ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Neighbourhood of Venice.
The cornets sound a battle within.
Enter Antonio, disguised like an Amazon.
Ant. Heart, wilt not break? and thou abhorrèd life,
Wilt thou still breathe in my enragèd blood?
Veins, sinews, arteries, why crack ye not,
Burst and divulst with anguish of my grief?
Can man by no means creep out of himself,
And leave the slough of viperous grief behind?
Antonio, hast thou seen a fight at sea,
As horrid as the hideous day of doom,
Betwixt thy father, Duke of Genoa,
And proud Piero, the Venetian Prince: 10
In which the sea hath swoln with Genoa’s blood,
And made spring-tides with the warm reeking gore,
That gush’d from out our galleys’ scupper-holes?
In which thy father, poor Andrugio,
Lies sunk, or leap’d into the arms of chance,
Choked with the labouring ocean’s brackish foam;
Who, even despite Piero’s canker’d hate,
Would with an armèd hand have seized thy love,
And link’d thee to the beauteous Mellida.
Have I outlived the death of all these hopes? 20
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 roll’d me up in wrinkles of his brow?
Is death grown coy, or grim confusion nice,
That it will not accompany a wretch,
But I must needs be cast on Venice’ shore,
And try new fortunes with this strange disguise
To purchase my adorèd Mellida?
[The cornets sound a flourish; cease.
Hark how Piero’s triumphs beat the air! 30
O, rugged mischief, how thou grat’st my heart!—
Take spirit, blood; disguise, be confident;
Make a firm stand; here rests the hope of all:
Lower than hell, there is no depth to fall.
The cornets sound a senet. Enter Feliche and Alberto, Castilio and Forobosco, a Page carrying a shield; Piero in armour; Catzo and Dildo and Balurdo. All these (saving Piero) armed with
petronels.[52] Being entered, they make a stand in divided files.
Pier. Victorious Fortune, with triumphant hand,
Hurleth my glory ’bout this ball of earth,
Whilst the Venetian Duke is heavèd up
On wings of fair success, to overlook
The low-cast ruins of his enemies,
To see myself adored and Genoa quake; 40
My fate is firmer than mischance can shake.
Feli. Stand; the ground trembleth.
Pier. Ha! an earthquake?
Bal. O! I smell a sound.
Feli. Piero, stay, for I descry a fume
Creeping from out the bosom of the deep,
The breath of darkness, fatal when ’tis wist
In greatness’ stomach. This same smoke, call’d pride,
Take heed: she’ll lift thee to improvidence,
And break thy neck from steep security; 50
She’ll make thee grudge to let Jehovah share
In thy successful battles. O! she’s ominous;
Enticeth princes to devour heaven,
Swallow omnipotence, out-stare dread fate,
Subdue eternity in giant thought;
Heaves[53] up their heart[54] with swelling, puff’d conceit,
Till their souls burst with venom’d arrogance.
Beware, Piero; Rome itself hath tried,
Confusion’s train blows up this Babel pride.
Pier. Pish! Dimitto superos, summa votorum attigi.[55] 60
Alberto, hast thou yielded up our fix’d decree
Unto the Genoan ambassador?
Are they content, if that their Duke return,
To send his and his son Antonio’s head,
As pledges steep’d in blood, to gain their peace?
Alb. With most obsequious sleek-brow’d entertain,
They all embrace it as most gracious.
Pier. Are proclamations sent through Italy,
That whosoever brings Andrugio’s head,
Or young Antonio’s, shall be guerdonèd 70
With twenty thousand double pistolets,
And be endearèd to Piero’s love?
Foro. They are sent every way: sound policy,
Sweet lord.
Feli. [Aside.] Confusion to these limber sycophants!
No sooner mischiefs born in regency,
But flattery christens it with policy.[56]
Pier. Why, then,—O me cœlitum excelsissimum!
The intestine malice and inveterate hate
I always bore to that Andrugio, 80
Glories in triumph o’er his misery;
Nor shall that carpet-boy[57] Antonio
Match with my daughter, sweet-cheek’d Mellida.
No; the public power makes my faction strong.
Feli. Ill, when public power strength’neth private wrong.
Pier. ’Tis horse-like not for man to know his force.
Feli. ’Tis god-like for a man to feel remorse.[58]
Pier. Pish! I prosecute my family’s revenge,
Which I’ll pursue with such a burning chase,
Till I have dried up all Andrugio’s blood; 90
Weak rage, that with slight pity is withstood.—
[The cornets sound a flourish.
What means that fresh triumphal flourish sound?
Alb. The prince of Milan, and young Florence’ heir,
Approach to gratulate your victory.
Pier. We’ll girt them with an ample waste of love.
Conduct them to our presence royally;
Let vollies of the great artillery
From off our galleys’ banks[59] play prodigal,
And sound loud welcome from their bellowing mouths.
[Exeunt all but Piero.
The cornets sound a senet. Enter above, Mellida, Rossaline, and Flavia. Enter below, Galeatzo with Attendants; Piero meeteth him, embraceth; at which the cornets sound a flourish; Piero and Galeatzo exeunt; the rest stand still.
Mel. What prince was that passed through my father’s guard? 100
Fla. ’Twas Galeatzo, the young Florentine.
Ros. Troth, one that will besiege thy maidenhead;
Enter the walls, i’faith (sweet Mellida),
If that thy flankers be not cannon-proof.
Mel. O, Mary Ambree,[60] good, thy judgment, wench?
Thy bright election’s clear:[61] what will he prove?
Ros. Hath a short finger and a naked chin,
A skipping eye; dare lay my judgment (faith)
His love is glibbery;[62] there’s no hold on’t, wench.
Give me a husband whose aspect is firm; 110
A full-cheek’d gallant with a bouncing thigh:
O, he is the Paradizo dell madonne contento.
Mel. Even such a one was my Antonio.
[The cornets sound a senet.
Ros. By my nine and thirtieth servant, sweet,
Thou art in love; but stand on tiptoe,[63] fair;
Here comes Saint Tristram Tirlery Whiffe, i’faith.
Enter Matzagente; Piero meets him, embraceth; at which the cornets sound a flourish: they two stand, using seeming compliments, whilst the scene passeth above.
Mel. St. Mark, St. Mark! what kind of thing appears?
Ros. For fancy’s passion, spit upon him! Fie,
His face is varnish’d. In the name of love,
What country bred that creature?
Mel. What is he, Flavia? 120
Fla. The heir of Milan, Signior Matzagente.
Ros. Matzagente! now, by my pleasure’s hope,
He is made like a tilting-staff; and looks
For all the world like an o’er-roasted pig:
A great tobacco-taker too, that’s flat;
For his eyes look as if they had been hung
In the smoke of his nose.
Mel. What husband will he prove, sweet Rossaline?
Ros. Avoid him; for he hath a dwindled leg,
A low forehead, and a thin coal-black beard; 130
And will be jealous too, believe it, sweet;
For his chin sweats, and hath a gander neck,
A thin lip, and a little monkish eye.
’Precious! what a slender waist he hath!
He looks like a may-pole,[64] or a notched stick;
He’ll snap in two at every little strain.
Give me a husband that will fill mine arms,
Of steady judgment, quick and nimble sense;
Fools relish not a lady’s excellence.
[Exeunt all on the lower stage; at which the cornets sound a flourish, and a peal of shot is given.
Mel. The triumph’s ended; but look, Rossaline! 140
What gloomy soul in strange accustrements[65]
Walks on the pavement?
Ros. Good sweet, let’s to her; prithee, 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 exceeding willing, but——
Ros. But what? prithee, go down; let’s see her face:
God send that neither wit nor beauty wants,
Those tempting sweets, affection’s adamants. 150
[Exeunt.
Ant. Come down: she comes like—O, no simile
Is precious, choice, or elegant enough
To illustrate her descent! Leap heart, she comes!
She comes! smile heaven, and softest southern wind
Kiss her cheek gently with perfumèd breath.
She comes! creation’s purity, admir’d,
Ador’d amazing rarity, she comes!
O, now, Antonio, press thy spirit forth
In following passion, knit thy senses close,
Heap up thy powers, double all thy man. 160
Enter Mellida, Rossaline, and Flavia.
She comes!
O, how her eyes dart wonder on my heart!
Mount blood! soul to my lips! taste Hebe’s cup:
Stand firm on deck, when beauty’s close fight’s[66] up.
Mel. Lady, your strange habit doth beget
Our pregnant thoughts, even great of much desire,
To be acquaint with your condition.
Ros. Good, sweet lady, without more ceremonies,
What country claims your birth? and, sweet, your name?
Ant. In hope your bounty will extend itself 170
In self-same nature of fair courtesy,
I’ll shun all niceness; my name’s Florizell,
My country Scythia; I am Amazon,
Cast on this shore by fury of the sea.
Ros. Nay, faith, sweet creature, we’ll not veil our names.
It pleas’d the font to dip me Rossaline;
That lady bears the name of Mellida,
The Duke of Venice’ daughter.
Ant. Madam, I am oblig’d to kiss your hand,
By imposition of a now dead man. 180
[To Mellida, kissing her hand.
Ros. Now, by my troth, I long, beyond all thought,
To know the man; sweet beauty, deign his name.
Ant. Lady, the circumstance is tedious.
Ros. Troth, not a whit; good fair, let’s have it all:
I love not, I, to have a jot left out,
If the tale come from a loved orator.
Ant. Vouchsafe me, then, your hush’d observances.—
Vehement in pursuit of strange novelties,
After long travel through the Asian main,
I shipp’d my hopeful thoughts for Brittany;[67] 190
Longing to view great Nature’s miracle,
The glory of our sex, whose fame doth strike
Remotest ears with adoration.
Sailing some two months with inconstant winds,
We view’d the glistering Venetian forts,
To which we made: when lo! some three leagues off,
We might descry a horrid spectacle;
The issue of black fury strew’d the sea
With tatter’d carcasses of splitted ships,
Half sinking, burning, floating topsy-turvy. 200
Not far from these sad ruins of fell rage,
We might behold a creature press the waves;
Senseless he sprawl’d, all notch’d with gaping wounds.
To him we made, and (short) we took him up;
The first thing he spake was,—Mellida!
And then he swooned.[68]
Mel. Ay me!
Ant. Why sigh you, fair?
Mel.[69] Nothing but little humours; good sweet, on.
Ant. His wounds being dress’d, and life recoverèd,
We ’gan discourse; when lo! the sea grew mad,
His bowels rumbling with wind-passion; 210
Straight swarthy darkness popp’d out Phœbus’ eye,
And blurr’d the jocund face of bright-cheek’d day;
Whilst crudled[70] fogs masked even darkness’ brow:
Heaven bad’s good night, and the rocks groan’d
At the intestine uproar of the main.
Now gusty flaws strook up the very heels
Of our mainmast, whilst the keen lightning shot
Through the black bowels of the quaking air;
Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred[71] paunch
Down falls our ship, and there he breaks his neck; 220
Which in an instant up was belkt again.
When thus this martyr’d soul began to sigh:
“Give me your hand (quoth he): now do you grasp
Th’ unequall’d[72] mirror of ragg’d misery:
Is’t not a horrid storm? O, well-shaped sweet,
Could your quick eye strike through these gashèd wounds,
You should behold a heart, a heart, fair creature,
Raging more wild than is this frantic sea.
Wolt[73] do me a favour? if thou chance survive,
But visit Venice, kiss the precious white 230
Of my most,—nay, all epithets are base
To attribute to gracious Mellida:
Tell her the spirit of Antonio
Wisheth his last gasp breath’d upon her breast.”
Ros. Why weeps soft-hearted Florizell?
Ant. Alas, the flinty rocks groan’d at his plaints.
“Tell her, (quoth he) that her obdurate sire
Hath crack’d his bosom;” therewithal he wept,
And thus sigh’d on: “The sea is merciful;
Look how it gapes to bury all my grief! 240
Well, thou shalt have it, thou shalt be his tomb:
My faith in my love live; in thee, die woe;
Die, unmatch’d anguish, die, Antonio!”
With that he totter’d from the reeling deck,
And down he sunk.
Ros. Pleasure’s body! what makes my Lady weep?
Mel. Nothing, sweet Rossaline, but the air’s sharp[74] —
My father’s palace, Madam, will be proud
To entertain your presence, if you’ll deign
To make repose within. Ay me! 250
Ant. Lady, our fashion is not curious.[75]
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 ensued?
Ant. Most willingly: but this same court is vast,
And public to the staring multitude.
Ros. Sweet Lady, nay good sweet, now by my troth
We’ll be bedfellows: dirt on compliment froth![76]
[Exeunt; Rossaline giving Antonio the way.
[52] Carbines.
[53] Ed. 1633 “Heavens.”
[54] Old eds. “hurt.”
[55] Senec. Thyestes, 888.
[56] “Christens it with policy” = dignifies it with the title of policy.
[57] A term of contempt, like “carpet-knight,” for an effeminate gallant “who never charged beyond a mistress’ lips.”
[58] Pity.
[59] The rowers’ benches.
[60] The famous Amazon, whose “valorous acts performed at Gaunt” (Ghent), circ. 1584, are celebrated in a fine old ballad. The name was commonly applied to any woman of spirit.
[61] “Thy bright election’s clear” = you are a woman of keen perception.
[62] A favourite word with Marston. It is ridiculed by Ben Jonson in The Poetaster, v. 1:—
“What, shall thy lubrical and glibbery muse
Live, as she were defunct, like punk in stews?”
[63] Old eds. “tiptoed.”
[64] It was a common form of abuse to compare a person to a may-pole. Hermia, railing at Helena, addresses her as “thou painted may-pole” (Midsummer Night’s Dream, iii. 2).
[65] Accoutrements.—Elsewhere Marston has the original French form “accoustrements,” which is also found in Spenser.
[66] “Close fight is an old sea-term. ‘A ship’s close fights are small ledges of wood laid cross one another, like the grates of iron in a prison window, betwixt the main-mast and fore-mast, and are called gratings or nettings.’ Smith’s Sea Grammar, 1627.”—Halliwell.
[67] The form “Brittany,” for “Britain,” is not uncommon. Marlowe uses it in Edward II., ii. 2. l. 42; and I have restored it, metri causa, in the prologue to the Jew of Malta, l. 29.
[68] Ed. 1633 “swounded.”
[69] Old eds. “Ros.”
[70] Thick, curdled.
[71] Cleft, rifted.
[72] Old eds. “unequal,” which Dilke explains to mean “the partial and unjust representative”—an explanation which I wholly fail to understand. Later in the present play ([p. 42, l. 309]) we have “unmatch’d mirrors of calamity.”
[73] Wilt.
[74] Dilke quotes appositely from Richard II.:—
“Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were shed?
Aum. ’Faith none by me: except the north-east wind,
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
Awak’d the sleepy rheum; and so, by chance,
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.”
[75] “Our fashion is not curious,” i.e., Amazons do not stand on ceremony.
[76] Rossaline, seeing Antonio make way for her to pass, insists on giving him precedence. “No empty compliments! take the lead.”
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Palace of the Duke of Venice.
Enter Catzo, with a capon eating; Dildo following him.
Dil. Hah, Catzo, your master wants a clean trencher: do you hear?
Balurdo calls for your diminutive attendance.
Cat. The belly hath no ears,[77] Dildo.
Dil. Good pug,[78] give me some capon.
Cat. No capon, no not a bit, ye smooth bully;[78] capon’s no meat for Dildo: milk, milk, ye glibbery urchin, is food for infants.
Dil. Upon mine honour.
Cat. Your honour with a paugh! ’slid, now every jackanapes loads his back with the golden coat of honour; every ass puts on the lion’s skin and roars his honour. Upon your honour? By my lady’s pantable,[79] I fear I shall live to hear a vintner’s boy cry, “’Tis rich neat canary.” Upon my honour! 14
Dil. My stomach’s up.
Cat. I think thou art hungry.
Dil. The match of fury is lighted, fastened to the linstock[80] of rage, and will presently set fire to the touch-hole of intemperance, discharging the double culverin of my incensement in the face of thy opprobrious speech.
Cat. I’ll stop the barrel thus: good Dildo, set not fire to the touch-hole. 22
Dil. My rage is stopp’d, and I will eat to the health of the fool, thy master Castilio.
Cat. And I will suck the juice of the capon, to the health of the idiot, thy master Balurdo.
Dil. Faith, our masters are like a case[81] of rapiers sheathed in one scabbard 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 view our masters pluck their plumes and drop their feathers, for fear of being men of mark. 32
Dil. ’Slud (cried Signior Balurdo), O for Don Rosicleer’s[82] armour, in the Mirror of Knighthood! what coil’s here? O for an armour, cannon-proof! O, more cable, more featherbeds![83] more featherbeds, more cable!
till he had as much as my cable-hatband[84] to fence him.
Enter Flavia in haste, with a rebato.[85]
Cat. Buxom Flavia, can you sing? song, song!
Fla. My sweet Dildo, I am not for you at this time: Madam Rossaline stays for a fresh ruff to appear in the presence: sweet, away. 41
Dil. ’Twill not be so put off, delicate, delicious, spark-eyed, sleek-skinn’d, slender-waisted, clean-legg’d, rarely-shaped—
Fla. Who? I’ll be at all your service another season: my faith, there’s reason in all things.
Dil. Would I were reason then, that I might be in all things.
Cat. The breve and the semiquaver is, we must have the descant you made upon our names, ere you depart.
Fla. Faith, the song will seem to come off hardly. 51
Cat. Troth not a wit, if you seem to come off quickly.
Fla. Pert Catzo, knock[86] it lustily then.
[A song.
Enter Forobosco, with two torches: Castilio singing fantastically; Rossaline running a coranto[87] pace, and Balurdo; 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, hold torches; the prince approacheth the presence.”
Ros. Faugh, what a strong scent’s here! somebody useth to wear socks. 60
Bal. By this fair candle light, ’tis not my feet; I never wore socks since I sucked pap.
Ros. Savourly put off.
Cast. Hah, her wit stings, blisters, galls off the skin with the tart acrimony of her sharp quickness: by sweetness, she is the very Pallas that flew out of Jupiter’s brainpan. Delicious creature, vouchsafe me your service: by the purity of bounty, I shall be proud of such bondage.
Ros. I vouchsafe it; be my slave.—Signior Balurdo, wilt thou be my servant, too? 70
Bal. O God,[88] forsooth in very good earnest, law, you would make me as a man should say, as a man should say—
Feli. ’Slud, sweet beauty, will you deign him your service?
Ros. O, your fool is your only servant. But, good Feliche, why art thou so sad? a penny for thy thought, man.
Feli. I sell not my thought so cheap: I value my meditation at a higher rate. 80
Bal. In good sober sadness, sweet mistress, you should have had my thought for a penny: by this crimson satin that cost eleven shillings, thirteen pence, three pence halfpenny a yard, that you should, law!
Ros. What was thy thought, good servant?
Bal. Marry forsooth, how many strike of pease would feed a hog fat against Christtide.
Ros. Paugh! [she spits] servant,[89] rub out my rheum, it soils the presence.
Cast. By my wealthiest thought, you grace my shoe with an unmeasured honour: I will preserve the sole of it, as a most sacred relic for this service. 92
Ros. I’ll spit in thy mouth, and thou wilt, to grace thee.
Feli. [Aside.] O that the stomach of this queasy age
Digests, or brooks such raw unseasoned gobs,
And vomits not them forth! O! slavish sots!
Servant, quoth you? faugh! if a dog should crave
And beg her service, he should have it straight:
She’d give him favours too, to lick her feet,
Or fetch her fan, or some such drudgery: 100
A good dog’s office, which these amorists
Triumph of: ’tis rare, well give her more ass,
More sot, as long as dropping of her nose
Is sworn rich pearl by such low slaves as those.
Ros. Flavia, attend me to attire me.
[Exeunt Rossaline and Flavia.
Bal. In sad good earnest, sir, you have touched the very bare of naked truth; my silk stocking hath a good gloss, and I thank my planets, my leg is not altogether unpropitiously shaped. There’s a word: unpropitiously? I think I shall speak unpropitiously as well as any courtier in Italy. 111
Foro. So help me your sweet bounty, you have the most graceful presence, applausive elecuty, amazing volubility, polish’d adornation, delicious affability.
Feli. Whoop: fut, how he tickles yon trout under the gills! you shall see him take him by and by with groping flattery.
Foro. That ever ravish’d the ear of wonder. By your sweet self, than whom I know not a more exquisite, illustrate, accomplished, pure, respected, adored, observed, precious, real,[90] magnanimous, bounteous—if you have an idle rich cast jerkin, or so, it shall not be cast away, if—ha! here’s a forehead, an eye, a head, a hair, that would make a—: or if you have any spare pair of silver spurs, I’ll do you as much right in all kind offices—
Feli. [Aside.] Of a kind parasite.
Foro. As any of my mean fortunes shall be able to.
Bal. As I am true Christian now, thou hast won the spurs.
Feli. [Aside.] For flattery. 130
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 senseless carrion!
Enter Alberto.
Alb. Gallants, saw you my mistress, the lady Rossaline?
Foro. My mistress, the lady Rossaline, left the presence even now.
Cast. My mistress, the lady Rossaline, withdrew her gracious aspect even now.
Bal. My mistress, the lady Rossaline, withdrew her gracious aspect even now. 141
Feli. [Aside.] Well said, echo.
Alb. My mistress, and his mistress, and your mistress, and the dog’s mistress. Precious dear heaven, that Alberto lives to have such rivals!—
’Slid, I have been searching every private room,
Corner, and secret angle of the court:
And yet, and yet, and yet she lives conceal’d.
Good sweet Feliche, tell me how to find
My bright-faced mistress out. 150
Feli. Why man, cry out for lanthorn and candle-light:[91]
for ’tis your only way, to find your bright-flaming wench with your light-burning torch: for most commonly, these light creatures live in darkness.
Alb. Away, you heretic, you’ll be burnt for——
Feli. Go, you amorous hound, follow the scent of your mistress’ shoe; away!
Foro. Make a fair presence; boys, advance your lights; the princess makes approach.
Bal. And please the gods, now in very good deed, law, you shall see me tickle the measures for the heavens. Do my hangers[92] show? 162
Enter Piero, Antonio, Mellida, Rossaline, Galeatzo, Matzagente, Alberto, and Flavia. As they enter, Feliche and Castilio make a rank for the Duke to pass through. Forobosco ushers the Duke to his state:[93] then, whilst Piero speaketh his first speech, Mellida is taken by Galeatzo and Matzagente to dance, they supporting her: Rossaline, in like manner, by Alberto and Balurdo: Flavia, by Feliche and Castilio.
Pier. Beauteous Amazon, sit and seat your thoughts
In the reposure of most soft content.
Sound music there! Nay, daughter, clear your eyes,
From these dull fogs of misty discontent:
Look sprightly, girl. What? though Antonio’s drown’d,—
That peevish dotard on thy excellence,
That hated issue of Andrugio,—
Yet may’st thou triumph in my victories; 170
Since, lo, the high-born bloods of Italy
Sue for thy seat of love.—Let[94] music sound!
Beauty and youth run descant on love’s ground.[95]
Mat. Lady, erect your gracious symmetry,
Shine in the sphere of sweet affection:
Your eye[’s] as heavy, as the heart of night.
Mel. My thoughts are as black as your beard; my fortunes as ill-proportioned as your legs; and all the powers of my mind as leaden as your wit, and as dusty as your face is swarthy. 180
Gal. Faith, sweet, I’ll lay thee on the lips for that jest.
Mel. I prithee intrude not on a dead man’s right.
Gal. No, but the living’s just possession:
Thy lips and love are mine.
Mel. You ne’er took seizin on them yet: forbear.
There’s not a vacant corner of my heart,
But all is fill’d with dead Antonio’s loss.
Then urge no more; O leave to love at all;
’Tis less disgraceful not to mount than fall.
Mat. Bright and refulgent lady, deign your ear: 190
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 love’s seat; I am Matzagent.
Gal. Hark thee; I pray thee, taint not thy sweet ear
With that sot’s gabble; by thy beauteous cheek,
He is the flagging’st bulrush that e’er droop’d
With each slight mist of rain. But with pleased eye
Smile on my courtship.
Mel. What said you, sir? alas my thought was fix’d 200
Upon another object. Good, forbear:
I shall but weep. Ay me, what boots a tear!
Come, come, let’s dance. O music, thou distill’st
More sweetness in us than this jarring world:
Both time and measure from thy strains do breathe,
Whilst from the channel of this dirt doth flow
Nothing but timeless grief, unmeasured woe.
Ant. O how impatience cramps my crackèd veins
And cruddles thick my blood, with boiling rage!
O eyes, why leap you not like thunderbolts,
210 Or cannon bullets in my rival’s face!
Ohime infeliche misero, O lamentevol fato!
Alb. What means the lady fall upon the ground?
Ros. Belike the falling sickness.
Ant. I cannot brook this sight, my thoughts grow wild:
Here lies a wretch, on whom heaven never smiled.
Ros. What, servant, ne’er a word, and I here man?
I would shoot some speech forth, to strike the time
With pleasing touch of amorous compliment.
Say, sweet, what keeps thy mind, what think’st thou on? 220
Alb. Nothing.
Ros. What’s that nothing?
Alb. A woman’s constancy.
Ros. Good, why, would’st thou have us sluts, and never shift
The vesture of our thoughts? Away for shame.
Alb. O no, th’art too constant to afflict my heart,
Too too firm fixèd in unmovèd scorn.
Ros. Pish, pish; I fixed in unmovèd scorn!
Why, I’ll love thee to-night.
Alb. But whom to-morrow?
Ros. 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 conceit my—my—my—pray you, give in an epithet for love.
Feli. Roaring, roaring. 232
Bal.[96] O love, thou hast murder’d me, made me a shadow, and you hear not Balurdo, but Balurdo’s ghost.
Ros. Can a ghost speak?
Bal. Scurvily, as I do.
Ros. And walk?
Bal. After their fashion.
Ros. And eat apples?
Bal. In a sort, in their garb. 240
Feli. Prithee, Flavia, be my mistress.
Fla. Your reason, good Feliche?
Feli. Faith, I have nineteen mistresses already, and I not much disdain that thou should’st make up the full score.
Fla. O, I hear you make commonplaces of your mistresses to perform the office of memory by. Pray you, in ancient times were not those satin hose? In good faith, now they are new dyed, pink’d, and scoured, they show as well as if they were new. What, mute, Balurdo? 250
Feli. Ay, in faith, and ’twere not for printing, and painting, my breech and your face would be out of reparation.[97]
Bal. Ay, in[98] faith, and ’twere not for printing, and painting,[99] my breech and your face would be out of reparation.
Feli. Good again, Echo.
Fla. Thou art, by nature, too foul to be affected.
Feli. And thou, by art, too fair to be beloved.
By wit’s life, most spark spirits, but hard chance.
La ty dine. 261
Pier. Gallants, the night grows old; and downy sleep
Courts us to entertain his company:
Our tirèd limbs, bruis’d in the morning fight,
Entreat soft rest, and gentle hush’d repose.
Fill out Greek wines; prepare fresh cressit-light:[100]
We’ll have a banquet: Princes, then good-night.
[The cornets sound a senet, and the Duke goes out in state. As they are going out, Antonio stays Mellida: the rest exeunt.
Ant. What means these scatter’d looks? why tremble you?
Why quake your thoughts in your distracted eyes?
Collect your spirits, Madam; what do you see? 270
Dost not behold a ghost?
Look, look where he stalks, wrapt up in clouds of grief,
Darting his soul upon thy wond’ring eyes.
Look, he comes towards thee; see, he stretcheth out
His wretched arms to gird thy loved waist,
With a most wish’d embrace: see’st him not yet?
Nor yet? Ha, Mellida; thou well may’st err:
For look, he walks not like Antonio:
Like that Antonio, that this morning shone
In glistering habiliments of arms, 280
To seize his love, spite of her father’s spite:
But like himself, wretched, and miserable,
Banish’d, forlorn, despairing, strook quite through,
With sinking grief, rolled up in sevenfold doubles
Of plagues [un]vanquishable: hark, he speaks to thee.
Mel. Alas, I cannot hear, nor see him.
Ant. Why? all this night about the room he stalk’d,
And groan’d, and howl’d, with raging passion,
To view his love (life-blood of all his hopes,
Crown of his fortune) clipp’d by strangers’ arms. 290
Look but behind thee.
Mel. O Antonio!
My lord, my love, my——
Ant. Leave passion, sweet; for time, place, air, and earth,
Are all our foes: fear, and be jealous; fair,
Let’s fly.
Mel. Dear heart, ha, whither?
Ant. O, ’tis no matter whither, but let’s fly.
Ha! now I think on’t, I have ne’er a home,
No father, friend, or country to embrace
These wretched limbs: the world, the all that is, 300
Is all my foe: a prince not worth a doit:
Only my head is hoisèd to high rate,
Worth twenty thousand double pistolets,
To him that can but strike it from these shoulders.
But come, sweet creature, thou shalt be my home;
My father, country, riches, and my friend,
My all, my soul; and thou and I will live,—
Let’s think like what—and you and I will live
Like unmatch’d mirrors of calamity.
The jealous ear of night eave-drops our talk. 310
Hold thee, there’s a jewel; and look thee, there’s a note
That will direct thee when, where, how to fly.
Bid me adieu.
Mel. Farewell, bleak misery!
Ant. Stay, sweet, let’s kiss before you go!
Mel. Farewell, dear soul!
Ant. Farewell, my life, my heart!
[Exeunt.
[77] A proverbial expression: γαστὴρ ὠτὰς οὐκ ἔχει.
[78] A familiar form of address.
[79] Slipper.
[80] The stick which held the gunner’s match.
[81] “Case of rapiers”—pair of rapiers.
[82] All the editions give “Bessicler’s;” but this is evidently a misprint. Rosicleer was the brother of the Knight of the Sun, and he figures prominently in the group of romances published under the Mirror of Knighthood (7 pts., 1583-1601). He had an excellent suit of armour, which proved very serviceable in his combats with giants.
[83] Dilke, in 1814, says that featherbeds were still used to protect the men from the fire of the enemy. As to the use of cables I refer the reader to Sir William Monson’s Naval Tracts (Collection of Voyages and Travels, 1704, iii. 358), where in the directions “How to preserve the men in fighting” it is stated:—“I prefer the coiling of cables on the deck, and keeping part of the men within them...; for the soldiers are in and out speedily upon all sudden occasions to succour any part of the ship, or to enter an enemy, without trouble to the sailors in handling their sails or to the gunners in playing their ordnance.”
[84] A twisted band worn round the hat. In Every Man out of his Humour (1599), the “cable-hatband” is mentioned as a novelty of the latest fashion:—“I had on a gold cable hat-band then new come up”
[85] Ruff, falling-band.
[86] “So in King Henry VIII.:—
‘Let the music knock it.’”—Dilke.
[87] A quick lively dance.
[88] “The exclamation was too fashionable in the time of Marston for those who had nothing else to say; and is ridiculed by Ben Jonson in the character of Orange in Every Man out of his Humour, as ‘O Lord, sir,’ is by Shakespeare in All’s Well that Ends Well. Orange is thus described:—‘’Tis as dry an Orange as ever grew: nothing but salutation; and, O God, sir; and, it please you to say so, sir.’”—Dilke.
[89] Lover, suitor.
[90] Regal, noble.—In the address “To those that seem judicial observers” prefixed to the Scourge of Villainy, Marston ridicules Ben Jonson (under the name of Torquatus) for introducing “new-minted epithets, as real, intrinsecate, Delphic.”
[91] “Lanthorn and candle-light”—the bellman’s cry.
[92] Loops or straps (fastened to the girdle) in which the rapier was suspended.
[93] Throne, chair of dignity.
[94] “Let music sound!” is printed as a stage-direction in the old copies.
[95] Musical term for an air on which variations or divisions were to be made.
[96] The words “O love ... Balurdo’s ghost” are given to Feliche in old eds.
[97] There is the same joke in the Merry Jests of George Peele, 1627:—“George used often to an ordinary in this town, where a kinswoman of the good wife’s in the house held a great pride and vain opinion of her own mother-wit; for her tongue was a jack continually wagging.... Now this titmouse, what she scanted by nature, she doth replenish by art, as her boxes of red and white daily can testify. But to come to George, who arrived at the ordinary among other gallants, throws his cloak upon the table, salutes the gentlemen, and presently calls for a cup of canary. George had a pair of hose on, that for some offence durst not to be seen in that hue they were first dyed in, but from his first colour being a youthful green, his long age turned him into a mournful black, and for his antiquity was in print. Which this busybody perceiving, thought now to give it him to the quick; and drawing near Master Peele, looking upon his breeches, ‘By my troth, sir,’ quoth she, ‘these are exceedingly well printed.’ At which word, George, being a little moved in his mind that his old hose were called in question, answered, ‘And by my faith, mistress,’ quoth George, ‘your face is most damnably ill painted.’ ‘How mean you, sir?’ quoth she. ‘Marry thus, mistress,’ quoth George, ‘that if it were not for printing and painting, my arse and your face would grow out of reparations.’”
[98] Old eds. “an.”
[99] Ed. 1602, “pointing.”
[100] See Dyce’s Shakesp. Gloss., s. Cressets.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
The sea-shore.
Enter Andrugio in armour, Lucio with a shepherd’s gown in his hand, and a Page.
And. Is not yon gleam the shuddering morn that flakes
With silver tincture the east verge of heaven?
Lu. I think it is, so please your excellence.
And. Away! I have no excellence to please.
Prithee observe the custom of the world,
That only flatters greatness, states exalts.
And please my excellence! O Lucio,
Thou hast been ever held respected dear,
Even precious to Andrugio’s inmost love.
Good, flatter not. Nay, if thou giv’st not faith 10
That I am wretched, O read that, read that.
Piero Sforza to the Italian Princes, fortune.
Lu. [reads] EXCELLENT, the just overthrow Andrugio took in the Venetian gulf, hath so assured the Genoways
of the [in]justice of his cause, and the hatefulness of his person, that they have banish’d him and all his family: and, for confirmation of their peace with us, have vowed, that if he or his son can be attached, to send us both their heads. We therefore, by force of our united league, forbid you to harbour him, or his blood: but if you apprehend his person, we entreat you to send him, or his head, to us. For we vow, by the honour of our blood, to recompense any man that bringeth his head, with twenty thousand double pistolets, and the endearing of our choicest love.
From Venice: Piero Sforza. 24
And. My thoughts are fix’d in contemplation
Why this huge earth, this monstrous animal,
That eats her children, should not have eyes and ears.
Philosophy maintains that Nature’s wise,
And forms no useless or unperfect thing.
Did Nature make the earth, or the earth Nature? 30
For earthly dirt makes all things, makes the man,
Moulds me up honour; and, like a cunning Dutchman,
Paints me a puppet even with seeming breath,
And gives a sot appearance of a soul.
Go to, go to; thou liest, Philosophy.
Nature forms things unperfect, useless, vain.
Why made she not the earth with eyes and ears
That she might see desert, and hear men’s plaints?
That when a soul is splitted, sunk with grief,
He might fall thus, upon the breast of earth, 40
[He throws himself on the ground.
Exclaiming thus: O thou all-bearing earth,
Which men do gape for, till thou cramm’st their mouths,
And chokest their throats with dust; O chaune[101] thy breast,
And let me sink into thee! Look who knocks;
Andrugio calls.—But O, she’s deaf and blind:
A wretch but lean relief on earth can find.
Lu. Sweet lord, abandon passion, and disarm.
Since by the fortune of the tumbling sea,
We are roll’d up upon the Venice marsh,
Let’s clip all fortune, lest more low’ring fate— 50
And. More low’ring fate! O Lucio, choke that breath.
Now I defy chance: Fortune’s brow hath frown’d,
Even to the utmost wrinkle it can bend:
Her venom’s spit. Alas, what country rests,
What son, what comfort that she can deprive?
Triumphs not Venice in my overthrow?
Gapes not my native country for my blood?
Lies not my son tomb’d in the swelling main?
And yet more low’ring fate! There’s nothing left
Unto Andrugio, but Andrugio: 60
And that nor mischief, force, distress, nor hell can take.
Fortune my fortunes, not my mind, shall shake.
Lu. Spoke[102] like yourself; but give me leave, my Lord,
To wish your safety. If you are but seen,
Your arms display you; therefore put them off,
And take——.
And. Would’st thou have me go unarm’d among my foes?
Being besieg’d by passion, ent’ring lists,
To combat with despair and mighty grief;
My soul beleaguer’d with the crushing strength 70
Of sharp impatience? ha, Lucio, go unarm’d?
Come soul, resume the valour of thy birth;
Myself, myself will dare all opposites:[103]
I’ll muster forces, an unvanquish’d power:
Cornets of horse shall press th’ ungrateful earth;
This hollow wombèd mass shall inly groan,
And murmur to sustain the weight of arms:
Ghastly amazement, with upstarted hair,
Shall hurry on before, and usher us,
Whilst trumpets clamour with a sound of death. 80
Lu. Peace, good my Lord, your speech is all too light.
Alas, survey your fortunes, look what’s left
Of all your forces, and your utmost hopes:
A weak old man, a page, and your poor self.
And. Andrugio lives, and a fair cause of arms,—
Why that’s an army all invincible!
He who hath that, hath a battalion royal,
Armour of proof, huge troops of barbèd steeds,
Main squares of pikes, millions of harquebush.
O, a fair cause stands firm, and will abide; 90
Legions of angels fight upon her side.[104]
Lu. Then, noble spirit, slide, in strange disguise,
Unto some gracious Prince, and sojourn there,
Till time and fortune give revenge firm means.
And. No, I’ll not trust the honour of a man.
Gold is grown great, and makes perfidiousness
A common waiter in most princes’ courts:
He’s in the check-roll;[105] I’ll not trust my blood;
I know none breathing but will cog a die[106]
For twenty thousand double pistolets. 100
How goes the time?
Lu. I saw no sun to-day.[107]
And. No sun will shine, where poor Andrugio breathes.
My soul grows heavy: boy, let’s have a song:
We’ll sing yet, faith, even in[108] despite of fate.
[A song.
And. ’Tis a good boy, and by my troth, well sung.
O, and thou felt’st my grief, I warrant thee,
Thou would’st have strook division[109] to the height,
And made the life of music breathe: hold, boy; why so.
For God’s sake call me not Andrugio,
That I may soon forget what I have been. 110
For heaven’s name, name not Antonio,
That I may not remember he was mine.
Well, ere yon sun set, I’ll show myself,
Worthy my blood. I was a Duke; that’s all.
No[110] matter whither, but from whence we fall.[111]
[Exeunt.
[101] Open (Gr. χαίνω, χαυνῶ). Cotgrave gives:—“To chawne,—se fendre, gercer, crevasser, crever, se jarcer.”
[102] Old eds. “Speake” (and “Speak”).
[103] “‘The king enacts more wonders than a man,
Daring an opposite to every danger.’ Richard III.”—Dilke.
[104] Cf. Richard III. (v. 3):—
“God and good angels fight on Richmond’s side.”
[105] Old eds. “Chekle-roule.”
[106] “Cog a die” = load a die.
[107] Dilke compares Richard III. (v. 3):—
“Who saw the sun to-day?
Rat. Not I, my lord.
Rich. Then he disdains to shine.”
[108] Omitted in ed. 1.
[109] Variations in music.
[110] The sentiment is from Seneca’s Thyestes, l. 925:—
“Magis unde cadas
Quam quo refert.”
[111] “The situation of Andrugio and Lucio resembles that of Lear and Kent, in that King’s distresses. Andrugio, like Lear, manifests a kind of royal impatience, a turbulent greatness, an affected resignation. The enemies which he enters lists to combat, ‘Despair, and mighty Grief, and sharp Impatience;’ and the Forces (‘Cornets of Horse,’ &c.) which he brings to vanquish them, are in the boldest style of allegory. They are such a ‘race of mourners’ as ‘the infection of sorrows loud’ in the intellect might beget on ‘some pregnant cloud’ in the imagination.”—Charles Lamb.
SCENE II.
Palace of the Duke of Venice.
Enter Feliche walking, unbraced.
Feli. Castilio, Alberto, Balurdo! none up?
Forobosco! Flattery, nor thou up yet?
Then there’s no courtier stirring: that’s firm truth?
I cannot sleep: Feliche seldom rests
In these court lodgings. I have walk’d all night,
To see if the nocturnal court delights
Could force me envy their felicity:
And by plain troth, I will confess plain troth,
I envy nothing but the travense[112] light.
O, had it eyes, and ears, and tongues, it might 10
See sport, hear speech of most strange surquedries.[113]
O, if that candle-light were made a poet,
He would prove a rare firking satirist,
And draw the core forth of imposthum’d sin.
Well, I thank heaven yet, that my content
Can envy nothing, but poor candle-light.
As for the other glistering copper spangs,
That glisten in the tire of the court,
Praise God, I either hate, or pity them.
Well, here I’ll sleep till that the scene of up 20
Is pass’d at court. O calm hush’d rich Content,
Is there a being blessedness without thee?
How soft thou down’st the couch where thou dost rest,
Nectar to life, thou sweet Ambrosian feast!
Enter Castilio and his Page Catzo: Castilio with a casting-bottle[114] of sweet water in his hand, sprinkling himself.
Cast. Am not I a most sweet youth now?
Cat. Yes, when your throat’s perfum’d; your very words
Do smell of ambergris. O stay, sir, stay;
Sprinkle some sweet water to your shoe’s heels,
That your mistress may swear you have a sweet foot.
30 Cast. Good, very good, very passing[115] passing good.
Feli. Fut, what treble minikin[116] squeaks there, ha? “good, very good, very very good!”
Cast. I will warble to the delicious conclave of my mistress’ ear: and strike her thoughts with the pleasing touch of my voice.
[A song.
Cast. Feliche, health, fortune, mirth, and wine.
Feli. To thee, my love divine.
Cast. I drink to thee, sweeting.
Feli. [Aside.] Plague on thee for an ass!
Cast. Now thou hast seen the court, by the perfection of it, dost not envy it? 41
Feli. I wonder it doth not envy me. Why, man,
I have been borne upon the spirit’s wings,
The soul’s swift Pegasus, the fantasy:
And from the height of contemplation,
Have view’d the feeble joints men totter on.
I envy none; but hate, or pity all.
For when I view, with an intentive thought,
That creature fair but proud; him rich, but sot;
Th’ other witty, but unmeasured arrogant; 50
Him great, yet boundless in ambition;
Him high-born, but of base life; t’ other fear’d,
Yet fearèd fears, and fears most to be loved;[117]
Him wise, but made a fool for public use;
The other learned, but self-opinionate:
When I discourse all these, and see myself
Nor fair, nor rich, nor witty, great, nor fear’d,
Yet amply suited with all full content,
Lord, how I clap my hands, and smooth my brow,
Rubbing my quiet bosom, tossing up 60
A grateful spirit to Omnipotence!
Cast. Hah, hah! but if thou knew’st my happiness,
Thou would’st even grate away thy soul to dust,
In envy of my sweet beatitude.
I cannot sleep for kisses; I cannot rest
For ladies’ letters, that importune me
With such unusèd vehemence of love,
Straight to solicit them, that——.
Feli. Confusion seize me, but I think thou liest.
Why should I not be sought to then as well? 70
Fut, methinks I am as like a man.
Troth, I have a good head of hair, a cheek
Not as yet wan’d, a leg, ’faith, in the full.
I ha’ not a red beard, take not tobacco much:
And ’lid, for other parts of manliness—
Cast. Pew waw, you ne’er accourted[118] them in pomp,
Put your good parts in presence graciously.
Ha, and you had, why, they would ha’ come off,
Sprung to your arms, and sued, and prayed, and vowed,
And opened all their sweetness to your love. 80
Feli. There are a number of such things as thou[119]
Have often urged me to such loose belief;
But, ’slid, you all do lie, you all do lie.
I have put on good clothes, and smugg’d my face,
Strook a fair wench with a smart, speaking eye;
Courted in all sorts, blunt and passionate;
Had opportunity, put them to the ah!
And, by this light, I find them wondrous chaste,
Impregnable; perchance a kiss, or so:
But for the rest, O most inexorable! 90
Cast. Nay then, i’faith, prithee look here.
[Shows him the superscription of a seeming letter.
Feli. To her most esteemed, loved, and generous servant, Sig. Castilio Balthazar.
Prithee from whom comes this? faith, I must see.
From her that is devoted to thee, in most private sweets of love, Rossaline.
Nay, God’s my comfort, I must see the rest;
I must, sans ceremony; faith, I must.
[Feliche takes away the letter by force.
Cast. O, you spoil my ruff, unset my hair; good, away! 100
Feli. Item, for strait canvass, thirteen pence halfpenny; item, for an ell and a half of taffeta to cover your old canvass doublet, fourteen shillings and threepence.—’Slight, this is a tailor’s bill.
Cast. In sooth, it is the outside of her letter, on which I took the copy of a tailor’s bill.
Dil. But ’tis not cross’d, I am sure of that. Lord have mercy on him, his credit hath given up the last gasp.
Faith, I’ll leave him; for he looks as melancholy as a wench the first night she—— 110
[Exit.
Feli. Honest musk-cod, ’twill not be so stitched together; take that [striking him], and that, and belie no lady’s love: swear no more by Jesu, this madam, that lady; hence, go, forswear the presence, travel three years to bury this bastinado: avoid, puff-paste, avoid!
Cast. And tell not my lady-mother. Well, as I am a true gentleman, if she had not willed me on her blessing not to spoil my face, if I could not find in my heart to fight, would I might ne’er eat a potato-pie more.
[Exit.
Enter Balurdo, backward; Dildo following him with a looking-glass in one hand, and a candle in the other hand: Flavia following him backward, with a looking-glass in one hand, and a candle in the other; Rossaline following her; Balurdo and Rossaline stand setting of faces; and so the Scene begins.
Feli. More fool, more rare fools! O, for time and place, long enough, and large enough, to act these fools! Here might be made a rare scene of folly, if the plat[120] could bear it. 123
Bal. By the sugar-candy sky, hold up the glass higher, that I may see to swear in fashion. O, one loof[121] more would ha’ made them shine; God’s neaks,[122] they
would have shone like my mistress’ brow. Even so the Duke frowns, for all this curson’d[123] world: O, that gern[124] kills, it kills. By my golden—what’s the richest thing about me? 130
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. O, delicious, sweet-cheek’d master, if you discharge but one glance from the level of that set face, O, you will strike a wench; you’ll make any wench love you.
Bal. By Jesu, I think I am as elegant a courtier as——. How likest thou my suit?
Cat. All, beyond all, no peregal:[125] you are wondered at—[Aside.] for an ass. 141
Bal. Well, Dildo, no Christen creature shall know hereafter, what I will do for thee heretofore.
Ros. Here wants a little white, Flavia.
Dil. Ay, but, master, you have one little fault; you sleep open-mouth’d.
Bal. Pew, thou jest’st. In good sadness, I’ll have a looking-glass nail’d to the testern of the bed, that I may see when I sleep whether ’tis so or not; take heed you lie not: go to, take heed you lie not. 150
Fla. By my troth, you look as like the princess, now—Ay—but her lip is—lip is—a little——redder, a very little redder.
Ros.[126] But by the help of art or nature, ere I change my periwig, mine shall be as red.
Fla.[127] O ay, that face, that eye, that smile, that writhing of your body, that wanton dandling of your fan, becomes prethely, so sweethly, ’tis even the goodest lady that breathes, the most amiable——. Faith, the fringe of your satin petticoat is ript. Good faith, madam, they say you are the most bounteous lady to your women that ever—— most delicious beauty! Good madam, let me kith it.
Feli. Rare sport, rare sport! A female fool, and a female flatterer. 164
Ros. Body o’ me, the Duke! away[128] the glass!
Enter Piero.
Pier. Take up your paper, Rossaline.
Ros. Not mine, my Lord.
Pier. Not yours, my Lady? I’ll see what ’tis.
Bal. And how does my sweet mistress? O Lady dear, even as ’tis an old say, “’tis an old horse can neither wighy,[129] nor wag his tail:” even so do I hold my set face still: even so, ’tis a bad courtier that can neither discourse, nor blow his nose. 173
Pier.—[reads.] Meet me at Abraham’s, the Jew’s, where I bought my Amazon’s disguise. A ship lies in the port, ready bound for England; make haste, come private. Antonio.
Enter Castilio and Forobosco.
Forobosco, Alberto, Feliche, Castilio, Balurdo! run, keep the palace, post to the ports, go to my daughter’s chamber! whither now? scud to the Jew’s! stay, run to the gates, stop the gundolets,[130] let none pass the marsh! do all at once! Antonio! his head, his head! Keep you the court, the rest stand still, or run, or go, or shout, or search, or scud, or call, or hang, or do-do-do su-su-su something! I know not who-who-who what I do-do-do, nor who-who-who, where I am. 185
O trista traditrice, rea ribalda fortuna,
Negando mi vindetta mi causa fera morte.
[Exeunt all but Feliche.
Feli. Ha ha ha! I could break my spleen at his impatience.
Enter Antonio and Mellida.
Ant. Alma et graziosa fortuna siate favorevole,
Et fortunati siano voti del[la] mia dolce Mellida, Mellida.
Mel. Alas, Antonio, I have lost thy note!
A number mount my stairs; I’ll straight return.
[Exit.
Feli. Antonio, 194
Be not affright, sweet Prince; appease thy fear,
Buckle thy spirits up, put all thy wits
In wimble[131] action, or thou art surprised.
Ant. I care not.
Feli. Art mad, or desperate? or——
Ant. Both, both, all, all: I prithee let me lie; 200
Spite of you all, I can, and I will die.
Feli. You are distraught; O, this is madness’ breath!
Ant. Each man take hence life, but no man death:
He’s a good fellow, and keeps open house:
A thousand thousand ways lead to his gate,
To his wide-mouthèd porch, when niggard life
Hath[132] but one little, little wicket through.
We wring ourselves into this wretched world,
To pule, and weep, exclaim, to curse and rail,
To fret, and ban the fates, to strike the earth, 210
As I do now. Antonio, curse thy birth,
And die!
Feli. Nay, heaven’s my comfort, now you are perverse:
You know I always loved you; prithee live.
Wilt thou strike dead thy friends, draw mourning tears?
Ant. Alas, Feliche, I ha’ ne’er a friend;
No country, father, brother, kinsman left
To weep my fate or sigh my funeral:
I roll but up and down, and fill a seat
In the dark cave of dusky misery. 220
Feli. ’Fore heaven, the Duke comes! hold you, take my key,
Slink to my chamber; look you, that is it:
There shall you find a suit I wore at sea;
Take it, and slip away. Nay, ’precious!
If you’ll be peevish, by this light, I’ll swear
Thou rail’dst upon thy love before thou diedst,
And call’d her strumpet.
Ant. She’ll not credit thee.
Feli. Tut, that’s all one: I will defame thy love,
And make thy dead trunk held in vile regard.
Ant. Wilt needs have it so? why then, Antonio, 230
Vive esperanza in dispetto del fato.
[Exit.
Enter Piero, Galeatzo, Matzagente, Forobosco, Balurdo, and Castilio, with weapons.
Pier. O, my sweet princes, was’t not bravely found?
Even there I found the note, even there it lay:
I kiss the place for joy, that there it lay.
This way he went, here let us make a stand:
I’ll keep this gate myself. O gallant youth!
I’ll drink carouse unto your country’s health
Even in Antonio’s skull.
Bal. Lord bless us, his breath is more fearful than a sergeant’s voice when he cries, I arrest. 240
Enter Antonio, disguised as a sailor.
Ant. Stop Antonio! keep, keep Antonio!
Pier. Where, where, man, where?
Ant. Here, here: let me pursue him down the marsh!
Pier. Hold, there’s my signet, take a gundelet:
Bring me his head, his head, and, by mine honour,
I’ll make thee the wealthiest mariner that breathes.
Ant. I’ll sweat my blood out till I have him safe.
Pier. Spoke[133] heartily, i’faith, good mariner.
O, we will mount in triumph; soon at night,
I’ll set his head up. Let’s think where. 250
Bal. Upon 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 ass.
Enter Mellida in Pages attire, dancing.
Pier. Sprightly, i’faith. In troth he’s somewhat like
My daughter Mellida: but, alas! poor soul,
Her honour’s[134] heels, God knows, are[n’t] half so light.
Mel. [Aside.] Escaped I am, spite of my father’s spite.
[Exit.
Pier. Ho, this will warm my bosom ere I sleep.
Enter Flavia running.
Fla. O my Lord, your daughter——
Pier. Ay, ay, my daughter’s safe enough, I warrant thee.— 260
This vengeance on the boy will lengthen out
My days unmeasuredly.
It shall be chronicled in time to come,
Piero Sforza slew Andrugio’s son.
Fla. Ay, but, my Lord, your daughter——
Pier. Ay, ay, my good wench, she is safe enough.
Fla. O, then, my Lord, you know she’s run away.
Pier. Run away, away! how run away?
Fla. She’s vanish’d in an instant, none knows whither.
Pier. Pursue, pursue, fly, run, post, scud away! 270
Feli. [Sings.] “And was not good king Salomon,” &c.
Pier. Fly, call, run, row, ride, cry, shout, hurry, haste!
Haste, hurry, shout, cry, ride, row, run, call, fly,
Backward and forward, every way about!
Mal[e]detta fortuna che[135] dura sorte!
Che farò, che dirò, pur fugir tanto mal!
Cast. ’Twas you that struck me even now: was it not?
Feli. It was I that struck you even now.
Cast. You bastinadoed me, I take it.
Feli. I bastinadoed you, and you took it. 280
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 hand.
Feli. Content, faith; so thou’lt breed no more such lies.
I hate not man, but man’s lewd qualities.
[Exeunt.
[112] So the old eds., but I suspect that the true reading is “traverse light,” i.e., light cast slant-wise.
[113] Wanton excesses.
[115] “Passing passing good.”—So ed. 1602.—Ed. 1633, “passing good.”
[116] Fiddle-string.—Here applied to Castilio’s squeaky voice.
[117] Old eds. “most loved.”
[118] So ed. 1602.—Ed. 1633 “courted.”—Dilke gives “accosted"; but Spenser has the word accourt in Book II. of the Faerie Queene.
[119] Old eds. “then.”
[120] Plot of the play.
[121] There is no meaning in the word “loof:” perhaps we should read “one touch more.” Balurdo seems to be beautifying some part of his person; but his movements are not quite clear.
[122] “God’s neaks”—a meaningless oath constantly used by Marston.
[123] A corruption of christened.
[124] Snarl, grin.—The word is still used in the north country.
[125] Equal.
[126] The words “But by the help ... as red,” are given to Flavia in the old eds.
[127] Ed. 1633 gives this speech to Balurdo.
[128] I.e., put the glass out of sight.
[129] Neigh.—Cf. Fletcher’s Women Pleased, iv. 1:—
“This beast of Babylon I will never back again;
His pace is sure prophane, and his lewd wi-hies
The Songs of Hymyn and Gymyn in the wilderness.”
So Ben Jonson in Every Man out of his Humour, ii. 1:—“So the legerity for that, and the whig-hie and the daggers in the nose.”
[130] “Gundolet”—old form of gondola.
[131] Nimble.—The word is used by Spenser.
[132] Should we not rather read “Hath but one little wicket thorough which”?
[133] Old eds. “Speake.”
[134] Ed. 1. “honour.”
[135] Old eds. “chy condura sorta.”
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Sea-shore near Venice.
Enter Antonio, in his sea-gown running.
Ant. Stop, stop Antonio, stay Antonio!
Vain breath, vain breath, Antonio’s lost;
He cannot find himself, not seize himself.
Alas, this that you see is not Antonio;
His spirit hovers in Piero’s court,
Hurling about his agile faculties,
To apprehend the sight of Mellida:
But poor, poor soul, wanting apt instruments
To speak or see, stands dumb and blind, sad spirit,
Roll’d up in gloomy clouds as black as air 10
Through which the rusty coach of Night is drawn.
’Tis so; I’ll give you instance that ’tis so.
Conceit you me: as having clasp’d a rose[136]
Within my palm, the rose being ta’en away,
My hand retains a little breath of sweet:
So may man’s trunk, his spirit slipp’d away,
Hold[137] still a faint perfume of his sweet guest.
’Tis so; for when discursive powers fly out,
And roam in progress through the bounds of heaven,
The soul itself gallops along with them, 20
As chieftain of this wingèd troop of thought,
Whilst the dull lodge of spirit standeth waste,
Until the soul return from——. What was’t I said?
O, this is naught but speckling melancholy.
I have been—
That Morpheus’ tender skinp[138] —Cousin german
Bear with me, good—
Mellida: clod upon clod thus fall.
Hell is beneath, yet heaven is over all.
[Falls on the ground.
Enter[139] Andrugio, Lucio, and Page.
And. Come, Lucio, let’s go eat: what hast thou got? 30
Roots, roots? alas, they are seeded, new cut up.
O, thou hast wrongèd Nature, Lucio:
But boots not much; thou but pursu’st the world,
That cuts off virtue, ’fore it comes to growth,
Lest it should seed, and so o’errun her son,
Dull purblind error.—Give me water, boy.
There is no poison in’t, I hope; they say
That lu[r]ks in massy plate: and yet the earth
Is so infected with a general plague,
That he’s most wise, that thinks there’s no man fool; 40
Right prudent, that esteems no creature just;
Great policy the least things to mistrust.
Give me assay[140] ——. How we mock greatness now!
Lu. A strong conceit is rich, so most men deem;
If not to be, ’tis comfort yet to seem.
And. Why man, I never was a prince till now.
’Tis not the barèd pate, the bended knees,
Gilt tipstaves, Tyrrian purple, chairs of state,
Troops of pied butterflies that flutter still
In greatness’ summer, that confirm a prince: 50
’Tis not the unsavoury breath of multitudes,
Shouting and clapping, with confusèd din,
That makes a prince. No, Lucio, he’s a king,
A true right king, that dares do aught save wrong;
Fears nothing mortal but to be unjust;
Who is not blown up with the flattering puffs
Of spongy sycophants; who stands unmov’d,
Despite the justling of opinion;
Who can enjoy himself, maugre the throng
That strive to press his quiet out of him; 60
Who sits upon Jove’s footstool, as I do,
Adoring, not affecting, majesty;
Whose brow is wreathèd with the silver crown
Of clear content: this, Lucio, is a king,
And of this empire every man’s possest
That’s worth his soul.
Lu. My Lord, the Genoways had wont to say—
And. Name not the Genoways: that very word
Unkings me quite, makes me vile passion’s slave.
O, you that slide[141] upon the glibbery ice 70
Of vulgar favour, view Andrugio.
Was never prince with more applause confirm’d,
With louder shouts of triumph launchèd out
Into the surgy main of government;
Was never prince with more despite cast out,
Left shipwrack’d, banish’d, on more guiltless ground.
O rotten props of the crazed multitude,
How you still double, falter under the lightest chance
That strains your veins! Alas, one battle lost,
Your whorish love, your drunken healths, your houts[142] and shouts, 80
Your smooth God save’s, and all your devils lost[143]
That tempts our quiet to your hell of throngs!
Spit on me, Lucio, for I am turnèd slave:
Observe how passion domineers o’er me.
Lu. No wonder, noble Lord, having lost a son,
A country, crown, and——.
And. Ay, Lucio, having lost a son, a son,
A country, house, crown, son. O lares, miseri[144] lares!
Which shall I first deplore? My son, my son,
My dear sweet boy, my dear Antonio! 90
Ant. Antonio?
And. Ay, echo, ay; I mean Antonio.
Ant. Antonio, who means Antonio?
And. Where art? what art? know’st thou Antonio?
Ant. Yes.
And. Lives he?
Ant. No.
And. Where lies he dead?
Ant. Here.
And. Where?
Ant. Here.[145]
And. Art thou Antonio?
Ant. I think I am.
And. Dost thou but think? What, dost not know thyself?
Ant. He is a fool that thinks he knows himself.
And. Upon thy faith to heaven, give thy name. 100
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? O, let me kiss thy cheek,
And dew thy brow with trickling drops of joy.
Now heaven’s will be done: for I have lived
To see my joy, my son Antonio.
Give me thy hand; now fortune do thy worst,
His blood, that lapp’d thy spirit in the womb, 110
Thus (in his love) will make his arms thy tomb.
Ant. Bless not the body with your twining arms,
Which is accurs’d of heaven. O, what black sin
Hath been committed by our ancient house,
Whose scalding vengeance lights upon our heads,
That thus the world and fortune casts us out,
As loathèd objects, ruin’s branded slaves!
And. Do not expostulate the heavens’ will,
But, O, remember to forget thyself;
Forget remembrance what thou once hast been. 120
Come, creep with me from out this open air:
Even trees have tongues, and will betray our life.
I am a-raising of our house, my boy,
Which fortune will not envy, ’tis so mean,
And like the world (all dirt): there shalt thou rip
The inwards of thy fortunes in mine ears,
While I sit weeping, blind with passion’s tears.
Then I’ll begin, and we’ll such order keep,
That one shall still tell griefs, the other weep.
[Exeunt Andrugio and Lucio, leaving Antonio and the Page.
Ant. I’ll follow you. Boy, prithee stay a little. 130
Thou hast had a good voice, if this cold marsh
Wherein we lurk have not corrupted it.
Enter Mellida, standing out of sight, in her Page’s suit.
I prithee sing, but, sirra, (mark you me)
Let each note breathe the heart of passion,
The sad extracture of extremest grief.
Make me a strain speak groaning like a bell
That tolls departing souls;
Breathe me a point that may enforce me weep,
To wring my hands, to break my cursèd breast,
Rave, and exclaim, lie grovelling on the earth, 140
Straight start up frantic, crying, Mellida!
Sing but, Antonio hath lost Mellida,
And thou shalt see me (like a man possess’d)
Howl out such passion, that even this brinish marsh
Will squeeze out tears from out his spongy cheeks:
The rocks even groan, and——prithee, prithee sing,
Or I shall ne’er ha’ done when I am in;
’Tis harder for me end, than to begin.
[The Boy runs a note, Antonio breaks it.
For look thee, boy, my grief that hath no end, 149
I may begin to plain, but——prithee, sing.
[A song.
Mel. Heaven keep you, sir!
Ant. Heaven keep 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 calamity?
Art thou true sorrow, hearty grief? canst weep?
I am not for thee if thou canst not rave,
[Antonio falls on the ground.
Fall flat on the ground, and thus exclaim on heaven:
O trifling nature, why inspired’st thou breath?
Mel. Stay, sir, I think you namèd Mellida.
Ant. Know’st thou Mellida? 160
Mel. Yes.
Ant. Hast thou seen Mellida?
Mel. Yes.
Ant. Then hast thou seen the glory of her sex,
The music of Nature, the unequall’d lustre
Of unmatch’d excellence, the united sweet
Of heaven’s graces, the most adorèd beauty,
That ever strook amazement in the world!
Mel. You seem to love her.
Ant. With my very soul.
Mel. She’ll not requite it: all her love is fix’d 170
Upon a gallant, one[146] Antonio,
The Duke of Genoa’s son. I was her page,
And often as I waited, she would sigh,
O, dear Antonio! and to strengthen thought,
Would clip my neck, and kiss, and kiss me thus.
Therefore leave loving her: fa, faith methinks
Her beauty is not half so ravishing
As you discourse of; she hath a freckled face,
A low forehead, and a lumpish eye. 179
Ant. O heaven, that I should hear such blasphemy!
Boy, rogue, thou liest! and
Spavento del mio cor dolce Mellida,
Di grave morte ristoro vero, dolce Mellida,
Celeste salvatrice, sovrana Mellida
Del mio sperar; trofeo vero Mellida.
Mel. Diletta e soave anima mia Antonio,
Godevole bellezza cortese Antonio.
Signior mio e virginal amore bell’Antonio,
Gusto delli miei sensi, car’Antonio.
Ant. O svanisce[147] il cor in un soave bacio. 190
Mel. Muoiono[148] i sensi nel desiato desio:
Ant. Nel cielo può esser beltà più chiara?
Mel. Nel mondo può[149] esser beltà più chiara?
Ant. Dammi un bacio da quella bocca beata,
Lasciami[150] coglier l’aura odorata
Che ha[151] sua seggia in quelle dolci labbra.
Mel. Dammi per impero del tuo gradit’amore
Che bea me con sempiterno honore,
Così, così mi converrà morir.
Good sweet, scout o’er the marsh, for my heart trembles 200
At every little breath that strikes my ear.
When thou returnest, then I will discourse
How I deceiv’d the court; then thou shalt tell
How thou escaped’st the watch: we’ll point our speech
With amorous kissing[152] commas, and even suck
The liquid breath from out each other’s lips.
Ant. Dull clod, no man but such sweet favour clips.
I go, and yet my panting blood persuades me stay.
Turn coward in her sight? away, away! 209
[Exit.
[Page.] I think confusion of Babel is fall’n upon those lovers, that they change their language; but I fear me, my master having but feigned the person of a woman, hath got their unfeigned imperfection, and is grown double tongued: as for Mellida, she were no woman, if she could not yield strange language. But howsoever, if I should sit in judgment, ’tis an error easier to be pardoned by the auditors, than excused by the authors; and yet some private respect may rebate the edge of the keener censure.
Enter Piero, Castilio, Matzagente, Forobosco, Feliche, Galeatzo, at one door; Balurdo, and his Page, at another door.
Pier. This way she took: search, my sweet gentlemen.
How now, Balurdo, canst thou meet with anybody? 221
Bal. As I am true gentleman, I made my horse sweat, that he hath ne’er a dry thread on him: and I can meet with no living creature, but men and beasts. In good sadness,[153] I would have sworn I had seen Mellida even now; for I saw a thing stir under a hedge, and I peep’d, and I spied a thing, and I peer’d, and I tweer’d[154] underneath:
and truly a right wise man might have been deceived, for it was——.
Pier. What, in the name of heaven? 230
Bal. A dun cow.
Feli. Sh’ad ne’er a kettle[155] on her head?
Pier. Boy, did’st thou see a young lady pass this way?
Gal. Why speak you not?
Bal. God’s neaks, proud elf, give the Duke reverence!
Stand bare with a——.
Whogh! heavens bless me! Mellida, Mellida!
Pier. Where man, where?
Bal. Turned man, turned man; women wear the breeches.
Lo, here! 240
Pier. Light and unduteous! kneel not, peevish elf;
Speak not, entreat not, shame unto my house,
Curse to my honour. Where’s Antonio?
Thou traitress to my hate, what, is he shipp’d
For England now? well, whimpering harlot, hence!
Mel. Good father!
Pier. Good me no goods. Seest thou that sprightly youth?
Ere thou canst term to-morrow morning old,
Thou shalt call him thy husband, lord, and love.
Mel. Ay me! 250
Pier. Blirt on your “ay me’s!” guard her safely hence.
Drag her away, I’ll be your guard to-night.
Young prince, mount up your spirits and prepare
To solemnise your nuptial’s eve with pomp.
Gal. The time is scant: now nimble wits appear:
Phœbus begins to[156] gleam, the welkin’s clear.
[Exeunt all but Balurdo and his Page.
Bal. Now nimble wits appear! I’ll myself appear,
Balurdo’s self, that in quick wit doth surpass,
Will show the substance of a complete——.
Dil. Ass, ass.
Bal. I’ll mount my courser, and most gallantly prick——. 260
Dil. Gallantly prick is too long, and stands hardly in the verse, sir.
Bal. I’ll speak pure rhyme, and will so bravely prank it, that I’ll toss love like a—prank, prank it!—a rhyme for prank it?
Dil. Blanket.
Bal. That I’ll toss love, like a dog in a blanket. Hah hah, indeed, law. I think, hah hah; I think, hah hah, I think I shall tickle the Muses. And I strike it not dead, say, Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot. 270
Dil. Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.
Enter Andrugio and Antonio wreathed together, Lucio.
And. Now, come, united force of chap-fall’n death;
Come, power of fretting anguish, leave distress.
O, thus enfolded, we have breasts of proof
’Gainst all the venom’d stings of misery.
Ant. Father, now I have an antidote
’Gainst all the poison that the world can breathe:
My Mellida, my Mellida doth bless
This bleak waste with her presence.—How
now, boy, Why dost thou weep? alas! where’s Mellida? 280
Page.[157] Ay me, my Lord.
Ant.[158] A sudden horror doth invade my blood;
My sinews tremble, and my panting heart
Scuds round about my bosom, to go out,
Dreading the assailant, horrid passion.
O, be no tyrant, kill me with one blow;
Speak quickly, briefly, boy.
Page. Her father found, and seized her; she is gone.
And. Son, heat thy blood, be not froze up with grief
Courage, sweet boy, sink not beneath the weight 290
Of crushing mischief. O where’s thy dauntless heart,
Thy father’s spirit! I renounce thy blood,
If thou forsake thy valour.
Lu. See how his grief speaks in his slow-paced steps.
Alas!
’Tis more than he can utter, let him go:
Dumb solitary path best suiteth woe.
[Exit Antonio.
And. Give me my arms, my armour, Lucio.
Lu. Dear lord, what means this rage? when lacking use[159]
Scarce safe’s your life, will you in armour rise? 300
And. Fortune fears valour, presseth cowardice.
Lu. Then valour gets applause, when it hath place,
And means to blaze it.
And. Nunquam potest non esse.
Lu. Patience, my lord, may bring your ills some end.
And. What patience, friend, can ruin’d hopes attend?
Come, let me die like old Andrugio,
Worthy my birth. O, blood-true-honour’d graves
Are far more blessèd than base life of slaves.
[Exeunt.
[136] A correspondent of Notes and Queries (1st ser., vol. ix. p. 513) points out that Erasmus has the same simile:—“Anima quæ moderatur utrumque corpus animantis improprie dicitur anima cum revera sint animæ reliquiæ, non aliter quam odor rosarum manet in manu etiam rosa sublata.”—Colloq., Leyden ed., i. 694.
[137] Old ed. “Holds.”
[138] These ravings are unintelligible.
[139] The stage-direction in the old eds. is “Enter Andrugio, Lucio, Cole, and Norwood.” I suppose that Cole and Norwood are the names of the actors who personated Andrugio and Lucio.
[140] “Give me assay” = taste it before I drink. The assayer in courts and baronial halls was the officer who tasted the dishes before the banquet in order to make sure that no poison was concealed.
[141] Old eds. “made open the glibbery ice,” which modern editors absurdly retain. The word “glibbery” has been already noticed ([note 3], p. 22).
[142] Cf. Julius Cæsar, i. 2 (text of First Folio):—“And then he offered it the third time; hee put it the third time by, and still as hee refus’d it the rabblement howted and clapp’d their chopt hands.” In that passage the first three folios give howted and the fourth houted; but modern editors reject the word and read either hooted or shouted. The present passage of Marston affords strong warrant for restoring the reading of the folios. Hout is clearly an onomatopœic word, like hoit:—He sings and hoits and revels among his drunken companions,” (Knight of the Burning Pestle).
[143] Old eds. “last” (and so modern editors).
[144] Old eds. “misereri.”
[145] Antonio is concealed behind a bush.
[146] So ed. 1633.—Ed. 1602 “on.”
[147] Old eds. “suamisce. “—Dilke reads “smarisce.”
[148] Old eds. “Murono.”
[149] Old eds. “pol.”
[150] So Dilke. Old eds. “Bassiammi.”
[151] Old eds. “Che in sua neggia in quello,” &c.
[152] Old eds. repeat the word “kissing.”
[153] “In good sadness” = seriously.
[154] “Tweer” (or “twire”) = peep, pry.
[155] “The ‘Dun Cow’ is, we all know, intimately connected with the celebrated Guy, Earl of Warwick, and I believe his ‘kettle’ is one of the pretended relics still shown there. From the text I conjecture that the dun cow with the kettle on her head was in the time of Marston a well-known sign.”—Dilke.
[156] Omitted in ed. 1602.
[157] Old eds. “Ant.”
[158] Old eds. “And.”
[159] It is hard for Andrugio to escape detection even when he is unarmed; but if he puts on his armour he will be at once recognised. Cf. [p. 46]:—
“If you are but seen,
Your arms display you; therefore put them off.”
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Palace of the Duke of Venice.
Enter Balurdo, a Painter with two pictures, and Dildo.
Bal. And are you a painter? sir, can you draw, can you draw?
Pa. Yes, sir.
Bal. Indeed, law! now so can my father’s forehorse. And are these the workmanship of your hands?
Pa. I did limn them.
Bal. Limn them? a good word, limn them: whose picture is this? Anno Domini, 1599. Believe me, master Anno Domini was of a good settled age when you limn’d him: 1599 years old! Let’s see the other. Ætatis suæ 24. Byrlady, he is somewhat younger. Belike master Ætatis suæ was Anno Domini’s son. 12
Pa. Is not your master a——
Dil. He hath a little proclivity to him.
Pa. Proclivity, good youth? I thank you for your courtly proclivity.
Bal. Approach, good sir. I did send for you to draw me a device, an Imprezza, by Synecdoche a Mott. By
Phœbus’ crimson taffeta mantle, I think I speak as melodiously,—look you, sir, how think you on’t? I would have you paint me, for my device, a good fat leg of ewe mutton, swimming in stewed broth of plums (boy, keel[160] your mouth, it runs over) and the word[161] shall be, Hold my dish, whilst I spill my pottage. Sure, in my conscience, ’twould be the most sweet device, now. 25
Pa. ’Twould scent of kitchen-stuff too much.
Bal. God’s neaks, now I remember me, I ha’ the rarest device in my head that ever breathed. Can you paint me a driveling reeling song, and let the word be, Uh. 30
Pa. A belch?
Bal. O, no no: Uh, paint me Uh, or nothing.
Pa. It cannot be done, sir, but by a seeming kind of drunkenness.
Bal. No? well, let me have a good massy ring, with your own posy graven in it, that must sing a small treble, word for word, thus:
And if you will[162] my true lover be,
Come follow me to the green wood.
Pa. O Lord, sir, I cannot make a picture sing. 40
Bal. Why? ’slid, I have seen painted things sing as sweet;
But I have’t will tickle it for a conceit, i’faith.
Enter Feliche and Alberto.
Alb. O dear Feliche, give me thy device.
How shall I purchase love of Rossaline?
Feli. ’Swill, flatter her soundly.
Alb. Her love is such, I cannot flatter her:
But with my utmost vehemence of speech,
I have ador’d her beauties.
Feli. Hast writ good moving unaffected rhymes to her?
Alb. O, yes, Feliche, but she scorns my writ. 50
Feli. Hast thou presented her with sumptuous gifts?
Alb. Alas, my fortunes are too weak to offer them.
Feli. O, then I have it, I’ll tell thee what to do.
Alb. What, good Feliche?
Feli. Go and hang thyself; I say, go hang thyself,
If that thou canst not give, go hang thyself:
I’ll rhyme thee dead, or verse thee to the rope.
How think’st thou of a poet that sung thus?
Munera sola pacant, sola addunt munera formam:
Munere sollicites Pallada, Cypris erit. 60
Munera, munera!
Alb. I’ll go and breathe my woes unto the rocks,
And spend my grief upon the deafest seas.
I’ll weep my passion to the senseless trees,
And load most solitary air with plaints.
For woods, trees, sea, or rocky Apennine,
Is not so ruthless as my Rossaline.
Farewell, dear friend, expect no more of me:
Here ends my part in this love’s comedy. 69
[Exeunt Alberto and Painter.
Feli. Now, master Balurdo, whither are you going, ha?
Bal. Signior Feliche, how do you, faith? and by my troth, how do you?
Feli. Whither art thou going, bully?[163]
Bal. And as heaven help me, how do you?
How, do you, i’faith, hee?
Feli. Whither art going, man?
Bal. O God, to the court; I’ll be willing to give you grace and good countenance, if I may but see you in the presence.
Feli. O, to court? farewell. 80
Bal. If you see one in a yellow taffeta doublet, cut upon carnation velure,[164] a green hat, a blue pair of velvet hose, a gilt rapier, and an orange-tawny pair of worsted silk stockings, that’s I, that’s I.
Feli. Very good: farewell.
Bal. Ho, you shall know me as easily; I ha’ bought me a new green feather with a red sprig; you shall see my wrought[165] shirt hang out at my breeches; you shall know me. 89
Feli. Very good, very good, farewell.
Bal. Marry, in the mask ’twill be somewhat hard. But if you hear anybody speak so wittily, that he makes all the room laugh; that’s I, that’s I. Farewell, good Signior.
Enter Forobosco, Castilio, a Boy carrying a gilt harp; Piero, Mellida, in night apparel; Rossaline, Flavia, two Pages.
Pier. Advance the music’s prize; now, cap’ring wits,
Rise to your highest mount; let choice delight
Garland the brow of this triumphant night.
’Sfoot, ’a sits like Lucifer himself.
Ros. Good sweet Duke,
First let their voices strain for music’s prize.[166]
Give me the golden harp: 100
Faith, with your favour, I’ll be umperess.
Pier. Sweet niece, content: boys, clear your voice and sing.
First[167] Boy sings.
Ros. By this gold, I had rather have a servant with a short nose, and a thin hair, than have such a high-stretch’d minikin[168] voice.
Pier. Fair niece, your reason?
Ros. By the sweet of love, I should fear extremely that he were an eunuch.
Cast. Spark spirit, how like you his voice?
Ros. Spark spirit, how like you his voice! 110
So help me, youth, thy voice squeaks like a dry corkshoe:[169] come, come; let’s hear the next.
Second Boy sings.
Pier. Trust me, a strong mean. Well sung, my boy.
Enter Balrudo.
Bal. Hold, hold, hold: are ye blind? could ye not see my voice coming for the harp? And I knock not division[170] on the head, take hence the harp, make me a slip,[171] and let me go but for ninepence. Sir Mark, strike up for master Balurdo.
Third Boy sings.
Judgment, gentlemen, judgment! Was’t not above line?
I appeal to your mouths that heard my song. 120
Do[172] me right, and dub me knight, Balurdo.
Ros. Kneel down, and I’ll dub thee knight of the golden harp.
Bal. Indeed, law, do, and I’ll make you lady of the silver fiddlestick.
Ros. Come, kneel, kneel.
Enter a Page to Balurdo.
Bal. My troth, I thank you, it hath never a whistle in’t.
Ros. Nay, good sweet coz, raise up your drooping eyes; and I were at the point of To have and to hold from this day forward, I would be asham’d to look thus lumpish. What, my pretty coz, ’tis but the loss of an odd maidenhead. 133
Shall’s dance? thou art so sad, hark in thine[173] ear:
I was about to say, but I’ll forbear.
Bal. I come, I come; more than most honeysuckle sweet ladies, pine not for my presence, I’ll return in pomp. Well spoke, Sir Jeffrey Balurdo. As I am a true knight, I feel honourable eloquence begin to grope me already. 140
[Exit.
Pier. Faith, mad niece, I wonder when thou wilt marry?
Ros. Faith, kind uncle, when men abandon jealousy, forsake taking of tobacco, and cease to wear their beards so rudely long. O, to have a husband with a mouth continually smoking, with a bush of furze on the ridge
of his chin, ready still to flop into his foaming chaps; ah, ’tis more than most intolerable.
Pier. Nay faith, sweet niece, I was mighty strong in thought we should have shut up night with an old comedy: the Prince of Florence[174] shall have Mellida, and thou should’st have——. 152
Ros. Nobody, good sweet uncle. I tell you, sir, I have thirty-nine servants, and my monkey that makes the fortieth. Now I love all of them lightly for something, but affect none of them seriously for anything. One’s a passionate fool, and he flatters me above belief; the second’s a testy ape, and he rails at me beyond reason; the third’s as grave as some censor, and he strokes up his mustachios three times, and makes six plots of set faces, before he speaks one wise word; the fourth’s as dry as the bur of an hartichoke; the fifth paints, and hath always a good colour for what he speaks; the sixth——. 164
Pier. Stay, stay, sweet niece, what makes you thus suspect your gallants’ worth?
Ros. O, when I see one wear a periwig, I dread his hair; another wallow in a great slop,[175] I mistrust the proportion of his thigh; and wears a ruffled boot,[176] I fear the fashion of his leg. Thus, something in each thing, one
trick in everything makes me mistrust imperfection in all parts; and there’s the full point of my addiction. 172
The cornets sound a senet. Enter Galeatzo, Matzagente, and Balurdo in maskery.
Pier. The room’s too scant: boys, stand in there, close.
Mel. [To Galeatzo.] In faith, fair sir, I am too sad to dance.
Pier. How’s that, how’s that? too sad? By heaven, dance,
And grace him too, or go to——, I say no more.
Mel. A burning glass, the word[177] splendente Phœbo?
It is too curious, I conceit it not.
Gal. Faith, I’ll tell thee. I’ll no longer burn,
Than you will shine and smile upon my love. 180
For look ye, fairest, by your pure sweets,
I do not dote upon your excellence;
And faith, unless you shed your brightest beams
Of sunny favour and acceptive grace
Upon my tender love, I do not burn:
Marry, but shine, and I’ll reflect your beams
With fervent ardour. Faith! I would be loath to flatter thee, fair soul, because I love, not dote, court like thy husband, which thy father swears to-morrow morn I must be. This is all; and now from henceforth, trust me, Mellida, I’ll not speak one wise word to thee more.
Mel. I trust ye. 192
Gal. By my troth, I’ll speak pure fool[178] to thee now.
Mel. You will speak the liker yourself.
Gal. Good faith, I’ll accept of the coxcomb, so you will not refuse the bable.[179]
Mel. Nay, good sweet, keep them both; I am enamoured of neither.
Gal. Go to, I must take you down for this. Lend me your ear. 200
Ros. A glow-worm? the word,—Splendescit tantùm tenebris.
Mat. O, lady, the glow-worm figurates my valour, which shineth brightest in most dark, dismal, and horrid achievements.
Ros. Or rather, your glow-worm represents your wit, which only seems to have fire in it, though indeed ’tis but an ignis fatuus, and shines only in the dark dead night of fools’ admiration.
Mat. Lady, my wit hath spurs, if it were dispos’d to ride you. 211
Ros. Faith, sir, your wit’s spurs have but walking rowels; dull, blunt, they will not draw blood: the gentlemen-ushers may admit them the presence, for any wrong they can do to ladies.
Bal. Truly, I have strained a note above ela[180] for a device: look you, ’tis a fair-ruled singing book; the word, Perfect, if it were prick’d.
Fla. Though you are mask’d, I can guess who you are by your wit. You are not the exquisite Balurdo, the most rarely-shaped Balurdo. 221
Bal. Who, I? No, I am not Sir Jeffrey Balurdo. I am not as well known by my wit as an alehouse by a red lattice.[181] I am not worthy to love and be beloved of Flavia.
Fla. I will not scorn to favour such good parts As are applauded in your rarest self. 227
Bal. Truly, you speak wisely, and like a jantlewoman of fourteen years 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 call 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 (there’s a word, remote!) the more remote it is from the frost. Your wit is quick; a little thing pleaseth a young lady, and a small favour contenteth an old courtier; and so, sweet mistress, I truss my codpiece point. 238
Enter Feliche.
Pier. What might import this flourish? Bring us word.
Feli. Stand away: here’s such a company of flyboats,[182] hulling[183] about this galleasse[184] of greatness, that there’s no boarding him.
Do you hear, yon thing call’d duke?
Pier. How now, blunt Feliche; what’s the news?
Feli. Yonder’s a knight, hath brought Andrugio’s head,
And craves admittance to your chair of state.
Cornets sound a senet. Enter Andrugio in armour.
Pier. Conduct him with attendance sumptuous;
Sound all the pleasing instruments of joy;
Make triumph stand on tiptoe whilst we meet:
O sight most gracious, O revenge most sweet! 250
And. We vow, by the honour of our birth, to recompense any man that bringeth Andrugio’s head, with twenty thousand double pistolets, and the endearing to our choicest love.
Pier. We still with most unmoved resolve[185] confirm
Our large munificence, and here breathe
A sad and solemn protestation:
When I recall this vow, O, let our house
Be even commanded, stain’d, and trampled on,
As worthless rubbish of nobility. 260
And. Then here [raising his beaver], Piero, is Andrugio’s head,
Royally casquèd in a helm of steel:
Give me thy love, and take it. My dauntless soul
Hath that unbounded vigour in his spirits
That it can bear more rank indignity,
With less impatience than thy canker’d hate
Can sting and venom his untainted worth
With the most vip’rous sound of malice. Strike!
O, let no glimpse of honour light thy thoughts;
If there be any heat of royal breath 270
Creeping in thy veins, O stifle it;
Be still thyself, bloody and treacherous.
Fame not thy house with an admirèd act
Of princely pity. Piero, I am come
To soil thy house with an eternal blot
Of savage cruelty; strike, or bid me strike.
I pray my death; that thy ne’er-dying shame
Might live immortal to posterity.
Come, be a princely hangman, stop my breath.
O dread thou shame, no more than I dread death. 280
Pier. We are amazed, our royal spirit’s numb’d
In stiff astonish’d wonder at thy prowess.
Most mighty, valiant, and high-tow’ring heart,
We blush, and turn our hate upon ourselves,
For hating such an unpeer’d excellence.
I joy my state: him whom I loath’d before,
That now I honour, love, nay more, adore.
[The still flutes sound a mournful senet. Enter a funeral procession, followed by Lucio.
But stay; what tragic spectacle appears!
Whose body bear you in that mournful hearse?
Lu. The breathless trunk of young Antonio. 290
Mel. Antonio! ay me! my lord, my love! my——.
And. Sweet precious issue of most honour’d blood,
Rich hope, ripe virtue, O untimely loss!
Come hither, friend: prithee, do not weep.
Why, I am glad he’s dead; he shall not see
His father’s vanquish’d by his enemy,
Even in princely honour. Nay, prithee, speak!
How died the wretched boy?
Lu. My lord!
And. I hope he died yet like my son, i’faith. 300
Lu. Alas, my lord!
And. He died unforced, I trust, and valiantly?
Lu. Poor gentleman, being——
And. Did his hand shake, or his eye look dull,
His thoughts reel fearful when he struck the stroke?
And if they did, I’ll rend them out the hearse,
Rip up his cerecloth, mangle his bleak face,
That when he comes to heaven, the powers divine,
Shall ne’er take notice that he was my son:
I’ll quite disclaim his birth. Nay, prithee, speak! 310
And ’twere not hooped with steel, my breast would break.
Mel. O that my spirit in a sigh could mount
Into the sphere where thy sweet soul doth rest!
Pier. O that my tears, bedewing thy wan cheek,
Could make new spirit sprout in thy cold blood!
Bal. Verily, he looks as pitifully as a poor John;[186]
as I am true knight, I could weep like a ston’d horse.
And. Villain, ’tis thou hast murderèd my son!
Thy unrelenting spirit, thou black dog, 320
That took’st no passion[187] of his fatal love,
Hath forced him give his life untimely end.
Pier. O! that my life, her love, my dearest blood,
Would but redeem one minute of his breath!
Ant. [rising.] I seize that breath. Stand not amazed, great states;
I rise from death that never lived till now.
Piero, keep thy vow, and I enjoy
More unexpressèd height of happiness
Than power of thought can reach; if not, lo, here
There stands my tomb, and here a pleasing stage. 330
Most-wish’d spectators of my tragedy,
To this end have I feign’d, that her fair eye,
For whom I lived, might bless me ere I die.
Mel. Can breath depaint[188] my unconceivèd thoughts?
Can words describe my infinite delight
Of seeing thee, my lord Antonio?
O no; conceit, breath, passion, words, be dumb,
Whilst I instill the dew of my sweet bliss,
In the soft pressure of a melting kiss!
Sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras. 340
Pier. Fair son (now I’ll be proud to call thee son),
Enjoy me thus: my very breast is thine;
Possess me freely, I am wholly thine.
Ant. Dear father——
And. Sweet son, sweet son, I can speak no more:
My joy’s passion flows above the shore,
And chokes the current of my speech.
Pier. Young Florence prince, to you my lips must beg
For a remittance of your interest.
Gal. In your fair daughter? with all my thought. 350
So help me faith, the nak’d truth I’ll unfold;
He that was never[189] hot will soon be cold.
Pier. No man else makes claim unto her?
Mat. The valiant speak truth in brief: no—
Bal. Truly, for Sir Jeffrey Balurdo, he disclaims to have had anything in her.
Pier. Then here I give her to Antonio.
Royal, valiant, most respected prince,
Let’s clip our hands, I’ll thus observe my vow:
I promised twenty thousand double pistolets, 360
With the endearing to my dearest love,
To him that brought thy head; thine be the gold,
To solemnise our houses’ unity;
My love be thine, the all I have, be thine.
Fill us fresh wine, the form we’ll take by this;
We’ll drink a health, while they two sip a kiss.[190]
Now there remains no discord that can sound
Harsh accents to the ear of our accord:
So please you,[191] niece, to match. 369
Ros. Troth, uncle, when my sweet-faced coz hath told me how she likes the thing called wedlock, may be I’ll take a survey of the checkroll of my servants; and he that hath the best parts of—I’ll prick him down for my husband.
Bal. For passion of love now, remember me to my mistress, lady Rossaline, when she is pricking down the good parts of her servants. As I am true knight, I grow stiff; I shall carry it.
Pier. I will.
Sound Lydian wires, once make a pleasing note 380
On nectar streams of your sweet airs to float.
Ant. Here ends the comic crosses of true love;
O! may the passage most successful prove!
[160] Cool.—To keel the pot was to stir the contents gently in order to keep them from boiling over.
[161] Motto.
[162] So ed. 1602.—Ed. 1633 “thou wilt.”
[163] A familiar form of address.
[164] A sort of velvet.
[165] In Every Man out of his Humour, iv. 4, after Fastidious Brisk has been describing the damage done to his finery in a duel, Carlo observes—“I wonder he speaks not of his wrought shirt.” Gifford remarks—“The linen, both of men and women, was either so worked as to resemble the finest lace, or was ornamented by the needle with representations of fruits, flowers, passages of history, &c.”
[166] Ed. 1602 “price.”
[167] This play was acted by the Paul’s Children, whose voices were carefully trained: hence the frequent introduction of songs.
[169] “Their corkèd shoes to bear them high.”—Stephen Gosson’s Pleasant Quips, &c.
[171] “Slip”—counterfeit coin.
[172] “Do me right and dub me knight.”—Part of an old catch. So Silence in 2 Henry IV., v. 3:—
“Do me right
And dub me knight,
Samingo.”
Again in Nashe’s Summer’s Last Will and Testament:—
“All. Monsieur Mingo for quaffing did surpass,
In cup, in can, or glass.
Bac. Ho, well shot a toucher, a toucher.
For quaffing Toy doth pass
In cup, in can, or glass.
All. God Bacchus, do him right,
And dub him knight.”
[173] Old eds. “mine.”
[174] Old eds. “Millane;” but Galeatzo, son of the Duke of Florence, was the suitor whom Piero had chosen. Cf. [p. 91:]—
“Young Florence prince, to you my lips must be,
For a remittance of your interest.”
[175] Wide loose breeches.
[176] “Ruffled boot.”—See notes on Middleton, i. 26, viii. 70.
[177] Motto.
[178] “‘Speak pure fool.’—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.”—Halliwell.
[179] Old form of “bauble.”
[180] The highest note in the scale.—Cf. Nashe’s Christ’s Tears over Jerusalem (Works, ed. Grosart, v. 188):—“No, no, either you must strain your wits an ela above theirs,” &c. The form of expression is not uncommon.
[181] A red lattice was the distinguishing mark of a tavern.
[182] “Flyboat” (Span. filibote)—a fast-sailing vessel.
[183] “To float, to swim, as borne along or driven by wind or water.”—Dyce’s Shakesp. Glossary.
[184] A large galley.
[185] Old eds. “resolv’d.”
[186] “Poor John” = inferior dried hake. (Ed. 1633 “as Poor John.”)
[187] Sorrow, pity.
[188] Depict.
[189] Old eds. “nere.”
[190] “Sip a kiss”—a translation of the Latin expression “oscula libare.”
[191] Old eds. “your.”