wild rage,
To be a. prosperous villaine, yet some heat, some hold,
But to burne temples, and yet freeze, 0 cold !
Give me some health ; now your blood sinkes : thus deeds
HI nourisht rot; without Jove nought succeeds. [Exeunt.
12
178 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT in.
Organ mixt with recorders for this Act.
ACTUS TERTIUS. 4
SCENA PEIMA.
SYPHAX, with his dagger twound about her haire, drags
in SOPHONISBA in her nightgowne and peticote, and
ZANTHIA and VAN GUV following.
UST we intreat ? sue to such squeamish
eares ?
Know, Syphax has no knees, his eies no
teares ;
Imaged love is senselesse of remorce.
Thou shalt, thou must. Kings glory is their force.
Thou art in Cirta, in my pallace, foole.
Dost thinke he pittieth teares that knowes to rule.
For all thy scornefull eyes, thy proud disdaine,
And late contempt of us, now weele revenge,
Breake stubborne silence. Looke, lie tack thy head
To the low earth, whilst strength of two blacke knaves,
Thy limbs all wide shall straine : prayer fitteth slaves.
Our courtship be our force : rest calme as sleepe,
Else at this quake ; harke, harke, we cannot weepe.
So. Can Sophonisba be inforc'd ?
Sy. Can? see.
So. Thou mayst inforce my body, but not me.
sc. i.] 01 SOPHONISBA. 179
Sy. Not?
So. Not.
Sy. No?
So. No, off with thy loathed armes,
That lye more heavy on me then the chaines,
That weare deepe wrinckles in the captives limbes,
I doe beseech thee.
Sy. What?
So. Be but a beast, be but a beast.
Sy. Doe not offend a power
Can make thee more then wretched : yeeld to him
To whom fate yeelds. Know Massinissa's dead ?
So. Dead?
Sy. Dead!
So. To gods and good mens shame ?
Sy. Help, Vangue, my strong bloud boyles.
So. O yet save thine owne fame.
Sy. All appetite is deafe, I will, I must.
Achilles armour could not beare out lust.
So. Hold thy strong arme, and heare me. Syphax, know
I am thy servant now : I needs must love thee,
For (0, my sex, forgive) I must confesse
We not affect protesting feeblenesse,
Intreats, faint blushings, timorous modestie ;
We thinke our lover is but little man,
Who is so full of woman. Know, fayre Prince,
Loves strongest arme 's not rude ; for we still prove,
Without some fury there 's no ardent love.
We love our loves impatience of delay ;
Our noble sex was onely borne t'obey,
To him that dares command.
Sy. Why, this is well ;
180 THE TEAGEDIE [ACT in.
Th' excuse is good : wipe thy faire eyes, our Queene,
Make proud thy head ; now feele more friendly strength
Of thy lords arme : come touch my rougher skin
With thy soft lip. Zanthia, dresse our bed.
Forget old loves, and clip him that through blood,
And hell, acquires his wish ; thinke not but kisse,
The nourish fore loves sight, and Venus blisse.
So. Great dreadfull lord, by thy affection,
Grant me one boone, know I have made a vow.
Sy. Yow ! what vow ? speak.
So. Nay, if you take offence,
Let my soule suffer first, and yet
Sy. Offence?
Not, Sophonisba ; hold, thy vow is free,
As come thy lips.
So. Alas, crosse misery !
As I doe wish to live, I long t' enjoy
Your warme unbrace ; but, 0 my vow, tis thus,
If ever my lord dy'd, I vow'd to him,
A most, most private sacrifice, before
I touch'd a second spouse. All I implore,
Is but this liberty.
Sy. This ? goe obtaine -.
What time?
So. One houre.
Sy. Sweet, good speed, speed, adieu !
Yet Syphax trust no more then thou mayst view.
Yangue shall stay.
So. He stayes.
sc. i.] OF SOPHONISBA. 1 81
^f Enter a Page, delivering a letter to SOPHONTSBA,
which she privately reades.
Sy. Zanthia, Zanthia !
Thou art not foule, go to ; some lords are oft
So much, in love with their knowne ladies bodies,
That they oft love their vailes ; hold, hold, thou'st find,
To faithfull care kings bounty hath no shore.
Za. You may do much.
Sy. But let my gold do more.
Za. I am your creature.
Sy. Bee, get, tis no staine,
The god of service is however gaine. [Exit.
So. Zanthia, where are we now? speak worth my
service ;
Ha, we done well ?
Za. Nay, in height of best.
I fear'd a superstitious vertue would spoyle all,
But now I find you, above women, rare.
Shee that can time her goodnesse hath true care
Of her best good. Nature at home beginnes,
She who's integrity her selfe hurts sinnes.
For Massinissa, he was good, and so;
But he is dead, or worse, distrest, or more
Then dead, or much distressed. O sad, poore,
Who ever held such friends ? no, let him goe ;
Such faith is prais'd, then laugh'd at ; for still know,
Those are the living women that reduce
All that they touch unto their ease and use.
Knowing that wedlock, vertue, or good names,
Are courses and varieties of reason,
To use or leave, as they advantage them,
182 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT in.
And absolute within themselves repos'd,
Only to greatnesse ope, to all else clos'd.
Weak sanguine fooles are to their own good nice ;
Before I held you vertuous, but now wise.
So. Zanthia, victorious Massinissa lives.
My Massinissa lives. 0 steddy powers,
Keep him as safe as heaven keepes the earth,
Which looks upon it with a thousand eyes ;
That honest valiant man, and Zanthia,
Doe but record the justice of his love,
And my for ever vowes, for ever vowes.
Za. I, true madam ; nay, thinke of his great mind,
His most just heart, his all of excellence,
And such a vertue as the gods might envy.
Against this, Syphax, is but and you know,
Pame lost, what can be got that 's good for
So. Hence,
Take, nay, with one hand.
Za. My service.
So. Prepare our sacrifice.
Za. But yield you, I, or no ?
So. When thou dost know.
Za. What then ?
So. Then thou wilt know.
Let him that would have counsel 'voyd th' advice
[Exit Zanthia.
Of friends, made his with waighty benefits,
Whose much dependance onely strives to fit
Humour, not reason, and to still devise
In any thought to make their friend seeme wise.
But above all, O feare a servants tongue,
Like such as onely for their gaine to serve,
so. I.] OF SOPHONISBA. 183
Within the vaste capacity of place,
I know no vileiiesse so most truly base.
Their lords, their gaine ; and he that most will give,
With him (they will not dye, but) they will live.
Traytors and these are one ; such slaves once trust,
Whet swords to make thine owne blood like the dust.
^f Cornets and organs playing full musicke. Enters the
solemnity of a sacrifice ; which being entered, whilst
the attendance furnish the altar, SOPHONISBA song,
which done, she speakes —
Withdraw, withdraw ; all but Zanthia and Vangue depart.
I not invoke thy anne, thou god of sound ;
Nor thine, nor thine, although in all abound
High powers immense. But joviall Mercury,
And thou, 0 brightest female of the sky,
Thrice modest Phrebe, you that joyntly fit
A worthy chastity, and a most chaste wit,
To you corruptlesse hunny, and pure dew,
Upbreathes our holy fire ; words just and few,
0 daine to heare, if in poore wretches cryes
You glory not ; if drops of withered eyes
Be not your sport, be just ; all that I crave
Is but chaste life, or an untainted grave.
1 can no more ; yet hath my constant tongue
Let fall no weaknesse, tho' my heart were wrung
With pangs worth hell ; whilst great thoughts stop our teares,
Sorrow unseene, unpitied inward weares :
You see now where I rest, come is my end.
Cannot Heaven, vertue, 'gainst weake chance defend ?
When weaknesse hath out-borne what weaknesse can,
What, should I say tis Joves, not sinne of man.
184 THE TRAGEDIE [ACIMII.
Some stratagem now let wits God be sliewen,
Celestiall powers by miracles are knowne.
I hav't ; tis done. Zanthia, prepare our bed
Van. Your servant,
So. Vangue, we have perform'd
Due rites unto the dead.
[Sophonisba presents a carouse to Vangue, &c.
Now to thy lord, great Syphax, healthfull cups, which done,
The king is right much welcome.
Van. Were it as deepe as thought, off it should thus —
[He drinkes.
So. My safetie with that draught.
Van. Close the vaults mouth least we doe slip in drinke.
So. To what use, gentle negro, serves this cave,
Whose mouth thus opens so familiarly,
Even in the Kings bed-chamber ?
Van. 0, my Queene,
This vault with hideous darkness, and much length,
Stretcheth beneath the earth into a grove,
One league from Cirta (I am very sleepy) ;
Through this when Cirta hath beene strong begirt,
With hostile siege the King hath safely scaped
To, to
So. The wine is strong.
Van. Strong?
So. Zanthia!
Za. What meanes my Princesse ?
So. Zanthia, rest firme
Arid silent. Helpe us ; nay, doe not dare refuse.
Za. The negros dead !
So. No, drunk !
Za. Alas I
sc. i.] OF SOPHONISBA. 185
So. Too late !
Her hand is fearefull whose mind 's desperate.
It is but sleepie opium he hath drunke.
Helpe, Zanthia !
[They lay Vangue in Syphax bed, and draw the curteines.
There lie Syphax bride ; a naked man is soone undrest ;
There bide dishonoured passion.
[They knock within, forthwith Syphax comes.
Sy. Way for the King !
So. Straight for the King. I fly
Where misery shall see nought but it selfe.
Deare Zanthia, close the vault when I am sunke,
And whilst he slips to bed escape, be true ;
I can no more ; come to me. Harke, gods, my breath
Scornes to crave life, grant but a well-famde death.
[She descends,
^ Miter SYPHAX, ready for bed.
Sy. Each man withdraw, let not a creature stay
Within large distance.
Za. Sir!
Sy. Hence, Zanthia,
Not thou shalt heare ; all stand without eare-reach
Of the soft cryes nice shrinking brides do yeeld,
When
Za. But, Sir
Sy. Hence, — stay, take thy delight by steps,
Thinke of thy joyes, and make long thy pleasures.
0 silence, thou dost swallow pleasure right ;
Words take away some sense from our delight.
Musicke ! be proud, my Venus ; Mercury, thy tongue ;
Cupid, thy flame ; 'bove all, O Hercules —
18& THE TRAGEDIE [ACT in.
Let not thy backe be wanting ; for now I leape
To catch the fruite none but the gods should reape.
[Offering to leape into bed, Tie discovers Vangue.
Hah ! can any woman turne to such a devill ?
Or — or — Vangue, Yangue
Van. Yes, yes.
Sy. Speake, slave.
How cam'st thou here ?
Fan. Here?
Sy. Zanthia, Zanthia, wher's Sophonis*ba? speake at
full— at full.
Give me particular faith, or know thou art not
Za. Your pardon, just mov'd Prince, and private eare.
Sy. Ill actions have some grace, that they can feare.
Van. How came I laid ? which way was I made drunke ?
Where am I ? thinke I, or is my state advanc'd ?
O Jove, how pleasant is it but to sleepe
In a kings bed !
Sy. Sleepe there thy lasting sleepe,
Improvident, base, o're-thirsty slave.
[Syphax Jcils Vangue.
Dye pleas'd, a kings couch is thy too proud grave.
Through this vault say'st thou ?
Za. As you give me grace
To live, tis true.
Sy. We will be good to Zanthia ;
Goe, cheare thy lady, and be private to us.
[She descends after Sophonisba.
Za. As to my life.
Sy. I'le use this Zanthia,
And trust her as our dogs drinke dangerous Nile,
Only for thirst ; the flie, the crocodile :
so. i.] OF SOPHONISBA. 187
Wise Sophonisba knowes loves tricks of art,
Without much hindrance, pleasure hath no heart ;
Despight all vertue or weake plots I must,
Seven walled Babell cannot beare out lust.
[Descends through the vault.
<§ Cornets sound marches.
^j Enter SCIPIO and L^ELIUS, with the complements of
Roman Generalls before them. At the other doore,
MASSINISSA and JUGURTH.
Mas. Let not the vertue of the world suspect
Sad Massinissa's faith ; nor once condemne
Our just revolt. Carthage first gave me life ;
Her ground gave food, her aire first lent me breath.
The earth was made for men, not men for earth.
Scipio, I doe not thanke the Gods for life,
Much lesse vile men, or earth ; know, best of lords,
It is a happy being, breath well fam'd,
For which Jove sees these thus. Men be not fool'd
With piety to place, traditions feare,
A just mans countrey Jove makes every where.
Sci. Well urgeth Massinissa ; but to leave
A city so ingrate, so faithlesse, so more vile
Then civill speech can name, feare not, such vice
To scourge is Heavens gratefull sacrifice.
Thus all confesse first they have broke a faith
To the most due, so just to be observ'd,
That barbarousnesse it selfe may well blush at them.
Where is thy passion ? they have shar'd thy crowne,
The proper right of birth, contriv'd thy death.
Where is thy passion ? given thy beautious spouse
To thy most hated rivall. Statue, not man j
188 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT in.
And last, thy friend Gelosso (man worth gods)
With tortures have they rent to death.
Mas. 0 Gelosso !
For thee full eyes
Sci. No passion for the rest ?
Mas. 0 Scipio ! my griefe for him may be exprest,
But for the rest, silence and secret anguish by teares
Shall wast — shall wast ! Scipio, he that can weep,
Grieves not like me, private deep inward drops
Of blood ! My heart, for Gods right give me leave
To be a short time man.
Sci. Stay, Prince.
Mas. I cease ;
Forgive if I forget thy presence. Scipio,
Thy face makes Massinissa more than man,
And here before your steddy power I vow
As firme as fate I make : When I desist
To be commanded by thy vertue (Scipio),
Or fall from friend of Komes, revenging gods,
Afflict me worth your torture. I have given
Of passion and of faith, my heart.
Sci. To counsell then, ,
Griefe fits weake hearts, revenging vertue men.
Thus I thinke fit, before that Syphax know
How deepely Carthage sinkes, lets beat swift march
Up even to Cirta, and whilst Syphax snores
With his, late thine
Mas. With mine ? no, Scipio ;
Libian hath poyson, aspes, knives, and too much earth
To make one grave, with mine ? Not, she can dye,
Scipio, with mine ! Jove, say it thou dost lye.
Sci. Temperance be Scipios honour.
sc. i.] OF SOPHONISBA. 189
Le. Cease your strife, she is a woman.
Mas. But she is my wife.
Le. And yet she is no god !
Mas. And yet she 's more.
I doe not praise gods goodnesse, but adore.
Gods cannot fall, and for their constant goodnesse
(Which is necessited) they have a crowne
Of never-ending pleasures ; but faint man
(Fram'd to have his weaknesse made the heavens glory),
If he with steddy vertue holds all siege,
That power, that speech, that pleasure, that full sweets,
A world of greatnesse can assail him with,
Having no pay but selfe wept misery,
And beggars treasure heapt — that man He prayse
Above the gods.
Sci. The Lybian speakes bold sense.
Mas. By that by which all is, proportion,
I speake with thought.
Sci. No more.
Mas. Forgive my admiration.
You toucht a string to which my sense was quick ;
Can you but thinke ? Do, do ; my griefe — my griefe —
Would make a saint blaspheme ! Give some reliefe ;
As thou art Scipio, forgive that I forget
I am a souldier. Such woes Joves ribs would burst.
Few speake lesse ill that feele so much of worst.
My eare attends.
Sci. Before then Syphax joyne,
With new strength'd Carthage, or can once unwind
His tangled sense from out so vilde amaze,
Fall wee like suddaine lightning fore his eyes :
Boldnesse and speed are all of victories.
190 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT in.
Mas. Scipio, let Massinissa clip thy knees ;
May once these eyes view Syphax ? shall this arme
Once make him feele his sinne ? 0 yee gods !
My cause, my cause ! Justice is so huge ods,
That he who with it feares, Heaven must renounce
In his creation.
Sci. Beate then a close quicke march ;
Before the morne shall shake cold dews through skies,
Syphax shall tremble at Eomes thicke alarmes.
Mas. Yee powers, I challenge conquest to just armes.
[With a full flourish of cornets y they depart.
ACT iv.] 01 SOPHONISBA. 19.1
ACTUS QUARTUS.
SCENA PEIMA.
^f Organs, viols, and voices, play for this Act.
Enter SOPHONISBA and ZANTHIA, as out of a caves
mouth.
; HEBE are we, Zanthia?
Vangue, said the cave
Op'ned in Belos forrest.
So. ^wr*- Lord, how sweet
I sent the ayre ! The huge long vaults close vainea
What dumps it breath'd ! In Belos forrest sayst ;
Be valiant, Zanthia ; how far 's Utica
From these most heavie shades ?
Za. Ten easie leagues.
So. There 's Massinissa, my true Zanthia ;
Shals venture nobly to escape, and touch
My lords just armes ? Loves wings so justly heave
The body up, that as our toes shall trip
Over the tender and obedient grasse,
Scarce any drop of dew is dasht to ground.
And see the willing shade of friendly night
Makes safe our instant haste. Boldnesse and speed
Make actions most impossible succeed.
192 THE TUAGEDIE [ACT iv.
Za. But, madam, know the forrest hath no way
But one to passe, the which holds strictest guard.
So. Doe not betray me, Zanthia.
Za. I, madam?
So. No, »
I not mistrust thee, yet but
Za. Here you may
Delay your time.
So. I, Zanthia, delay,
By which we may yet hope ; yet hope, alas !
How all benumd 's my sense. Chaunce hath so often struck
I scarce can feele. I should now curse the gods,
Call on the furies ! stampe the patient earth !
Cleave my stretch'd cheeks with sound, speake from all
sense,
But loud and full of players eloquence.
No, no ; what shall we eate ?
Za. Madam, Tie search
For some ripe nuts which autumn hath shooke downe
Prom the unleav'd hasell, then some cooler ayre
Shall lead me to a spring. Or I will try •
The courteous pale of some poore forrestres
For milke.
So. Do, Zanthia. 0 happinesse ! [Exit Zanthia.
Of those that know not pride or lust of citie !
Ther 's no man bless' 'd but those that most men pitty.
0 fortunate poore maids, that are not forc'd
To wed for state, nor are for state divorc'd !
Whom policy of kingdomes doth not marry,
But pure affection makes to love or vary ;
You feele no love which you dare not to shew,
Nor shew a love which doth not truely grow !
sc. I.] OF SOPHONISBA. 193
0 you are surely blessed of the sky ;
You live, that know not death before you dye.
[Through the vautes mouth, in his night gowne, torch in
his hand, Syphax enters just behind Sophonisba.
You are
Sy. In Syphax arines. Thing of false lip,'
What god shall now release thee ?
So. Art a man ?
Sy. Thy limbs shall feele. Despight thy vertue, know
1 'le thred thy richest pearle. This forrests deafe
As is my lust. Night and the god of silence
Swels my full pleasures ; no more shalt thou delude
My easie credence. Virgin of faire brow,
Well featurde creature, and our utmost wonder,
Queene of our youthfull bed, be proud.
[Syphax setteth away his light, and preparetft
to embrace Sophonisba.
He use thee. [Sophonisba snatcheth out her knife.
So. Looke thee — view this — shew but one straine of
force,
Bow but to sease this arme, and by my selfe,
Or more, by Massinissa, this good steele
Shall set my soule on wing. Thus form'd gods see,
And men with gods worth elivie nought but me.
Sy. Doe strike thy breast; know, being dead, He use,
With highest lust of sense, thy senselesse flesh,
And even then thy vexed soule shall see,
Without resistance, thy trunke prostitute
Unto our appetite.
So. I shame to make thee know
How vile thou speakest. Corruption then as much
As thou shalt doe ; but frame unto thy lusts
13
194 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT IT,
Imaginations utmost sinne ! Syphax,
I speake all frightlesse, know I live or die
To Massinissa ; nor the force of fate
Shall make me leave his love, or slake thy hate \
I speake no more.
Sy. Thou hast amaz'd us ; woinans forced use,
Like unripe fruits, no sooner got but waste ;
They have proportion, colour, bat no taste.
Thinke, Syphax ; Sophonisba, rest thy owne t
Our guard I
^f Enter a guard.
Creature of most astonishing vertue,
If with faire usage, love, and passionate courtmgs,
We may obtaine the heaven of thy bed,
We cease no sute ; from other force be free.
We dote not on thy body, but love thee.
So. Wilt thou keep faith ?
Sy. By thee, and by that power
By which thou art thus glorious, trust my vow.,
Our guard, convay the royalist excellence
That ever was call'd woman to our pallace :„
Observe her with strict care !
So. Dread Syphax, speake !
As thou art worthy, is not Zanthia false ?
Sy. To thee she is.
So. As thou art then thy selfe,
Let her not be.
Sy. She is not ! [The guard seizeth Zanthia.
Za. Thus most speed,
When two foes are growne Mends, partakers bleed.
Sy. When plants must flourish, their manure must rot.
I.] OF SOPHONISBA. 195
So. Syphax, be recompene'd, I hate thee not.
[Exit Sophonisba.
Sy. A wasting flame feedes on my amorous blood,
Which we must coole, or dye. What way all power,
All speech, full opportunity, can make,
We have made fruitlesse tryall Infernall Jove,
You resolute angels that delight in flames,
To you, all wonder-working spirits, I flye !
Since heaven helps not, deepest hell wee '1 try !
Here in this desart, the great soule of charmes,
Dreadfull Erictho lives, whose dismall brow
Contemnes all roofes or civill coverture.
Forsaken graves and tombs, the ghosts forc'd out,
She joyes to inhabite.
^f Infernall miisicke playes softly, whitest ERICTHO enters,
and, when she speakes, ceaseth.
A loathsome yellow leannesse spreads her face,
A heavy hell-like palenesse loads her cheeks,
Unknowne to a cleare heaven ; but if darke winds
Or thicke blacke clouds drive back the blinded starre§,
When her deep magicke makes forc'd heaven quake
And thunder, spight of Jove — Erictho then
From naked graves stalkes out, heaves proud her head
With long unkemb'd haire loaden, and strives to snatch
The nights quicke sulphure ; then she bursts up tombs
From halfe-rot sear-cloths, then she scrapes dry gummes
For her blacke rites ; but when she finds a coarse
But newly grav'd, whose entrailes arc not turn'd
To slymie filth, with greedy havocke then
She makes fierce spoyle, and swells with wicked triumph
To bury her leane knuckles in his eyes ;
196 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT IT.
Then doth she knaw the pale and oregrowne nayles
From his dry hand ; but if she find some life
Yet lurking close, she bites his gellid lips,
And, sticking her blacke tongue in his dry throat,
She breathes dire murmurs, which inforce him beare
Her banefull secrets to the spirits of horrour.
To her first sound the gods yield any harme,
As trembling once to heare a second charme,
She is -
Eri. Here, Syphax, here ; quake not, for know,
I know thy thoughts : thou wouldst intreat our power
Nice Sophonisba's passion to inforce
To thy affection. Be aU full of love ;
Tis done, tis done ; to us heaven, earth, sea, ayre,
And Fate it selfe obayes ; the beasts of death,
And all the terrours angry gods invented
(T'afflict the ignorance of patient man),
Tremble at us ; the roul'd-up snake uncurls
His twisted knots at our affrighting voyce.
Are we incens'd ? the king of flames growes pale,
Lest he be choak'd with blacke and earthy fumes,
Which our charmes raise. Be joy'd, make proud thy lust.
I do not pray you, gods, my breath 's, you must.
Sy. Deep knowing spirit, mother of all high
Mysterious science, what may Syphax yield
Worthy thy art, by which my soule 's thus eas'd ?
The gods first made me live, but thou live pleas'd.
Eri. Know then our love, hard by the reverent mines
Of a once glorious temple rear'd to Jove,
Whose very rubbish (like the pittyed fall
Of vertue most unfortunate) yet beares
A deathlesse majesty, though now quite rac'd,
sc. i.] OF SOPHONISBA. 197
Hurl'd downe by wrath and lust of impious kings,
So that where holy Flamins wont to sing
Sweet hymnes to Heaven, there the daw and crow,
The ill-voyc'd raven, and still chattering pye,
Send out ungratefull sounds and loathsome filth ;
Where statues and Joves acts were vively limbs,
Boyes with black coales draw the vail'd parts of nature,
And leacherous actions of imagiri'd lust ;
Where tombs and beautious urnes of well dead men
Stood in assured rest, the shepheard now
Unloads his belly ; corruption most abhorr'd
Mingling it selfe with their renowned ashes :
Our selfe quakes at it !
There once a charnel-house, now a vast cave,
Over whose brow a pale and untrod grove
Throwes out her heavy shade, the mouth thicke armes
Of darksome ewe (sun proofe) for ever choakes.
Within rest barren darknesse, fruitlesse drought
Pines in eternall night ; the steame of hell
Yields not to lasy ayre. There, that 's my cell ;
From thence a charme, which Jove dare not heare twice,
Shall force her to thy bed. But Syphax know,
Love is the highest rebell to our art.
Therefore I charge thee, by the feare of all
Which thou know'st dreadfull, or more, by our selfe,
As with swift hast she passeth to thy bed,
And easy to thy wishes yields, speake not one word,
Nor dare, as thou dost feare thy losse of joyes,
T'dmit one light, one light.
Sy. As to my fate
I yield my guidance.
Eri. Then, when I shall force
108 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT iv.
The aire to musicke, and the shades of night
To forme sweet sounds, make proud thy rais'd delight ;
Meane time behold, I goe a charme to reare,
Whose potent sound will force our selfe to feare.
Sy. Whether is Syphax heav'd? at length shall 's joy
Hopes more desir'd then Heaven ? Sweet labouring earth,
Let heaven be uniform'd with mighty charmes,
Let Sophonisba only fill these armes,
Jove wee'l not envy thee ! Bloods appetite
Is Syphax god ; ray wisedome is my sense,
Without a man I hold no excellence.
Give me long breath, young beds, and sicklesse ease,
For we hold firme, that 's lawfull which doth please,
^f Infernall musicJce, softly.
llarke ! harke ! now rise infernall tones,
The deep fetch'd groiies
Of labouring spirits that attend
Erictho.
Erictho. [within.
Sy. Now cracke the trembling earth, and send —
Shreekes that portend
Affriglitment to the gods which heare
Erictho.
Erictho. \witUn.
^f A treble mall, fyc., a base lute, play softly witlim
the canopy.
Sy. Harke ! harke ! now softer melody strikes mute
Disquiet Nature. O thou power of sound,
How thou dost melt me ! Harke ! now even heaven
Gives up his soule amongst us. Now 's the time
9c. i.] OF SOPHONISBA. 199
When greedy expectation straines mine eyes
For their lov'd object ; now Erictho will'd,
Prepare my appetite for loves strict gripes.
Ckyou deare founts of pleasure, bloud, and beauty,
Rayse active Venus worth fruition
Of such provoking sweetnesse. Harke, she comes !
A short song to soft mudcke above.
Two nuptiall hymnes, inforced spirits sing.
Harke, Syphax, harke !
CANTANT.
Now hell and heaven rings
With musicke spight of Phoebus. Peace !
^f Enter ERICTHO in the shape of SOPHONISBA, her face
vailed, and hasteth m the led of SYPHAX.
She comes \
Fury of bloods impatient ! Erictho
'Bove thunder sits : to thee, egregious soule,
Let all flesh bend. Sophonisba, thy flame
But equall mine, and weele joy such delight,
That gods shall not admire, but even spight ! •
[Syphax hastneth within the canopy^ as to
Sophonisbas bed.
r r r r
?rr
r
200 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT v.
ACTUS QUINTUS.
SCENA PEIMA.
^]" A base lute and a treble moll play for tlie Act.
SYPHAX drawes the curtaines, and discovers ERICTHO
lying with him.
Eri. SpaSffjA ! ha ! ha !
Sy. Light, light !
Eri. Ha! ha!
Sy. Thou rotten scum of hell
0 my abhorred heate ! O loath'd delusion !
[They leape out of the bed; Syphax takes him
to his sword.
Eri. Why, foole of kings, could thy weake soule
imagine
That 'tis within the graspe of heaven or hell
To enforce love ? Why, know love doats the fates,
Jove groanes beneath his waight : more ignorant thing,
Know we, Erictho, with a thirsty wombe,
Have coveted full threescore suns for blood of kings.
We that can make inraged Neptune tosse
His huge curld locks without one breath of wind ;
We that can make Heaven slide from Atlas shoulder ;
We, in the pride and height of covetous lust,
sc. i.] OF SOPHONISBA. 201
Have wisht with womans greedinesse to fill
Our longing armes with Syphax well strong lims ;
And dost thou thinke if philters or hels charmes
Could have inforc'd thy use, we would hav' dam'd
Braine sleights ? No, no. Now are we full
Of, our deare wishes. Thy proud heate well wasted
Hath made our lims grow young ! Our love, farewell !
Know he that would force love, thus seekes his hell !
[Erictho slips into the ground, as Syphax offers
his sword to her.
Sy. Can we yet breath ? Is any plagu'd like me ?
Are we ? Lets thinke. O now contempt, my hate
To thee, thy thunder, sulphure, and scorn'd name.
He whose life 's loath'd, and he who breathes to curse
His very beings, let him thus with me !
[Syphax kneeles at the altar.
Fall fore an altar, sacred to blacke powers,
And thus dare Heavens ! O thou whose blasting flames
Hurle barren droughts upon the patient earth,
And thou, gay god of riddles and strange tales,
Hot-brained Phoebus, all adde if you can,
Something unto my misery, if ought
Of plagues lurke in your deepe trench'd browes,
Which yet I know not, — let them fall like bolts,
Which wrathfull Jove drives strong into my bosome,
If any chance of warre, or newes ill voyc'd,
Mischiefe unthought of lurke, come, giv 't us all,
Heape curse on curse, we can no lower fall !
[Out of the altar the ghost of Asdruball ariseth.
Asd. Lower — lower !
Sy. What damn'd ayre is form'd
Into that shape ? Speake, speake, we cannot quake !
202 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT v.
Our flesh knowes not ignoble tremblings. Speake !
We dare thy terror ! Me thinkes hell and fate
Should dread a soule with woes made desperate !
Asd. Know me the spirit of great Asdruball,
Father to Sophonisba, whose bad heart
Made justly most unfortunate ; for know
I turn'd unfaithfull, after which the field
Chanc'd to our losse, when of thy men there fell
Six thousand soules, next fight of Lybians ten.
After which losse we, after Carthage flying,
Th' inraged people cride their army fell
Through my base treason. Straight my revengefull fury
Make them pursue me ; I with resolute haste
Made to the grave of all our ancestors,
When poysoned, hop'd my bones should have long rest.
But see the violent multitude arrives,
Teare downe our monument, and me now dead
Deny a grave ; hmie us among the rocks
To stanch beasts hunger ; therefore thus ungrav'd
I seeke slow rest. Now doest thou know more woes,
And more must feele. Mortals, O feare to slight
Your gods and vowes. Joves arme is of dread might.
Sy. Yet speake : shall I orecome approaching foes ?
A&d. Spirits of wrath know nothing but their woes.
[Exit.
^f Enter NUNTIUS.
Nun. My Hedge, my liedge, the scouts of Cirta bring
intelligence
Of suddaine danger ; full ten thousand horse,
Fresh and well rid, strong Massinissa leads,
so. ii.] OF SOPHONISBA. 203
As wings to Romane legions that march swift,
Lead by that man of conquest, Scipio.
Sy. Scipio?
Nun. Direct to Cirta. \A march farre off is heard.
Harke ! their march is heard even to the citie.
Sy. Helpe, our guard, my armes ; bid all our leaders
Beate thicke alarmes. I have scene things which thou
Wouldst quake to heare;
Boldnesse and strength the shame of slaves be feare.
Up, heart, hold sword ! though waves roule thee on shelfe,
Though fortune leave thee, leave not thou thy selfe !
[Exit, arming.
SCENA SECUNDA.
^[ Enter two Pages, with targets and javelins ; L^ELIUS
and JUGURTH, with holberds ; SCIPIO and MASSI-
NISSA armed; cornets sounding a march.
Sci. Stand!
Mas. Give the word — Stand !
Sci. Part the file !
Mas. Give way !
Scipio, by thy great name, but greater vertue, —
By our eternall love, give me the chance
Of this dayes battle ! Let not thy envied fame
Vouchsafe t' oppose the Eomane legions
Against one weakened Prince of Lybia.
This quarrel 's mine — mine be the stroke of fight !
Let us and Syphax hurle out well forc'd darts
204 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT v.
Each unto others breast. O (what should I say ?)
Thou beyond epithete, thou whom proud lords of fortune
May even envie. Alas ! my joys so vaste,
Makes me seeme lost. Let us thunder and lightning
Strike from our brave armes. Looke, looke, sease that hill,
Harke ! he comes neere. From thence discerne us strike
Fire worth Jove ; mount up, and not repute
Me very proud, though wondrous resolute.
My cause, my cause is my bold heartning ods,
That sevenfold shield, just armes should fright the gods.
Set. Thy words are full of honour ; take thy fate.
Mas. Which we doe scorne to feare, to Scipio state
Worthy his heart. Now let the forced brasse
Sound on.
^f Cornets sound a march. SCIPIO leads his traine up
to the mount.
Jugurth, claspe sure our caske,
Arme us with care ; and Jugurth, if I fall
Through this dayes malice, or our fathers sinnes,
If it in thy sword lye, breake up my breast,
And save my heart that never fell nor sued
To ought but Jove and Sophonisba. Sound,
Sterne heartners unto wounds and blood — sound loud,
For we have named Sophonisba.
[Cornets a flourish.
So, [Cornets a march farre off.
Harke, harke, he comes ! stand blood ! Now multiply
Force more than fury. Sound high, sound high, we strike
For Sophonisba.
sc. ii. j OF SOPHONISBA. 205
^f Enter SYPHAX arm'd, his Pages with shields and darts
before ; cornets sounding marches.
By. For Sophonisba.
Mas. Syphax !
Sy. Massinissa!
Mas. Betwixt us two,
Let single fight try all.
Sy. Wellurg'd.
Mas. Well granted
Of you, my starres ; as I am worthy you,
I implore ayde ; and 0, if angels wayt
Upon good hearts, my genius bee as strong
As I am just.
Sy. Kings glory is their wrong.
He that may onely doe just act 's a slave.
My gods my arme, my life, my heaven, my grave,
To me all end.
Mas. Give day, gods, life, not death,
To him that onely feares blaspheming breath.
For Sophonisba !
Sy. For Sophonisba !
^ Cornets sound a charge. MASSINISSA and SYPHAX
combate. SYPHAX falls. MASSINISSA unclasps
SYPHAX caske ; and, as ready to kill kirn, speakes
SYPHAX —
Sy. Unto thy fortune, not to thee, wee yeeld.
Mas. Lives Sophonisba yet unstain'd, speake just —
Yet ours unforc'd ?
Sy. Let my heart fall more low
Then is my body, if onely to thy glory
Shee lives not yet all thine.
206 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT v,
Mas. Else, rise ! Cease strife !
Heare a most deepe revenge — from us take life !
^[ Cornets sound a march. SCIPIO and L^ELIUS enter.
SCIPIO passeth to Ms throne. MASSINISSA presents
SYPHAX to SCIPIO' s feet, cornets sounding a flourish.
To you all power of strength : and next to thee,
Thou spirit of triumph, borne for victory.
I heave these hands. March we to Cirta straight,
My Sophonisba with swift hast to winne,
In honor and in love all meane is sinne.
[Exeunt Massinissa and Jugurth.
Sci. As we are Homes great generall, thus we presse
Thy captive necke. But as still Scipio,
And sensible of just humanitie,
We weepe thy bondage. Speake, thou ill chanc'd man,
What spirit tooke thee when thou wert our friend
(Thy right hand given both to gods and us,
With such most passionate vowes and solemne faith),
Thou fledst with such most foule disloyaltie
To now weake Carthage, strengthening their bad armes,
Who lately scorn'd thee with all loath'd abuse,
Who never entertaine for love, but use ?
Sy. Scipio, my fortune is captiv'd, not I;
Therefore He speake bold truth, nor once mistrust
What I shall say ; for now, being wholly yours,
I must not faine. Sophonisba, 'twas shee,
Twas Sophonisba that solicited
My forc'd revolt ; twas her resistlesse suite,
Her love to her deare Carthage, tic'd me breake
All faith with men ; twas shee made Syphax false ;
Shee that loves Carthage with such violence,
And hath such mooving graces to allure,
sc. ii.] OF SOPHONISBA. 207
That slice will turne a man that once hath swome
Himselfe on 's fathers bones her Carthage foe,
To be that cities champion and high friend.
Her himeneall torch burnt downe my house ;
Then was I captiv'd, when her wanton armes
There moving claspt about my necke. O charmes,
Able to turne even Fate ! But this, in my true griefe,
Is some just joy, that my love-sotted foe
Shall seize that plague, that Massinissas breast
Her hands shall arme, and that ere long youle trie,
Shee can force him your foe as well as I.
Sci. Lselius, Laelius, take a choyce troupe of horse,
And spur to Cirta. To Massinissa thus :
Syphax palace, crownes, spoyle, cities sacke,
Be free to him. But if our new laugh'd friend
Possesse that woman of so moving art,
Charge him with no lesse waight than his deare vow,
Our love, all faith, that he resigne her thee,
As he shall answer Borne will give him up
A Eoman prisoner to the Senates doome :
She is a Carthagenian ; now our lawes
Wise men prevent not actions, but ever cause.
Sy. Good malice, so, as liberty so deare
Prove my revenge. What I cannot possesse
Another shall not — that 's some happinesse.
[Exeunt, cornets flourishing.
^[ Cornets afar off sounding a charge. A Souldier icounded
at one doore. Enter at the other SOPHONISBA, two
Pages before her with lights, two women bearing up
her traine.
Soul. Princesse, 0 nie ! Syphax hath lost the day,
208 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT v.
And captiv'd lyes. The Eoman legions
Have seiz'd the towne, and with inveterate hate
Make slaves, or murder all. Fire and steele,
Fury and night, hold all. Faire Queene, O fly !
We bleed for Carthage, all for Carthage dye ! [Exit.
^[ Cornets sounding a march. Enter Pages, with javelim
and targets. MASSINISSA and JUGURTH ; MASSI-
NISSA'S leaver shut.
Mas. March to the pallace.
So. What ere man thou art
Of Lybia, thy faire armes speake ; give heart
To amazd weaknesse ; heare her, that for long time
Hath seene no wished light. Sophonisba,
A name for misery much knowne — tis she
Intreats of thy grac'd sword this onely boone : —
Let me not kneele to Koine ; for though no cause
Of mine deserves their hate — though Massinissa
Be ours to heart, yet Eoman generalls
Make proud their triumphs, with what ever captives.
O tis a nation which from soule I feare,
As one well knowing the much-grounded hate
They beare to Asdruball and Carthage bloud ;
Therefore with teares that wash thy feet, with hands
Unusde to beg, I claspe thy manly knees, —
O save me from their fetters and contempt,
Their proud insults, and more then insolence !
Or, if it rest not in thy grace of breath
To grant such freedome, give me long-wisht death ;
For tis not now loath'd life that we doe crave, —
Onely an unsham'd death and silent grave,
Wee will now daine to bend for.
sc. ii.] OF SOPHONISBA. 209
Mas. Earitie ! [Massinissa disarmes his head.
By thee and this right hand, thou shalt live free !
So. We cannot now be wretched.
Mas. Stay the sword !
Let slaughter cease ; sounds soft as Ladas breast
[Soft musique.
Slide through all eares. This night be loves high feast.
So. Orewhelme me not with sweets ; let me not drink
Till my breast burst. 0 Jove, thy nectar skinke.
[She sinJces into Massinissas arme*.
Mas. She is orecome with joy !
So. Help — help to beare
Some happinesse, ye powers ! I have joy to spare.
Inough to make a god ! O Massinissa !
Mas. Peace!
A silent thinking makes full joyes increase !
^f Enter LELIUS.
Le. Massinissa!
Mas. Lelius!
Le. Thine eare.
Mas. Standoff!
Le. Prom Scipio thus. By thy late vow of faith.
And mutuall league of endless amitie,
As thou respects his vertue, or Eomes force,
Deliver Sophonisba to our hand.
Mas. Sophonisba?
Le. Sophonisba.
So. My lord
Lookes pale, and from his halfe-burst eyes a flame
Of deepe disquiet breakes. The gods turne false
My sad presage !
14
210 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT v.
Mas. Sophonisba?
Le. Even she.
Mas. She kild not Scipios father, nor his unkle,
Great Cneius.
Le. Carthage did !
Mas. To her whats Carthage ?
Le. Know twas her father Asdruball struck off
His fathers head. Give place to faith and fate !
Mas. Tis crosse to honour.
Le. But tis just to State ;
So speaketh Scipio. Doe not thou detaine
A Eomane prisoner, due to this triumph,
As thou shalt answer Home and him.
Mas. Lelius,
Wee now are in Koines power. Lelius,
View Massinissa doe a loathed act,
Most sinking from that state his heart did keepe.
Looke, Lelius, looke, see Massinissa weepe ;
Know I have made a vow more deare to me
Then my soules endlesse being : shee shall rest
Free from Bomes bondage !
Le. But dost thou forget
Thy vow, yet fresh, thus breathd : When I desist
To be commanded by thy vertue, Scipio,
Or fall from friend of Borne, revenging gods,
Afflict me with your torture.
Mas. Lelius, enough.
Salute the Roman, tell him wee will act
What shall amaze him.
Le. Wilt thou yeeld her then ?
Mas. Shee shall arrive there straight.
sc. ii.] OF SOPHONISBA. 211
Le. Best fate of men
To thee.
Mas. And Scipio. Have I liv'd, 0 heavens !
To be inforcedly perfidious ?
So. What unjust griefe afflicts my worthy lord ?
Mas. Thank me, ye gods, with much beholdingnesse,
For marke I doe not curse you.
So. Tell me, sweet,
The cause of thy much anguish.
Mas. Ha, the cause ?
Let 's see : wreath back thine armes, bend downe thy neck,
Practise base prayers, make fit thy selfe for bondage.
So. Bondage !
Mas. Bondage — Eoman bondage !
So. No, no !
Mas. How then have I vow'd well to Scipio ?
So. How then to Sophonisba ?
Mas. Eight ; which way
Eunne mad impossible distraction.
So. Deare lord, thy patience ; let it maze all power,
And list to her in whose sole it rests
To keepe thy faith upright.
Mas. Wilt thou be slav'd ?
So. No, free.
Mas. How then keep I my faith ?
So. My death
Gives helpe to all. From Eome so rest we free ;
So brought to Scipio, faith is kept in thee.
Mas. Thou darst not die — some wine, thou darst not
die!
212 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT v.
^f Enter a Page with a boule of wine.
So. How neere was I unto the curse of man ? Joy,
How like was I yet once to have beene glad.
He that neere laught may with a constant face
Contemne Joves frowne. Happinesse makes us base.
[She takes a bole, into which Massinissa puts poyson.
Behold me, Massinissa, like thy selfe,
A king and souldier ; and I pree thee keepe
My last command.
Mas. Speake, sweet.
So. Deare, doe not weepe.
And now with undismaid resolve behold,
To save you — you (for honour and just faith
Are most true gods, which we should much adore),
With even disdainefull vigour I give up
An abhord life. You have beene good to me,
[She drinkes.
And I doe thanke thee, Heaven ! 0 my stars,
I blesse your goodnesse, that with breast unstain'd,
Faith pure, a virgin wife, try'd to my glory,
I die of female faith the long-liv'd story ;
Secure from bondage and all servile harmes,
But more — most happy in my husbands armes.
[She sinkes,
Ju. Massinissa, Massinissa !
Mas. Covetous
Fame, greedy lady, could no scope of glory,
No reasonable proportion of goodnesse,
Fill thy great breast, but thou must prove immense
Incomprehence in vertue ? What, wouldst thou
Not onely be admir'd, but even ador'd ?
sc. IT.] OF SOPHONISBA. 213
0 glory ripe for heaven ! Sirs, helpe, helpe, helpe !
Let us to Scipio with what speed you can,
Tor piety make haste, whilst yet we are man.
[Exeunt, bearing Sophonisba in a chaire.
^f Cornets a march. Enter SCIPIO in full state, tryumphall
ornaments carry ed before him, and SYPHAX bound ;
at the other doore,
Sci. What answers Massinissa ? Will he send
That Sophonisba of so moving tongues ?
Le. Full of dismayd unsteddinesse he stood,
His right hand lockt in hers, which hand he gave
As pledge for Rome, she ever should live free.
But when I enter'd and well urg'd this vow
And thy command, his great heart sunke with shame,
His eyes lost spirit, and his heat of life
Sanke from his face, as one that stood benumm'd,
All maz'd, t' effect impossibilities ;
For either unto her or Scipio
He must breake vow. Long time he toss'd his thoughts ;
And as you see a snow-ball being rol'd,
At first a handfull, yet, long bowl'd about,
Insensibly acquires a mighty globe, —
So his cold griefe through agitation growes,
And more he thinks, the more of griefe he knowes.
At last he seem'd to yield her.
Sy. Marke, Scipio !
Trust him that breaks a vow ?
Sci. How then trust thee ?
Sy. 0, misdoubt him not, when he 's thy slave like me.
214 THE TRAGEDIE [ACT v.
^f Enter MASSINISSA, all in blacke.
Mas. Scipio !
Sci. Massinissa !
Mas. Generall!
Sci. King!
Mas. Lives there no mercy for one soule of Carthage,
But must see basenesse ?
Sci. Wouldst thou joy thy peace,
Deliver Sophonisba straight and cease ;
Do not graspe that which is too hot to hold.
We grace thy griefe, and hold it with soft sense ;
Tnjoy good courage, but 'voyd insolence.
I tell thee Rome and Scipio daigne to beare
So low a brest, as for her say, we feare.
Mas. Doe not, doe not ; let not the fright of nations
Know so vile tearmes. She rests at thy dispose.
Sy. To my soule joy. Shall Sophonisba then
With me goe bound, and wayt on Scipio's wheele ?
When th' whole world 's giddy, one man cannot reele.
Mas. Starve thy leane hopes ; and, Romans, now behold
A sight would sad the gods, make Phoebus cold.
If Organe and recorders play to a single voice. Miter in
the meane time the mournefull solemnity of MASSI-
NISS A5 's presenting SOPHONISBA'S body.
Looke, Scipio, see what hard shift we make
To keep our vowes. Here, take, I yield her thee ;
And Sophonisba, I keep vow, thou art still free.
Sy. Burst, my vext heart: the torture that mostwrackes
An enemy is his foes royall acts.
sc. n.] OF SOPHONISBA. 215
Sci. The glory of thy vertue live for ever ;
Brave hearts may be obscur'd, but extinct never.
[Scipio adornes Massinissa.
Take from the General! of Home this crowne,
This roabe of tryumph, and this conquests wreath,
This scepter, and this hand, for ever breath,
Homes very minion ! Live worth thy fame,
As farre from faintings as from now base name.
Mas. Thou whom, like sparkling steel, the stroks of
chance
Made hard and firme, and like to wild-fire turn'd,
The more cold fate, the more thy vertue burn'd.
And in whole seas of miseryes didst flame —
On thee, lov'd creature of a deathlesse fame,
[Massinissa adornes Sophoaisba.
Hest all my honour. 0 thou for whom I drinke
So deep of griefe, that he must onely thinke,
Not dare to speake, that would expresse my woe ;
Small rivers murmure, deep gulfes silent flow ;
My griefe is here, not here ; heave gently then.
Womens right wonder, and just shame of men.
[Exeunt.
Cornets a short flourish.
Manet Massinissa.
EPILOGUS.
AND now with lighter passion, though just feare,
-£•*• I change my person, and doe hither beare
Anothers voice, who with a phrase as weake
As his deserts, now wilTd me for him speake :
If words well sens'd, best suting subject grave,
Noble true story may once boldly crave
Acceptance gracious ; if he whose fires
Envy not others, nor himselfe admires ;
If sceanes exempt from ribaldry or rage
Of taxings indiscreet, may please the stage ;—
If such may hope applause, he not commands,
Yet craves as due the justice of your hands.
But freely he protests, how ere it is —
Or well, or ill, or much, not much amisse —
With constant modesty he doth submit
To all, save those that have more tongue then wit.
WHAT YOU WILL.
WHAT YOU WILL.
INDUCTION.
Before the musicke sounds for the Acte, enter ATTICUS,
DORICUS, and PHYLOMUSE ; they sit a good while
on the Stage before the candles are lighted, talking
together, and on suddeine DORICUS speakes.
^[ Enter Tier-man with lights.
D°r' (iS^lBFiS ^IE» some %nts! Sirs, fie! let there
be no deeds of darknesse done among
us. I — so, so, pree thee, Tyer-man, set
Sineor Snuffe a fier : he 's a chollerick
gentleman; he will take pepper in the nose instantly;
feare not. Fore Heaven, I wonder they tollerate him so
nere the stage.
Phy. Faith, Doricus, thy braine boiles ; keele it, keele
it, or all the fatt 's in the fire ; in the name of Phoebus,
what merry genius haunts thee to-day? Thy lips play
with feathers.
Dor. Troth, they should pick straws before they should
be idle.
220 WHAT YOU WILL. [INDUCTION.
Atti. But why — but why doost thoii wonder they dare
suffer Snuffe so neere the stage ?
Dor. O, well recald ; marry, Sir Sineor Snuffe, Moun-
sieur Mew, and Cavaliero Blirt, are three of the most to
bee fear'd auditors that ever
Phy. Pish ! for shame ! stint thy idle chatte.
Dor. Nay, dreame what-so-ere your fantasie swimmes
on, Phylomuse ; I protest, in the love you have procured
mee to beare your friend the author, I am vehemently
fearefull this threefold halter of contempt that choakes
the breath of witte, these aforesaid tria simt omnia,
knights of the meaw, will sitt heavie on the skirtes of his
sceanes, if
Phy. If what ? Beleeve it, Doricus, his spirit
Is higher blouded then to quake and pant
At the report of Skoffes artillery.
Shall he be creast-falne, if some looser braine,
In flux of witte uncively befilth
His slight composures ? Shall his bosome faint,.
If drunken Censure belch out sower breath
Prom Hatreds surfet on his labours front ?
Nay, say some halfe a dozen rancorous breasts
Should plant them-selves on purpose to discharge
Imposthum'd malice on his latest sceane,
Shall his resolve be struck through with the blirt
Of a goose breath ? What imperfect borne,
What short-liv'd meteor ; what cold-harted snow
Would melt in dolor ; cloud his mudded eyes,
Sinck downe his jawes, if that some juicles husk,
Some boundlesse ignorance, should on sudden shoote
His grosse knob'd burbolt with — " Thats not so good,
Mew, blirt, ha, ha, light chaffy stuff !"
INDUCTION.] WHAT YOU WILL. 221
Why, gentle spirits, what loose waving fane,
What any thing, would thus be skru'd about
With each slight touch of od phantasmatas ?
No, let the feeble palseid lamer joynts
Leane on opinions crutches ; let the
Dor. Nay, nay, nay. Heavens my hope, I cannot
smoth this straine ;
Witts death, I cannot. What a leaprous humor
Breaks from ranke swelling of these bubbling wits ?
Now out up-pont, I wonder what tite braine,
Wrung in this custome to mainetaine contempt
Gainst common censure ; to give stiffe counter buffes,
To crack rude skorne even on the very face
Of better audience. Slight, ist not odious ?
Why, harke you, honest, honest Phylomuse
(You that indeavor to indeere our thoughts
To the composers spirit), hold this firme :
Musike and poetry were first appro v'd
By common scence ; and that which pleased most,
Held most allowed passe : not rules of art
Were shapt to pleasure, not pleasure to your rules ;
Thinke you, if that his sceanes tooke stampe in mint
Of three or foure deem'd most juditious,
It must inforce the world to currant them,
That you must spit defiance on dislike ?
Now, as I love the light, were I to passe
Through publick verdit, I should feare my forme,
Least ought I offerd were unsquard or warp'd.
" The more we know, the more we know we want :
What bayard boulder then the ignorant ?
Beleeve me, Phylomuse, ifaith thou must,
The best best seale of wit is wits distrust"
222 WHAT YOU WILL. [INDUCTION.
Phy. Nay, gentle Doricus.
Dor. He here no more of him; nay, and your friend
the author, the composer, the What You Will, seemes so
faire in his owne glasse, so straight in his owne measure,
that hee talkes once of squinting critickes, drunken cen-
sure, splay-footed opinion : juicles huskes, I ha done with
him ; I ha done with him.
Phy. Pew, nay then
Dor. As if any such unsanctified stuffe could finde a
beeing monge these ingenuous breasts.
Atti. Come, let passe, let passe; lets see what stuffe
must cloath our eares. What 's the plaies name ?
Phy. What You Will.
Dor. 1st commedy, tragedy, pastorall, morall, noc-
turnal, or historic ?
Phy. Faith, perfectly neither, but even What You Will,
— a slight toye, lightly composed, to swiftly finisht, ill
plotted, worse written, I feare me worst acted, and indeed
What You Will.
Dor. Why, I like this vaine well now.
Atti. Come, wee straine the spectators patience in
delaying their expected delightes. Lets place our
selves within the curtaines, for good faith the stage is
so very little, we shall wrong the generall eye els very
much.
Phy. If youle stay but a little, He accompany you ; I
have ingag'd my selfe to the author to give a kind of in-
ductive speech to his commedy.
Atti. Away ! you neglect your selfe, a gentleman
Phy. Tut, I have vow'd it ; I am double charg'd ; go
of as 't twil, He set fire to it.
Dor. He not stand it ; may chance recoile, and be not
INDUCTION.] WHAT YOU WILL, 223
stuff'd with salte-peeter : well, marke the report ; marke
the report.
Phy. Nay, pree thee stay, slid the female presence ; the
Genteletza ; the women will put me out.
Dor. And they strive to put thee out ; doe thou indevor
to put them.
Atti. In good faith, if they put thee out of countenance,
put them out of patience, and hew their eares with hack-
ing imperfect utterance.
Dor. Goe, stand to it ; shew thy selfe a tall man of thy
tongue; make an honest legge; put off thy cap with
discreete carriage : and so we leave thee to the kinde
gentlemen and most respected auditors.
[Exeunt, remanet tantum Phylomusus,
^^^^^^Spispv^^^^^.^^^*^^^^
f f f f 7ft ft t ? t 7777t 77f
PROLOGUS.
NO E labours tee the favor of the rude,
Nor offers sops unto the Stigian dogge,
To force a scilence in his viperous toungs ;
Nor cares he to insinuate the grace
Of loath'd detraction, nor persues the love
Of the nice criticks of this squeamish age ;
Nor strives he to beare up with every saile
Of noting censure ; nor once dreads or cares
What envious hand his guiltles muse hath struck ;
" Sweet breath from tainted stomacks who can suck ?"
But to the faire proportion'd loves of witte,
To the just skale of even, paized thoughts ;
To those that know the pangs of bringing forth
A perfect feature ; to their gentle mindes,
That can as soone slight of as finde a blemish ;
To those as humbly lowe as to their feete
I am oblig'd to bend — to those his muse
Makes solemne honour for their wish'd delight.
He vowes industrious sweat shall pale his cheeke,
But heele glose up sleeke objects for their eyes :
For those he is asham'd, his best's too badd,
A silly subject too too simply cladd,
Is all his present, all his ready pay
For many many debts. Give further day,
He give a proverbe, — Sufferance giveth ease :
So you may once be pai'd, — we once may please.
\Kxit.
ACTUS PRIMUS.
SCENA PRIMA.
Enter QUADRATUS, PHYLUS following Mm with a lute;
a Page going before QUADRATUS with a torch.
0, I beseech you, Sir, reclaime his wits ;
My masters mad, starke mad, alasse !
for love. [for hate,
Qua. For love ? Nay, and he be not mad
Tis amiable fortune. I tell thee, youth,
Right rare and geason. Strang ? Mad for love !
O show me him ; lie give him reasons straight —
So forcible, so all invincible,
That it shall drag love out. Run mad for love ?
What mortally exsistes, on which our hearts
Should be inamored with such passion ?
For love ? Come, Phylus ; come, He chaung his fate ;
In steed of love, He make him mad for hate.
But, troth, say what straines his madnesse of?
Phy. PhantasticaU.
Qua. Immure him ; skonce him ; barrecadoe him int.
PhantasticaU mad ! thrice blessed heart !
15
226 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT i.
Why harke, good Phylus (O that thy narrow sence
Could but containe me now), all that exists
Takes valuation from oppinion.
A giddy minion now. Pish ! thy tast is dull,
And canst not rellish me. Come ; where 3s lacomo ?
^[ Enter IACOMO, unbraced., and careles drest.
PJiy. Looke, where he corns. 0 map of boundles wo I
laco. Yon gleame is day ; darknes, sleepe, and feare,
Dreames, and the ugly visions of the night,
Are beate to hell by the bright palme of light ;
Now romes the swaine, and whissells up the morne :
Deepe silence breakes ; all things start up with light,
Only my hart, that endles night and day,
Lies bed-red, crippeld by coy Lucea.
Qua. There 's a straine, law.
Nay, now I see hee 's madde most palpable ;
He speakes like a player : hah 1 poeticall.
laco. The wanton spring lyes dallying with the earth,
And powers fresh bloud in her decayed vaines ;
Looke how the new sapt branches are in childe
With tender infants ; how the sunne drawes out,
And shapes their moysture into thousand formes
Of sprouting buddes ; all things that show or breath
Are now instaur'd, saving my wretched brest,
That is eternally congeald with ice
Of froz'd dispaire. 0 Celia ! coy, to nice.
Qua. Still, saunce question, mad ?
laco. O where doth piety and pitty rest ?
Qua. Fetch cordes; he's irrecoverable; mad, ranke mad.
He calls for strange chymeras, fictions,
That have no being since the curse of death
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 2
Was throwne on man. Pitty and piety,
Whole daine converse with them ? Alas ! vaine head ;
Pitty and piety are long since dead.
laco. Kuine to chaunce, and all that strive to stand
Like swolne Colosses on her tottering base.
Fortune is blinde —
Qua. You lye ! you lye !
None but a mad man would terme fortune blind.
How can shee see to wound desert so right,
Just in the speeding place ? to girt lend browes
With honord wreath ? Ha ! Fortune blinde ? Away !
How can she, hud-winkt, then so rightly see
To starve rich worth and glut iniquitie ?
laco. O love !
Qua. Love ! Hang love.
It is the abject out-cast of the world.
Hate all things ; hate the world, thy selfe, all men ;
Hate knowledge ; strive not to be over- wise :
It drew distruction into Paradise.
Hate honor, vertue ; they are baites
That tice mens hopes to sadder fates.
Hate beautie : every ballad-monger
Can cry his idle foppish humor.
Hate riches : wealthes a nattering Jacke -,
Adores to face, mewes hind thy backe.
He that is poore is firmely sped ;
He never shall be flattered.
All thinges are error, durt and nothing,
Or pant with want, or gorg'd to lothing.
Love onely hate ; affect no higher
Then praise of Heaven, wine, a fire ;
228 WHAT rOU WILL. [ACT i.
Suck up thy dales in silent breath,
When their snuffs out, come Sinior Death.
Now, Sir, adieu, runne mad and 'twilt,
The worst is this, my rimes but spilt.
laco. Thy rimes are spilt; who would not run ranke mad,
To see a wandring French man rivall, nay,
Out-strip my sute ? He kist my Celias cheeke.
Qua. Why, man, I saw my dog even kisse thy Celias
lippes.
laco. To-morrow morne they goe to wed.
Qua. Well then I know
Whether to-morrow night they goe.
laco. Say quick.
Qua. To bed.
laco. I will invoke the triple Heccate,
Make charmes as potent as the breath of fate,
But He confound the match !
Qua. Nay, then, good day ;
And you be conjuring, once He slink away.
[Exit Quadratus.
laco. Boy, could not Orpheus make the stones to
daunce ?
Phy. Yes, Sir.
laco. Bir Lady, a sweete touch. Did he not bring
Euridice out of hell with his lute ?
Phy. So they say, Sir.
laco. And thou chanst bring Celias head out of the
L window with thy lute. Well, hazard thy breath. Looke,
Sir, heares a ditty.
Tis fouly writ, slight wit, cross'd here and there,
But where thou findst a blot, their fall a teare.
sc. I.] WHAT YOU WILL. 229
THE SONG.
Fie ! Peace, peace, peace ! it hath no passion int.
0 melt thy breath in fluent softer tunes,
That every note may seeme to tricle downe
Like sad distilling teares, and make — 0 God !
That I were but a poet, now fexpresse my thoughts,
Or a musitian but to sing my thoughts,
Or any thing but what I am. Sing't ore once more,
My greefes a boundles sea that hath no shore.
[Hee singes, and is answered ; from above a willow |
garland isfloung downe, and the songe ceaseth.
Is this my favor ? Am I crown'd with skorne ?
Then thus I manumit my slav'd condition.
Celia, but heare me execrate thy love.
By Heaven, that once was consious of my love ;
By all that is, that knowes my all was thine,
I will perseu with detestation ;
Thwart without stretched vehemence of hate,
Thy wished Hymen. I will craze my braine,
But all disceaver all. Thy hopes unite :
What rage so violent as love turn'd spight ?
^f Enter RANDOLFO and ANDREA, with a supplication,
BAN. Humbly complayning, kissing the hands of your
excelence, your pore orators Eandolfo and Andrea be-
seecheth, forbidding of the dishonord match of their neece
Celia, widdow, to their brother
0 twill do ; twill do ; it can not chuse but doe.
And. What should one say? — what should one do now ?
Umph!
230 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT i.
If she do match, with yon same wandring knight,
Shee 's but undone ; her estimation, wealth
laco. Nay, Sir, her estimations mounted up,
She shall be ladi'd and sweete-madam'd now.
Ran. Be ladi'd ? Ha ! ha ! O, could she but recaule
The honord port of her deceased love !
But thinke whose wife she was. God wot no knights
But one (that title of) was even a Prince,
A Sultane Sollyman ; thrice was he made,
In dangerous armes, Venice providetore.
And. He was a marchant ; but so bounteous,
Valiant, wise, learned, all so absolute,
That naughts was valewed praisfull excellent,
But in it was he most praisfull excellent.
laco. O, I shall nere forget how he went cloath'd.
He would maintaine 't a base ill-us'd fashion
To bind a marchant to the sullen habit
Of precise black ; cheefly in Venice state,
Where marchants guilt the top ;
And therefore should you have him passe the bridge
Up the Bialto like a soldier
(As still hee stood a potestate at sea).
Ran. In a black bever felt, ash-colour plaine,
A Florentine cloth-of-silver jerkin, sleeves
White satten cut on tinsell, then long stocke.
OGod!
laco. French paines imbroder'd, gold-smithes worke,
Me thinkes I see him now how he would walke ;
With what a jolly presence he would pace
Round the Rialto. WeU, hee 's soone forgot ;
A straggling Sir in his rich bed must sleepe,
Which if I can not crosse He curse and weepe.
sc. i.] 1THAT YOU WILL. 231
Shall I be plaine as truth ? I love your sister :
My education, birth, and wealth deserves her ;
I have no crosse, no rub to stop my sute,
But Lavardur's a knight that strikes all mute.
And. I, ther 's the divill, she must be ladi'd now.
loco. O ill-nurs'd custome! no soner is the wealthy
His wife left great in faire possessions, [marchant dead,
But giddie rumor graspes it twixt his teeth,
And shakes it bout our eares. Then thether flock
A rout of erased fortunes, whose crakt states
Gape to be sodderd up by the rich masse
Of the deceased labores, and now and then
The troupe of / beseech and protest,
And beleeve it, sweete, is mix'd with two or three
Hopefull, well-stockt, neat-clothed cytizens.
Ran. But as we see the sonne of a divine
Seidome proves preacher, or a lawiers sonne
Rarely a pleader (for they strive to run
A various fortune from their auneestors),
So tis right geason for the marchantes widow
To be the cytizens lov'd second spouse.
loco. Variety of objectes please us still;
One dish, though nere so cookt, doth quickly fill ;
When diverse cates the pallats sence delight,
And with fresh tast creates new appetite ;
Therefore my widdow she casheers the blackes,
Forsweares, turnes of the furd-gownes, and survaies
The bedrowle of her sutors, thinkes and thinkes,
And straight her questing thoughts springs up a knight j
Have after then amaine, the gam 's a foote,
The match clapt up ; tut, tis the knight must do 't !
Ran. Then must my pretty peate be fan'd and coach'd ?
232 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT i.
laco. Muffd, mask'd, and ladled, with my more then
most sweete madam.
But how long doth this perfume of sweete madam last ?
Faith, tis but a wash sent. My riotous sir
Beginnes to crack gestes on his ladies front,
Touches her new-stampt gentry, takes a glut,
Keepes oute, abandons home, and spends and spends,
Till stock be melted ; then sir takes up heere,
Takes' up there, till no where ought is left.
Then for the Low Countries, hay for the French ;
And so (to make up rime) god night, sweete wench.
Ran. By blessednesse weele stop this fatall lot.
laco. But how ? But how ?
Ran. Why, stay, lets thinke a plot.
And. Was not Albano Beletzo honorable rich ?
Ran. Not peer'd in Venice, for birth, fortune, love.
And. Tis skarce three monthes since fortune gave him
dead.
Ran. In the blacke fight in the Venetian gulfe,
And. You hold a truth.
Ran. Now what a gigglet is this Celia ?
And. To match so suddaine, so unworthely ?
Ran. Why, she might have
And. Who might not Celia have ?
The passionate inamord lacomo.
laco. The passionate inamord lacomo.
And. Of honord linage, and not meanly rich.
Ran. The sprightfull Piso, the great Florentine,
Aurelius Tuber.
And. And to leave these all,
And wed a wandring knight, Sir Laverdure,
A God knowes what ?
so. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 233
Ran. Brother, she shall not. Shal our blood be moun-
greld with the corruption of a stragling French ?
And. Saint Marke, she shall not.
laco. She shall not, fathers, by our brother soules.
Ran. Good day.
loco. Wish me good day ? It stands in idle stead ;
My Celias lost ! all my good daies are dead !
[The cornets sound a flourish.
Harke, Lorenzo Celso, the loose Venice Duke
Is going to bed ; tis now a forward morne,
For he take rest. 0 strange transformed sight,
When princes make night day, the day there night !
And. Come, weele peticion him.
laco. Away! Away!
He skornes all plaints ; makes jest of serious sute.
Ran. Fall out as 't twill, I am resolved to do 't.
^f The cornets sound.
^f Obiter the Duke coppled with a Lady ; two cooples more
with them, the men having tobacco-pipes in their hands,
the woemen sitt; they daunce a round. The petition is
delivered up by KANDOLFO; the Duke lightes his
tobacco-pipe with it, and goes out dauncing.
Ran. Saint Marke ! Saint Marke !
laco. Did not I tell you, loose no more rich time ;
What can one get but mier from a swine ?
And. Lets worke a crosse ; weele fame it all aboute
The French mans gelded.
Ran. 0 thats absolute.
laco. Fie ont ! Away ! She knowes to well tis false.
I feare it to well. No, no, I hav 't will strongly doe 't.
Who knowes Francisco Soranza ?
234 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT I.
Ran. Pish! pish! Why, what of him?
laco. Is he not wondrous like your decea'sd kinsman,
Albano ?
And. Exceedingly ; the strangest, neerly like
In voice, in gesture, face, in
Ran. Nay, he hath Albanos imperfection too,
And stuttes when he is vehemently mov'd.
laco. Observe me, then ; him would I have disguis'd,
Most perfect, like Albano ; giving out,
Albano sav'd by swimming (as in faith
'Tis knowne he swome most strangely) ; rumor him
This morne arriv'd in Venice, heere to lurke,
As having heard the for- ward nuptials ;
T observe his wifes most infamous lewd hast,
And^ to revenge
Ran. I hav Jt, I hav Jt, I hav 't ; 'twill be invincible.
laco. By this meanes now some little time we catch ;
For better hopes at least disturbe the match.
And. lie to Francisco.
Ran. Brother Adrian,
You have our brothers picture ; shape him to it.
And. Precise in each but tassell ; feare it not.
Ran. Saint Marke then prosper once our hopefull plot.
laco. Good soules, good day ; I have not slept last night;
He take a nap ; then pell mell broach all spight.
ACT. ii.] WHAT YOU WILL. 235
ACTUS SECUNDUS.
SCENA PEIMA.
One knockes : LAVERDURE drawes the curtaines; sitting
on his bed, apparalling himselfe; his trunke of ap-
paraile standing by him.
Enter Bydett, with water and a towell.
Lav. See who knocks. Looke, you boy ; peruse their
habits ; returne perfect notice. La la, ly ro !
[Exit Bydett, and returnes presently.
Byd. Quadratus.
Lav. Quadratus, mor Dieu> ma vie ! I lay not at my
lodging to night. lie not see him now, on my souie :
hee 's in his old perpetuana sute. I am not within.
Byd. He is faire, gallant, rich, neate as a bride-groome,
fresh as a new-minted six-pence; with him Lampatho
Doria, Symplicius Faber.
Lav. And in good clothes ?
Byd. Accoutred worthy a presence.
Lav. Udes so : my gold-wrought wast-coate and night-
cap. Open my trunk : lay my richest sute on the top,
my velvet slippers, cloth-of-gold gamashes : where are my
cloth-of-silver hose ? lay them
Byd. At pawne, Sir.
236 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT n.
Lav. No, Sir ; I do not bid you lay them at pawne, Sir.
Byd. No, Sir, you need not, for they are there already.
Lav. Mor du, garzone ! Set my richest gloves, garters,
hatts, just in the way of their eyes. So let them in ; ob-
serve mee withall dutious respect : let them in.
^[ Enter QUADRATUS, LAMPATHO DORIA, and
SIMPLICIUS FABER.
Qua. Pho3bns, Phcebe, sunne, moone, and seaven starres,
make thee the dilling of fortune, my sweet Laverdure, my
rich French bloud. Ha yee, deere rogue, hast any pudding
tobacco ?
Lam. Good morrow, Sinior.
Sim. Mounsieur Laverdure, do you see that gentleman ?
Hee goes but in black sattin, as you see, but, by HeUicon,
hee hath a cloth of tissue wit. Hee breakes a jest ; ha !
heele raile against the courttil, the gallants. 0 God ! he
is very Nectar ; if you but sip of his love, you were im-
mortall. I must needes make you knowne to him ; He in-
duce your love with deere regarde. Sinior Lampatho,
heer 's is a French gentleman, Mounsieur Laverdure, a
traveller, a beloved of Heaven, courts your acquaintance.
Lam. Sir, I protest I not onely take distinct notice of
your deere rarities of exterior presence, but also I protest
I am most vehemently inamor'd, and very passionately
doate on your inward adornements and liabilities of spirit !
I protest I shall be proud to doe you most obsequious
vassalage.
Qua. Is not this rare, now ? Now, by Gorgons head,
I gape, and am struck stiffe in wonderment
At sight of these strange beasts. You chamblet youth,
Symplicius Faber, that hermaphrodite,
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 237
Party par pale -, that bastard moungerell soule,
Is nought but admiration and applause ;
Of you, Lampatho Doria, a fustie caske,
Devote to mouldy customes of hoary eld ;
Doth he but speake, 0 tones of heaven it selfe !
Doth he once write, 0 Jesu admirable !
Cryes out Symplicius. Then Lampatho spittes,
And sayes, faith 'tis good. But, 0, to marke yon thing :
Sweate to unite acquaintance to his friend,
Labour his praises, and indeere his worth
With titles all as formally trickt forth
As the cap of a dedicatorie epistle.
Then, sir, to view Lampatho : he protests,
Protests and vowes such suddeine heate of love,
That 0 twere warmth inough of mirth to drie
The stintlesse teares of old Heraclitus, —
Make Nyobe to laugh !
Lam. I protest I shall bee' proud to give you proofe I
hold a most religious affiance with your love.
Lav. Nay, gentle Sinior.
Lam. Let mee not live els. I protest I will straine my
utmost sineus in strengthning your pretious estimate ; I
protest I will do all rights in all good offices that friend-
ship can touch, or amplest vertue deserve.
Qua. I protest, beleeve him not ; He beg thee, Laverdure,
For a conceal'd ideot, if thou credit him ;
Hee 5s a hyena, and with civitt scent
Of perfum'd words, drawes to make a prey
For laughter of thy credit. 0 this hote crackling love,
That blaseth on an instant, flames me out
On the least puffe of kindnesse, with protest, protest.
Catzo, I dread these hotte protests, that presse,
238 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT ir.
Come on so fast. No, no ! away, away !
You are a common friend, or will betray.
Let me clip amity that 's got with sute ;
I hate this whorish love that 's prostitute.
Lav. Home on my tailor ! could he not bring home
My sattin taffeta or tissue sute,
But I must needs bee cloath'd in wollen thus ?
Bydett, what sayes he for my silver hose,
And prim-rose sattin doublet ? Gods my life !
Gives he no more observance to my body ?
Lam. O, in that last sute, gentle Laverdure,
Visite my lodging. By Appollos front,
Bo but inquire my name. 0 straight theile say,
Lampatho sutes him-selfe in such a hose.
Sim. Marke that, Quadratus.
Lam. Consorts him-selfe with such a doublet.
Sim. Good, good, good ! 0 Jesu ! admirable.
Lav. La la, ly ro, Sir !
Lam. 0 Pallas ! Quadratus, harke ! harke ! A most
compleat phantasma, a most ridiculous humor ; pree-thee
shoote him through and through with a jest ; make him.
lye by the lee, thou Basilisco of witte.
Sim. 0 Jesu ! admirably well spoken; angelicall tongue !
Qua. Gnathonicall coxcombe !
Lam. Nay. pre-thee, fat, feere not, he 's no edge-toole ;
you may jest with him.
Sim. No edge-toole. Oh !
Qua. Tones of heaven it selfe.
Sim. Tones of heaven it selfe.
Qua. By blessednesse, I thought so.
Lam, Nay, when ? when ?
Qua. Why, thou pole-head! thou lanus! thou poultron!
sc. I.] WHAT YOU WILL. 239
thou protest ! thou eare-wig, that wrigglest into mens
braines ! thou "durty cur, that be-mierst with thy fawn-
ing ! thou
Lam. Obscure me ! or
Qua. Synior Laverdure, by the hart of an honest man,
this Jebusite — this, confusion to him — this worse then I
dare to name — abuseth thee most incomprehensibly. Is
this your protest of most obsequious vassalage ? Protest
to straine your utmost summe, your most
Lam. So Phoebus warme my braine, He rime thee dead,
Looke for the satyre : if all the sower juice
Of a tart braine can sowse thy estimate,
lie pickle thee.
Qua. Ha ! he mount Chirall on the wings of fame !
A horse ! a horse I My kingdom for a horse !
Looke the, I speake play scrappes. Bydet, He downe,
Sing, sing, or stay, weele quaffe, or any thing.
Kivo, Saint Marke, lets talke as losse as ayre ;
Un-wind youthes coullors, display our selves,
So that yon envy-statued curre may yealpe
And spend his chappes at our phantasticknesse,
Sim. O Lord Quadratus !
Qua. Away, idolater ! Why, you Don Kynsayder !
Thou canker- eaten rusty curre ! thou snaffle
To freer spirits !
Think'st thou, a libertine, am ungiv'd breast,
Skornes not the shackles of thy envious clogges,
You will traduce us unto publicke skorne ?
Lam. By this hand I will.
Qua. A fuotra for thy hand, thy heart, thy braine ;
Thy hate, thy malice, envie, grinning spight
Shall a free-borne, that holdes antypathy
240 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT n.
Lam. Antypathy !
Qua. I, antypathy !
A native hate unto the curse of man ! bare-pated servitude.
Quake at the frownes of a ragg'd satyrist —
A skrubbing railer, whose course harden'd fortune,
Grating his hide, gauling his statued ribs,
Sittes houling at deserts more battle fate —
Who out of dungeon of his black dispairs,
Skoules at the fortune of the fairer merit.
Lav. Tut via ! Let all runne glib and square.
Qua. Uds futt ! Hee cogges and cheates your simpler
My spleen 's a fire in the heate of hate ; [thoughtes,
I beare these gnats, that humme aboute our eares,
And stinge-blister our credit's in obscured shades.
Lav. Pewte bougra ! La, la, la ! Tit ! Shaugh !
Shall I forbeare to caper, sing, or vault ?
To weare fresh cloathes, or weare perfum'd sweetes ?
To trick my face, or glory in my fate ?
T' abandon naturall propensitudes ?
My fancies humor ? — for a stiffe-joynted,
Tattr'd, nasty, taber-fac'd Puh, la, la, ly ro !
Qua. Now, by thy ladies cheeke, I honor thee,
My rich free bloud. O my deere libertine !
I could suck the juice, the sirrop of thy lippe,
For thy most generous thought ! — my Elysium !
Lam. O, sir, you are so square, you skorne repoofe.
Qua. No, sir ; should discreete Mastigophoros,
Or the deere spirit acute Canaidus
(That Aretine, that most of me belov'd,
Who in the rich esteeme I prize his soule,
I terme my selfe) ; should these once menace me,
Or curbe my humors with well-govern'd check,
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 241
I should with most industrious regard,
Observe, abstaine, and curbe my skipping lightnesse ;
But when an arrogant, od, impudent,
A blushles fore-head, only out of scence
Of his owne wants, baules in malignant questing
At others meanes of waving gallantry, —
Fight foutra !
Lam. I raile at none, you well-squar'd Syneor.
Qua. I can not tell ; tis now growne fashion,
Whats out of railyng 's out of fashion.
A man can skarce put on a tuckt-up cap,
A button' d frizado sute, skarce eate good meate,
jlnckoves, caviare, but hee 's satyred
And term'd phantasticall. By the muddy spawne
Of slymie neughtes, when troth, phantasticknesse —
That which the naturall sophysters tearme
Phantusia incomplexa — is a function
Even of the bright immortal part of man.
It is the common passe, the sacred dore,
Unto the prive chamber of the soule ;
That bar'd, nought passeth past the baser court.
Of outward scence by it th' inamorate
Most lively thinkes he sees the absent beauties
Of his lov'd mistres ;
By it we shape a new creation
Of things as yet unborne ; by it wee feede
Our ravenous memory, our intention feast ;
Slid he thats not phantasticall 's a beast.
Lam. Most phantasticall protection of phantasticknesse.
Lav. Faith, tis good.
Qua. So 't be phantastical tis wits life bloud.
Lav. Come, Sinior, my legges are girt,
16
242 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT n.
Qua. Phantastically ?
Lav. After a spetiall humor, a new cut.
Qua. Why, then, tis rare, tis excellent. Uds fut !
And I were to be hangd I would be chokt
Phantastically. He can skarce be sav'd
Thats not phantasticall : I stand ferme to it.
Lav. Nay, then, sweete sir, give reason. Come on: when?
Qua. Tis hell to runne in common base of men.
Lav. Hast not runne thy selfe out of breath, bulley ?
Qua. And I have not jaded thy eares more then I have
tierd my tongue, I could runne discourse, put him out of
his full pace.
I could poer speech till thou crid'st ho ! but troth,
I dread a glut; and I confesse much love
To freer gentry, whose pert agill spirits
Is t'o much frost-bit, numb'd with il-straind snibbes,
Hath tender-reach'd my speech. By Brutus bloud,
He is a turfe that will be slave to man ;
But he Js a beast that dreades his mistresse fanne.
Lav. Come, all merth and solace, capers, healthes, and
whiffes ;
To-morrow are my nuptialls celebrate.
All friends, all friends 1
Lam. I protest
Qua. Nay, leave protestes ; pluck out your snarling
phanges. When thou hast meanes, be phantasticall and
sociable. Goe to : heres my hand ; and you want fortie
shillings, I am your Ma3cenas, though not Mavis edite
regions.
Lam. Why, content, and I protest
Qua. He no protest.
Lam. Well, and I doe not leave these fopperies, doe
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 243
not lend me fortie shillings, and ther 's my hand : I im-
brace you — love you — nay, adore thee ; for, by the juice
of worm-woode, thou hast a bitter braine !
Qua. You, Simplicius ? Woult leave that staring fellow,
Admiration, and adoration of thy acquaintance, wilt ? A
skorne ! out ; tis odious. Too eager a defence argues a
strong opposition ; and to vehement a praise drawes a sus-
pition of others worthy disparigement.
Set tapers to bright day, it ill befittes ;
Good wines can vent themselves, and not good wittes.
Sim. Good truth, I love you ; and with the grace of
Heaven, He be very civell and
Qua. Phantasticall.
Sim. lie be some thing ; I have a conceald humore in
me, and twere broachd twold spurt yfaith.
Qua. Come then, Saint Marke, lett's be as light as aire,
As fresh and jocond as. the brest of May.
I pree thee, good French knight, good plump-cheekt chub,
Eunne some French passage. Come, lets see thy vaine —
Daunces, sceanes, and songs, royall intertaine.
Lav. Petite lacque, page, page, Bydett, sing !
Give it the French jerk — quick, spart, lightly — ha !
Ha ! hers a turne unto my Lucea !
Qua. Stand stiffe ! ho, stand ! take footing iirme !
stand sure !
For if thou fall before thy mistres,
Thy man-hod's dam'd. Stand firme ! Ho ! good ! so, so !
THE DAUNCE AND SONG.
Lav. Come, now, via aloune to Celia.
Qua. Stay, take an old rime first ; though dry and leane,
Twill serve to close the stomake of the sceane.
244 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT n.
Lav. This is thy humor to berime us still ;
Never so slightly pleas'd, but out they flie.
Qua. They are mine owne, no gleaned poetry ;
My fashions knowne. Out, rime ; takt as you list :
A fico for the sower browd Zoilist !
Musick, tobacco , sack, and sleepe,
The tide of sorrow backward keepe.
If thou art sad at oilier s fate,
Bivo, drinke deepe, give care the mate.
On us the end of time is come,
Fondfeare of that ive cannot shun ;
Whilst quickest sence dothfreslily last,
Clip time aboute, hug pleasure fast.
The sisters ravell out our twine,
He that knows littl 's most devine.
Error deludes; ivhole beate this hencey
Naughtes knowne but by exterior sence.
Let glory blason others deede,
My bloud then breath craves better meede.
Let twattling fame cheatd others rest,
I urn no dish for rumors feast.
Let honor others hope abuse,
lie nothing have, so nought will loose.
lie strive to be nor great nor smale,
To live nor die; fate helmeth all.
When I can breath no longer, then
Heaven take all: there put Amen.
Howist? howist?
Lav. Faith, so, so ; telamant, quelamant; as 't please
oppinion to currant it.
Qua. Why, then, via letts walke.
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL 245
Lav. I must give notice to an od pedant, as we passe,
of my nuptials : I use him, for he is abscure, and shal
marry us in private. I have many enemies, but secresie is
the best evasion from envie.
Qua. Holds it to-morrow ?
Lav. I, firme, absolute.
Lam. lie say amen if the priest be mute.
Qua. Epythalamiums will I singe, my chucke.
Go on — spend freely — out on drosse, tis muck.
[Exeunt
^f Enter a Schole-maister, draws the curtains behind, with
BATTUS, Nows, SLIP, NATHANIELL, and HOLI-
FERNES PIPPO, schole-boyes, sitting, with lookes in
their hands.
All. Salve, magister.
Fed. Saluete pueri estate salvi, vos salvere exopto vobis
salutem, Batte, my fili,Jili, mi Batte!
Bat. Quid vis.
Fed. Stand forth : repeat your lesson with out booke.
Bat. A nowne is the name of a thing that may be
scene, felt, heard, or understood.
Fed. Good boy : on, on.
Bat. Of nownes some bee substantives and some bee
substantives.
Fed. Adjectives.
Bat. Adjectives. A nowne substantive ether is propper
to the thing that it betokneth.
Fed. Well, to numbers.
Bat. In nownes bee two numbers, the singuler and the
plurall : the singuler number speaketh of one, as lapis, a
246 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT n.
stone ; the plurall speaketh of more then one, as lapides,
stones.
Fed. Good childe. Now thou art past lapides, stones.
Proceed to the cases, Nous. Say you next, Nous. Wher 's
your lesson, Nous ?
Nous. I am in a verbe, forsooth.
Ped. Say on, forsooth : say, say.
Nous. A verbe is a part of speach declined with mood
and tence, and betokneth doing, as amo, I love.
Ped. How many kind of verbes ar there ?
Nous. Two ; personal! and impersonall.
Ped. Of verbs personalls, how many kinds ?
Nous, live ; active, passive, neuter, deponent, and com-
mon. A verbe active endeth in o, and beetokneth to doe,
as amo, I love ; and by putting to r, it may bee a passive,
as amor, I am loved. /
Ped. Very good child. Now learne to know the de-
ponent and common. Say you, Slip.
Slip. Cedant arma togte, concedant lauria lingua.
Ped. What part of speech is lingua, inftecte, inflecte ?
Slip. Singulariter, nominativo hec lingua.
Ped. Why is lingua the feminine gender ?
Slip. Eorsooth because it is the femenine gender.
fed. Ha, thou asse ! thou dolt ! idem per idem, marke
it : lingua is declined with hec, the femenine, because it
is a houshold stuffe perticularly belonging and most com-
monly resident under the roofe of womens mouthes.
Come on, you Nathaniell, say you, say you next ; not too
fast ; say tretably ; say,
Nath. Mascula dicuntur monosilaba nomina quedam.
Ped. Faster! faster!
sc. i.l WHAT YOU WILL. 247
NalJi. Ut, sal, sol, ren et splen: car, ser, mr, vas,
vadis, as, mas,
Bes, cres,pres et pes, glis, glirens habens genetwo,
Mos,fios, ros et tros, muns, dens, mons, pons.
Ped. Rup, tup, snup, slup, bor, hor, cor, mor. Holla !
holla ! holla ! you Holifernes Pippo, put him downe. Wipe
your nose : fie, on your sleeve ! where 's your muckender
your grand-mother gave you ? Well, say on ; say on.
Hoi. Free, maister, what words this ?
Ped. Asse! asse!
Hoi. As in presenti perfectum format in, in, in.
Ped. In what, Sir?
Hoi. Perfectum format. In what, Sir ?
Ped. In what, Sir ? — in am ?
Hoi. In what Sir ? — in am.
Ut no, nas, navi, vocito, vocitas, wci, wci, voci —
Ped. What's next?
H&l. Foci. What's next?
Ped. Why, thou ungratious child ! thou simple animall !
thou barnacle ! Nous, — snare him ; take him up : and
you were my father, you should up.
Hoi. Indeed I am not your father. 0 Lord ! now, for
God sake, let mee go out. My mother told a thing : I
shall bewray all els. Harke, you, maister : my grand-
mother intreates you to come to dinner to-morrow
morning.
Ped. I say, untrusse — take him up. Nous, — dispatcli
what not perfect in an asse in presenty ?
Hoi. In truth He bee as perfect an asse in presenty as
any of this company, with the grace of God law : this
once — this once — and I do so any more — —
Ped. I say, hold him up !
248 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT ir.
Hoi. Ha, let me say my praiers first. You know not
what you ha done now ; all the surrup of my braine is
runne into my buttockes, and yee spill the juice of my wit
well. Ha, sweete! ha, sweete! hunny, barbary suger,
sweete maister.
Fed. Sance trickes, trifles, delaies, demurrers, procras-
tinations, or retarations, mount him, mount him.
^f Enter QUADRATUS, LAMPATHO, LAVERDURE, and
SIMPLICIUS.
Qua. Be mercifull, niy gentle Sinior.
Lav. Weele sue his pardon out.
Fed. He is reprived: and now, Appollo blesse your
braines, Fa cundius, and elaborate ellegance make your
presence gratious in the eyes of your mistres.
Lav. You must along with us ; lend private eare.
Sim. What is your name ?
Hoi. Holifernes Pippo.
Sim. Who gave you that name ? Nay, let mee alone for
sposing of a scholler.
Hoi. My godfathers and god-mothers in my baptisme.
Sim. Truly, gallants, I am inamord on thee, boy ; wilt
thou serve me ?
Hoi. Yes, and please my grand-mother, when I come to
years of discretion.
Ped. And you have a propensitude to him, he shall be
for you. I was solicited to graunt him leave to play the
lady in commedies presented by children ; but I knew his
voice was to smale, and his stature to loe. Sing, sing a
treble, Holifernes : sing.
THE SONG.
A very smale sweete voice, He assure you* ' •...'••
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 249
Qua. Tis smally sweete indeede.
Sim. A very pretty child. Hold up tliy head. There ;
buy thee some plummes.
Qua. Nay, they must play ; you go a long with us.
Fed. Ludendi venia est petit a et concessa.
All. Gratias.
Sim. Pippo's my page. How like you him? Hat
has hee not a good face, ha ?
Lav. Exceeding amiable. Come away ;
I long to see my love, my Celia.
Sim. Carry my rapier ; hold up so ; good childe : stay,
gallants. Umph ! a sweete face.
Lam. I relish not this mirth ; my spirit is untwist ;
My heart is raveld out in discontents.
I am deepe thoughtfull, and I shoote my soule
Through all creation of omnipotence. [humor :
Qua. What, art melancholy, Lampe? He feede thy
lie give thee reason straight to hang thy selfe.
Mark 't, mark 't : in Heavens handiwork theirs naught
Beleeve it.
Lam. In Heavens handiwork ther's naught,
None more vile, accursed, reprobate to bliss,
Then man, and mong men a scholler most.
Things onely fleshly sencitive, an oxe or horse,
They live and eate, and sleepe, and drinke, and die,
And are not toucht with recollections
Of things ore-post, or staggerd infant doubtes
Of things succeeding ; but leave the manly beastes,
And give but pence a peece to have a sight
Of beastly man now.
Sim. What so, Lampatho ! Good truth, I will not pay
your ordinary if you come not.
250 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT n.
Lam. Dost thou heare that voice? lie make a parrat now
As good a man as hee in foureteene nights.
I never heard him vent a sillable
Of his owne creating since I knew the use
Of eyes and eares. Well, he 's perfect blest,
Because a perfect beast. He gage my heart
He kuowes no difference essentiall
Twixt my dog and him. The horeson sot is blest.
Is rich in ignorance, makes faire usance on 't,
And every day augments his barbarisme.
So love me, calmnes, I do envy him forts.
I was a scholler : seaven use-full springs
Did I defloure in quotations
Of crossd oppinions boute the soule of man.
I The more I learnt the more I learnt to doubt :
1 Knowledge and wit, faithes foes, turne fayth about.
Sim. Nay, come, good Sinior. I stay all the gentlemen
here, I wood faine give my prity page a pudding pie.
Lam. Honest epicure.
Nay, marke, list delight ; delight my spaniell slept, whilst
I bausd leaves,
Tossd ore the dunces, por'd on the old print
Of titled wordes, and stil my spaniell slept.
Whilst I wasted lampoile, bated my flesh,
Shrunk up my veines, and still my spaniel slept.
And still I held converse with Zabarell,
Aquinas Scotus, and the musty sawe
Of antick Donate, still my spaniell slept.
Still went on went I ; first an sit anima,
Then, and it were mortall. O hold, hold !
At that they are at braine buffets fell by the eares,
A maine pell-mell togither — still my spaniell slept,
sc. I.] WHAT YOU WILL, 251
Then whether twere corporeall, local, fixt,
Extraduce ; but whether 't had free will
Or no, ho philosophers
Stood banding factions all so strongly propt,
I staggerd, knew not which was firmer part ;
But thought, quoted, reade, observ'd, and pried,
Stufft noting bookes, and still my spaniell slept.
At length he wakt and yawned, and by yon sky,
For aught I know he knew as much as I.
Sim. Dellicat good Lampatho, come away. I assure
you lie give but two-pence more.
Lam. How twas created, how the soule exsistes —
One talkes of motes, the soule was made of motes ;
An other fire, tother light, a third a spark of star-like
nature ;
Hippo water, Anaximenes ayre,
Aristoxenus musicke, Critias, I know not what.
A company of odde phreneteci
Did eate my youth, and when I crept abroad,
Finding my numnesse in this nimble age,
I fell a railing ; but now, soft and slow,
I know, I know naught, but I naught do know ;
What shall I doe — what plot, what course persew ?
Qua. Why, turne a temporist, row with the tide,
Pur sew the cut, the fashion of the age.
Well, heer 's my schollers course : first get a schoole,
And then a ten-pound cure ; keepe both. Then buy
(Stay marry, I marry) ; then a farme, or so :
Serve God and mammon — to the divill goe.
Affect some sect — I, 'tis the sect, is it ?
So thou canst seeme, 'tis held the pretious wit.
fnd O, if thou canst get some higher seate,
£52 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT n.
Where thou maist sell your holy portion
(Which charitable Providence ordained,
In sacred bountie, for a blessed use),
Alien the gleabe, intaile it to thy loines,
Intombe it in thy grave,
Past resurrection to his native use !
Now, if there be a hell, and such swine sav'd,
Heaven take all — that 's all my hopes have crav'd.
^ Enter PIPPO.
Pip. My Simplicias maister.
Lam. Your maister Simplicius.
Pip. Has come to you to sent.
Lam. Has sent to me to come.
Pip. Ha ! ha ! has bought me a fine dagger, and a hatte
and a feather ! I can say, As in presenti, now !
Company of Boyes within.
Quadratus, Quadratus, away ! away !
Lam. We come, sweet gallants; and grumbling hate
lye stil,
And turne phantastique. He that climbes a hill
Must wheele about ; the ladder to account
Is slie dissemblance : he that meanes to mount
Must lye all levell in the prospective
Of eager-sighted greatnesse ; thou wouldst thrive.
The Venice State is young, loose, and unknit,
Can rellish naught but lushious vanities.
Goe, fit his tooth. 0 glavering flatterie !
How potent art thou ! Front looke briske and sleeke,
That such base durt as you should dare to reeke
In princes nostrils ! Well, my sceane is long,
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 253
All within. Quadratus !
Qua. I come, hotte blouds. Those that their state
would swell,
Must beare a counter-face. The divill and hell
Confound them all ! That 's all my prayers exact:
So ends our chat ; — sound musick for the act.
[Exeunt.
254 WELAT YOU WILL. [ACT in.
ACTUS TERTICJS.
SCENA PRIMA.
Enter FRANCISCO, halfe drest, in Ms black doublet and
round cap, the rest riche ; IACOMO bearing Ms hatte
and feather; ADREAN his doublet and band; HAN-
DOLFO his cloaJce and staffs. They cloath FRANCISCO
whilst BYDETT creepes in and observes them. Much
of this done whilst the Acte is playing.
I
O E God sake, remember to take speciall
markes of me, or you will nere be able
to know me.
Adr. Why, man ?
Fra. Why, good faith, I scarce know my selfe ; already
me thinks I should remember to forget my selfe ; now I
am so shining brave. Indeed Francisco was alwayes a
sweete youth, for I am a perfumer, but thus brave. I am
an alien to it. Would you make mee like the drownd
Mbano ? Must I bear 't mainly up ? Must I bee hee ?
Ran. What els, man ? 0, what else ?
laco. I warrant you, give him but faire riche cloathes,
Hee can bee tane, reputed any thing.
Apparail 5s growne a god, and goes more neate ^
Makes men of ragges, which straight he beares aloft,
Like patcht-up scar-crowes to affright the rout
Of the idolatrous vulgar, that worship images,
so. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 255
Stand aw'd and bare-skalp't at the glosse of silkes,
Which, like the glorious Ajax of Lincolnes-Inne
(Survai'd with wonder by me when I lay
Factor in London), lappes up naught but filth
And excrements, that beare the shape of men,
Whose in-side every day would peck and teare,
But that vaine skar-crow cloathes intreates forbeare,
Fra. You would have me take upon me, Albano,
A valiant gallant Venetian burgomasco.
Well my beard, my feather, short sword, and my oth,
Shall doo 't, feare not. What I know a number,
By the sole warrant of a lapy-beard,
A raine beate plume, and a good chop-filling oth,
With an odde French shrugge, and by the Lord, or so,
Ha leapt into sweete captaine with such ease
As you would feart not. He gage my heart He do 't.
How sits my hat ? Ha ! Jack, doth my feather wagge ?
laco. Me thinkes now, in the common sence of fashion,
Thou shouldst grow proud, and like a fore-horse view,
None but before-hand gallants ; as for sides,
And those that ranke in equall file with thee,
Studdy a faint salute, give a strange eye ;
But as to those in rere-ward, 0 be blind !
The world wants eyes — it cannot see behind. [French ?
Fra. Where is the strumpet ? Where 's the hot-vain'd
Lives not Albano ? Hath Celia so forgot
Albano's love, that she must forth-with wed
A runne-about, a skipping French-man ?
loco. Now you must grow in heate and stut.
Fra. An odde phantasma — a beggar — a Sir — a who,
who, who — What You Will — a straggling go go go gunds
-f, f, f, f, fat
256 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT in.
Adr. Passing like him — passing like him. 0 'twill
strike all dead !
Pan. I am ravished ! 'Twill be peerles exquisite !
Let him go out instantly !
laco. O, not till twy-light ; meane time He prop up
The tottering rumor of Albanos skape,
And safe arrivall ; it begins to spread.
If this plot live, Frenchman, thy hopes are dead. [Exeunt.
Byd. And if it live, strike of this little head. [Exit.
^[ Enter ALB AN o, with SUP, his page.
Alb. Can it be ? 1st possible ? 1st within the bounds
of faith? Ovilany!
Slip. The clapper of rumor strikes on both sides, ring-
ing out, the French knight is in firme possession of my
misteris, your wife.
Alb. 1st possible I should be dead so soone
In her affectes ? How long ist since our shipprack ?
Slip. Faith, I have little arithmatique in me, yet I rennmi-
ber the storme made mee cast up perfectly the whole sum
of all I had receiv'd; three dates before I was liquord
soundly ; my guts were rinc'd for the heavens. I looke as
pale ever since, as if I had tane the diet this spring.
Alb. But how long ist since our ship-wrack ?
Slip. Mary, since wee were hung by the heeles on the
batch of Cycily, to make a jayle delivery of the sea in our
mawes, tis just three monthes. Shall I speake like a
poet ? — thrice hath the horned none
Alb. Talke not of homes. 0, Celia ! How oft,
When thou hast lay'd thy cheeke uppon my breast.
And with lacivious petulancy sew'd
For hymeneall dalliance, marriage rightes ; —
sc. I.] WHAT YOU WILL. 257
O then, how oft, with passionate protestes
And zealous vowes, hast thou oblig'd thy love,
In dateles bands, unto Albanos breast !
Then, did I but mention second marriage,
With what a bitter hate would she invaigh
Gainst retaild wedlockes ! 0, would she lispe,
If you should die, — then would she slide a teare,
And with a wanton languishment in-twist
Her hands, — O God, and you should die ! Marry ?
Could I love life ? My deare Albano dead.
Should any prince possesse his widdowes bed ?
And now, see, see, I am but rumord drown'd.
Slip. Sheele make you prince ; — your worship must be
crown'd.
O master, you know the woman is the weaker creature !
She must have a prop. The maide is the brittle mettell ;
Her head is quickly crackt. The wife is queasie stomackt ;
She must be fed with novelties. But, then, whats your
- widdowe ?
Cmtome is a second nature; — I say no more, but think you
the rest.
Alb. If love be holy ; — if that mistery
Of co-united hearts be sacrament ; —
If the unbounded goodnesse have infus'd
A sacred ardor : — if a mutuall love
Into our speties, of those amorous joyes —
Those sweetes of life — thxfee comfortes even in death, —
Spring from a cause above our reasones reach ; —
If that cleere flame deduce his heate from heaven ; —
Tis like his cause's eternall alwaies One,
As is th' instiller of devinest love,
Unchangd by time, immortall mauger death !
17
258 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT in;
But 0, tis growne a figment ! Love a jest !
A. commick poesie ! The soule of man is rotten,
Even to the core; — no sound affection.
Our love is hollow-vaulted — stands on proppes
Of circumstance, profit, or ambitious hopes !
The other tissue, gowne or chaine of pearle,
Makes my coy minx to nussell twixt the breastes
Of her lull'd husband, tother carkanet
Deflowres that ladies bed. One hundred more
Marries that loath'd blowze ; — one ten-pound oddes,
In promis'd joynture, makes the hard-palm'd sire
Inforce his daughters tender lippes to start
At the sharpe touch of some loath'd stubbed beard ;
The first pure time the golden age is fled.
Heaven knowes I He, — tis now the age of gold,— >-
For it all marreth, and even virtues sold !
Slip. Master, will you trust me, and He
Alb. Yes, boy, He trust thee. Babes and fooles He trust ;
But servants faith, wives love, or femalls lust, —
A. usurer and the divill sooner. Now, were I dead,
Me thinkes I see a huff-cap swaggering sir
Pawning my plate, my Jewells, morgage ! Nay,
Selling out right the purchace of my browes,
Whilst my poore fatherlesse, leane, totterd sonne —
My gentries reliques, my houses onely prop —
Is saw'd asunder, lyes forlorne, all bleake
Unto the griefes of sharpe necessities,
Whilst his father-in-law, his father-in-divell, or d-d-d-d-
divill-f-f-f-father,
Or who, who, who, — What You Will !
When is the marriage morne ?
Slip. Even next rising sonne.
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 259
Alb. Good, good, good ! Go to my brother Adrian :
Tell him He lurck ; stay, tell him He lurck : stay —
Now is Albanos marriage-bed new hung
With fresh rich curtaines ! Now are my valence up,
Imbost with orient pearle, my gransires gift !
Now are the lawne sheetes fum'd with vyolets,
To fresh the pawld lascivious appetite !
Now worke the cookes, the pastry sweates with slaves ;
The March-panes glitter : now, now, the musitions
Hover with nimble stickes ore squeaking crowds,
Tickling the dryed guttes of a mewing catt.
The taylors, starchers, semsters, butchers, pulterors, mer-
cers,— all, all, all, — now, now, now, — none thinke a
mee, — the f f f Trench is te fff fine man, de p p p
pock man, de
Slip. Peace, peace! stand conceald. Yonder, by all
discriptions, is he would be husband of my mistresse ; —
your wife ! hah, meate, hah !
Alb. TJds ! so, so, so ! soule, thats my velvet cloake !
Slip. 0 peace ! observe him : ha !
^f Enter LAYERDURE and BIDETT, talking; QUADRATUS,
LAMPATHO, SIMPLICIUS, PEDANTE, and HOLI-
FERNES PIPPO.
Bid. 'Tis most true, sir. I heard all ; I saw all ; I tell
all, and I hope you beleeve all. The sweete Francisco
Soranza, the perfumer, is by your rivall lacomo, and your
two brothers that must be, when you have married your
wife that shall be.
Ped. With the grace of Heaven.
Bid. Disguis'd so like the drownd Albano, to crosse
260 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT m.
your sute, that by my little honesty 'twas great consolation
to mee to observe them. Passion of joy, of hope ! O excel-
lent ! cri'd Andrea. Passingly ! cri'd Eandolfo. Unpar-
raleld, lispes lacomo. Good, good, good, saves Andrea.
Now, stut, sayes lacomo. Now stut, sayes Randolfo ; whilst
the ravisht perfumer had like to have waterd the seames of
his breeches for extreame pride of their applause.
Lav. Sest, He to Celia, and, mauger the nose of her
friends, wedde her ; bedde her ; my first sonne shall bee a
captaine, and his name shall bee what it please his god-
fathers; the second, if hee have a face bad inough, a
lawyer ; the third, a marchant ; and the fourth, if he bee
maimd, dull-braind, or hard-shapt, a scholler, for thats
your fashion.
Qua. Get them; get them, man, first. Now, by the
wantonnesse of the night, and I were a wench, I would
not ha thee, wert thou an heire, nay (which is more) a
foole.
Lav. Why, I can rise high : a straight legge, a plumpe
thigh, a full vaine, a round cheeke ; and, when it pleaseth
the firtility of my chinne to be delivered of a beard, 'twill
not wrong my kissing, for my lippes are rebels, and stand
out.
Qua. Ho ! but ther's an old fustie proverbe, these great
talkers are never good dooers.
Lam. Why, what a babell arrogance is this ?
Men will put by the very stock of fate ;
Theyle thwart the destiny of marriage,
Strive to disturbe the sway of Providence :
Theile do it !
Qua. Come, youle be snarling now.
Lam. As if we had free-will in supernaturall
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 281
Effects, and that our love or hate
Depended not on causes bove the reach
Of humaine stature.
Qua. I thinke I shall not lend you forty shillings now.
Lam. Durt upon durt, feare is beneath my shooe.
Dreadlesse of rackes, strappados, or the sword —
Mauger informer and slie intelligence, —
He stand as confident as Hercules,
And, with a frightlesse resolution,
Rip up and launce our times impieties.
Sim. Uds so, peace.
Lam. Open a bounteous eare, for He be free :
Ample as Heaven, give my speech more roome ;
Let me unbrace my breasts, strip up my sleeves,
Stand like an executioner to vice,
To strike his head off with the keener edge
Of my sharpe spirit.
Lav. Eoome and good licence : come on ! when, when ?
Lam. Now is my fury mounted. Fix your eyes ;
Intend your sences ; bend your listning up ;
For He make greatnesse quake ; He tawe the hide
Of thick-skind Hugenes.
Lav. Tis most gratious ; weele observe thee calmely.
Qua. Hang on thy toungs end. Come on ! pree-thee doe.
Lam. He see you hang'd first. I thanke you, sir, He
none.
This is the straine that chokes the theaters ;
That makes them crack with full-stufft audience ;
This is your humor onely in request,
Forsooth to raile ; this brings your eares to bed ;
This people gape for ; for this some doe stare.
This some would heare, to crack the authors neck ;
262 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT in.
This admiration and applause persues,
Who cannot raile, my humors chang'd, 'tis cleare :
Pardon, lie none ; I prise my joynts more deare.
Sid. Maister, maister, I ha discri'd the Perfumer in
Albanos disguise. Looke you ! looke you ! Bare sport !
rare sport !
Alb. I can containe my impatience no longer. You,
Mounsieur Cavelere, Saint Dennis, — you, caprichious sir,
Sinior Caranto French braule, — you, that must marry
Celia Galanto, — is Albano drown'd now ? Goe wander,
avant knight-errant, Celia shall bee no cuck-queane, — my
heire no begger, — my plate no pawne, — my land no mor-
gage, — my wealth no food for thy luxuries, — my house no
harbour for thy comrades, — my bedde no bootye for thy
lustes ! My any thing shall bee thy nothing. Goe hence !
packe, packe ! avant ! caper, caper ! aloun, aloun ! passe
by, passe by ! cloake your nose ! away ! vanish ! wander !
depart ! slink by ! away !
Lav. Harke you, Perfumer. Tell lacomo, Eandulfo,
and Adrean, 'twill not doe ; — looke you, say no more, but
— 'twill not doe.
Alb. What Perfumer ? what lacomo ?
Qua. Nay, assure thee, honest Perfumer, good Francisco,
wee know all, man. Goe home to thy civitt boxe ; looke
to the profit, commodity, or emolument of thy mus-cats
taile : goe, clap on your round cap — my what do you lack,
sir, — for yfaith, good rogue, alls discri'd !
Alb. What Perfumer? what mus-cat? what Francisco?
What do you lack ? 1st not inough that you kissd my
wife?
Lav. Inough.
Alb* I, inough ! and may be, I feare me too much ; but
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 263
you must floute me, — deride me, — scoffe me, — keepe out,
— touch not my porche ; — as for my wife !
Lav. Stirre to the dore : dare to disturbe the match,
And by the
Alh. My sword ! menace Albano fore his owne dores !
Lav. No, not Albano, but Francisco : thus, Perfumer,
He make you stinke if you stirre a For the rest :
well, via, via.
[Exeunt Cest. remanet Albano, Slip, Simp, and Holif.
Alb. Jesu, Jesu ! what intends this ? ha !
Sim. 0 God, sir ! you lye as open to my understanding
as a curtizan. I know you as well
Alb. Some body knowes me yet : praise Heaven, some-
body knowes me yet !
Sim. Why, looke you, sir : I ha paide for my knowing of
men and women too, in my dayes : I know you are Fran-
cisco Soranza, the perfumer; I, maugre Sinior Satten, I
Alb. Do not tempt my patience. Go to ; doe not
Sim. I know you dwell in Saint Markes Lane, at the
signe of the Mus-cat, as well
Alb. Foole, or madd, or drunke, no more !
Sim. I know where you were drest, where you were
Alb. Na, then, take aU !— take all ! take all !
[He bastinadoes Simplicius.
Sim. And I tell not my father ; if I make you not loose
your office of gutter-maister-ship ; and you bee skavenger
next yeare, well. Come, Holifernes ; come, good Holi-
fernes ; come, servant. [Exit Sim. Holife.
^[ Enter IACOMO.
Alb. Francisco Soranza, and perfumer, and mus-cat, and
gutter-maister, hay, hay, hay ! — go, go, go ! — f, f, f, fut !
— He to the Duke ; and He so ti, ti, ti, tide them !
264 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT in.
loco. Pretious ! what meanes he to go out so soone,
Before the dusk of twilight might deceive
The doubtfull priers ? What, hoUa !
Alb. Whop ! what divill now ?
laco. He faine I know him not : what businesse fore
those dores ?
Alb. Whats that to thee ?
laco. You come to wronge my friend Sir Laverdure.
Confesse, or
Alb. My sword, boy ! — s, s, s, s, soule, my sword !
laco. O, my deere roague, thou art a rare dissembler !
Alb. See, see !
If Enter ADRIAN and KANDOLFO.
laco. Francisco, did I not helpe to clothe thee? Even now
I would ha sworne thee, Albano, my good sweet slave.
[Exit lacomo.
Alb. See, see! Jesu, Jesu ! Impostors! Connicatchers !
Sancta Maria !
Ran. Looke you. He walkes ; he faines most excellent.
Adr. Accost him first as if you were ignorant
Of the deceit.
Ean. 0, deere Albano ! now thrice happie eyes,
To view the hope-lesse presence of my brother.
Alb. Most loved kinsman, praise to Heaven, yet
You know Albano. But for yonder slaves — well
Adr. Successe could not come on more gratious.
Alb. Had not you come, deare brother Adrian,
I thinke not one would know me. Ulisses dog
Had quicker scence then my dul countrimen ;
Why, none had knowne me.
sc. I.] WHAT YOU WILL. 265
Ran. Doubt you of that ? Would I might die,
Had I not knowne the guile, I would ha sworne
Thou hadst bin Albano, my nimble, couzning knave.
Alb. Whippe, whippe ! Heaven preserve al, Saint
Marke, Saint Marke !
Brother Adrian, be frantick, pree-thee be ;
Say I am a perfumer — Francisco. Hay, hay !
1st not some feast-day ? You are all ranke drunke !
Rratts, ra, ra, ra ! rattes knights of the be, be, be, bell '
be, be, bell !
Adr. Go, go ! proceede : thou dost it rare. Farewell.
[Exeunt Adrian and Kandolfo.
Alb. Farwell? Ha! 1st even so? Boy, who am I?
Slip. My Lord Albano !
Alb. By this breast you lie.
The Samian faith is true, true ! I was drown'd ;
And now my soule is skipt into a perfumer, a gutter-master.
Slip. Beleeve me, sir
Alb. No, no ! He beleeve nothing ! no !
The disadvantage of all honest hearts
Is quick credulity. Perfect state pollecy
Can crosse-bite even sence. The worlds turn'd juggler !
Castes mystes before our eyes. Haygh passe re passe !
He credit nothing.
Slip. Good sir !
Alb. Hence, asse !
Doth not opinion stamp the currant passe
Of each mans valew, vertue, quality ?
Had I ingross'd the choice commodities
Of Heavens trafike, yet reputed vile,
I am a rascall ! O deere, unbeleefe !
How wealthy dost thou make thy owners wit !
266 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT in,
Thou traine of knowledge ! what a priviledge
Thou giv'st to thy possessor ! Anchorst him
From floting with the tide of vulger faith ;
From being dam'd with multitudes deere unbeleefe.
I am a perfumer ! I, thinkst thou my bloud,
My brothers know not right, Albano, yet ?
Away ! tis faites ! If Albanos name
Were liable to scence, that I could tast, or touch,
Or see, or feele it, it might tice beleefe ;
But since tis voice, and ayre, come to the Muscat-boy,
Francisco, that 's my name ; tis right : I, I, —
What do you lack ? what ist you lack ? right ; that 's my
cry. [Exeunt.
^f Enter SLIP and NOOSE ; TKIP, with tie trunchion of a
staffe torch, and DOITE with a pantqfle; BIDET,
The cornets sound.
Bid. Proclaime our titles !
Do. Bosphoros Cormelydon Honorijicacuminos Bidet !
Hoi. I thinke your majesties a Welchman ; you have a
horrible long name.
Bid. Death or scilence ! Proceed !
Do. Honorificacuminos Bidet, Emperor of Oraches, Prince
of Pages, Marques of Mumchance, and sole Regent over a
lale of false dice : to all his under ministers health, crownes,
sack, tobacco, and stockings uncrakt above the shooe.
Bid. Our selfe will give them their charge. Now let
mee stroake my beard, and I had it, and speake wisely, if
I knew how. Most unconsionable, honest little, or little
honest, good subjects, informe our person of your severall
qualities, and of the prejudice that is foisted uppon you,
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL.
that our selfe may pervew, prevent, and preoccupie the
pustulent dangers incident to all your cases.
Do. Here is a petition exhibited of the particuler greev-
ances of each sort of pages.
Bid. We will vouchsafe, in this our publike session, to
peruse them. Pleaseth your excellent wagship to bee in-
formed that the devision of pages is tripartite (tripartite),
or three-fold : of pages, some be court-pages, others ordi-
nary gallants pages, and the third apple-squiers, basket-
bearers, or pages of the placket : with the last we will
proceede first. Stand forth, page of the placket : what is
your mistres ?
Slip. A kinde of puritane.
Sid. How live you ?
Slip. Miserably, complayning to your crack-ship : though
we have light mistresses, we are made the children and
servants of darknes. What prophane use we are put to,
al these gallants more feelingly know then we can lively
expresse ; it is to be comiserated, and by your royall in-
sight onely to bee prevented, that a male mounkey and the
diminutive of a man should bee synonima, and no scence.
Though wee are the drosse of your subjects, yet being a
kinde of page, let us find your celsitude kind and re-
spective of our time-fortunes and birthes abuse : and so,
in the name of our whole tribe of emptie basket-bearers, I
kisse your little hands.
Bid. Your case is dangerous, and almost desperat.
Stand forth, ordinary gallants page : what is the nature of
your master ?
No. He eates well and right slovenly ; and when the
dice favor him, goes in good cloathes, and scowers his
pinke collour silk stockings ; when he hath any money, he
268 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT m.
beares his crownes, when he hath none I carry his purse.
He cheates well, sweares better, but swaggers in a wantons
chamber admirably ; hee loves his boy and the rump of a
cram'd capon; and this summer hath a passing thrifty
humor to bottle ale ; as contemptuous as Lucifer, as arro-
gant as ignorance can make him, as libidinous as Priapus.
Hee keepes mee as his adamant, to draw mettell after to
his lodging : I curie his perriwig, painte his cheekes, per-
fume his breath; I am his froterer or rubber in a hot-
house, the prop of his lies, the bearer of his fals dice ; and
yet for all this, like the Persian louse, that eates byting,
and byting eates, so I say sithing, and sithing say my end
is to paste up a si quis. My masters fortunes are forc'd
to cashere me, and so six to one I fall to be a pippin squire.
Hie finis priami ! — this is the end of pick-pockets.
Bid. Stand forth, court page : thou lokest pale and
wan.
Trip. Most ridiculous Emperor.
Bid. O, say no more. I know thy miseryes ; — what
betwixt thy lady, her gentlewoman, and thy masters late
gaming, thou maist looke pale. I know thy miseries, and
I condole thy calamities. Thou art borne well, bred ill,
but diest worst of al : thy bloud most commonly gentle,
thy youth ordinaryly idle, and thy age to often miserable.
When thy first sute is fresh, thy cheekes cleere of court
soiles, and thy lord fame out with his lady, so longe may
be heele chuck thee under the chin, call thee good pretty
ape, and give thee a scrap from his owne trencher ; but
after, he never beholds thee but when thou squierst him
with a torch to a wantons sheetes, or lightes his tobacco-
pipe. Never useth thee but as his pander; never regardeth
thee but as an idle bur that stickst upon the nap of his
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 269
fortune ; — and so, naked thou camst into the world, and
naked thou must returne : whom serve you ?
Ho. A foole !
Bid. Thou art my happiest subject : the service of a
foole is the onely blessedst slavery that ever put on a
chaine and a blew cote ; they know not what nor for what
they give, but so they give tis good, so it be good they
give; fortunes are ordain'd for fooles, as fooles are for
fortune, to play with all, not to use : hath hee taken an oth
of alleagiance — is hee of our brotherhood yet ?
Ho. Not yet, right venerable Honorificac cac cac cacn-
minos Bidet ! but as little an infant as I am I will, and
with the grace of wit I will deserve it.
Bid. You must performe a valorous, vertuous, and reli-
gious exploit first, in desert of your order.
Ho. Whatist?
Bid. Couzen thy master, hee is a foole, and was created
for men of wit, such as thy selfe, to make use of.
Ho. Such as my selfe ? Nay, faith, for wit, I think, for
my age, or so — But on, sir.
Bid. That thou maist the easier purge him of superfluous
bloud, I will discribe thy maisters constitution. He loves
and is beloved of himselfe, and one more, his dog. There
is a company of unbrac'd, untrussd rutters in the towne,
that crinkle in the hammes, swearing their flesh is their
onely lyving, and when they have any crownes, cry " God
a marcy, Mol ! " and shrugging, let the cockholds pay fort ;
intimating that their maintenance flowes from the wanton-
nesse of merchants wives, when introth the plain troth is,
the plaine and the stand, or the plaine stand and deliver,
delivers them all their lyving. These comrades have per-
swaded thy maister that ther 's no way to redeeme his
270 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT m.
peach-collour satten sute from pawne but by the love of a
cytizens wife ; hee beleeves it : they flout him, he feedes
them; and now tis our honest and religious meditation
that hee feede us, Holyfernes Puppi.
Ho. Pippo, and shall please you.
Bid. Pippo, tis our will and pleasure thou sute thy selfe
like a marchants wife ; leave the managing of the sequence
unto our prudence.
Ho. Or unto our prudence ; truly shee is a very witty
wench, and hath a stammell petticote with three gards for
the nonce ; but for your marchants wife, alas ! I am to
little, speake to small, go to gingerly : by my troth I feare
I shall looke to faire.
Bid. Our majesty dismounteth, and wee put of our
greatnesse ; and now, my little knaves, I am plaine Crack s
as I am Bosphoros Carmelydon Honorificacuminos Bidet.
I am imperious : honor sparckles in mine eyes ; but as I
am Crack, I wil convay, crosbite, and cheat upon Simpli-
cius. I will feed, satiat, and fill your panches ; replenish,
stuff, or furnish your purses : wee will laugh when others
vveepe — sing when others sith — feede when others starve —
and be drunke when others are sober. This is my charge
at the loose. As you love our brother-hood, avoide true
speech, square dice, small liquor, and above all, those to
ungentlemanlike protestations of indeede and verely. And
so, gentle Appollo, touch thy nimble string ; our sceane is
donne ; yet fore wee cease, wee sing.
[The Song, and Exeunt.
ACT iv.] WHAT YOU WILL. 271
ACTUSQUARTUS,
SCENA PBIMA.
*[ Enter CELIA, MELETZA, LYZABETTA, and LUCEA,
AITH, sister, I long to play with a
fether !
Pree-thee, Lucia, bring the shuttle-
cock.
Mel. Out on him, light-pated phantasticke ! He 's like
one of our gallants at
Lyz. I wonder who thou speak'st well of.
Mel. Why, of my selfe ; for by my troth, I know none
el's wil.
Cel. Sweet sister Meletza, lets sit in judgment a little,
faith, on my servant, Mounsieur Laverdure.
Mel. Troth well, for a servant, but for a husband
(sigh) I.
Lyz. Why, why?
Mel. Why, he is not a plaine foole, nor faire, nor fat,
nor rich, rich foole. But he is a knight ; his honour will
give the passado in the presence to-morrow night ; I hope
he wil deserve. Al I can say is as, as the common fiddlers
will say in their God send you well to do.
Lyz. How think'st thou of the amorous lacomo ?
272 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT IT.
Mel. lacomo ? why, on my bare troth
Cel. Why bare troth?
Mel. Because my troth is like his chinne, tath no haire
on't. Gods me ! his face lookes like the head of a taber ;
but trust me he hath a good wit.
Lyz. Who told you so ?
Mel. One that knowes ; one that can tell.
Cel. Whose that?
Mel. Him selfe.
Lyz. Well, wench ; thou hadst a servant, one Fabius ;
what hast thou done with him ?
Mel. I donne with him ? Out of him, puppy ! By this
fether, his beard is derectly brick collour, and perfectly
fashion'd like the husk of a cheessnut ; hee kisses with the
driest lip. Figh on him !
Cel. 0, but your servant Quadratus, the absolute
courtier !
Mel. Fie, fie ! Speake no more of him : he lives by
begging.
He is a fine courtier, flatters admirable, kisses
Faire madam, smells surpassing sweete ; weares
And holds up the arras, supportes the tapistry,
When I passe into the presence, very gracefully ; and
1 assure you
Luc. Madam, here is your shuttle-cock.
Mel. Sister, is not your waighting-wench rich ?
Cel. Why, sister, why?
Mel. Because she can flatter. Pree-thee call her not.
She has twenty-four houres to maddam yet. Come, you,
You prate : yfaith, lie tosse you from post to piller !
Cel. You post and I piller.
Mel. No, no, you are the onely post ; you must sup-
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 273
port, prove a wench, and beare ; or elce all the building of
your delight will fall
Cel. Downe.
Lyz. What, must I stand out ?
Mel. I, by my faith, til you be married.
Lyz. Why do you tosse then ?
Mel. Why, I am wed, wench.
Cel. Pree thee to whome ?
Mel. To the true husband, right head of a woman — my
wil, which vowes never to marry till I meane to be a foole,
a slave, starch cambrick ruffes, and make candells (pur) ;
tis downe, serve againe, good wench.
Luc. By your pleasing cheeke, you play well.
Mel. Nay, good creature, pree thee doe not flatter mee.
I thought twas for something you goe casd in your velvit
skabberd ; I warrant these laces were nere stich'd on with
true stich. I have a plaine waighting wench ; shee speakes
plaine, and faith, she goes plaine; she is vertuous, and
because she should go like vertue, by the consent of my
bounty, shee shall never have a bove two smockes to her
back, for thats the fortune of desert, and the maine in
fashion or reward of merit (pur) ; just thus do I use my
servants. I strive to catch them in my racket, and no
sooner caught, but I tosse them away : if he flie wel, and
have good feaethers, I play with them till he be downe,
and then my maide serves him to me againe : if a slug, and
weake-wing'd, if hee bee downe, there let him lie.
Cel. Good Mell, I wonder how many servants thou hast.
Mel, Troth, so do I ; let me see — Dupatzo.
Lyz. Dupatzo, which Dupatzo ?
Mel. Dupatzo, the elder brother, the foole; he that
bought the half-penny riband, wearing it in his eare, swear-
18
274 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT ir.
ing twas the duches of Millans favor ; liee into whose head
a man may travell ten leagues before hee can meete with
his eyes. Then ther 's my chub, my epicure, Quadratus,
that rubbes his guttes, clappes his paunch, and cries Bivo,
intertayning my eares perpetually with a most strong dis-
course of the praise of bottle ale and red herrings. Then
ther 's Simplicius Faber.
Lyz. Why, he is a foole !
Mel. True, or els he would nere be my servant. Then
ther's the cap-cloakt courtier, Baltazar; hee weares a
double, treble, quadruple ruffe, I, in the sommer time.
Faith, I ha servants inow, and I doubt not but by my
ordinary pride and extraordinary cunning to get more.
Mounsier Laverdure, with a troupe of gallants, is entring.
Lyz. He capers the lascivious bloud about.
Within heart pantes, nor leapes the eye nor lippes :
Prepare your selves to kisse, for you must be kissd.
Mel. By my troth, tis a pretty thing to be towards
marriage, a pretty loving. Looke, where he comes.
Ha! ha!
Lav. Good day, sweete love.
Mel. Wish her good night, man.
Lav. Good morrow, sister.
Mel. A cursie to you caper : to-morrow morne He cal
you brother.
Lav. But much much falls betwixt the cup and lip.
Mel. Be not to confident, the knot may slip.
Qua. Bounty, blessednes, and the spirit of wine attend
my mistres.
Mel. Thankes, good chub.
Sim. God, yee, god morrow, heartely mistres ; and how
do you since last I saw you?
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 275
Qua. Gods mee, you must not inquire how shee does ;
thats privy counsell. Fie ! ther 's manners indeed !
Sim. Pray you, pardon my incivility. I was som-what
bould with you, but beleeve me lie never be so sawey to
aske you how you do againe as long as I live. La !
Mel. Square chub, what sullene black is that ?
Qua. A tassell that hangs at my purse-strings. Hee
dogs mee, and I give him scraps, and pay for his ordinary,
feede him ; hee liquors himselfe in the juice of my bounty ;
and when hee hath suckt up strength of spirit he squeaseth
it in my owne face ^ when I have refind and sharp' d his
wits with good food, hee cuts my fingers, and breakes jests
upon me. I beare them, and beate him ; but by this • light
the dull-eyed thinks he dos wel, dos very well ; and but
that hee and I are of two faithes — I fill my belly, and
feeds his braine — I could find in my heart to hug him —
to hug him.
Mel. Pree-thee, perswade him to assume spirit, and
salute us.
Qua. Lampatho, Lampatho, art out of countenance?
For witts sake, salute these beauties. How doost like them?
Lam. Uds fut ! I can liken them to nothing but great
mens great horse upon great dayes, whose tailes are trust
up in silke and silver.
Qua. To them, man ; salute them.
Lam. Blesse you, faire ladies. God make you all his
servants.
Mel. God make you all his servants !
Qua. Hee is holpen well had need of you ; for bee it
spoken without prophanisme, hee hath more in this traine.
I feare mee you ha more servants then he : I am sure the
divill is an angell of darkenesse.
276 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT iv.
Lam. I, but those are angels of light.
Qua. Light angels ; pree-thee leave them ; with-draw a
little, and heare a sonnet ; pree-thee heare a sonnet.
Lam. Made of Albanos widdow that was, and Moun-
sieur Laverdures wife that must be.
Qua. Come, leave his lips, and command some liquor ;
if you have no bottle-ale, command some claret wine and
bourrage, for that 's my predominate humor ; sleeke-billid
Bacchus, lets fill thy guttes.
Lam. Nay, heare it, and rellish it juditiously.
Qua. I do rellish it most juditially. [Qua. drinkes.
Lam. Adored excellence ! delicious, sweet !-
Qua. Delicious, sweete ! good, very good !
Lam. If thou canst taste the purer juice of love.
Qua. If thou canst taste the purer juice; good still,
good still.
Qua. I doe rellish it ; it tastes sweete.
Lam. Is not the metaphor good ? 1st not well followed ?
Qua. Passing good, very pleasing.
Lam. 1st not sweete ?
Qua. Let me see 't ; He make it sweete ;
He soake it in the juice of Helicon.
Bir Lady, passing sweete ; good, passing sweete.
Lam. You wrong my muse.
Qua. The Irish flux upon thy muse, thy whorish muse.
Heere is no place for her loose brothelry.
We will not deale with her. Goe ! away, away !
Lam. He be reveng'd.
Qua. How, pree-thee, in a play? Come, come, be sosiable
In private severance from societie ;
Here leapes a vaine of bloud inflam'd with love,
Mounting to pleasure, all adict to mirth ;
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 277
Thoult read a satyre or a sonnet now,
Clagging their ayery humor with
Lam. Lamp-oyle, watch-candles, rug-gownes, and small
juice,
Thin commons, foure a clock rising, — I renounce you all.
Now may I ternally abandon meat,
Bust, fustie, you which most imbrac'd disuse,
5fou made me an asse ; thus shapt my lot,
I am a meere scholler, that is a meere sot.
Qua. Come, then, Lampe, ile powre fresh oyle into
thee;
Apply thy spirit, that it may nimbly turne
Unto the habit, fashion of the age.
Ill make thee man the scholler, inable thy behaviour
Apt for the intertaine of any presence.
Ile turne thee gallant : first thou shalt have a mistresse.
How is thy spirit rais'd to yonder beauty ? —
She with the sanguine cheeke, the dimpled chinne ;
The pretty amorous smile, that clips her lips
And dallyes bought her cheeke ;
Shee with the speaking eye,
That castes out beames as ardent as those flakes
Which sing'd the world by rash-braind Phaeton ;
She with the lip ; — 0 lips ! — she, for whose sake
A man could finde in his heart to in-hell himselfe !
There 's more philosophy, — more theoremes, —
More demonstrations, — all invincible, —
More cleare divinity drawne on her cheeke,
Then in all volumes tedious paraphrase
Of musty eld. 0, who would staggering doubt
The soules eternity, — seeing it hath
Of heavenly beauty but to case it up !
278 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT IT.
Who would distrust a supreame existence,
Able to confound, when it can create
Such heaven on earth — able to intrance,
Amaze ! 0, 'tis Providence, not chance !
Lam. Now, by the front of Jove, me thinks her eye
Shootes more spirit in me. 0 beautie feminine !
How powerfull art thou ! What deepe magick lyes
Within the circle of thy speaking eyes !
Qua. Why, now could I eate thee ; thou doost please
mine appetite. I can disist thee. God made thee a good
foole, and happy and ignorant, and amarous, and riche and
fraile, and a satyrist, and an essayest, and sleepy, and
proud, and indeed a foole, and then thou shalt bee sure of
all these. Doe but scorne her, shee is thine owne ; accost
her carelesly, and her eye promiseth shee will be bound to
the good abbearing.
Cel. Now, sister Meletza, doost marke their craft ; some
straggling thoughts transport thy attentivenesse from his
discourse. Wast lacomos or our brothers plot ?
Lav. Both, both, sweete lady ; my page heard all : we
mette the roague, so, like Albano, I beat the roague.
Sim. I, but when you were gone, the roague beat me.
Lav. Now, take my counsell : listen.
Mel. A pretty youth ; a pretty well-shapt youth : a
good leg, a very good eye, a sweete ingenious face, and I
warrant a good witte; nay, which is more, if hee bee
poore, I assure my soule hee is chaste and honest ; good
faith, I fancy I fancie him : I, and I may chance ; — well,
He thinke the rest.
Qua. I say, bee carelesse still : court her without com-
plement ; take spirit.
Lav. Wrert not a pleasing jeast for me to cloath
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 279
Another rascall like Albano ; say
And rumor him return'd, without all deceit ;
Would not beget errors most ridiculous ?
Qua. Meletza, betta, belktza ! Madonna, bella, bella,
f/enteletza ! pree-thee kisse this initiated gallant.
Mel. How would it please you, I should respect yee.
Lam, As any thing, What You Will as nothing.
Mel. As nothing ! How will you valew my love ?
Lam. Why, just as you respect me — as nothing ; for out
of nothing, nothing is bred : so nothing shall not beget
any-thing, any-thing bring nothing, nothing bring any-
thing, any-thing and nothing shall be What You Will ; my
speach mounting to the valieu of my selfe, which is
Mel. What, sweete — —
Lam. Your nothing, light as your selfe, scencelesse as
your sex, and just as you would ha me — nothing.
Mel. Your wit skips a morisco ; but, by the brightest
spangle of my tier, I vouchsafe you intire unaffected favor,
weare this gentle spirit, be not proud.
Beleeve it, youth, slow speech swift love doth often shrowd.
Lam. My soul's intranc'd ; your favor doth transport
My scence past scence, by your adored graces,
I doat, am rapt !
Mel. Nay, if you fall to passion and past scence,
My breasts no harbor for your love. Go, packe ! Hence !
Q^ta. Uds fut! thou gull! thou inkie scholler! Ha,
thou whoreson fop !
Wilt not thou clappe into our fashion'd gallantry ?
Oouldst not be proud and skornfull, loofe and vaine ?
Gods, my hearts object ! what a plague is this ?
My soul's intraunc'd. Fut ! couldst not clip and kisse ?
280 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT IT.
My soul 's intraunc'd ! ten thousand crownes at least
Lost, lost. My soul's intraunc'd ! Loves life, O beast !
Alb. Celia, open ; open, Celia : I would enter : open,
Celia! [Celia!
Fran. Celia, open ; open, Celia : I would enter : open,
Alb. What, Celia, let in thy husband, Albano : what
Celia ! [Celia !
Fran. What, Celia, let in thy husband, Albano : what
Alb. Uds f, f, f, fut ! let Albano enter.
Fran. Uds f, f, f, fut ! let Albano enter.
Cel. Sweete breast, you ha playd the wag, yfaith !
Qua. Beleeve it, sweete, not I.
Mel. Come, you have attired some fiddler like Albano,
to fright the perfumer ; ther 's the jest.
Han. Good fortunes to our sister.
Mel. And a speedy marriage.
Adr. Then we must wish her no good fortunes.
laco. For shame ! for shame ! Straight eleere your
house ; sweepe out this dust ; fling out this trash ; returne
to modesty. Your husband ! I say, your husband Albano,
that was supposd drownd, is return'd, — I, and at the dore !
Cel. Ha, ha ! My husband ! Ha, ha !
Adr. Laugh you ? Shameles ! Laugh you?
Cel. Come, come, your plots discoverd. Good faith,
kinsmen, I am no skold. To shape a perfumer like my
husband ! O sweete jest !
laco. Last hopes all knowne.
Cel. For pennance of your fault, will you maintaine a
jest now ? My love hath tired some fiddler like Albano,
like the Perfumer.
Lav. Not I : by blessednesse, not I.
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 281
Mel. Come, tis true. Do but support the jest, and you
shall surfet with laughter.
laco. Faith, we condiscend ; twill not be crosd, I see.
Marriage and hanging go by destiny.
Alb. B, b, b, bar out Albano ! 0 adulterous, impudent !
Fran. B, b, b, bar out Albano ! O thou matchlesse
g, g, g, gigglet 1
If Enter ALBANO and FRANCISCO.
Qua. Let them in ! Let them in ! Now, now, now !
Observe, observe ! Look, look, look !
laco. That sames a fiddler, shapt like thee. Feare
naught; bee confident: thou shalt know the jest heere-
after : be confident ; feare naught ; blush not ; stand firme.
Alb. Now, brothers; now, gallants; now, sisters; now call
a perfumer a gutter-maister. Bar mee my house ; beate
mee, — baffle mee, — skoffe mee, — deride me ! Ha, that I
were a young man againe ! By the mas, I would ha you
all by the eares, by the mas law. I am Francisco Soranza !
am I not, gigglet, strumpet, cutters, swaggerers, brothell
haunters ? I am Francisco ! 0 God ! 0 slaves ! 0 dogges,
dogges, curres !
laco. No, sir ; pray you, pardon us ; we confesse you
are not Francisco, nor a perfumer, but even
Alb. But even Albano.
laco. But even a fiddler, — a miniken tickler, — a pum,
pum!
Fran. A scraper, scraper !
Art not asham'd, before Albanos face,
To clip his spouze ? O shamlesse, impudent !
laco. Well said, perfumer,
Alb. A fiddler, — a scraper, — a miniken tickler, — a pum,
282 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT iv.
a pum, — even now a perfumer, — now a fiddler, — I will be-
even What You Will. Do, do, do, k, k, k, kisse my wife
be, be, be, be, fore
Qua. WTiy, would'st have him kisse her behind ?
Alb. Before my owne f, f, f, face !
laco. WeU done, fiddler !
Alb. He f, f, fiddle yee !
Fran. Dost f, f, floute mee ?
Alb. Dost m, m, m, mock me ?
Fran. lie to the duke. He p, p, p, paste up infamies
on every post.
laco. Twas rarely, rarely, done. Away, away !
[Exit Francisco.
Alb. He f, f, follow, though I st, st, st, stut ; lie stum-
ble to the duke : in p, p, plaine language, I pray you use
my wife well. Good faith, shee was a kinde soule, and an
honest woman once : I was her husband, and was call'd
Albano, before I was drown'd ; but now, after my resur-
rection, I am I know not what ; indeede, brothers, and in-
deede, sisters, and in deed, wife, I am What You Will.
Do'st thou laugh ? dost thou ge, ge, ge, gerne ? A p, p, p,
perfumer, — a fiddler, — a Diabalo, matre de Dios, — He f, f, f,
firk you, by the Lord, now, now I will ! [Exit Albano.
Qua. Ha, ha ! tis a good roague, a good roague !
Lav. A good roague ! Ha ! I know him not.
Gel. No, good sweete love. Come, come, dissemble not.
Lav. Nay, if you dread nothing, happy be my lot.
Come, via sest; come, faire cheekes ; -come, lets dance :
The sweetes of love is amorous dalliance.
Cel. All friends, all happy friends, my vaines are light.
Lyz. Thy praires are now, God send it quickly night !
Mel. And then come morning.
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 283
Lyz. I, thats the hopefull day.
Mel. I, there thou hitst it.
Qua. Pray God he hit it.
Lav. Play.
THE DAUNCE.
laco. They say ther 's revells and a play at court.
Lav. A play to-night ?
Qua. I, tis this gallants wit.
laco. 1st good ? 1st good ?
Lam. I feare twill hardly hit.
Qua. I like thy feare ; wel, twil have better chance ;
Ther 's naught more hateful! then ranck ignorance.
Gel. Come, gallants, the table spread; will you to
dinner ?
Qua. Yes ; first a maine at dice, and then weele eate.
Sim. Truely the best wittes have the bad'st fortune at
dice still.
Qua. Whole play ? whole play ?
Sim. Not I ; in truth I have still exceeding bad fortune
at dice.
Cel. Come, shall we in ? Infayth thou art suddaine sad.
Dost feare the shaddow of my long-dead lord ?
Lav. Shaddow ! Ha ! I cannot tel.
Time tryeth all things : well, well, well !
Qua. Would I were Time, then. I thought twas for
some thing that the old fornicator was bald behinde. Go ;
passe on, passe on.
[Exeunt.
284 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT v.
ACTUS QUINTUS.
SCENA PEIMA.
The Curtaines are draw-tie by a Page, and CELIA and
LAVERDURE, QUADRATUS and LYZABETTA, LAM-
PATHO and MELETZA, SIMPLICIUS and LUCEA, dis-
played, sitting at Dinner. The Song is sung, during
which a Page whispers with SIMPLICIUS.
EEDE, and be fat, my fayre Calipolis.
Rivo, heer 's good juice, fresh burrage,
boy!
Lam. I commend, commend my selfe
to yee, lady.
Mel. In troth, sir, you dwell farre from neighbours
that are inforc'd to commend your selfe.
Qua. Why, Simplicius, whether now, man; for good
fashions sake, stirre not ; sit still, sit still.
Sim. I must needs rise ; much good do it you.
Qua. Doost thou thinke thy rising will do them much
good ? Sit still ; sit still ; carve me of that, good Mel-
letza. Fill, Bacchus, fill !
Sim. I must needs bee gone ; and youle come to my
chamber to-morrow morning, I send you a hundred
crownes.
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 285
Qua. In the name of prosperitie, what tide of hap-
pinesse so sucldeinly is flou'd upon thee ?
Sim. He keepe a horse and foure boyes, with grace of
fortune now.
Qua. Now, then, ifaith, get up and ride.
Sim. And I do not ? He thwack a jerkin till he groane
againe with gold lace. Let mee see ; what should I desire
of God ? Mary a cloake, linde with rich taffata ; white
sattin sute ; and my gilt rapier from pawne : nay, shee
shall give me a chaine of pearle, that shall pay for all.
Good boy ; good Sinior. Good boye ; good Sinior.
Qua. Why, now, thou speaketh in the most imbrac'd
fashion that our time hugges ; no sooner a good fortune
or a fresh sute falls upon a fellow that would ha beene
guld to ha shou'd into your society, 'but, and he met you,
he fronts you with a faint eye, throwes a squint glaunce
over a wried shoulder, and cryes twixt the teeth, as very
parcimonious of breath, Good boy, good Sinior; good
boy, good Sinior. Death, I will search the life bloud of
your hopes.
Sim. And a fresh pearle-colour silke stocking 0,
1 1 1 1, He goe to the halfe-crowne ordinary every meale ;
He have my ivory boxe of tobacco ; He converse with
none but counts and courtiers. Now, good boy, good
Sinior, a paire of massie silver spurs, to a hatch short
sword, and then your imbroderd hanger; and, good
Sinior
Qua. Shut the windowes, darken the roome, fetch whips ;
the fellow is madde : hee raves, hee raves, — talkes idly, —
lunatique : who procures thy
Sim. One that has eate fat capon, suckt the boild
chicken, and let out his wit with the foole of bounty, one
286 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT v.
Fabius. He scorne him ; hee goes upon Fridaies in black
satten.
Qua. Fabius ! By this light, a cogging chetor : he
lives on love of marchants wives ; he stands on the base
of raaines ; hee furnisheth your ordinary, for which he
feeds scot-free ; keepes faire gold in his purse, to put on
upon rnaines, by which he lives, and keepes a faire boy at
his heeles : he is dam'd Fabius.
Sim. He is a fine man, law, and has a good wit ; for
when he list he can go in black sattin, I, and in a cloake
Jin'd with unshorne velvet.
Qua. By the salvation of humanity, he 's more pestilent
then the plague of lice that fell upon Egipt ; thou hast bin
knave if thou credit it ; thou art an asse if thou follow it ;
and shalt be a perpetual ideot if thou persue it : renounce
the world, the flesh, the divell, and thy trust in mens
wives, for they wil double with thee : and so I betake
my selfe to the sucking of the juice capon, my Ingle bottle-
ale, and his gentleman usher, that squiers him red herring.
A foole I found thee, and a foole I leave thee ; beare re-
cord, Heaven, tis against the providence of my speach.
Good boy, good Sinior. [Exit.
<j Enter SLIP, Nows, DOITE, and BYDET.
Sim. Ha, ha, ha ! Good boy, good Sinior. What a foole
'tis ! Ha, ha, what an asse 'tis ! Save you, young gen-
tlemen, is shee cornming? Will she meete me? Shal's
incounter ? Ha ?
Bid. You were not lapt in your mothers smock : you
ha not a good cheeke, an inticing eye, a smooth skinrie, a
well-shapt leg, a faire hand : you cannot bring a wench
into a fooles parradize for you.
3C. I.] | WHAT YOU WILL. 287
Sim. Not I, by this garter. I am a foole, a very ninny, 1 !
How call you her P How call you her P
Bid. Call her P You rise on your right side to-da\ .
marry. Coll her ? her name is Mistresse Perpetuaua : shoe
is not very fnire, nor goes extraordinary gay.
Sim. She has a good skinue P
Bid. A good skin P She is wealthy ; her husbands a
foole : sheele make you j she weares the breeches : sheelo
make you
Sim. lie keepe two men, and they shall be taylors j they
shall make sutes continually, and those shall be cloath of
silver.
Bid. You may go in beaten pretious stones every day.
Marry, I must acquaint you with some observances, which
you must persue most religiously. She has a foole j a
naturall foole waights on her, that is indeed her pander ; to
him, at the first, you must be bounteous; what-so-erc
hee craves, — bee it your hattr, eloake, rapier, purse, or
such trifle, — giv *t, giv 't; the night will pay all j ami to
draw all suspect from persuing her love for base gaine sake.
Sim. Giv't? by this light, lie giv't, wert gaine. I
care not for her chaine of pearlo, onely her love : gaine V
The first thing her bounty shal fetch is my blush-colour
sitien suto from pawn: gaine?
Hid. When you heart' one wiude a eornet, slice is eom-
ui ing downe Saint Markes streete: prepare your speech,
Mick your lippos, lighten your spirits, fresh your blond.
sleeke your cheekes, for now thou shalt be made for t-vcr
(a perpetuall and tMeruall i^ulH. [Exit Bydet.
Sim. I shall so ravish her with my court-ship ; I have
such variety of discourse, such coppy of phrase to beuiiu
as this: — Swede lady. Misses dog, after his maisters tea
288 WHAT YOU WILL. • [ACTV.
yeares travell. I shall so tide her : or thus,— Pure beauty,
there is a stone
Slip. Two stones, man.
Sim. Call'd, 'tis no matter what. I ha the eloquence ;
I am not to seeke, I warrant you.
^f The cornet is winded. Enter PIPPO, BYDET ; PIPPO
attired like a merchants wife, and BYDET like afoole.
Sweete lady ; Ulisses dog ; there 's a stone called
O Lord ! what shall I say ?
Slip. Is all your eloquence come to this ?
Sim. The glorious radient of your glimmering eies, your
glittering beauties blind my witt, and dazled my
Pip. He put on my maske, and please you ; pray you,
winke, pray you.
Bid. 0 fine man ! my mistresse loves you best. I
dreamt you ga me this sword and dagger. I love your
hatte and feather, O !
Sim. Doe not crie, man ; do not crie, man : thou shalt
ha them. I, and they were
Bid. O, that purse, with all the white pence in it !
Fine man ! I love you ! Give you the fine red pence
soone at night ? He ! I thanke you : where 's the foole
now?
Sim. He has all my money ; I have to keepe my selfe,
and
Slip. Poght !
Pip. Sir, the foole shall lead you to my house ; the
foole shall not. At night I expect you : till then, take this
scale of my affection.
[Within.'] Qua. What, Simplicius !
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 289
Sim. I come, Quadratus. Gentlemen, as yet I can but
thanke you ; but I must bee trusted for my ordinary soonc
at night ; or stay, He — The foole has unfurnisht mee ;
but 'twill come againe, good boy.
[Within] Qua. What, ho ! Simplicius !
Sim. Good boy, good boyes. I come, I come, good
boyes, good boyes.
Bid. The foole shall waight on thee. Now, do I merrit
to bee yclipped, BospJwros Carmelydon Honorijicacuminos
Bydett ? Who, who has any square dice ?
Pip. Marry, sir, that have I.
Bid. Thou shalt loose thy share for it in our purchase.
Pip. I pray you now, pray you now.
Bid. Sooner the whissell of a marriner
Shall sleeke the rough curbes of the ocean back.
Now speake I like my selfe : thou shalt loose thy share.
^ Enter QUADRATUS, LAVERDURE, and CELIA; SIM-
PLICIUS, MELETZA, LYZABETTA, LUCEA, and
LAMPATHO.
Pip. Ha ! take all, then. Ha !
Qua. Without cloake, or hat, or rapier ? Figh !
Sim. Gods me ! Looke yonder. Who gave you these
things ?
Bid. Mistris Perpetuanos foole.
Sim. Mistris Perpetuanos foole ! Ha, ha ! there lies
a jest. Sinior, the foole promised me he would not
leave me.
Sid. I know the foole well. He will sticke to you :
dos not use to for-sake any youth that is inamord on an
19
290 WHAT YOU WILL: [ACT v.
other mans wife ; tee strives to keepe company with a
crimson satten sute continually ; he loves to be al one
with a critique ; a good wit, selfe-conceited, a hauke-bearer,
a dogge-keeper, and great with the nobility ; hee doates
upon a meere scholler, an honest flat foole; but, above
all, hee is all one with a fellow whose cloake hath a better
inside then his out-side, and his body richer lin'd then
his braine.
Sim. Uds ! so I am cosoned.
Pip. Pray you, maister, pardon me ; I must loose my
share.
Sim. Give me my purse againe.
Sid. You gave it me, and He keept.
Qua. Well done, my honest crack, thou shalt be my
ingle fort.
Lav. He shall keepe all, maugre thy beardles chin, thy
eyes.
Sim. I may go starve till Midsomer quarter.
Qua. Foole ! Get thee hence.
Pip. lie to schoole again, that I will : I left in asse in
presenti, and He begin in asse in presenti; and so good
night, faire gentry. [Exit Pippo.
Qua. The triple ideotts coxcombe crownes thee,
Bitter epigrames confound thee ;
Cucold be when ere thou bride thee ;
Through every comick sceane be drawne,
Never come thy cloathes from pawne ;
Never may thy shame be sheathed,
Never kisse a wench sweet breathed.
[Cornets sound.
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 291
ff J&nter as many Pages with torches as you can; RAN-
DOLFO and ADRIAN ; IACOMO bare; the Duke with,
Ran. Seace ! the duke approacheth : tis almost night,
For the dukes up : now begins his day.
Come, grace his entrance. Lightes ! lightes ! Now ginnes
our play.
Du. Still these same hauling pipes : sound softer straines ;
Slumber our scence : tut ! these are vulger straines.
Cannot your trembling wiers throw a chaine
Of powerfull rapture bout our mazed scence ?
Why is our chaire thus cushion'd tapistry ?
Why is our bed tired with wanton sportes ?
Why are we cloath'd in glistring attiers ?
If common bloudes can heare, can feele,
Can sit as soft, lie as lascivious,
Stut all as rich as the greatest potentate; —
Soule ! and you cannot feast my thristing eares
With aught but what the lip of common berth can tast, —
Take all away ; your labors idly wast.
What sport for night ?
Lam. A commedy, intitled Temperance.
Du. What sot elects that subject for the court ?
What should dame Temperance do here ? Away !
The itch on Temperance, your morrall play !
Qua. Duke, prince, royall bloud ! — thou that hast the
best meanes to be damn'd of any lord in Venice ; — thou
great man ! let me kisse thy flesh. I am fat, and therefore
faithfull ; I will do that which few of thy subjects do, —
love thee : but I will never do that which all thy subjects
do, — flatter thee. Thy humors reall, good ; a commedie ?
292 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT T.
No, and thy scence would banquit in delightes
Appropriat to the blond of emperors,
Peculier to the state of majesty,
That none can rellish but dilated greatnesse,
Vouchafe to view the structure of a sceane
That stands on tragike sollid passion.
O thats fit trafick to commerce with birthes !
Straind from the mud of base unable braines,
Give them a sceane may force their struggling hloud
Kise up on tiptoe in attention,
And fill their intellect with pure elixed wit ;
O thats for greatnesse apt, for princes fit !
Du. Darst thou then undertake to sute our eares
With such rich vestment ?
Qua. Dare! Yes, my prince, I dare; — nay. more, 1
will.
And He present a subject worth thy soule; —
The honor'd end of Cato Utican.
Du. Whole personate him ?
Qua. Many, that wil I, on suddaine, without change.
Du. Thou want'st a beard.
Qua. Tush! a beard nere made Cato, though many
mens Cato hang onely on their chin.
Suppose this flowre the city Utica,
The time the night that prolonged Catos death ;
Now being plac'd moung his philosophers,
These first discourse the soules eternity.
laco. Cato grantes that, I am sure, for he was valiant
and honest, which an epicure nere was, and a coward
* never will be.
Qua. Then Cato holdes a distinct notion
Of individuall actions after death.
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 293
This being argu'd, his resolve maintaines
A true magnanimous spirit should give up durt
To durt, and with his owne flesh dead his flesh,
Fore chance should force it crouch unto his foe ;
To kill ones selfe, some I, some hold it no.
O these are pointes would intice away ones soule
To breakes indenture of base prentisage,
If Enter FRANCISCO.
And run away from 's boddy in swift thoughts,
To melt in contemplation's lushious sweetes !
Now, my voluptious duke, lie feede thy scence
Worth his creation : give me audience.
Fran. My leidge, my royall leidge, heare, heare my
sute.
Qua. Now may thy breath nere smell sweete as long as
thy loungs can pant, for breaking my speech, thou Mus-
covite ! thou stinking perfumer !
^f Enter ALBANO.
Du. Is not this Albano, our some times courtier ?
Fran. No, troth, but Francisco, your alwaies perfumer.
Alb. Lorenzo Celso, our brave Venice Duke, Albano
Belletzo, thy merchant, thy soldier, thy courtier, thy slave,
thy any-thing, thy What thou Wilt, kisseth thy noble
bloud. Doe mee right, or els I am canonized a cuckold !
canonized a cuckold ! I am abus'd ! — I am abusd ! — my
wifes abusd ! — my cloathes abusd ! — my shape, — my
house, — my all, — abusd I I am sworne out of my selfe,
— beated out of my selfe, — baffled, — geird at, — laught at,
— bard my owne house, — debard my owne wife ! — whilst
others swill my wines, — gurmandize my meat, meat, —
*
294 WHAT YOU WILL. [ACT v.
kisse my wife ! — 0 gods ! 0 gods ! O gods ! 0 gods !
O gods !
Lav. Who 1st ? Who 1st ?
Cel. Come, sweete, this is your waggery, yfaith ; as if
you knew him not.
Lav. Yes, I feare I do too wel: would I could slide
away invisible.
Du. Assured this is hee.
laco. My worthy leidge, the jest comes only thus.
Now to stop and crosse it with mere like deceite :
All being knowne, the French knight hath disguisd
A fiddler, like Albano too, to fright the perfumer : — this
isaU.
Du. Art sure tis true ?
Mel. Tis confest tis right.
Alb. I, tis right, tis true; right; I am a fiddler, a
fiddler, a fidler, — uds fut ! a fidler. He not beleeve
thee; thou art a woman: and tis knowne, veritas non
querit angulos, truth seekes not to lurke under varthingalls;
veritas non querit angulos, a fidler ?
Lav. Worthy sir, pardon ; and permit me first to con-
fesse your selfe, — your deputation dead, hath made my
ove live, to offend you.
Alb. I, mock on, — skoffe on, — flout on, — do, do do.
Lav. Troth, sir, in serious.
Alb. I, good, good; come hether, Celia.
Burst breast, rive heart a sunder ! Celia,
Why startest thou back ? Seest thou this, Celia ?
O me ! how often, with lascivious touch, thy lip
Hath kissd this mark? How oft this much-wrong'd
breast
Hath borne the gentle waight of thy soft cheeke ?
sc. i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 295
Cel. O me, my deerest lord, — my sweete, sweete
love !
Alb. What, a fidler, — a iidler? Now, thy love,
I am sure thou skornst it ; nay, Celia, I could tell
What, on the night before I went to sea,
And tooke my leave, with hymeneall rights,
What thou lisped
Into my eare, a fidler and perfumer now !
Adr. And
Ran. Deere brother.
laco. Most respected Sinior ;
Beleeve it, by the sacred end of love,
What much, much wronge hath forc'd your patience,
Proceeded from most deere affied love,
Devoted to your house.
Adr. Beleeve it, brother ?
laco. Nay, your selfe, when you shall heare the occur-
rances, will say tis happy, commicall.
Ran. Assure thee, brother.
Alb. Shall I be brave? Shall I be my selfe now?
Love, give me thy love ; brothers, give me your breasts ;
French knight, reach me thy hand; perfumer, thy fist.
Duke, I invite thee ; love, I forgive thee ; Frenchman, 1
hug thee. He know all, — He pardon all, — and lie laugh
at all!
Qua. And He curse you all !
O yee ha interrupt a sceane !
J)u. Quadratus, we will heare these pointes discussd,
With apter and more calme affected houres.
Qua. Well, good, good.
Alb. Wast even so ? Yfaith, why then, caprichious
mirth,
296 WHAT JW WILL. [ACT y.
Skip, light moriscoes, in our frolick blond,
Flaggd veines, sweete, plump with fresh-infused joyes !
Laughter, pucker our cheekes, make shoulders shog
With chucking lightnesse ! Love once more thy lippes !
For ever claspe our hands, our hearts, our creasts.
Thus front, thus eyes, thus cheeke, — thus all shall meete !
Shall clip, shall hug, shall kisse, my deere, deere sweete !
Duke, wilt thou see me revell ? Come, love, daunce.
Court gallants, court ; — suck amorous dalliance !
. Lam. Beauty, your heart !
Mel. First, sir, accept my hands.
Shee leapes too rash that falls in suddeine bands.
Lam. Shall I dispaire ? Never will I love more !
Mel. No sea so boundles vast but hath a shore.
Qua. Why, marry me,
Thou canst have but soft flesh, good bloud, sound bones ;
And that which fils up all your bracks, — good stones.
Lyz. Stones, trees, and beasts, in love still firmer
proove
Then man ; He none ; no hold-fastes in your loves.
Lav. Since not the mistresse, — come on, faith, the
maide.
Alb. Ten thousand duckets, too, to bote, are laide.
Lav. Why, then, winde cornets, lead on, jolly ladde.
Alb. Excuse me, gallants, though my legges lead wrong,
'Tis my first footing ; winde out, nimble tongue.
Du. 'Tis well, 'tis well :-— how shall we spend this
night?
Qua. Gulpe Ehenish wine, my Hedge, let our paunch
rent ;
Suck merry gellyes ; preview, but not prevent,
No mortall can, the miseries of life.
sc.i.] WHAT YOU WILL. 297
Alb. I home invite you all. Come, sweete, sweete wife.
My Hedge, vouchsafe thy presence. Drinke, till the
ground looke blew, boy !
Qua. Live still in springing hopes ! — still, in fresh new
joyes,
May your loves happy hit in faire-cheekt wives, —
Your flesh still plumpe with sap'd restoratives.
That Js all my honest fr click heart can wish.
A fico for the mew and envious pish !
Till night, I wish good food and pleasing day ;
But then sound rest. So ends or slight-writ play.
[Exeunt.
Deo op : max : gr atlas.
NOTES TO THE FIRST VOLUME.
Page 13, line 1. Mary Anibree. — The well-known English
heroine of the ballads of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,
who was so celebrated that her name became proverbial for female
valour. She is stated, on uncertain authority, to have performed
prodigies at the siege of Ghent in 1584, —
And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent,
Away all her pellets and powder had sent,
Straight with her keen weapon she slasht him in three :
"Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
Page 14, line 1. A lowe forehead,. — A high forehead. was an-
ciently considered a great beauty, and a low one a proportionate
deformity. Thus Caliban, in the Tempest, is fearful of being
" turned to barnacles, or to apes with foreheads villainous low."
Again, in Antony and Cleopatra, — " her forehead as low as she
would wish it." Compare an old black-letter ballad, The Peere-
lesse Paragon, —
Her beetle brows all men admire,
Her forehead wondrous low.
Page 14, line 6. He looTces like a may-pole. — The term May-
pole appears to have been generally one of contempt, applied not
only to a tall person, but to any one who was the object of
derision. In the first edition of the Merry Wives of Windsor,
1602, Falstaff, after having been deceived by the pretended fairies,
says, — " Ay, 'tis well ; I am your Maypole ; you have the start
of me." Compare, also, the Midsummer Night's Dream, — "how
low am I, thou painted Maypole?"
Page 15, line 5. When beauties close fight's up. — Close fight
is an old sea-term. "A ship's close fights are small ledges of wood
laid crosse one another, like the grates of iron in a prison window,
betwixt the maine mast and fore mast, and are called gratings or
nettings," Smith's Sea Grammar, 1627.
Page 16, line 19. Eos. — This prefix should obviously be Mel.,
but it is the plan of this edition to follow the old copies.
Page 19, line 8. Goode pugge. — a familiar mode of address,
NOTES. 299
supposed to be equivalent to monkey ', but not generally used in
the derogatory sense which would now be attached to the term.
" In a western barge, with good wind, and, lusty pugges, one may
go ten miles in two days," Lilly's Endymion, See also the
present volume, p. 112.
Page 25, line 9. Let musique sound. — Mr. Dilke is no doubt
correct in printing these words, which are given as a stage direc-
tion in the old copy, as part of the speech.
Page 31, line 26. 0 chaune. — So in eds. 1602, 1633, but no
other example of the verb chaun has been produced, and Mr.
Dilke reads, — Open thy breast.
Page 35, line 1. A casting bottle. — A casting-bottle was a
bottle used for casting or sprinkling perfumes, introduced about
the middle of the sixteenth century. " Oh, excellent, heer 's your
casting-bottle," Tragedy of Hoffman, 1631. The term occurs
in the TJnton Inventories, p. 27. " Pray Jove, the perfumed
courtiers keep their casting-bottles, pick-tooths, and shittlecocks
from you," Jonson's Cynthia's Eevels.
Page 36, line 25. Accorted.— So in the copy here used. If
the word is right, it is probably used in the sense of courted, but
Mr. Dilke prints accosted, a more obvious reading, which may
have been derived from another copy of the same edition.
Page 39, line 13. I, but her life. — Another speech should
commence here, the arrangement in the text being that of the old
copies. "It is evidently," observes Mr. Dilke, "the reply of
Rossaline on being complimented on her likeness to the princess:
this error having been committed, it almost necessarily led to
another, and the succeeding speech is, in the original, given to
Balurdo, although it has internal evidence of belonging to Flavia."
In ed. 1633 it is given to Balurdo, but in one copy at least of
ed. 1602 it is rightly attributed to Flavia.
Page 45, line 8. Cole and Norwod. — These were probably
names of actors, inserted from the prompt-book by the printer of
the old edition.
Page 51, line 8. Then He discourse. — The old copies read and
for then, and Mr. Dilke restores the sense by transferring the
conjunction to the commencement of the line. Perhaps the pre-
sent correction more probably restores the author's own diction.
Page 53, line 31. Ay me, my Lord. — These words should pro-
perly be spoken by Lucio, and the next speech by Antonio. See
Mr. Dilke's edition, p. 173.
300 NOTES.
Page 56, line 17. The greene woods. — Perhaps, by a poetical
license, the last word was made a dissyllable. Mr. Dilke reads,
wood tree.
Page 61, line 2. Another wallowe in a greate sloppe. — Slop-
hose, afterwards called slops, were the large loose breeches so
fashionable during the second half of the sixteenth century. John
Heywood, in his Epigrammes, ed. 1577, relates a curious story of
" a number of rattes mistaken for develles in a man's sloppes," in
which it is stated that a "big-breecht man" stowed a large
cheese in his sloppes, and when he put them on again, enclosed
within them some rats who had taken up their quarters near the
cheese. Wright, in his Passions of the Minde, 1601, speaks of
slops as " almost capable of a bushel of wheate, and if they bee
of sackcloth, they would serve to carry mawlt to the mill." This
was in allusion to Tarlton's slops, which are also curiously noted
in an epigram in the Letting of Humors Blood in the Head
Vaine, 1611.
Page 61, line 31. Speak pure foole. — This is idiomatic, and
is in sense equivalent to, — "I will speak like a pure fool." Thus,
in Othello, act ii, — "Drunk? and speak parrot ?" — that is, talk
foolishly or idly like a parrot.
Page 62, line 30. An alehouse by a red lattice. — One of the
distinguishing characteristics of the alehouse was a small lattice
window, generally placed in the wall over the door, painted red.
" Be mild in a taverne ! 'tis treason to the red lattice, enemy to
the sign-post," Miseries of Inforced Marriage.
Page 67, line 19. The checkroll of my servaunts. — The check-
roll was a roll or book containing the names of the servants, kept
of course only in large establishments. The following entry
occurs in the additions to the Ordinances made at Eltham in the
reign of Henry VIII, —
Item, the said Clerkes-comptrollers shall make for every quarter in the
yeare, a roule of parchment that shall be called the check-roll, which shall
coutaiue the names of all them which shall be of the ordinarie, and within
the check of the household; and dayly to present in the same roule the
allowance of the wages of all them which shall be attendant, and the defaul-
kation and check of wages of all them which shall be absent.
Page 79, line 27. And must be naiUd up for a slip. — In allu-
sion to a piece of counterfeit money, made of brass or copper,
washed over with silver or gold, which was usually termed a slip.
" She which thee deceaves with copper guilt, is but a slip,"
Skialetheia, 1598.
Page 81, line 11. SelJct up.— That is, belched up. " Eructo,
NOTES. 301
to bealke or breake wynde out of the stomake," Elyotes Diction-
arie, 1559. So, in the Towneley Mysteries, p. 314,—" To belke
thai begyn, and spew that is irke."
Page 112, line 13. CocTceall. — This term seems here used in a
peculiar sense, for the best or most excellent of husbands.
Page 112, line 19. Aristotles Problemes. — An allusion to a
very common and popular chap-book, which has been reprinted
in various forms up to the present time. The first edition
appeared in 1595, under the title of, " The Problems of Aristotle,
with other Philosophers and Physitions, wherein are contained
divers questions, with their answers, touching the Estate of Mans
Bodie," 16mo.
Page 112, line 22. Doe dreame not. — Query, — Goe, dreamt
not?
Page 113, line 3. Respective. — That is, respectful.
Page 120, line 17. In Ms siddowe ribs. — The word siddow i#
of very unusual occurrence in early English, but it is preserved
in the provincial dialect of the West of England. In Gloucester-
shire, peas which become pulpy soft by boiling, are then said to
be siddow.
Page 127, line 30. When it goes high-lone. — That is, quite
alone. " When I could not stand a' high lone without I held by
a thing," Blurt Master Constable. See Middleton's Works, ed.
Dyce, i. 262.
Page 137, line 28. Skip like lavoltaes. — " He (Bodin) saith
that these night-walking or rather night-dansing witches brought
out of Italic into France that danse which is called la volta"
Scot's Discoverie of Witchcraft, 1584, p. 42. This dance is fre-
quently spoken of as comprising high bounds, — "a lofty jumping,
or a leaping round," Davies's Orchestra.
Page 138, line 15. Sport alone. — That is, excellent sport. The
phrase is used by Robin Goodfellow, in the Midsummer Night's
Dream, — " that must needs be sport alone." So again, in
Englishmen for my Money, 1616, — " Oh that youth so sweet so
soone should turne to age ; were I as you, why this were sport
alone for me to doe ;" and in Withals' Dictionarie, ed. 1608,
p. 439, — " This is sport alone for the catt ; he meaneth, the beast,
the foole is delighted with it."
Page 139, line 9. Buckets. — A species of sweetmeats. " Con-
serves of old fruits forren and home-bred, siickets, codinacs,
marmilats, marchpaine, sugerbread," Harrison's Description of
England, p. 167.
302 NOTES.
Page 140, line 14. Gates. — That is, provisions.
Page 219, line 12. He will take pepper in the nose instantly.
— A curious but common phrase, applied to any one who is
hasty and choleric. So, in Elderton's Lenton Stuffe, 1570, —
For every man takes pepper i' the nose
Tor the waggynge of a strawe, God knowse,
With every waverynge wynd that blowese.
Page 219, line 15. Keele it, or all thefatt's in the fire. — We
have already had an allusion to keeling the pot in Antonio and
Mellida, p. 56, — "boy, keele your mouth, it runnes over." To
keel, is an old English verb of Anglo-Saxon derivation (a-celan),
in the sense of, to cool. To "keel the pot" was a provincial
phrase signifying, to stir its contents in a gentle manner, in order
to cool them, and prevent them from boiling over. " Amongst
all which, I thinke it reason that that parson should have tyth por-
ridge, which, out of the heat of a good stomacke, taught his parish-
ioners' wives in a quarterly sermon, fower wayes to Jceele a' pet,
when it began to seeth over ; a right worthy domesticall chaplin
for Heliogabalus, yet, if you marke, it is a profitable dish of doc-
trine, for unlesse it be followed, all the fat is in the fire," Nixon's
Strange Foot-Post with a Packet full of Strange Petitions, 1613.
"To kele, to cool, as Jcele the pot" given as used in West-
moreland by Kennett in his Glossary, MS. Lansd. 1033 ; and
the phrase, I believe, continued in use till a comparatively recent
period. There were, as before hinted in the passage from
Nixon's tract, more than one method of keeling the pot. One
plan was to expose a ladle-full to the air, and when a little
cooled, to restore it to the pot. Another method was to take
out a small quantity, and fill the place up with cold water,
the portion thus taken out being termed the keeling wheen, —
Gie me beer, and gie me grots, — and lumps of beef to swum abeen;
And ilka time that I stir the pot, — He's hae frae me the keeling wheen.
Dr. Goldsmith says the expression, as used in his time in
Ireland, means, to scum the pot ; but if he had entered into
further particulars, his definition would probably have been iden-
tical with one of the explanations above given. " Keal the pot-
tage, cool it," MS. Glossary of Westmoreland Words written
about the year 1690. In the North of England there is a
children's game in vogue, mentioned by Brockett, called Keeling
the pot, in which a girl comes in exclaiming, " Mother, mother,
the pot 's boiling over !" The answer is, "Then get the ladle and
keel it ;" and the amusement is derived from the various diffi-
culties that are encountered in the endeavour to obtain a ladle.
NOTES. 303
To kele, as an archaism, in the simple sense of, to cool, is of
exceedingly common occurrence. A few references may suffice :
Akelde, in one MS. acoled, Eob. Q-louc. Chron. p. 442 ; Jcele,
MS. Sloane 1313, xv century ; Forme of Cury, p. 23 ; Chaucer's
Courte of Love, 1076 ; " thy bytter heyt there is no man may
kele," MS. Poem of the Body and the Soul ; Eitson's Ancient
Popular Poetry, 1791, p. 79 ; Grower's Confessio Amantis, v, ff.
121, 131 ; Enterlude of Youth, repr. p.*833; Palsgrave, in v. Kay,
in his Collection of English Words, ed. 1691, p. 39, has Iceale as
a Lincolnshire word for a cold. " A Jceale-vat, a vessell wherein
beere, ale, &c. is set a cooling when it is brewed," Nomenclator,
1585. Keelers, which were tubs used for cooling beer, are often
mentioned in old inventories.
Page 221, line 10. Up-pont.— That is, upon 't.
Page 224, line 13. Paized. — That is, peized, weighed. "With
just balance pals' d, distributed with due proportion," Fletcher's
Purple Island.
Page 226, line 20. Are in cUlde. — It is worthy of remark that
Gerard, in his Herbal, 1597, speaks of a prolific species of rose as
the childing rose.
Page 231, line 32. My pretty yeate. — Peat, a term of endear-
ment for a delicate person. " I overtook the wench, a pretty
peat," Donne's Poems, p. 90.
Page 232, line 21. A giglet. — That is, a dishonest wench.
Page 244, line 21. I urn. — A printer's error for I am.
Page 248, line 31. A very smale sweete voice. — A small voice
is a very weak, low voice. So, in Chaucer's Floure and the Leafe,
180,—
And than the company answered all,
With voices sweet entuned, and so small.
Bulwer, in his Artificial Changeling, 1654, says, — " It is now
held the accomplished gallantry of our youth, to frizle their haire
like women, to speaJce with an effeminate smalnesse of voice, and
in tendernesse of body to match them, and to bedeck themselves
with most indecent trimming."
Page 262, line 9. French Iraule. — The earliest notice of the
dance called the brawl yet met with, occurs in Sir T. Elyot's
Boke named the Grovernour, — " By the second motion, whiche is
two in numbre, may be signified celeritie and slownesse; whyche
two, albeit they seme to discorde in their efiectes and natural pro-
perties, therefore they may be wel resembled to the braule in
304 NOTES.
daunsyng." The term is derived from the French. " A brawle,
a kinde of dance, diet, de G-. JSransle, idem, et hoc a Bransler,
id est, motare, vacillare, to shogge or reele up and downe,"
Minsheu. Cotgrave translates bransle, "a brawle or daunce,
wherein many men and women, holding by the hands, sometimes
in a ring, and otherwhiles at length, move altogether." Marston,
in another play, has particularly described one species of this
dance : see vol. ii. p. 258. So, in Good Fellowes, a ballad printed
in 1569,—
Good fellowes must go learne to daunce,
The hrydeal is full near-a;
There is a brail come out of Fraunce,
The fyrst ye harde this yeare-a.
Page 266, line 23. Marques of Mumchance. — An allusion to
the game of mumchance. " Chance, a chance, hap, adventure,
hazard ; also, the game at dice called mumchance, or such
another," Cotgrave.
Page 267, line 9. Apple-squiers. — This word appears to have
been used in several senses. An apple-squire was a kept gallant,
and also a person who waited on a woman of bad character. In
the Belman of London, 1608, we are told the apple-squire was
the person " to fetch in the wine." The term was often applied
to a pimp. Miege translates it, un grassier ecuyer de dame. See
Middleton's Works, iii. 232 ; Cotgrave, in v. Cueillier ; Florio,
in v. Guataro ; Beaumont and Fletcher, ii. 332 ; Hall's Satires,
i. 2 ; Bodsley's Old Plays, xi. 284.
His little lackey, a proper yong apple-squire, called Pandarus, whichc car-
rieth the keye of his chamber with hym. — HnUien's Dialogue, 1573, p. 8.
END OF VOLUME I.
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