IN THREE VOLUMES
VOLUME THE SECOND
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.
MDCCCLXXXVII
Two hundred copies of this Edition on Laid paper, medium 8vo, have been printed, viz., 120 for the English Market and 80 for America. Each copy numbered as issued.
No. 30
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
| PAGE | |
| THE DUTCH COURTEZAN [Act I] [Act II] [Act III] [Act IV] [Act V] | [1] |
| THE FAWN [Act I] [Act II] [Act III] [Act IV] [Act V] | [105] |
| THE WONDER OF WOMEN; OR, THE TRAGEDY OFSOPHONISBA [Act I] [Act II] [Act III] [Act IV] [Act V] | [231] |
| WHAT YOU WILL [Act I] [Act II] [Act III] [Act IV] [Act V] | [317] |
THE DUTCH COURTEZAN.
The Dutch Courtezan. As it was playd in the Blacke-Friars, by the Children of her Maiesties Reuels. Written By Iohn Marston. At London, Printed by T. P. for Iohn Hodgets, and are to be sould at his shop in Paules Church-yard. 1605. 4to.
STORY OF THE PLAY.
Young Freevill, being about to marry Beatrice, daughter to Sir Hubert Subboys, determines to break his connection with Franceschina, the Dutch Courtezan. He introduces to Franceschina his friend Malheureux. This gentleman, who had hitherto led a strict life, is violently inflamed with passion at first sight of Franceschina. She promises to gratify his passion on one condition,—that he kills Freevill. As proof that the deed has been accomplished, he is to bring her a ring that had been presented to Freevill by Beatrice. Malheureux discloses the plot to Freevill, who undertakes to help him out of his difficulty. At a masque given in honour of the approaching marriage, Malheureux pretends to pick a quarrel with Freevill, and retires with him as though to fight a duel. Freevill is to lie hid at the house of a jeweller, while Malheureux posts with the ring to Franceschina. She hastens to communicate the news to Freevill’s father and Beatrice, Freevill accompanying her in the disguise of a pander. Thereupon old Freevill and Sir Hubert Subboys, attended by officers, proceed to Franceschina’s lodging, conceal themselves behind the curtain, and await the arrival of Malheureux, who comes at the hour appointed by Franceschina. They hear from his own lips a confession of the murder, arrest him, and lead him away to prison. Malheureux protests his innocence, but, as Freevill has not been near the jeweller’s house, his protestations are disregarded and the day for his execution is fixed. At the last moment Freevill presents himself and begs forgiveness for the device that he had adopted in order to cure his friend’s passion. Franceschina is condemned to “the whip and jail;” and all ends happily.
The play is enlivened by an underplot, which deals with the various tricks played by a clever knave called Cocledemoy on a vintner of Cheap, Master Mulligrub.
Slight hasty labours in this easy play
Present not what you would, but what we may:
For this vouchsafe to know,—the only end
Of our now study is, not to offend.
Yet think not but, like others, rail we could
(Best art presents not what it can but should);
And if our pen in this seem over-slight,
We strive not to instruct, but to delight.
As for some few, we know of purpose here
To tax and scout, know firm art cannot fear 10
Vain rage; only the highest grace we pray
Is, you’ll not tax until you judge our play.
Think, and then speak: ’tis rashness, and not wit,
To speak what is in passion, and not judgment fit.
Sit then with fair expectance, and survey
Nothing but passionate man in his slight play,
Who hath this only ill, to some deem’d worst—
A modest diffidence, and self-mistrust.
Fabulæ Argumentum.
The difference betwixt the love of a courtezan and a wife is the full scope of the play, which, intermixed with the deceits of a witty city jester, fills up the comedy.
Sir Lionel Freevill, and
Sir Hubert Subboys, two old knights.
Young Freevill, Sir Lionel’s son.
Malheureux, Young Freevill’s unhappy friend.
Tysefew, a blunt gallant.
Caqueteur, a prattling gull.
Cocledemoy, a knavishly witty City Companion.
Master Mulligrub, a vintner.
Master Burnish, a goldsmith.
Lionel, his man.
Holifernes Reinscure, a barbers boy.
Beatrice, and
Crispinella, Sir Hubert’s daughters.
Putifer, their nurse.
Mistress Mulligrub.
Franceschina, a Dutch Courtezan.
Mary Faugh, an old woman.
Three Watchmen; Pages; Officers.
Scene—London.
THE DUTCH COURTEZAN.[1]
ACT I.
SCENE I.
A Street.
Enter three Pages, with lights. Mulligrub, Freevill, Malheureux, Tysefew, and Caqueteur.
Free. Nay, comfort, my good host Shark; my good Mulligrub.
Mal. Advance thy snout; do not suffer thy sorrowful nose to drop on thy Spanish[2] leather jerkin, most hardly-honest Mulligrub.
Free. What, cogging Cocledemoy is run away with a neast[3] of goblets? True, what then? they will be hammered out well enough, I warrant you.
Mul. Sure, some wise man would find them out presently. 10
Free. Yes, sure, if we could find out some wise man presently.
Mal. How was the plate lost? how did it vanish?
Free. In most sincere prose, thus: that man of much money, some wit, but less honesty, cogging Cocledemoy, comes this night late into mine hostess Mulligrub’s tavern here; calls for a room; the house being full, Cocledemoy consorted with his movable chattel, his instrument of fornication, the bawd Mrs. Mary Faugh, are imparlour’d next the street; good poultry was their food, blackbird, lark, woodcock; and mine host here comes in, cries “God bless you!” and departs. A blind harper enters, craves audience, uncaseth, plays; the drawer, for female privateness’ sake, is nodded out, who knowing that whosoever will hit the mark of profit must, like those that shoot in stone-bows,[4] wink with one eye, grows blind o’ the right side, and departs. 27
Caq. He shall answer for that winking with one eye at the last day.
Mal. Let him have day[5] till then, and he will wink with both his eyes.
Free. Cocledemoy, perceiving none in the room but the blind harper (whose eyes Heaven had shut up from beholding wickedness), unclasps a casement to the
street very patiently, pockets up three bowls unnaturally, thrusts his wench forth the window, and himself most preposterously, with his heels forward, follows: the unseeing harper plays on, bids the empty dishes and the treacherous candles much good do them. The drawer returns, but, out alas! not only the birds, but also the neast of goblets, were flown away. Laments are raised—— 42
Tys. Which did not pierce the heavens.
Free. The drawers moan, mine host doth cry, the bowls are gone.
Mul. Hic finis Priami!
Mal. Nay, be not jaw-fall’n, my most sharking Mulligrub.
Free. ’Tis your just affliction; remember the sins of the cellar, and repent, repent! 50
Mul. I am not jaw-fall’n, but I will hang the coney-catching Cocledemoy; and there’s an end of’t.
[Exit.
Caq. Is it a right stone? it shows well by candle-light.
Free. So do many things that are counterfeit, but I assure you this is a right diamond.
Caq. Might I borrow it of you? it will not a little grace my finger in visitation of my mistress.
Free. Why, use it, most sweet Caqueteur, use it.
Caq. Thanks, good sir; ’tis grown high night: gentles, rest to you.
[Exit.
Tys. A torch! Sound wench, soft sleep, and sanguine dreams to you both. On, boy! 62
Free. Let me bid you good rest.
Mal. Not so, trust me, I must bring my friend home:
I dare not give you up to your own company; I fear the warmth of wine and youth will draw you to some common house of lascivious entertainment.
Free. Most necessary buildings, Malheureux; ever since my intention of marriage, I do pray for their continuance. 70
Mal. Loved sir, your reason?
Free. Marry, lest my house should be made one. I would have married men love the stews as Englishmen loved the Low Countries: wish war should be maintain’d there, lest it should come home to their own doors. What, [not] suffer a man to have a hole to put his head in, though he go to the pillory for it! Youth and appetite are above the club of Hercules.
Mal. This lust is a most deadly sin, sure.
Free. Nay, ’tis a most lively sin, sure. 80
Mal. Well, I am sure, ’tis one of the head sins.
Free. Nay, I am sure it is one of the middle sins.
Mal. Pity ’tis grown a most daily vice.
Free. But a more nightly vice, I assure you.
Mal. Well, ’tis a sin.
Free. Ay, or else few men would wish to go to heaven: and, not to disguise with my friend, I am now going the way of all flesh.
Mal. Not to a courtezan?
Free. A courteous one. 90
Mal. What, to a sinner?
Free. A very publican.
Mal. Dear, my loved friend, let me be full with you:
Know, sir, the strongest argument that speaks
Against the soul’s eternity is lust,
That wise man’s folly, and the fool’s wisdom:
But to grow wild in loose lasciviousness,
Given up to heat and sensual appetite,
Nay, to expose your health and strength and name,
Your precious time, and with that time the hope 100
Of due preferment, advantageous means,
Of any worthy end, to the stale use,
The common bosom of a money creature,
One that sells human flesh—a mangonist!
Free. Alas, good creatures! what would you have them do? Would you have them get their living by the curse of man, the sweat of their brows? So they do: every man must follow his trade, and every woman her occupation. A poor decayed mechanical man’s wife, her husband is laid up, may not she lawfully be laid down, when her husband’s only rising is by his wife’s falling? A captain’s wife wants means; her commander lies in open fields abroad, may not she lie in civil arms at home? A waiting gentlewoman, that had wont to take say[6] to her lady, miscarries or so; the court misfortune throws her down; may not the city courtesy take her up? Do you know no alderman would pity such a woman’s case?[7] Why, is charity grown a sin, or relieving the poor and impotent an offence? You
will say beasts take no money for their fleshly entertainment: true, because they are beasts, therefore beastly;[8] only men give to loose, because they are men, therefore manly: and indeed, wherein should they bestow their money better? In land, the title may be crack’d; in houses, they may be burnt; in apparel, ’twill wear; in wine, alas for our pity! our throat is but short: but employ your[9] money upon women, and a thousand to nothing, some one of them will bestow that on you which shall stick by you as long as you live; they are no ungrateful persons, they will give quid [10] for quo: do ye protest, they’ll swear; do you rise, they’ll fall; do you fall, they’ll rise; do you give them the French crown, they’ll give you the French—O justus justa justum! They sell their bodies: do not better persons sell their souls? nay, since all things have been sold, honour, justice, faith, nay, even God Himself, 136
Aye me, what base ignobleness is it
To sell the pleasure of a wanton bed!
Why do men scrape, why heap to full heaps join?
But for his mistress, who would care for coin?
For this I hold to be denied of no man,
All things are made for man, and man for woman.
Give me my fee.
Mal. Of ill you merit well. My heart’s good friend,
Leave yet at length, at length; for know this ever,
’Tis no such sin to err, but to persever.
Free. Beauty is woman’s virtue, love the life’s music, and woman the dainties, or second course of heaven’s curious workmanship. Since then beauty, love, and woman are good, how can the love of woman’s beauty be bad? and, Bonum, quo communius, eo melius: wilt then go with me? 152
Mal. Whither?
Free. To a house of salvation.
Mal. Salvation?
Free. Yes, ’twill make thee repent. Wilt go to the family of love?[11] I will show thee my creature; a pretty nimble-ey’d Dutch tanakin;[12] an honest soft-hearted impropriation; a soft, plump, round-cheek’d froe,[13] that has beauty enough for her virtue, virtue enough for a woman, and woman enough for any reasonable man in my knowledge. Wilt pass along with me? 162
Mal. What, to a brothel?—to behold an impudent prostitution;[14] fie on’t, I shall hate the whole sex to see her. The most odious spectacle the earth can present is an immodest vulgar woman.
Free. Good still; my brain shall keep’t. You must go as you love me.
Mal. Well, I’ll go to make her loath the shame she’s in; The sight of vice augments the hate of sin. 170
Free. The sight of vice augments the hate of sin! Very fine, perdy!
[Exeunt.
[1] In the old eds., opposite the title, is written, “Turpe est difficiles habere nugas.” The quotation is from Martial, ii. 86.
[2] Spanish leather was held in great esteem.—See Middleton, viii. 70.
[3] The word “nest” was frequently written “neast.” (Cotgrave has—“Nicher. To neastle, build or make a neast in;” “Nid: neast.”) A “nest of goblets” was a large goblet containing several others of gradually diminishing size.
[4] A cross-bow for shooting stones or bullets. (“Arbaleste à boulet.” A stone-bow.—Cotgrave.)
[5] A debtor was said to have day (or longer day) when his creditors allowed him to defer payment.
[6] “Take say” is used here with a double meaning. “Say” was a sort of delicate serge; but the waiting-woman takes say (i.e., assay) because she tastes before her mistress (and is suitably rewarded for her lickorousness).
[7] A play on words: (1) case; (2) kaze (= pudendum muliebre).
[8] Compare the witticism of Julia, daughter of Augustus, in Macrobius (Saturn., ii. 5).
[9] Ed. 2. “you.”
[10] Old eds. “quite” and “quit.”
[11] For an account of the religious sect called The Family of Love, see Middleton, iii. 3-5.
[12] Halliwell (Dict. of Arch. and Prov. Words) quotes from Armin’s Nest of Ninnies:—“Out she would, tucks up her trinkets, like a Dutch tannikin sliding to market on the ice, and away she flings.”
[13] Woman (Dutch).
[14] Whore. (The word brothel was so used).—Cf. Middleton, i. 269: “I may grace her with the name of a courtezan, a backslider, a prostitution,” &c.
SCENE II.
A Brothel.
Enter Cocledemoy and Mary Faugh.
Coc. Mary, Mary Faugh.
Mar. Hem.[15]
Coc. Come, my worshipful rotten rough-bellied bawd! ha! my blue-tooth’d patroness of natural wickedness, give me the goblets.
Mar. By yea and by nay, Master Cocledemoy, I fear you’ll play the knave, and restore them.
Coc. No, by the lord, aunt,[16] restitution is catholic, and thou know’st we love——
Mar. What? 10
Coc. Oracles are ceased: tempus præteritum, doest hear, my worshipful glysterpipe, thou ungodly fire that burnt Diana’s temple?—doest hear, bawd?
Mar. In very good truthness, you are the foulest-mouth’d, profane, railing brother, call a woman the most ungodly names: I must confess, we all eat of the forbidden fruit, and for mine own part, though I am one of
the family of love, and, as they say, a bawd that covers the multitude of sins, yet I trust I am none of the wicked that eat fish o’ Fridays. 20
Coc. Hang toasts! I rail at thee, my worshipful organ-bellows that fills the pipes, my fine rattling fleamy cough o’ the lungs, and cold with a pox? I rail at thee? what, my right precious pandress, supportress of barber-surgeons, and enhanceress[17] of lotium[18] and diet-drink?[19] I rail at thee, necessary damnation? I’ll make an oration, I, in praise of thy most courtly in-fashion and most pleasureable function, I.
Mar. Ay, prithee do, I love to hear myself praised, as well as any old lady, I. 30
Coc. List then:—a bawd; first for her profession or vocation, it is most worshipful of all the twelve companies; for, as that trade is most honourable that sells the best commodities—as the draper is more worshipful than the pointmaker, the silkman more worshipful than the draper, and the goldsmith more honourable than both, little Mary, so the bawd above all: her shop has the best ware; for where these sell but cloth, satins, and jewels, she sells divine virtues, as virginity, modesty, and such rare gems; and those not like a petty chapman, by retail, but like a great merchant, by wholesale; wa, ha, ho! And who are her customers? Not base corn-cutters
or sowgelders, but most rare wealthy knights, and most rare bountiful lords, are her customers. Again, whereas no trade or vocation profiteth but by the loss and displeasure of another—as the merchant thrives not but by the licentiousness of giddy[20] and unsettled youth; the lawyer, but by the vexation of his client; the physician, but by the maladies of his patient—only my smooth-gumm’d bawd lives by others’ pleasure, and only grows rich by others’ rising. O merciful gain, O righteous in-come! So much for her vocation, trade, and life. As for their death, how can it be bad, since their wickedness is always before their eyes, and a death’s[21] head most commonly on their middle-finger? To conclude, ’tis most certain they must needs both live well and die well, since most commonly they live in Clerkenwell,[22] and die in Bride-well. Dixi, Mary. 158
Enter Freevill and Malheureux.
Free. Come along, yonder’s the preface or exordium to my wench, the bawd. Fetch, fetch! What! Mr. Cocledemoy, is your knaveship yet stirring? Look to it, Mulligrub lies[23] for you.
Coc. The more fool he; I can lie for myself, worshipful friend. Hang toasts! I vanish. Ha! my fine boy, thou art a scholar, and hast read Tully’s Offices, my fine knave. Hang toasts!
Free. The vintner will toast you, and he catch you.
Coc. I will draw the vintner to the stoop, and when he runs low, tilt him. Ha! my fine knave, art going to thy recreation? 170
Free. Yes, my capricious rascal.
Coc. Thou wilt look like a fool then, by and by.
Free. Look like a fool, why?
Coc. Why, according to the old saying: a beggar when he is lousing of himself, looks like a philosopher; a hard-bound philosopher, when he is on the stool, looks like a tyrant; and a wise man, when he is in his belly act, looks like a fool. God give your worship good rest! grace and mercy keep your syringe straight, and your lotium unspilt. 180
Enter Franceschina.
Free. See, sir, this is she.
Mal. This?
Free. This.
Mal. A courtezan?—Now, cold blood defend me! What a propension[24] afflicts me!
O, mine aderliver[25] love, vat sall me do to requit dis your mush affection?
Free. Marry, salute my friend, clip his neck, and kiss him welcome.
A’ mine art, sir, you bin very velcome. 190
Free. Kiss her, man, with a more familiar affection, so. Come, what entertainment? go to your lute.
[Exit Franceschina.
And how dost approve my sometimes elected? She’s none of your ramping cannibals that devour man’s flesh, nor any of your Curtian gulfs that will never be satisfied until the best thing a man has be thrown into them. I loved her with my heart, until my soul showed me the imperfection of my body, and placed my affection on a lawful love, my modest Beatrice, which if this shortheels knew, there were no being for me with eyes before her face. But, faith, dost thou not somewhat excuse my sometimes incontinency, with her enforcive beauties? Speak. 203
Mal. Hah! she is a whore, is she not?
Free. Whore? fie, whore! you may call her a courtezan, a cockatrice,[26] or (as that worthy spirit of an eternal happiness said) a suppository. But whore! fie, ’tis not in fashion to call things by their right names. Is a great merchant a cuckold, you must say he is one of the livery. Is a great lord a fool, you must say he is weak.
Is a gallant pocky, you must say he has the court scab. Come, she’s your mistress or so. 212
Enter Franceschina, with her lute.
Come, siren, your voice.
Fra. Vill not you stay in mine bosom to-night, love?
Free. By no means, sweet breast; this gentleman has vow’d to see me chastely laid.
Fra. He shall have a bed too, if dat it please him.
Free. Peace, you tender him offence; he is one of a professed abstinence. Siren, your voice and away.
She sings to her Lute.
THE SONG.
The dark is my delight, 220
So ’tis the nightingale’s;
My music’s in the night,
So is the nightingale’s;
My body is but little,
So is the nightingale’s;
I love to sleep ’gainst prickle,
So doth the nightingale.
Thanks; buss; so. The night grows old; good rest.
Fra. Rest to mine dear love; rest, and no long absence. 230
Free. Believe me, not long.
Fra. Sall ick not believe you long?
[Exit Franceschina.
Free. O yes, come, via![27]—away, boy—on!
[Exit, his Page lighting him.
Re-enter Freevill, and seems to overhear Malheureux.
Mal. Is she unchaste—can such a one be damn’d?
O love and beauty! ye two eldest seeds
Of the vast chaos, what strong right you have
Even in things divine—our very souls!
Free. [aside.] Wha, ha, ho! come, bird, come. Stand, peace!
Mal. Are strumpets then such things so delicate?
Can custom spoil what nature made so good? 240
Or is their custom bad? Beauty’s for use—
I never saw a sweet face vicious!
It might be proud, inconstant, wanton, nice,
But never tainted with unnatural vice.
Their worst is, their best art is love to win—
O that to love should be or shame, or sin!
Free. [aside.] By the Lord! he’s caught! Laughter eternal!
Mal. Soul, I must love her! Destiny is weak
To my affection.—A common love!—
Blush not, faint breast! 250
That which is ever loved of most is best.
Let colder eld the strong’st objections move,
No love’s without some lust, no life without some love.
Free. Nay, come on, good sir; what, though the most
odious spectacle the world can present be an immodest vulgar woman? yet, sir, for my sake——
Mal. Well, sir, for your sake, I’ll think better of them.
Free. Do, good sir; and pardon me that have brought you in:
You know the sight of vice augments the hate of sin.
Mal. Hah! will you go home, sir; ’tis high bedtime? 260
Free. With all my heart, sir; only do not chide me.
I must confess——
Mal. A wanton lover you have been.
Free. O that to love should be or shame or sin!
Mal. Say ye?
Free. Let colder eld the strongest objections move!
Mal. How’s this?
Free. No love’s without some lust, no life without some love.
Go your ways for an apostata! I believe my cast garment must be let out in the seams for you when all is done. 270
Of all the fools that would all man out-thrust,
He that ’gainst Nature would seem wise is worst.
[Exeunt.
[15] Cf. Middleton, iv. 246.
[16] Cant term for a bawd.
[17] “Encherisseur. A high bidder or out-bidder of others; a raiser or enhancer of the price of things,” &c.—Cotgrave.
[18] Old eds. “lotinus.”
[19] “Diet-drink”—medicine prescribed for a patient who was taking diet (i.e., being treated for the pox).
[20] Ed. 2. “giddy youth, and unsetled.”
[21] It appears from many passages in old writers that bawds were accustomed to wear rings with death’s heads on them. Cf. Dekker and Webster’s Northward Ho, iv. 1:—“And as if I were a bawd no ring pleases me but a death’s head.”
[22] Turnmill Street, the headquarters of Elizabethan whores, was situated in Clerkenwell.
[23] i.e., is in ambush.
[24] Old eds. “proportion.”
[25] A corruption of Dutch “alderliefster.”
[26] A term for a courtezan; particularly applied to a captain’s mistress.
[27] “Via”—away, on!
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Outside Sir Hubert Subboy’s house, under Beatrice’s window.
Enter Freevill, Pages with torches and Gentlemen with music.
Free. The morn is yet but young. Here, gentlemen,
This is my Beatrice’ window—this the chamber
Of my betrothèd dearest, whose chaste eyes,
Full of loved sweetness and clear cheerfulness,
Have gaged my soul to her enjoyings;
Shredding away all those weak under-branches
Of base affections and unfruitful heats.
Here bestow your music to my voice.
[A song.
Enter Beatrice above.
Always a virtuous name to my chaste love!
Bea. Loved sir, 10
The honour of your wish return to you.
I cannot with a mistress’ compliment,
Forcèd discourses, or nice art of wit,
Give entertain to your dear-wishèd presence:
But safely thus,—what hearty gratefulness,
Unsullen silence, unaffected modesty,
And an unignorant shamefastness can express,
Receive as your protested due. ’Faith, my heart,
I am your servant.
O let not my secure simplicity 20
Breed your mislike, as one quite void of skill;
’Tis grace enough in us not to be ill.
I can some good, and, faith, I mean no hurt;
Do not then, sweet, wrong sober ignorance.
I judge you all of virtue, and our vows
Should kill all fears that base distrust can move.
My soul, what say you—still you love?
Free. Still!
My vow is up above me, and, like time,
Irrevocable: I am sworn all yours.
No beauty shall untwine our arms, no face 30
In my eyes can or shall seem fair;
And would to God only to me you might
Seem only fair! Let others disesteem
Your matchless graces, so might I safer seem;
Envy I covet not. Far, far be all ostent—
Vain boasts of beauties, soft joys, and the rest:
He that is wise pants on a private breast.
So could I live in desert most unknown,
Yourself to me enough were populous;[28]
Your eyes shall be my joys, my wine that still 40
Shall drown my often cares; your only voice
Shall cast a slumber on my list’ning sense;
You, with soft lip, shall only ope mine eyes
And suck their lids asunder; only you
Shall make me wish to live, and not fear death,
So on your cheeks I might yield latest breath.
O he that thus may live and thus shall die,
May well be envied of a deity.[29]
Bea. Dear, my loved heart, be not so passionate;
Nothing extreme lives long. 50
Free. But not to be extreme[30]—nothing in love’s extreme—
My love receives no mean.
Bea. I give you faith; and, prithee, since, poor soul!
I am so easy to believe thee, make it much more pity to deceive me!
Wear this slight favour in my remembrance.
[Throweth down a ring to him.
Free. Which, when I part from,
Hope, the best of life, ever part from me.
Bea. I take you and your word, which may ever live
your servant. See, day is quite broke up—the best of hours. 61
Free. Good morrow, graceful mistress: our nuptial day holds.
Bea. With happy constancy a wishèd day.
[Exit.
Free. Myself and all content rest with you.
Enter Malheureux.
Mal. The studious morn, with paler cheek, draws on
The day’s bold light. Hark how the free-born birds
Carol their unaffected passions!
[The nightingales sing.
Now sing they sonnets—thus they cry, We love!
O breath of heaven! thus they, harmless souls, 70
Give entertain to mutual affects.
They have no bawds, no mercenary beds,
No polite restraints, no artificial heats,
No faint dissemblings; no custom makes them blush,
No shame afflicts their name. O you happy beasts!
In whom an inborn heat is not held sin,
How far transcend you wretched, wretched man,
Whom national custom, tyrannous respects
Of slavish order, fetters, lames his power,
Calling that sin in us which in all things else 80
Is Nature’s highest virtue.
O miseri quorum gaudia crimen habent!
Sure Nature against virtue cross doth fall,
Or virtue’s self is oft unnatural.
That I should love a strumpet! I, a man of snow!
Now, shame forsake me—whither am I fallen!
A creature of a public use! my friend’s love, too!
To live to be a talk to men—a shame
To my professed virtue! O accursed reason,
How many eyes hast thou to see thy shame, 90
And yet how blind once to prevent defame!
Free. Diaboli virtus in lumbis est! Morrow, my friend. Come, I could make a tedious scene of this now; but what——Pah! thou art in love with a courtezan! Why, sir, should we loathe all strumpets, some men should hate their own mothers or sisters: a sin against kind, I can tell you.
Mal. May it beseem a wise man to be in love?
Free. Let wise men alone, ’twill beseem thee and me well enough. 100
Mal. Shall I not offend the vowe[d] band of our friendship?
Free. What, to affect that which thy friend affected? By Heaven, I resign her freely; the creature and I must grow off; by this time she has assure[d]ly heard of my resolved marriage, and no question swears “God’s sacrament, ten towsand divells.” I’ll resign, i’faith.
Mal. I would but embrace her, hear her speak, and at the most, but kiss her.
Free. O friend, he that could live with the smoke of roast-meat might live at a cheap rate! 111
Mal. I shall ne’er prove heartily received;
A kind of flat ungracious modesty,
An insufficient dulness stains my ’haviour.
Free. No matter, sir; insufficiency and sottishness are much commendable in a most discommendable
action: now could I swallow thee, thou hadst wont to be so harsh and cold: I’ll tell thee,—hell and the prodigies of angry Jove are not so fearful to a thinking mind as a man without affection. Why, friend, philosophy and nature are all one; love is the centre in which all lines close, the common bond of being. 122
Mal. O but a chaste reservèd privateness,
A modest continence!
Free. I’ll tell thee what, take this as firmest sense:—
Incontinence will force a continence;
Heat wasteth heat, light defaceth light,
Nothing is spoiled but by his proper might.
This is something too weighty for thy floor.
Mal. But howsoe’er you shade it, the world’s eye 130
Shines hot and open on’t;
Lying, malice, envy, are held but slidings,
Errors of rage, when custom and the world
Calls lust a crime spotted with blackest terrors.
Free. Where errors are held crimes, crimes are but errors.
Along, sir, to her; she’s an arrant strumpet; and a strumpet is a sarpego, venom’d gonorrhy to man—things actually possessed [Offers to go out, and suddenly draws back]—yet since thou art in love,—and again, as good make use of a statue—a body without a soul, a carcass three months dead—yet since thou art in love——
Mal. Death, man! my destiny I cannot choose. 142
Free. Nay, I hope so. Again, they sell but only flesh,
No jot affection; so that even in the enjoying,
Absentem marmoreamque putes.[31] Yet since you needs must love——
Mal. Unavoidable, though folly—worse than madness!
Free. It’s true; but since you needs must love, you must know this,—
He that must love, a fool and he must kiss.
Enter Cocledemoy.
Master Cocledemoy, ut vales, Domine! 150
Coc. Ago tibi gratias, my worshipful friend, how does your friend?
Free. Out, you rascal!
Coc. Hang toasts, you are an ass; much o’ your worship’s brain lies in your calves; bread o’ god, boy, I was at supper last night with a new-wean’d bulchin; bread o’ god, drunk, horribly drunk—horribly drunk! there was a wench, one Frank Frailty, a punk, an honest polecat, of a clean instep, sound leg, smooth thigh, and the nimble devil in her buttock. Ah, feast o’ grace! when saw you, Tysefew, or Master Caqueteur, that prattling gallant of a good draught, common customs, fortunate impudence, and sound fart? 163
Free. Away, rogue!
Coc. Hang toasts, my fine boy, my companion as worshipful.
Mal. Yes, I hear you are taken up with scholars and churchmen.
Coc. Quanquam[32] te, Marce, fili, my fine boy.
Hol. Does[33] your worship want a barber-surgeon? 170
Free. Farewell, knave; beware the Mulligrubs.
[Exeunt Freevill and Malhereux.
Coc. Let the Mulligrubs beware the knave. What, a barber-surgeon, my delicate boy?
Hol. Yes, sir, an apprentice to surgery.
Coc.[34] ’Tis, my fine boy. To what bawdy-house doth your master belong? What’s thy name?
Hol. Holifernes Reinscure.
Coc. Reinscure! Good Master Holifernes, I desire your further acquaintance; nay, pray ye be covered, my fine boy: kill thy itch, and heal thy scabs. Is thy master rotten? 181
Hol. My father, forsooth, is dead——
Coc. And laid in his grave.
Alas! what comfort shall Peggy then have![35]
Hol. None but me, sir; that’s my mother’s son, I assure you.
Coc. Mother’s son? A good witty boy, would live to read an homily well: and to whom are you going now?
Hol. Marry, forsooth, to trim Master Mulligrub the vintner. 190
Coc. Do you know Master Mulligrub?
Hol. My godfather, sir.
Coc. Good boy: hold up thy chops. I pray thee do one thing for me: my name is Gudgeon.
Hol. Good Master Gudgeon.
Coc. Lend me thy basin, razor, and apron.
Hol. O Lord, sir![36]
Coc. Well spoken; good English. But what’s thy furniture worth?
Hol. O Lord, sir, I know not. 200
Coc. Well spoken; a boy of a good wit: hold this pawn; where dost dwell?
Hol. At the sign of the Three Razors, sir.
Coc. A sign of good shaving, my catastrophonical fine boy. I have an odd jest to trim Master Mulligrub, for a wager; a jest, boy; a humour. I’ll return thy things presently. Hold!
Hol. What mean you, good Master Gudgeon?
Coc. Nothing, faith, but a jest, boy: drink that; I’ll recoil presently. 210
Hol. You’ll not stay long.
Coc. As I am an honest man. The Three Razors?
Hol. Ay, sir.
[Exit Holifernes.
Coc. Good; and if I shave not Master Mulligrub, my wit has no edge, and I may[37] go cack in my pewter. Let me see,—a barber: my scurvy tongue will discover me:
must dissemble, must disguise; for my beard, my false hair; for my tongue—Spanish, Dutch or Welsh—no, a Northern barber; very good. Widow Reinscure’s man, well; newly entertain’d, right; so, hang toasts! all cards have white backs, and all knaves would seem to have white breasts: so proceed now, worshipful Cocledemoy.
[Exit Cocledemoy, in his barber’s furniture.
[28] “It is impossible to resist the idea that Marston was here thinking of Shakespeare: ‘Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company. For you, in my respect, are all the world.’”—Halliwell.
[29] Ed. 1. “dietie,”—a recognised form of the word deity. See the index to Old Plays, ed. Bullen, sub Diety.
[30] I suggest the following arrangement:—
“Free. Be not extreme!
Nothing in love’s extreme, my love receives
No mean.
Bea. I give you faith, and prithee since,
Poor soul! I am so easy to believe thee,
Make it much more [a] pity to deceive me.”
[31] Martial, xi. 60.
[32] The opening words of Cicero’s De Officiis.
[33] “Does ... surgeon” given to Cocledemoy in the old eds.
[34] Not marked in old eds.
[35] On 26th September 1588 “A ballad intytuled Peggies Complaint for the Death of her Willye” was entered in the Stationers’ Registers: I suppose that Cocledemoy is quoting from this ballad. In The Three Lords and Three Ladies of London, 1590 (Hazlitt’s Dodsley, vi. 393), the ballad of “Peggy and Willy” is mentioned.
[36] See note 2, vol. i. p. 32.
[37] Omitted in ed. 2.
SCENE II.
Franceschina’s lodging.
Enter Mary Faugh, and Franceschina with her hair loose, chafing.
Mar. Nay, good sweet daughter, do not swagger so; you hear your love is to be married, true; he does cast you off, right; he will leave you to the world,—what then? though blue and white, black and green, leave you, may not red and yellow entertain you? is there but one colour in the rainbow?
Fra. Grand grincome[38] on your sentences! God’s sacrament, ten towsand divels take you!—you ha’ brought mine love, mine honour, mine body, all to noting! 10
Mar. To nothing! I’ll be sworn I have brought them to all the things I could; I ha’ made as much o’ your maidenhead—and you had been mine own daughter, I
could not ha’ sold your maidenhead oft’ner than I ha’ done. I ha’ sworn for you, God forgive me! I have made you acquainted with the Spaniard, Don Skirtoll,—with the Italian, Messer Beieroane,—with the Irish lord, S. Patrick,—with the Dutch merchant, Haunce Herkin Glukin Skellam Flapdragon,—and specially with the greatest French, and now lastly with this English, yet, in my conscience, an honest gentleman. And am I now grown one of the accursed with you for my labour? Is this my reward? Am I call’d bawd? Well, Mary Faugh, go thy ways, Mary Faugh; thy kind heart will bring thee to the hospital. 25
Fra. Nay, good naunt, you’ll help me to an oder love, vil you not?
Mar. Out, thou naughty belly! wouldst thou make me thy bawd?—thou’st best make me thy bawd. I ha’ kept counsel for thee: who paid the apothecary,—was’t not honest Mary Faugh? who redeem’d thy petticoat and mantle,—was’t not honest Mary Faugh? who helped thee to thy custom,—not swaggering Ireland captains, nor of two-shilling inns-o’-court men,—but with honest flat-caps,[39] wealthy flat-caps, that pay for their pleasure the best of any men in Europe, nay, which is more, in London? And dost thou defy me, vile creature? 37
Fra. Foutra[40] pon you,—vitch, bawd, polecat,—paugh! Did not you praise Freevill to mine love?
Mar. I did praise, I confess, I did praise him; I said
he was a fool, an unthrift, a true whoremaster, I confess; a constant drab-keeper, I confess: but what, the wind is turn’d!
Fra. It is, it is, vile woman!—reprobate woman!—naughty woman! it is: vat sall become of mine poor flesh now? mine body must turn Turk for twopence. O Divela, life o’ mine art! ick sall be reveng’d!—do ten thousand hell damn me, ick sall have the rogue trote cut! and his love, and his friend, and all his affinity, sall smart! sall dye! sall hang! Now legion of devil seize him!—de gran pest, St. Anthony’s fire, and de hot Neapolitan poc, rot him! 52
Enter Freevill and Malheureux.
Free. Franceschina!
Fra. O mine seet, dear’st, kindest, mine loving! O mine towsand, ten towsand, delicated, petty[41] seet art!
[Cantat Gallicè.
A[h] mine, a[h] dear leevest affection!
Free. Why, monkey, no fashion in you! Give entertain to my friend.
Fra. Ick sall make de most of you dat courtesy may. Aunt Mary, Mettre Faugh, stools, stools, for des gallants! Mine mettre sing non oder song,[42]—frolic, frolic, sir!— 61
but still complain me do her wrong. Lighten your heart, sir; for me did but kiss her,—for me did but kiss her—and so let go. Your friend is very heavy; ick sall ne’er like such sad company.
Free. No, thou delightest only in light company.
Fra. By mine trot, he been very sad; vat ail you, sir?
Mal. A tooth-ache, lady, a paltry rheum.
Fra. De diet is very goot for de rheum.
Free. How far off dwells the house-surgeon, Mary Faugh? 71
Mar. You are a profane fellow, i’faith; I little thought to hear such ungodly terms come from your lips.
Fra. Pre de now, ’tis but a toy, a very trifle.
Free. I care not for the value, Frank, but i’faith——
Fra. I’fait, me must needs have it (dis is Beatrice’ ring, oh could I get it!); seet, pre de now, as ever you have embraced me with a hearty arm, a warm thought, or a pleasing touch, as ever you will profess to love me, as ever you do wish me life, give me dis ring, dis little ring. 81
Free. Prithee be not uncivilly importunate; sha’ not ha’t; faith, I care not for thee, nor thy jealousy; sha’ not ha’t, i’faith.
Fra. You do not love me. I hear of Sir Hubert Subboys’ daughter, Mistress Beatrice. God’s sacrament, ick could scratch out her eyes, and suck the holes!
Free. Go; y’ are grown a punk rampant!
So, get thee gone; ne’er more behold min eyes, by thee made wretched! 90
Free. Mary Faugh, farewell!—farewell, Frank!
Free. No, by the Lord!
Fra. By te Lord?
Free. By the Lord!
Fra. Go to your new blouze,—your unproved sluttery,—your modest mettre, forsooth!
Free. Marry, will I, forsooth!
Fra. Will you marry, forsooth?
Free. Do not turn witch before thy time.— 100
With all my heart, sir, you will stay.
Mal. I am no whit myself. Video meliora proboque,
But raging lust my fate all strong doth move;
The gods themselves cannot be wise and love.
Free. Your wishes to you!
[Exit Freevill.
Mal. Beauty entirely choice—
Fra. Pray ye prove a man of fashion, and neglect the neglected.
Mal. Can such a rarity be neglected?—can there be measure or sin in loving such a creature?
Fra. O min poor forsaken heart! 110
Mal. I cannot contain,—he saw thee not that left thee.
If there be wisdom, reason, honour, grace,
Of any foolishly-esteemèd virtue,
In giving o’er possession of such beauty,
Let me be vicious, so I may be loved.
Passion, I am thy slave; sweet, it shall be my grace,
That I account thy love my only virtue:
Shall I swear I am thy most vowèd servant?
Fra. Mine vowed? Go! go! go! I cannot more of
love. No! no! no! You bin all unconstant. O unfaithful men—tyrants—betrayers—de very enjoying us loseth us; and when you only ha’ made us hateful, you only hate us. O mine forsaken heart! 123
Mal. I must not rave. Silence and modesty two customary virtues. Will you be my mistress?
Fra. Mettres? Ha! ha! ha!
Mal. Will you lie with me?
Fra. Lie with you? O no; you men will out-lie any woman; fait, me no more can love.
Mal. No matter, let me enjoy your bed. 130
Fra. O! vile man, vat do you tinck on me? Do you take me to be a beast—a creature that for sense only will entertain love, and not only for love—love? O! brutish abomination!
Mal. Why, then I pray thee love, and with thy love enjoy me——
Fra. Give me reason to affect you. Will you swear you love me?
Mal. So seriously, that I protest no office so dangerous—no deed so unreasonable—no cost so heavy, but I vow to the utmost tentation of my best being to effect it. 141
Fra. Sall I, or can I trust again? O fool!
How natural ’tis for us to be abused!
Sall ick be sure that no satiety,
No enjoying,
Not time shall languish your affection?
Mal. If there be ought in brain, heart, or hand,
Can make you doubtless, I am your vow’d servant.
Fra. Will you do one ting for me?
Fra. Yes, yes; but ick do not love dis same Freevill.
Mal. Well?
Fra. Nay, I do hate him.
Mal. So.
Fra. By this kiss I hate him.
Mal. I love to feel such oaths; swear again.
Fra. No, no. Did you ever hear of any that loved at the first sight?
Mal. A thing most proper.
Fra. Now fait, I judge it all incredible until this hour I saw you: pretty fair-eyed yout, would you enjoy me? 162
Mal. Rather than my breath, even as my being.
Fra. Vel! had ick not made a vow——
Mal. What vow?
Fra. O let me forget it; it makes us both despair!
Mal. Dear soul, what vow?
Fra. Ha, good morrow, gentle sir; endeavour to forget me, as I must be enforced to forget all men. Sweet mind rest in you. 170
Mal. Stay, let not thy desire burst me. O my impatient heat endures no resistance—no protraction! there is no being for me but your sudden enjoying.
Fra. I do not love Freevill.
Mal. But what vow? what vow?
Fra. So long as Freevill lives, I must not love.
Mal. Then he—
Fra. Must—
Mal. Die!
Fra. I [k]no[w] there is no such vehemence in your affects. 180
Would I were anything, so he were not!
Mal. Will you be mine when he is not?
Fra. Will I? Dear, dear breast, by this most zealous kiss! but I will not persuade you; but if you hate him that I loathe most deadly; yet as you please—I’ll persuade noting.
Mal. Will you be only mine?
Fra. Vill I? How hard ’tis for true love to dissemble.
I am only yours.
Mal. ’Tis as irrevocable as breath: he dies. 190
Your love!
Fra. My vow,—not until he be dead;
Which that I may be sure not to infringe,
Dis token of his death sall satisfy:
He has a ring, as dear as the air to him,
His new love’s gift; tat got and brought to me,
I shall assurèd your professèd rest.
Mal. To kill a man?
Fra. O! done safely; a quarrel sudden pick’d,
With an advantage strike—then bribe—a little coin,
All’s safe, dear soul; but I’ll not set you on. 200
Mal. Nay, he is gone—the ring! Well, come, little more liberal of thy love.
Fra. Not yet; my vow.
Mal. O Heaven! there is no hell but love’s prolongings.
Dear, farewell.
Fra. Farewell.
Now does my heart swell high, for my revenge
Has birth and form; first friend sall kill his friend.
He dat survives I’ll hang; besides de chaste
Beatrice I’ll vex. Only de ring; 210
Dat got, the world sall know the worst of evils:
Woman corrupted is the worst of devils.
[Exit Franceschina.
Mal. To kill my friend! O ’tis to kill myself!
Yet man’s but man’s excrement—man breeding man
As he does worms; or this, to spoil this nothing.
[He spits.
The body of a man is of the self-same mould[43]
As ox or horse; no murder to kill these.
As for that only part which makes us man,
Murder wants power to touch’t. O wit, how vile!
How hellish art thou, when thou raisest nature 220
’Gainst sacred faith! Think more: to kill a friend
To gain a woman! to lose a virtuous self
For appetite and sensual end, whose very having
Loseth all appetite, and gives satiety!
That corporal end, remorse and inward blushings,
Forcing us loathe the steam of our own heats;
Whilst friendship closed in virtue, being spiritual,
Tastes no such languishings, and moments’ pleasure
With much repentance; but like rivers flow,
And further that they run they bigger grow. 230
Lord, how was I misgone! how easy ’tis to err,
When passion will not give us leave to think!
A learn’d, that is an honest man, may fear,
And lust, and rage, and malice,[44] and anything,
When he is taken uncollected suddenly:
’Tis sin of cold blood, mischief with waked eyes,
That is the damnèd and the truly[45] vice;
Not he that’s passionless, but he ’bove passion’s wise.
My friend shall know it all.
[Exit.
[38] “Grand grincome”—the pox.
[39] A nickname for citizens. (Ed. 1. “atte-cappes;” ed. 2. “art-caps.”)
[40] A contemptuous exclamation.
[41] So ed. 1.—Ed. 2. “pretty.”
[42] From a song in Robert Jones’s First Book of Songs and Airs [1601]:
“My mistress sings no other song
But still complains I did her wrong:
Believe her not, it is not so,
I did but kiss her and let her go,” &c.
[43] Old eds. “soule.”
[44] The verb malice is not uncommon. It is used by Spenser, Marlowe, Ben Jonson, &c.
[45] So ed. 1.—Ed. 2. “truest.”
SCENE III.
A Tavern.
Enter Master Mulligrub and Mistress Mulligrub, she with a bag of money.
Mistress Mul. It is right, I assure you, just fifteen pounds.
Mul. Well, Cocledemoy, ’tis thou putt’st me to this charge; but, and I catch thee, I’ll charge thee with as many irons. Well, is the barber come? I’ll be trimm’d, and then to Cheapside to buy a fair piece of plate, to furnish the loss. Is the barber come?
Mistress Mul. Truth, husband, surely heaven is not pleased with our vocation. We do wink at the sins of our people. Our wines are protestants; and I speak
it to my grief, and to the burthen of my conscience, we fry our fish with salt butter. 12
Mul. Go, look to your business; mend the matter, and score false with a vengeance.
[Exit Mistress Mulligrub.
Enter Cocledemoy like a barber..
Welcome, friend, whose man?
Coc. Widow Reinscure’s man; and shall please your good worship, my name’s Andrew Shark.
Mul. How does my godson, good Andrew?
Coc. Very well, he’s gone to trim Master Quicquid, our parson. Hold up your head. 20
Mul. How long have you been a barber, Andrew?
Coc. Not long, sir; this two year.
Mul. What! and a good workman already. I dare scarce trust my head to thee.
Coc. O, fear not; we ha’ poll’d better men than you; we learn the trade very quickly. Will your good worship be shaven or cut?
Mul. As you will. What trade didst live by before thou turnedst barber, Andrew?
Coc. I was a pedlar in Germany; but my countrymen thrive better by this trade. 31
Mul. What’s the news, barber? thou art sometimes at court.
Coc. Sometimes poll a page or so, sir.
Mul. And what’s the news? How do all my good lords and all my good ladies, and all the rest of my acquaintance?
Coc. What an arrogant knave’s this! I’ll acquaintance ye! ’Tis cash!—[He spieth the bag.]—Say ye, sir?
Mul. And what news—what news, good Andrew? 40
Coc. Marry, sir, you know the Conduit at Greenwich, and the under-holes that spouts up water?
Mul. Very well; I was wash’d there one day, and so was my wife—you might have wrung her smock, i’faith! But what o’ those holes?
Coc. Thus, sir. Out of those little holes, in the midst of the night, crawl’d out twenty-four huge, horrible, monstrous, fearful, devouring——
Mul. Bless us! 49
Coc. Serpents, which no sooner were beheld, but they turn’d to mastiffs, which howl’d; those mastiffs instantly turn’d to cocks, which crowed; those cocks, in a moment, were changed to bears, which roar’d; which bears are at this hour to be yet seen in Paris Garden, living upon nothing but toasted cheese and green onions.
Mul. By the Lord! and this may be, my wife and I will go see them. This portends something.
Coc. [aside.] Yes, worshipful fist,[46] thou’st feel what portends by and by. 59
Mul. And what more news? You shave the world—especially you barber-surgeons—you know the ground of many things. You are cunning privy searchers: by the mass, you scour all. What more news?
Coc. They say, sir, that twenty-five couple of Spanish
jennets are to be seen, hand in hand, dance the old measures,[47] whilst six goodly Flaunders mares play to them on a noise[48] of flutes.
Mul. O monstrous! this is a lie o’ my word. Nay, and this be not a lie—I am no fool, I warrant—nay, make an ass of me once? 70
Coc. Shut your eyes close—wink; sure, sir, this ball will make you smart.
Mul. I do wink.
Coc. Your head will take cold;
[Cocledemoy puts on a coxcomb on Mulligrub’s head.]
I will put on your good worship’s nightcap whilst I shave you. So, mum, hang toasts! Faugh, via![49] sparrows must peck and Cocledemoy munch. 77
Mul. Ha, ha, ha! Twenty-five couple of Spanish jennets to dance the old measures. Andrew makes my worship laugh, i’faith. Dost take me for an ass, Andrew?—dost know one Cocledemoy in town? He made me an ass last night, but I’ll ass him! Art thou free, Andrew? Shave me well—I shall be one of the common council shortly—and then, Andrew—why, Andrew, Andrew, dost leave me in the suds?
CANTAT.
Why, Andrew, I shall be blind with winking. Ha! Andrew—wife—Andrew, what means this? Wife!—my money, wife! 88
Mistress Mul. What’s the noise with you? What ail you?
Mul. Where’s the barber?
Mistress Mul. Gone. I saw him depart long since. Why, are not you trimm’d?
Mul. Trimm’d! O wife! I am shaved. Did you take hence the money?
Mistress Mul. I touch’d it not, as I am religious.
Mul. O Lord! I have wink’d fair.
Enter Holifernes.
Hol. I pray, godfather, give me your blessing.
Mul. O Holifernes—O where’s thy mother’s Andrew? 100
Hol. Blessing, godfather!
Mul. The devil choke thee! where’s Andrew, thy mother’s man?
Hol. My mother hath none such, forsooth.
Mul. My money—fifteen pounds—plague of all Andrews! who was’t trimm’d me?
Hol. I know not, godfather; only one met me, as I was coming to you, and borrowed my furniture, as he said, for a jest’ sake.
Mul. What kind of fellow? 110
Hol. A thick, elderly, stub-bearded fellow.
Mul. Cocledemoy, Cocledemoy! Raise all the wise
men in the street! I’ll hang him with mine own hands! O wife! some rosa solis.[50]
Mistress Mul. Good husband, take comfort in the Lord; I’ll play the devil, but I’ll recover it. Have a good conscience, ’tis but a week’s cutting[51] in the term!
Mul. O, wife! O, wife! O, Jack! how does thy mother? Is there any fiddlers in the house?
Mistress Mul. Yes, Master Creak’s[52] noise? 120
Mul. Bid ’em play, laugh, make merry; cast up my accounts, for I’ll go hang myself presently. I will not curse, but a pox on Cocledemoy; he has poll’d and shaved me, he has trimm’d me!
[Exeunt.
[46] Old eds. “fiest.” Fist is a term of contempt (= fister, stinkard). “Vessifier, to breed a fyste, to make breake wind or let a fyste.”—Cotgrave.
[47] A grave stately dance.
[48] Noise in old writers usually means a company of musicians.
[50] A cordial.
[51] Mistress Mulligrub consoles her husband with the thought that in one week of term-time the fifteen pounds may be recovered by help of a little sharping (in the way of adulterating the liquors, frothing the cans, &c.).
[52] So in 2 Henry IV. we have a mention of “Sneak’s noise.”
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Room in Sir Hubert Subboys’ house.
Enter Beatrice, Crispinella and Nurse Putifer.
Put. Nay, good child o’ love, once more Master Freevill’s sonnet o’ the kiss you gave him.
Bea. Sha’t, good nurse:
[Sings.
Purest lips, soft banks of blisses,
Self alone deserving kisses;
O give me leave to, &c.
Cri. Pish! sister Beatrice, prithee read no more; my stomach o’ late stands against kissing extremely.
Bea. Why, good Crispinella? 9
Cri. By the faith and trust I bear to my face, ’tis grown one of the most unsavoury ceremonies: body o’ beauty! ’tis one of the most unpleasing injurious customs to ladies: any fellow that has but one nose on his face, and standing collar and skirts also lined with taffety sarcenet, must salute us on the lips as familiarly—Soft skins save us! there was a stub-bearded John-a-Stile
with a ployden’s face saluted me last day and struck his bristles through my lips; I ha’ spent ten shillings in pomatum since to skin them again. Marry, if a nobleman or a knight with one lock visit us, though his unclean goose-turd-green[53] teeth ha’ the palsy, his nostrils smell worse than a putrified marrowbone, and his loose beard drops into our bosom, yet we must kiss him with a cursy, a curse! for my part, I had as lieve they would break wind in my lips. 25
Bea. Fie, Crispinella, you speak too broad.
Cri. No jot, sister; let’s ne’er be ashamed to speak what we be not ashamed to think: I dare as boldly speak venery as think venery.
Bea. Faith, sister! I’ll begone if you speak so broad.
Cri. Will you so? Now bashfulness seize you, we pronounce boldly, robbery, murder, treason, which deeds must needs be far more loathsome than an act which is so natural, just, and necessary, as that of procreation; you shall have an hypocritical vestal virgin speak that with close teeth publicly, which she will receive with open mouth privately; for my own part, I consider nature without apparel; without disguising of custom or compliment, I give thoughts words, and words truth, and truth boldness; she whose honest freeness makes it her virtue to speak what she thinks will make it her necessity to think what is good. I love no prohibited things, and yet I would have nothing
prohibited by policy, but by virtue; for as in the fashion of time those books that are call’d in are most in sale and request,[54] so in nature those actions that are most prohibited are most desired. 47
Bea. Good quick sister, stay your pace; we are private, but the world would censure you, for truly severe modesty is women’s virtue.
Cri. Fie, fie! virtue is a free, pleasant, buxom quality. I love a constant countenance well; but this froward ignorant coyness, sour austere lumpish uncivil privateness, that promises nothing but rough skins and hard stools; ha! fie on’t, good for nothing but for nothing. Well, nurse, and what do you conceive of all this? 57
Put. Nay, faith, my conceiving days be done. Marry for kissing, I’ll defend that; that’s within my compass; but for my own part, here’s Mistress Beatrice is to be married with the grace of God; a fine gentleman he is shall have her, and I warrant a strong; he has a leg like a post, a nose like a lion, a brow like a bull, and a beard of most fair expectation: this week you must marry him, and I now will read a lecture to you both, how you shall behave yourselves to your husbands the
first month of your nuptial; I ha’ broke my skull about it, I can tell you, and there is much brain in it.
Cri. Read it to my sister, good nurse, for I assure you I’ll ne’er marry. 70
Put. Marry, God forfend, what will you do then?
Cri. Faith, strive against the flesh. Marry! no, faith, husbands are like lots in the lottery: you may draw forty blanks before you find one that has any prize in him. A husband generally is a careless, domineering thing, that grows like coral, which as long as it is under water is soft and tender, but as soon as it has got his branch above the waves is presently hard, stiff, not to be bowed but burst; so when your husband is a suitor and under your choice, Lord how supple he is, how obsequious, how at your service, sweet lady! Once married, got up his head above, a stiff, crooked, nobby, inflexible tyrannous creature he grows; then they turn like water, more you would embrace the less you hold. I’ll live my own woman, and if the worst come to the worst, I had rather prove a wag than a fool. 86
Bea. O, but a virtuous marriage.
Cri. Virtuous marriage! there is no more affinity betwixt virtue and marriage than betwixt a man and his horse; indeed virtue gets up upon marriage sometimes, and manageth it in the right way; but marriage is of another piece, for as a horse may be without a man, and a man without a horse, so marriage, you know, is often without virtue, and virtue, I am sure, more oft without marriage. But thy match, sister—by my troth I think ’twill do well; he’s a well-shaped, clean-lipp’d gentleman,
of a handsome, but not affected, fineness, a good faithful eye, and a well-humour’d cheek; would he did not stoop in the shoulders, for thy sake. See, here he is.
Enter Freevill and Tysefew.
Free. Good day, sweet! 100
Cri. Good morrow, brother! nay, you shall have my lip. Good morrow, servant!
Tyse. Good morrow, sweet life!
Cri. Life! dost call thy mistress life?
Tyse. Life! yes, why not life?
Cri. How many mistresses hast thou?
Tyse. Some nine.
Cri. Why then thou hast nine lives, like a cat.
Tyse. Mew, you would be taken up for that. 109
Cri. Nay, good, let me still sit; we low statures love still to sit, lest when we stand we may be supposed to sit.
Tyse. Dost not wear high cork shoes—chopines?[55]
Cri. Monstrous ones: I am, as many other are, pieced above and pieced beneath.
Tyse. Still the best part in the——
Cri. And yet all will scarce make me so high as one of the giants’[56] stilts that stalks before my Lord Mayor’s pageant:
Tyse. By the Lord, so I thought ’twas for something Mistress Joyce jested at thy high insteps. 121
Cri. She might well enough, and long enough, before I would be ashamed of my shortness: what I made or can mend myself I may blush at; but what nature put upon me, let her be ashamed for me, I ha’ nothing to do with it. I forget my beauty.
Tyse. Faith, Joyce is a foolish bitter creature.
Cri. A pretty mildewed wench she is.
Tyse. And fair——
Cri. As myself! 130
Tyse. O you forget your beauty now.
Cri. Troth, I never remember my beauty, but as some men do religion,—for controversy’s sake.
Bea. A motion,[57] sister.
Cri. Nineveh,[58] Julius Cæsar, Jonas, or the destruction of Jerusalem.
Bea. My love, hear.
Cri. Prithee call him not love, ’tis the drab’s phrase: nor sweet honey, nor my coney, nor dear duckling, they[59] are citizen terms, but call him—— 140
Bea. What?
Cri. Anything.—What’s the motion?
Bea. You know this night our parents have intended solemnly to contract us, and my love, to grace the feast, hath promised a masque.
Free. You’ll make one, Tysefew, and Caqueteur shall fill up a room.
Tyse. ’Fore heaven, well-remember’d; he borrowed a diamond of me last night to grace his finger in your visitation. The lying creature will swear some strange thing on it now. 151
Enter Caqueteur.
Cri. Peace, he’s here; stand close, lurk.
Caq. Good morrow, most dear, and worthy to be most wise. How does my mistress?
Cri. Morrow, sweet servant; you glister,—prithee, let’s see that stone.
Caq. A toy, lady, I bought to please my finger.
Cri. Why, I am more precious to you than your finger.
Caq. Yes, or than all my body, I swear. 160
Cri. Why, then let it be bought to please me; come, I am no professed beggar.
Caq. Troth, mistress! Zoons! Forsooth, I protest!
Cri. Nay, if you turn Protestant for such a toy.
Caq. In good deed, la; another time I’ll give you a——
Cri. Is this yours to give?
Caq. O God! forsooth mine, quoth you; nay, as for that—— 170
Cri. Now I remember, I ha’ seen this on my servant Tysefew’s finger.
Caq. Such another.
Cri. Nay, I am sure this is it.
Caq. Troth, ’tis forsooth. The poor fellow wanted money to pay for supper last night, and so pawn’d it to me; ’tis a pawn, i’faith, or else you should have it.
Tyse. Hark ye, thou base lying—How dares thy impudence hope to prosper? Were’t not for the privilege of this respected company, I would so bang thee. 180
Cri. Come hither, servant. What’s the matter betwixt you two?
Caq. Nothing; but hark you, he did me some uncivil discourtesies last night; for which, because I should not call him to account, he desires to make me any satisfaction. The coward trembles at my very presence; but I ha’ him on the hip; I’ll take the forfeit on his ring.
Tyse. What’s that you whisper to her? 189
Caq. Nothing, sir; but satisfy her that the ring was not pawn’d, but only lent by you to grace my finger; and so told her I craved pardon for being too familiar, or indeed over-bold with your reputation.
Cri. Yes, indeed, he did. He said you desired to make him any satisfaction for an uncivil discourtesy you did him last night; but he said he had you o’ the hip, and would take the forfeit of your ring.
Tyse. How now, ye base poltroon.
Caq. Hold! hold! my mistress speaks by contraries.
Tyse. Contraries! 200
Caq. She jests—faith, only jests.
Cri. Sir, I’ll no more o’ your service—you are a child—I’ll give you to my nurse.
Put. And he come to me, I can tell you, as old as I am, what to do with him.
Caq. I offer my service, forsooth.
Tyse. Why, so: now, every dog has his bone to gnaw on.
Free. The masque holds, Master Caqueteur.
Caq. I am ready, sir. Mistress, I’ll dance with you, ne’er fear—I’ll grace you. 211
Put. I tell you, I can my singles and my doubles, and my trick o’ twenty[60]—my carantapace—my traverse forward—and my falling back, yet, i’faith.
Bea. Mine! The provision for the night is ours. Much must be our care; till night we leave you; I am your servant, be not tyrannous. Your virtue won me; faith, my love’s not lust; Good, wrong me not; my most fault is much trust.
Free. Until night only, my heart be with you. Farewell, sister. 221
Cri. Adieu, brother. Come on, sister, for these sweetmeats.
Free. Let’s meet and practise presently.
Tyse. Content; we’ll but fit our pumps. Come, ye pernicious vermin.
[Exeunt all but Freevill.
Enter Malheureux.
Free. My friend, wished hours! What news from Babylon?
How does the woman of sin and natural concupiscence?
Mal. The eldest child of nature ne’er beheld
So damn’d a creature. 230
Free. What! In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas?
Which way bears the tide?
Mal. Dear loved sir, I find a mind courageously vicious may be put on a desperate security; but can never be blessed with a firm enjoying and self-satisfaction.
Free. What passion is this, my dear Lindabrides?[61]
Mal. ’Tis well; we both may jest; I ha’ been tempted to your death.
Free. What, is the rampant cocatrice grown mad for the loss of her men? 241
Mal. Devilishly mad.
Free. As most assured of my second love?
Mal. Right.
Free. She would have had this ring.
Mal. Ay, and this heart; and in true proof you were slain, I should bring her this ring, from which she was assured
You would not part until from life you parted;
For which deed, and only for which deed, I should possess her sweetness. 251
Free. O! bloody villains! Nothing is defamed but
by his proper self. Physicians abuse remedies; lawyers spoil the law; and women only shame women. You ha’ vow’d my death?
Mal. My lust, not I, before my reason would; yet I must use her. That I, a man of sense, should conceive endless pleasure in a body whose soul I know to be so hideously black! 259
Free. That a man at twenty-three should cry, O sweet pleasure! and at forty-three should sigh, O sharp pox! But consider man furnished with omnipotence, and you overthrow him; thou must cool thy impatient appetite. ’Tis fate, ’tis fate!
Mal. I do malign my creation that I am subject to passion. I must enjoy her.
Free. I have it, mark. I give a masque to-night
To my love’s kindred; in that thou shalt go.
In that we two make show of falling out.
Give seeming challenge—instantly depart, 270
With some suspicion to present fight.
We will be seen as going to our swords;
And after meeting, this ring only lent,
I’ll lurk in some obscure place, till rumour
(The common bawd to loose suspicions)
Have feign’d me slain, which (in respect myself
Will not be found, and our late seeming quarrel)
Will quickly sound to all as earnest truth.
Then to thy wench; protest me surely dead;
Show her this ring, enjoy her, and, blood cold, 280
We’ll laugh at folly.
Free. Think of it! come away; virtue, let sleep thy passions;
What old times held as crimes, are now but fashions.
[Exeunt.
[53] Old eds. “goose-turnd-greene.”—“Merde oye. A Goose-turd-greene.”—Cotgrave.
[54] Tacitus has the same sensible observation about prohibited books:—“Convictum Veientonem Italia depulit [Nero] et libros exuri jussit, conquisitos lectitatosque, donec cum periculo parabantur: mox licentia habendi oblivionem attulit.”—Ann., xiv. 50. But in these days of “anthropological” research a public censor of morals might to the advantage of the community be allowed to exercise authority. Discretion, of course, would have to be used; otherwise this edition of Marston might be called in; absit omen!
[55] See Dyce’s Shakesp. Glossary.
[56] For information about the city-giants see Fairholt’s excellent History of Lord Mayors’ Pageants, p. 76 (Percy Society).
[57] Proposal, scheme.
[58] Nineveh was one of the most famous of the motions (i.e., puppet-shows); Julius Cæsar was also a favourite (see Middleton, viii. 95-6). Ben Jonson alludes to the motion of “Jonas and the Whale” in Every Man out of his Humour. In Jonson’s Bartholomew Fair, v. 1, there is a mention of the motion of Jerusalem:—“O the motions that I, Lanthorn Leatherhead, have given light to, in my time, since my master Pod died! Jerusalem was a stately thing, and so was Nineveh,” &c.
[59] So ed. 2.—Ed. 1. “’tis the.”
[60] See note, vol. i. p. 276.
[61] A character in the romance of The Mirror of Chivalry (see note, vol. i. p. 30).
SCENE II.
House of Master Burnish, the jeweller.
Enter Master Burnish[62] and Lionel. Master Mulligrub, with a standing cup in his hand, and an obligation[63] in the other. Cocledemoy stands at the other door, disguised like a French pedlar, and overhears them.
Mul. I am not at this time furnish’d; but there’s my bond for your plate.
Bur. Your bill had been sufficient: y’are a good[64] man. A standing cup parcel-gilt[65] of thirty-two ounces, eleven pounds seven shillings, the first of July. Good plate—good man—good day—good all.
Mul. ’Tis my hard fortune; I will hang the knave. No, first he shall half rot in fetters in the dungeon—his conscience made despairful. I’ll hire a knave o’ purpose—shall
assure him he is damn’d; and after see him with mine own eyes, hang’d without singing any psalm. Lord, that he has but one neck! 12
Bur. You are too tyrannous;—you’ll use me no further?
Mul. No, sir; lend me your servant, only to carry the plate home. I have occasion of an hour’s absence.
Bur. With easy consent, sir.—Haste and be careful.
[Exit Burnish.
Mul. Be very careful, I pray thee,—to my wife’s own hands.
Lio. Secure yourself, sir. 20
Mul. To her own hand!
Lio. Fear not, I have delivered greater things than this to a woman’s own hand.
Coc. Mounsier, please you to buy a fine delicate ball, sweet ball—a camphor ball?
Mul. Prithee, away!
[Exit Lionel.
Coc. Wun’[66] a ball to scour—a scouring ball—a ball to be shaved!
Mul. For the love of God! talk not of shaving. I have been shaved—mischief and a thousand devils seize him!—I have been shaved! 31
[Exit Mulligrub.
Coc. The fox grows fat when he is cursed—I’ll shave ye smoother yet. Turd on a tile stone! my lips have a kind of rheum at this bole. I’ll have’t—I’ll gargalise my throat with this vintner, and when I have done with him, spit him out. I’ll shark! Conscience does not
repine. Were I to bite an honest gentleman, a poor grogaran poet, or a penurious parson that had but ten pigs’ tails in a twelvemonth, and, for want of learning, had but one good stool in a fortnight, I were damn’d beyond the works of supererogation; but to wring the withers of my gouty-barm’d spiggod-frigging jumbler of elements, Mulligrub, I hold it as lawful as sheep-shearing, taking eggs from hens, caudles from asses, or butter’d shrimps from horses—they make no use of them, were not provided for them. And, therefore, worshipful Cocledemoy, hang toasts! On, in grace and virtue to proceed, only beware, beware degrees. There be rounds in a ladder, and knots in a halter; ware carts, hang toasts, the common council has decreed it! I must draw a lot for the great goblet.
[Exit. 51
[62] Old eds. “Garnish.”
[63] Bond.
[64] Mulligrub is good as Antonio was good in Shylock’s eyes:—“My meaning in saying he is a good man is to have you understand that he is sufficient.”
[65] Partly gilt,—with part of the work gilt and part left ungilded.
[66] i.e., want.—Old eds. “One.”
SCENE III.
A Tavern.
Enter Mistress Mulligrub, and Lionel with a goblet.
Mistress Mul. Nay, I pray you, stay and drink; and how does your mistress? I know her very well—I have been inward with her, and so has many more. She was ever a good, patient creature, i’faith! With all my heart, I’ll remember your master, an honest man. He knew me before I was married! An honest man he is, and a crafty. He comes forward in the world well, I warrant him; and his wife is a proper woman, that she
is. Well, she has been as proper a woman as any in Cheap. She paints now, and yet she keeps her husband’s old customers to him still. In troth, a fine-faced wife, in a wainscot-carved seat,[67] is a worthy ornament to a tradesman’s shop, and an attractive, I warrant; her husband shall find it in the custom of his ware, I’ll assure him. God be with you, good youth; I acknowledge the receipt. [Exit Lionel.] I acknowledge all the receipt—sure, ’tis very well spoken—I acknowledge the receipt. Thus ’tis to have good education, and to be brought up in a tavern. I do keep as gallant and as good company, though I say it, as any she in London. Squires, gentlemen, and knights diet at my table, and I do lend some of them money; and full many fine men go upon my score, as simple as I stand here, and I trust them; and truly they very knightly and courtly promise fair, give me very good words, and a piece of flesh when time of year serves. Nay, though my husband be a citizen, and’s cap’s made of wool,[68] yet I ha’ wit, and can see my good as soon as another, for I have all the thanks; my silly husband, alas! he knows nothing of it; ’tis I that bear—’tis I that must bear a brain[69] for all.
Coc. Fair hour to you, mistress! 31
Mistress Mul. Fair hour!—fine term!—faith, I’ll score it up anon.—A beautiful thought to you, sir.
Coc. Your husband, and my master, Mr. Burnish,[70] has sent you a jole of fresh salmon, and they both will come to dinner to season your new cup with the best wine, which cup your husband entreats you to send back by me, that his arms may be graved a’ the side, which he forgot before it was sent.
Mistress Mul. By what token are you sent?—by no token? Nay, I have wit. 41
Coc. He sent me by the same token, that he was dry shaved this morning.
Mistress Mul. A sad token, but true. Here, sir, I pray you commend me to your master, but especially to your mistress. Tell them they shall be most sincerely welcome.
[Exit.
Coc. Shall be most sincerely welcome! Worshipful Cocledemoy, lurk close. Hang toasts! Be not ashamed of thy quality! Every man’s turd smells well in’s own nose. Vanish, foyst! 51
[Exit.
Re-enter Mistress Mulligrub, with servants and furniture for the table.
Mistress Mul. Come, spread these table diaper napkins, and—do you hear—perfume this parlour; does so
smell of profane tobacco. I could never endure this ungodly tobacco, since one of our elders assured me, upon his knowledge, tobacco was not used in the congregation of the family of love. Spread, spread handsomely—Lord? these boys do things arsy-versy—you show your bringing up. I was a gentlewoman by my sister’s side—I can tell ye so methodically. Methodically! I wonder where I got that word? O! Sir Aminadab Ruth bad me kiss him methodically!—I had it somewhere, and I had it indeed. 63
Enter Master Mulligrub.
Mul. Mind, be not desperate; I’ll recover all.
All things with me shall seem honest that can be profitable,
He must ne’er winch, that would or thrive or save,
To be call’d niggard, cuckold, cut-throat, knave!
Mistress Mul. Are they come, husband?
Mul. Who?—what?—how now? What feast towards in my private parlour? 70
Mistress Mul. Pray leave your foolery! What, are they come?
Mul. Come—who come?
Mistress Mul. You need not make’t so strange!
Mul. Strange?
Mistress Mul. Ay, strange. You know no man that sent me word that he and his wife would come to dinner to me, and sent this jole of fresh salmon beforehand?
Mul. Peace—not I—peace! The messenger hath
mistaken the house; let’s eat it up quickly before it be inquired for. Sit to it—some vinegar—quick! Some good luck yet. Faith, I never tasted salmon relish better! Oh! when a man feeds at other men’s cost! 83
Mistress Mul. Other men’s cost! Why, did not you send this jole of salmon?
Mul. No.
Mistress Mul. By Master Burnish’[71] man?
Mul. No.
Mistress Mul. Sending me word that he and his wife would come to dinner to me? 90
Mul. No, no.
Mistress Mul. To season my new bowl?
Mul. Bowl!
Mistress Mul. And withal will’d me to send the bowl back.
Mul. Back!
Mistress Mul. That you might have your arms graved on the side?
Mul. Ha!
Mistress Mul. By the same token you were dry-shaven this morning before you went forth. 101
Mul. Pah! how this salmon stinks!
Mistress Mul. And thereupon sent the bowl back, prepar’d dinner—nay, and I bear not a brain.
Mul. Wife, do not vex me! Is the bowl gone?—is it deliver’d?
Mistress Mul. Deliver’d! Yes, sure, ’tis deliver’d.
Mul. I will never more say my prayers. Do not make me mad; ’tis common. Let me not cry like a woman. Is it gone? 110
Mistress Mul. Gone? God is my witness, I deliver’d it with no more intention to be cozen’d on’t than the child new born; and yet——
Mul. Look to my house! I am haunted with evil spirits! Hear me; do hear me! If I have not my goblet again, heaven! I’ll to the devil,—I’ll to a conjurer. Look to my house! I’ll raise all the wise men i’ the street.
[Exit.
Mistress Mul. Deliver us! What words are these? I trust in God he is but drunk, sure. 120
Re-enter Cocledemoy.
Coc. I must have the salmon too; worship[ful] Cocledemoy, now for the masterpiece. God bless thy neckpiece, and foutra!—Fair mistress, my master——
Mistress Mul. Have I caught you?—what, Roger?
Coc. Peace, good mistress. I’ll tell you all. A jest; a very mere jest: your husband only took sport to fright you:—the bowl’s at my master’s; and there is your husband, who sent me in all haste lest you should be over-frighted with his feigning, to come to dinner to him. 130
Mistress Mul. Praise heaven it is no worse.
Coc. And desired me to desire you to send the jole of salmon before, and yourself to come after to them; my mistress would be right glad to see you.
Mistress Mul. I pray carry it. Now thank them
entirely. Bless me, I was never so out of my skin in my life! pray thank your mistress most entirely.
Coc. So now, figo! worshipful Mall Faugh and I will munch; cheaters and bawds go together like washing and wringing. 140
[Exit.
Mistress Mul. Beshrew his heart for his labour, how everything about[72] me quivers. What, Christian! my hat and aporn:[73] here, take my sleeves. And how I tremble! so I’ll gossip it now for’t, that’s certain; here has been revolutions and false fires indeed.
Enter Mulligrub.
Mul. Whither now?—what’s the matter with you now?—whither are you a-gadding?
Mistress Mul. Come, come, play the fool no more. Will you go?
Mul. Whither, in the rank name of madness—whither?
Mistress Mul. Whither?—why to Master Burnish,[74] to eat the jole of salmon. Lord, how strange you make it! 153
Mul. Why so?—why so?
Mistress Mul. Why so? Why, did not you send the self-same fellow for the jole of salmon that had the cup?
Mul. ’Tis well,—’tis very well.
Mistress Mul. And will’d me to come and eat it with you at the goldsmith’s?
Mul. O, ay, ay, ay,—art in thy right wits? 160
Mistress Mul. Do you hear?—make a fool of somebody else; and you make an ass of me, I’ll make an ox of you,—do ye see?
Mul. Nay, wife, be patient; for, look you, I may be mad, or drunk, or so; for my own part, though you can bear more than I, yet I can do well. I will not curse nor cry,[75] but Heaven knows what I think. Come, let’s go hear some music; I will never more say my prayers. Let’s go hear some doleful music. Nay, if Heaven forget to prosper knaves, I’ll go no more to the synagogue. Now I am discontented, I’ll turn sectary; that is fashion.
[Exeunt.
[67] Tradesmen were frequently accused of using their wives as lures to attract customers. We shall hear more of this subject when we reach the satires.
[68] For the benefit of cappers an act was passed in 1571 that caps of wool (“statute-caps”) should be worn by citizens on the Sabbath and on holidays.
[69] “Bear a brain”—keep a shrewd memory.
[70] Old eds. “Garnish.”
[71] Old eds. “Garnish.”
[72] Ed. 1. “about, abour.”
[73] Old form of “apron,” (which is the reading of ed. 2).
[74] Old eds. “Garnish.”
[75] Ed. 1. “cary.”—Ed. 2. “care I.”
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Room in Sir Hubert Subboys’ house.
Enter Sir Hubert Subboys, Sir Lionel Freevill, Crispinella; servants with lights.
Sir Hub. More lights! Welcome, Sir Lionel Freevill! brother Freevill, shortly. Look to your lights!
Serv. The masquers are at hand.
Sir Lio. Call down our daughter. Hark! they are at hand: rank handsomely.
Enter the Masquers; they dance. Enter Beatrice, Freevill, and Malheureux. Malheureux takes Beatrice from Freevill: they draw.
Free. Know, sir, I have the advantage of the place;
You are not safe: I would deal even with you.
Mal. So.
[They exchange gloves as pledges.
Free. So.
Bea. I do beseech you, sweet, do not for me provoke your fortune. 11
Sir Lio. What sudden flaw is risen?
Sir Hub. From whence comes this?
Free. An ulcer, long time lurking, now is burst.
Sir Hub. Good sir, the time and your designs are soft.
Bea. Ay, dear sir, counsel him, advise him; ’twill relish well
From your carving. Good my sweet, rest safe.
Free. All’s well! all’s well!—this shall be ended straight.
Sir Hub. The banquet stays;—there we’ll discourse more large.
Free. Marriage must not make men cowards.
Sir Lio. Nor rage fools. 19
Sir Hub. ’Tis valour not where heat but reason rules.
[Exeunt; only Tysefew and Crispinella stay.
Tyse. But do you hear, lady?—you proud ape, you! What was the jest you brake of me even now?
Cris. Nothing. I only said you were all mettle;—that you had a brazen face, a leaden brain, and a copper beard.
Tyse. Quicksilver,—thou little more than a dwarf, and something less than a woman.
Cris. A wisp! a wisp! a wisp!—will you go to the banquet?
Tyse. By the Lord, I think thou wilt marry shortly too; thou growest somewhat foolish already. 31
Cris. O, i’faith, ’tis a fair thing to be married, and a necessary. To hear this word must! If our husbands be proud, we must bear his contempt; if noisome, we
must bear with the goat under his armholes; if a fool, we must bear his bable;[76] and, which is worse, if a loose liver, we must live upon unwholesome reversions; where, on the contrary side, our husbands—because they may, and we must—care not for us. Things hoped with fear, and got with strugglings, are men’s high pleasures, when duty palls and flats their appetite. 41
Tyse. What a tart monkey is this! By heaven! if thou hadst not so much wit, I could find in my heart to marry thee. Faith, bear with me for all this!
Cris. Bear with thee? I wonder how thy mother could bear thee ten months in her belly, when I cannot endure thee two hours in mine eye.
Tyse. Alas, for your sweet soul! By the Lord, you are grown a proud, scurvy, apish, idle, disdainful, scoffing—God’s foot! because you have read Euphues and his England,[77] Palmerin de Oliva,[78] and the Legend of Lies![79] 52
Cris. Why, i’faith, yet, servant, you of all others should bear with my known unmalicious humours: I have always in my heart given you your due respect. And Heaven may be sworn, I have privately given fair speech of you, and protested——
Tyse. Nay, look you; for my own part, if I have not
as religiously vow’d my heart to you,—been drunk to your health, swallowed flap-dragons,[80] ate glasses, drunk urine,[81] stabb’d arms,[82] and done all the offices of protested gallantry for your sake; and yet you tell me I have a brazen face, a leaden brain, and a copper beard! Come, yet, and it please you. 64
Cris. No, no;—you do not love me.
Tyse. By —— but I do now; and whosoever dares say that I do not love you, nay, honour you, and if you would vouchsafe to marry——
Cris. Nay, as for that, think on’t as you will, but God’s my record,—and my sister knows I have taken drink and slept upon’t,—that if ever I marry, it shall be you; and I will marry, and yet I hope I do not say it shall be you neither. 73
Tyse. By Heaven, I shall be as soon weary of health as of your enjoying!—Will you cast a smooth cheek upon me?
Cris. I cannot tell. I have no crump’d shoulders, my back needs no mantle, and yet marriage is honourable. Do you think ye shall prove a cuckold?
Tyse. No, by the Lord, not I! 80
Cris. Why, I thank you, i’faith. Heigho! I slept on my back this morning, and dreamt the strangest dreams.
Good Lord! How things will come to pass! Will you go to the banquet?
Tyse. If you will be mine, you shall be your own:—my purse, my body, my heart, is yours,—only be silent in my house, modest at my table, and wanton in my bed;—and the Empress of Europe cannot content, and shall not be contented, better. 89
Cris. Can any kind heart speak more discreetly affectionately? My father’s consent; and as for mine——
Tyse. Then thus, and thus, so Hymen should begin; Sometimes a falling out proves falling in.
[Exeunt.
[76] The word is used in the double sense of (1) babble, (2) bauble (which was frequently written bable).
[77] Euphues and his England is the title of the second part (first published in 1580) of John Lyly’s famous and tedious romance.
[78] One of the romances published in the series that bears the general title of The Mirrour of Knighthood.
[79] The Legend of Lies is, of course, a fictitious book.
[80] Candle-ends floating in lighted brandy.
[81] This nasty feat of gallantry is mentioned by Middleton, ii. 351.
[82] It appears (from passages in Ben Jonson, Middleton, &c.) that gallants were accustomed to puncture their arms, and letting the blood drip into the wine, drink off the mixture to their mistress’ health.
SCENE II.
Near Sir Hubert Subboys’ house.
Enter Freevill, speaking to some within; Malheureux at the other door.
Free. As you respect my virtue, give me leave
To satisfy my reason, though not blood.—
So all runs right; our feignèd rage hath ta’en
To fullest life: they are much possess’d
Of force most, most all quarrel. Now, my right friend,
Resolve me with open breast, free and true heart;
Cannot thy virtue, having space to think
And fortify her weakened powers with reason,
Discourses, meditations, discipline,
Divine ejaculatories, and all those aids against devils,—
Cannot all these curb thy low appetite 11
And sensual fury?
Mal. There is no God in blood, no reason in desire.
Shall I but live? Shall I not be forced to act
Some deed whose very name is hideous?
Free. No.
Mal. Then I must enjoy Franceschina.
Free. You shall.
I’ll lend this ring: show it to that fair devil:
It will resolve me dead;
Which rumour, with my artificial absence,
Will make most firm: enjoy her suddenly. 20
Mal. But if report go strong that you are slain,
And that by me,—whereon I may be seized,—
Where shall I find your being?
Free. At Master Shatewe’s the jeweller’s, to whose breast
I’ll trust our secret purpose.
Mal. Ay, rest yourself;
Each man hath follies.
Free. But those worst of all,
Who, with a willing eye, do seeing fall.
Mal. ’Tis true, but truth seems folly in madness’ spectacles. I am not now myself, no man: farewell.
Free. Farewell. 30
Mal. When woman’s in the heart, in the soul hell.
[Exit Malheureux.
Free. Now, repentance, the fool’s whip, seize thee;
Nay, if there be no means I’ll be thy friend,
But not thy vices’; and with greatest sense
I’ll force thee feel thy errors to the worst;
The wildest of dangers thou shalt sink into.
No jeweller shall see me; I will lurk
Where none shall know or think; close I’ll withdraw,
And leave thee with two friends—a whore and knave;
But is this virtue in me? No, not pure, 40
Nothing extremely best with us endures;
No use in simple purities; the elements
Are mix’d for use; silver without allay[83]
Is all too eager[84] to be wrought for use:
Nor precise virtues, ever purely good,
Holds useful size with temper of weak blood.
Then let my course be borne, though with side-wind;
The end being good, the means are well assign’d.
[Exit.
[83] Old form of alloy.
[84] Brittle (Fr. aigre).—“Aigre, eagre, sharpe, tart, biting, sower also brittle, or easily broken with a hammer.”—Cotgrave.
SCENE III.
Franceschina’s lodging.
Enter Franceschina melancholy, Cocledemoy leading her.
Coc. Come, catafugo, Frank o’ Frank-hall! who, who ho! Excellent! Ha, here’s a plump-rump’d wench, with a breast softer than a courtier’s tongue, an old lady’s gums, or an old man’s mentula. My fine rogue——
Fra. Pah, you poltroon!
Coc. Goody fist,[85] flumpum pumpum; ah, my fine wag-tail,
thou art as false, as prostituted, and adulterate as some translated manuscript. Buss, fair whore, buss!
Fra. God’s sacrament, pox! 10
Coc. Hadamoy key, dost thou frown, medianthon teukey? Nay, look here. Numeron key, silver blithefor cany, os cany goblet: us key ne moy blegefoy oteeston pox, on you gosling!
Fra. By me fait, dis bin very fine langage; ick sall bush ye now; ha, be garzon, vare had you dat plate?
Coc. Hedemoy key, get you gone, punk rampant, key, common up-tail!
Enter Mary Faugh in haste.
Mar. O daughter, cousin, niece, servant, mistress!
Coc. Humpum, plumpum squat, I am gone. 20
[Exit Cocledemoy.
Mar. There is one Master Malheureux at the door desires to see you. He says he must not be denied, for he hath sent this ring; and withal says ’tis done.
Fra. Vat sall me do now, God’s sacrament! Tell him two hours hence he sall be most affectionately velcome; tell him (vat sall me do?), tel him ick am bin in my bate, and ick sall perfume my feets, mak a mine body so delicate for his arm, two hours hence.
Mar. I shall satisfy him: two hours hence, well. 29
[Exit Mary.
Fra. Now ick sall revange; hay, begar, me sal tartar de whole generation! Mine brain vork it. Freevill is dead, Malheureux sall hang; and mine rival, Beatrice, ick sall make run mad.
Mar. He’s gone, forsooth, to eat a caudle of cock-stones, and will return within this two hours.
Fra. Verie vel, give monies to some fellow to squire me; ick sal go abroad.
Mar. There’s a lusty bravo beneath, a stranger, but a good stale[86] rascal. He swears valiantly, kicks a bawd right virtuously, and protests with an empty pocket right desperately. He’ll squire you. 41
Fra. Very velcom; mine fan; ick sall retorn presantly. Now sal me be revange; ten tousant devla! der sall be no got in me but passion, no tought but rage, no mercy but bloud, no spirit but divla in me. Dere sal noting tought good for me, but dat is mischievous for others.
[Exit.
[85] Ed. 2. “fiest.”—[See note], p. 42.
[86] Quy. “tall”?
SCENE IV.
Room in Sir Hubert Subboys’ house.
Enter Sir Hubert, Sir Lionel, Beatrice, Crispinella, and Nurse, Tysefew following.
Sir Lio. Did no one see him since?—pray God!—nay, all is well.
A little heat; what? he is but withdrawn;
And yet I would to God!—but fear you nothing.
Bea. Pray God that all be well, or would I were not!
Tyse. He’s not to be found, sir, anywhere.
Sir Lio. You must not make a heavy face presage an ill event. I like your sister well, she’s quick and lively: would she would marry, faith.
Cri. Marry, nay and I would marry, methinks an old man’s a quiet thing. 10
Sir Lio. Ha, mass! and so he is.
Cri. You are a widower?
Sir Lio. That I am, i’faith, fair Crisp; and I can tell you, would you affect me, I have it in me yet, i’faith.
Cri. Troth I am in love; let me see your hand: would you cast yourself away upon me willingly?
Sir Lio. Will I? Ay, by the——
Cri. Would you be a cuckold willingly? By my troth ’tis a comely, fine, and handsome sight, for one of my years to marry an old man; truth, ’tis restorative; what a comfortable thing it is to think of her husband, to hear his venerable cough o’ the everlastings, to feel his rough skin, his summer hands and winter legs, his almost no eyes, and assuredly no teeth; and then to think what she must dream of, when she considers others’ happiness and her own want! ’tis a worthy and notorious comfortable match. 27
Sir Lio. Pish, pish! will you have me?
Cri. Will you assure me——
Sir Lio. Five hundred pound jointure?
Cri. That you will die within this fortnight?
Sir Lio. No, by my faith, Cris.
Cri. Then Crisp by her faith assures you she’ll have none of you.
Enter Young Freevill disguised like a pander, and Franceschina.
Free. By’r leave, gentles and men of nightcaps, I would
speak, but that here stands one is able to express her own tale best.
Fra. Sir, mine speech is to you; you had a son, matre Freevill?
Sir Lio. Had, ha! and have. 40
Fra. No point,[87] me am come to assure you dat one mestre Malheureux hath killed him.
Bea. O me! wretched, wretched!
Sir Hub. Look to our daughter.
Sir Lio. How art thou inform’d?
Fra. If dat it please you to go vid me, ick sall bring you where you sall hear Malheureux vid his own lips confess it, and dare ye may apprehend him, and revenge your and mine love’s blood.
Sir Hub. Your love’s blood! mistress, was he your love? 51
Fra. He was so, sir; let your daughter hear it: do not veep, lady; de young man dat be slain did not love you, for he still lovit me ten tousant tousant times more dearly.
Bea. O my heart, I will love you the better; I cannot hate what he affected. O passion, O my grief! which way wilt break, think, and consume!
Cri. Peace!
Bea. Dear woes cannot speak. 60
Fra. For look you, lady, dis your ring he gave me, vid most bitter jests at your scorn’d kindness.
Bea. He did not ill not to love me, but sure he did not well to mock me: gentle minds will pity, though they cannot love; yet peace and my love sleep with him. Unlace, good nurse; alas! I was not so ambitious of so supreme an happiness, that he should only love me; ’twas joy enough for me, poor soul, that I only might only love him.
Fra. O but to be abused, scorn’d, scoff’d at! O ten tousand divla, by such a one, and unto such a one! 71
Bea. I think you say not true, sister; shall we know one another in the other world?
Cri. What means my sister?
Bea. I would fain see him again! O my tortured mind!
Freevill is more than dead, he is unkind!
[Exeunt Beatrice, Crispinella, and Nurse.
Sir Hub. Convey her in, and so, sir, as you said, Set a strong watch.
Sir Lio. Ay, sir, and so pass along with this same common woman; you must make it good. 80
Fra. Ick sall, or let me pay for his mine bloud.
Sir Hub. Come, then, along all, with quiet speed.
Sir Lio. O fate!
Tyse. O sir, be wisely sorry, but not passionate.
[Exeunt all but Young Freevill.
Free. I will go and reveal myself! stay, no, no;
Grief endears love. Heaven! to have such a wife
Is happiness to breed pale envy in the saints.
Thou worthy dove-like virgin without gall,
Cannot (that woman’s evil) jealousy,
Despite disgrace, nay, which is worse, contempt, 90
Once stir thy faith? O truth, how few sisters hast thou!
Dear memory!
With what a suffering sweetness, quiet modesty,
Yet deep affection, she received my death!
And then with what a patient, yet oppressed kindness,
She took my lewdly intimated wrongs!
O the dearest of heaven! were there but three
Such women in the world, two might be saved.
Well, I am great
With expectation to what devilish end 100
This woman of foul soul will drive her plots;
But Providence all wicked art o’ertops;
And impudence must know (tho’ stiff as ice),
That fortune doth not always dote on vice.
[Exit.
[87] “No point”—not at all (Fr. non point). See Dyce’s Shakesp. Glossary.
SCENE V.
A Street.
Enter Sir Hubert, Sir Lionel, Tysefew, Franceschina, and three with halberds.
Sir Hub. Plant a watch there! be very careful, sirs; the rest with us.
Tyse. The heavy night grows to her depth of quiet;
’Tis about mid-darkness.
Fra. Mine shambre is hard by; ick sall bring you to it presantment.
Sir Lio. Deep silence! On!
[Exeunt.
Coc. (within). Wa, ha, ho!
Enter Mulligrub.
Mul. It was his voice, ’tis he: he sups with his cupping-glasses. ’Tis late; he must pass this way: I’ll ha’ him—I’ll ha’ my fine boy, my worshipful Cocledemoy; I’ll moy him; he shall be hang’d in lousy linen; I’ll hire some sectary to make him an heretic before he die; and when he is dead I’ll piss on his grave. 15
Enter Cocledemoy.
Coc. Ah, my fine punks, good night, Frank Frailty, Frail o’ Frail-hall! Bonus noches, my ubiquitari.
Mul. Ware polling and shaving, sir.
Coc. A wolf, a wolf, a wolf!
[Exit Cocledemoy, leaving his cloak behind him.
Mul. Here’s something yet, a cloak, a cloak! Yet I’ll after; he cannot ’scape the watch; I’ll hang him if I have any mercy. I’ll slice him.
[Exit.
Enter three Constables; to them Cocledemoy.
1st Con. Who goes there? Come before the constable. 24
Coc. Bread o’ God! constable, you are a watch for
the devil. Honest men are robb’d under your nose; there’s a false knave in the habit of a vintner set upon me; he would have had my purse, but I took me to my heels: yet he got my cloak, a plain stuff cloak, poor, yet ’twill serve to hang him. ’Tis my loss, poor man that I am! 31
[Exit.
Enter Mulligrub running with Cocledemoy’s cloak.
2d Con. Masters, we must watch better; is’t not strange that knaves, drunkards, and thieves should be abroad, and yet we of the watch, scriveners, smiths, and tailors, never stir?
1st Con. Hark, who goes there?
Mul. An honest man and a citizen.
2d Con. Appear, appear; what are you?
Mul. A simple vintner.
1st Con. A vintner ha! and simple; draw nearer, nearer; here’s the cloak. 41
2d Con. Ay, Master Vintner, we know you: a plain stuff cloak; ’tis it.
1st Con. Right, come! O thou varlet, dost not thou know that the wicked cannot ’scape the eyes of the constable?
Mul. What means this violence? As I am an honest man I took the cloak——
1st Con. As you are a knave, you took the cloak, we are your witnesses for that. 50
Mul. But, hear me, hear me! I’ll tell you what I am.
2d Con. A thief you are.
Mul. I tell you my name is Mulligrub.
1st Con. I will grub you. In with him to the stocks; there let him sit till to-morrow morning, that Justice Quodlibet may examine him.
Mul. Why, but I tell thee——
2d Con. Why, but I tell thee, we’ll tell thee now.
Mul. Am I not mad? am I not an ass? Why, scabs, God’s-foot! let me out. 60
2d Con. Ay, ay, let him prate; he shall find matter in us scabs, I warrant: God’s-so, what good members of the commonwealth do we prove!
1st Con. Prithee, peace; let’s remember our duties, and let’s[88] go sleep, in the fear of God.
[Exeunt, having left Mulligrub in the stocks.
Mul. Who goes there? Illo, ho, ho: zounds, shall I run mad—lose my wits! Shall I be hang’d? Hark; who goes there? Do not fear to be poor, Mulligrub; thou hast a sure stock now.
Re-enter Cocledemoy like a bellman.
Coc. The night grows old, 70
And many a cuckold
Is now—Wha, ha, ha, ho!
Maids on their backs
Dream of sweet smacks,
And warm—Wo, ho, ho, ho!
I must go comfort my venerable Mulligrub, I must fiddle him till he fist.[89] Fough!
Maids in your night-rails,
Look well to your light—
Keep close your locks, 80
And down your smocks;
Keep a broad eye,
And a close thigh.
Excellent, excellent! Who’s there? Now, Lord, Lord—Master Mulligrub—deliver us! what does your worship in the stocks? I pray come out, sir.
Mul. Zounds, man, I tell thee I am lock’d!
Coc. Lock’d! O world! O men! O time! O night! that canst not discern virtue and wisdom, and one of the common council! What is your worship in for? 90
Mul. For (a plague on’t) suspicion of felony.
Coc. Nay, and it be such a trifle, Lord, I could weep, to see your good worship in this taking. Your worship has been a good friend to me, and tho’ you have forgot me, yet I knew your wife before she was married, and since I have found your worship’s door open, and I have knock’d, and God knows what I have saved: and do I live to see your worship stocked?
Mul. Honest bellman, I perceive
Thou knowest me: I prithee call the watch. 100
Inform the constable of my reputation,
That I may no longer abide in this shameful habitation,
And hold thee all I have about me.
[Gives him his purse.
Coc. ’Tis more than I deserve, sir: let me alone for your delivery.
Mul. Do, and then let me alone with Cocledemoy. I’ll moy him!
Re-enter the Constables.
Coc. Maids in your——
Master Constable, whose that ith’ stocks?
1st Con. One for a robbery: one Mulligrub, he calls himself. Mulligrub? Bellman, knowest thou him? 111
Coc. Know him! O, Master Constable, what good service have you done! Know him? He’s a strong thief; his house has been suspected for a bawdy tavern a great while, and a receipt for cut-purses, ’tis most certain. He has been long in the black book, and is he ta’en now?
2d Con. By’r lady, my masters, we’ll not trust the stocks with him, we’ll have him to the justices, get a mittimus to Newgate presently. Come, sir, come on, sir. 121
Mul. Ha! does your rascalship yet know my worship in the end?
1st Con. Ay, the end of your worship we know.
Mul. Ha! goodman constable, here’s an honest fellow can tell you what I am?
2d Con. ’Tis true, sir; y’are a strong thief, he says, on his own knowledge. Bind fast, bind fast! we know you. We’ll trust no stocks with you. Away with him to the jail instantly. 130
Mul. Why, but dost hear? Bellman, rogue, rascal! God’s—why, but—
[The Constables drag away Mulligrub.
Coc. Why, but! wha, ha, ha! excellent, excellent! ha, my fine Cocledemoy, my vintner fists. I’ll make him fart crackers before I ha’ done with him; to-morrow is the day of judgment. Afore the Lord God, my knavery grows unperegall;[90] ’tis time to take a nap, until half an hour hence. God give your worship music, content, and rest.
[Exit.
[88] So ed. 2.—Ed. 1. “let.”
[90] Unequalled.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Franceschina’s lodging.
Enter Franceschina, Sir Lionel, Tysefew, with Officers.
Fra. You bin very velcom to mine shambra.
Sir Lio. But, how know ye, how are ye assured,
Both of the deed, and of his sure return?
Fra. O min-here, ick sall tell you. Metre Malheureux came all bretless running a my shambra, his sword all bloudy: he tel a me he had kil Freevill, and pred a me to conceal him. Ick flatter him, bid bring monies, he should live and lie vid me. He went, whilst ick (me hope vidout sins), out of mine mush love to Freevill, betray him. 10
Sir Lio. Fear not, ’tis well: good works get grace for sin.
[She conceals them behind the curtain.
Fra. Dere, peace, rest dere; so, softly, all go in.—
De net is lay, now sal ick be revenge.
If dat me knew a dog dat Freevill love,
Me would puisson him; for know de deepest hell
As a revenging woman’s naught so fell.
Mar. Ho! Cousin Frank, the party you wot of, Master Malheureux—
Fra. Bid him come up, I prede.
[Cantat saltatque cum cithara.
Enter Malheureux.
Fra. O min-here man, a dere liver love, 20
Mine ten tousant times velcom love!
Ha! by mine trat, you bin de just—vat sall me say?
Vat seet honie name sall I call you?
Mal. Any from you
Is pleasure. Come, my loving prettiness,
Where’s thy chamber? I long to touch your sheets.
Fra. No, no, not yet, mine seetest soft-lipp’d love,
You sall not gulp down all delights at once.
Be min trat, dis all-fles-lovers, dis ravenous wenchers[91] dat sallow all down hole, vill have all at one bit; fie, fie, fie! be min fait, dey do eat comfets vid spoons. 31
No, no, I’ll make you chew your pleasure vit love;
De more degrees and steps, de more delight,
De more endearèd is de pleasure height.
Mal. What, you’re a learn’d wanton, and proceed by art?
Fra. Go, little vag, pleasure should have a crane’s long neck, to relish de ambrosia of delight. And ick pre de tell me, for me loves to hear of manhood very mush,
i’fait: ick prede—vat vas me a saying? Oh, ick prede tell a me how did you killa Metre Freevill? 40
Mal. Why, quarrelled o’ set purpose, drew him out,
Singled him, and, having the advantage
Of my sword and might, ran him through and through.
Fra. Vat did you vid him van he was sticken?
Mal. I dragg’d him by the heels to the next wharf,
And spurn’d him in the river.
[Those in ambush rusheth forth and take him.
Sir Lio. Seize, seize him!
O monstrous! O ruthless villain!
Mal. What mean you, gentlemen? By heaven——
Tyse. Speak not of anything that’s good. 49
Mal. Your errors gives you passion: Freevill lives.
Sir Lio. Thy own lips say thou liest.
Mal. Let me die, if at Shatewe’s the jeweller he lives not safe untouch’d.
Tyse. Meantime to strictest guard, to sharpest prison.
Mal. No rudeness, gentlemen: I’ll go undragg’d.
O, wicked, wicked devil!
[Exit.
Sir Lio. Sir, the day of trial is this morn; let’s prosecute
The sharpest rigour and severest end:
Good men are cruel when they’re vice’s friend.
Sir Hub. Woman, we thank thee with no empty hand;
Strumpets are fit[92] for something. Farewell. 61
[All save Young Freevill depart.
Free. Ay, for hell!
O, thou unreprievable, beyond all
Measure of grace damn’d irremediably![93]
That things of beauty created for sweet use,
Soft comfort, as[94] the very music of life,
Custom should make so unutterably[95] hellish!
O, heaven!
What difference is in women and their life!
What man, but worthy name of man, would leave 70
The modest pleasures of a lawful bed—
The holy union of two equal hearts
Mutually holding either dear as health—
Th’ undoubted issues, joys of chaste sheets,
Th’ unfeign’d embrace of sober ignorance—
To twine th’ unhealthful loins of common loves,
The prostituted impudence of things,
Senseless like those by cataracts of Nile,
Their use so vile takes away sense! How vile
To love a creature made of blood and hell, 80
Whose use makes weak, whose company doth shame,
Whose bed doth beggar, issue doth defame!
Re-enter Franceschina.
Fra. Metre Freevill live? ha, ha, live at Mestre Shatewe’s! Mush[96] at Metre Shatewe’s! Freevill is dead, Malheureux sall hang: and, sweet divel, dat Beatrice would but run mad, dat she would but run mad! den me would dance and sing. Metre Don Dubon, me pre ye
now go to Mestres Beatrice. Tell her Freevill is sure dead, and dat he curse herself especially, for dat he was sticked in her quarrel, swearing in his last gasp, dat if it had bin in mine quarrels ’twould never have grieved him.
Free. I will. 92
Fra. Prede do, and say any ting dat vil vex her.
Free. Let me alone to vex her.
Fra. Vil you, vil you mak a her run mad? Here, take dis ring, see me scorn to wear anyting dat was hers or his. I prede torment her, ick cannot love her; she honest and virtuous, forsooth!
Free. Is she so? O vile creature! then let me alone with her. 100
Fra. Vat, vil you mak a her mad? seet, by min trat, be pretta servan; bush,[97] ick sall go to bet now.
[Exit.
Free. Mischief, whither wilt thou? O thou tearless woman!
How monstrous is thy devil,
The end of hell as thee!
How miserable were it to be virtuous,
If thou couldst prosper!
I’ll to my love, the faithful Beatrice;
She has wept enough, and faith, dear soul, too much.
But yet how sweet is it to think how dear 110
One’s life was to his love: how mourn’d his death!
’Tis joy not to be express’d with breath:
But O let him that would such passion drink,
Be quiet of his speech, and only think!
[Exit.
[91] Old eds. “wenches.”
[92] Ed. 1. “fit, fit.”
[93] Old eds. “immediatlie.”
[94] Ed. 1. “and as.”
[95] Ed. 2. “vnutterable.”
[96] Ironical exclamation.
[97] i.e., buss (kiss).
Beatrice’s chamber.
Enter Beatrice and Crispinella.
Bea. Sister, cannot a woman kill herself? is it not lawful to die when we should not live?
Cri. O sister, ’tis a question not for us; we must do what God will.
Bea. What God will? Alas, can torment be His glory, or our grief His pleasure! Does not the nurse’s nipple, juiced over with wormwood, bid the child it should not suck? And does not Heaven, when it hath made our breath bitter unto us, say we should not live?
O my best sister, 10
To suffer wounds when one may ’scape this rod
Is against nature, that is against God!
Cri. Good sister,
Do not make me weep; sure Freevill was not false.
I’ll gage my life that strumpet, out of craft
And some close second end, hath maliced[98] him.
Bea. O sister! if he were not false, whom have I lost?
If he were, what grief to such unkindness!
From head to foot I am all misery;
Only in this, some justice I have found— 20
My grief is like my love, beyond all bound.
Nur. My servant, Master Caqueteur, desires to visit you.
Cri. For grief’s sake keep him out; his discourse is like the long word Honorificabilitudinitatibus,[99] a great deal of sound and no sense: his company is like a parenthesis to a discourse,—you may admit it, or leave it out, it makes no matter.
Enter Freevill in his disguise.
Free. By your leave, sweet creatures.
Cri. Sir, all I can yet say of you is, you are uncivil.
Free. You must deny it. By your sorrow’s leave, 31
I bring some music to make sweet your grief.
Bea. Whate’er you please. O break my heart!
Canst thou yet pant? O dost thou yet survive?
Thou didst not love him if thou now canst live!
Freevill sings.[100]
O Love, how strangely sweet
Are thy weak passions!
That love and joy should meet
In self-same fashions!
O who can tell 40
The cause why this should move?
But only this,—
No reason ask of Love!
[Beatrice swounds.[101]
Cri. Hold, peace!—the gentlest soul is sownd. O my best sister!
Free. Ha, get you gone, close the doors! My Beatrice!
[Discovers himself.
Cursed be my indiscreet trials! O my immeasurably loving—
Cri. She stirs, give air, she breathes!
Bea. Where am I? Ha! how have I slipp’d off life?
Am I in heaven? O my lord, though not loving, 51
By our eternal being, yet give me leave
To rest by thy dear[102] side! Am I not in heaven?
Free. O eternally much loved,[103] recollect your spirits!
Bea. Ha, you do speak! I do see you, I do live!
I would not die now: let me not burst with wonder.
Free. Call up your blood; I live to honour you
As the admired glory of your sex.
Nor ever hath my love been false to you;
Only I presum’d to try your faith too much, 60
For which I most am grieved.
Cri. Brother, I must be plain with you, you have wrong’d us.
Free. I am not so covetous to deny it;
But yet, when my discourse hath stay’d your quaking,
You will be smoother lipp’d; and the delight
And satisfaction which we all have got,
Under these strange disguisings, when you know,
You will be mild and quiet, forget at last:
It is much joy to think on sorrows past.
Bea. Do you then live? and are you not untrue? 70
Let me not die with joy; pleasure’s more extreme
Than grief; there’s nothing sweet to man but mean.
Free. Heaven cannot be too gracious to such goodness.
I shall discourse to you the several chances;
But hark, I must yet rest disguis’d;
The sudden close of many drifts now meet:
Where pleasure hath some profit, art is sweet.
Enter Tysefew.
Tyse. News, news, news, news!
Cri. Oysters, oysters, oysters, oysters! 79
Tyse. Why, is not this well now? Is not this better than louring and pouting and puling, which is hateful to the living and vain to the dead? Come, come, you must live by the quick, when all is done; and for my own part, let my wife laugh at me when I am dead, so she’ll smile upon me whilst I live: but to see a woman whine, and yet keep her eyes dry: mourn, and yet keep her cheeks fat: nay, to see a woman claw her husband by the feet when he is dead, that would have scratched him by the face when he was living—this now is somewhat ridiculous. 90
Cri. Lord, how you prate.
Tyse. And yet I was afraid, i’faith, that I should ha’ seen a garland on this beauty’s hearse; but time, truth, experience, and variety, are great doers with women.
Cri. But what’s the news?—the news, I pray you?
Tyse. I pray you? ne’er pray me: for by your leave you may command me. This ’tis:
The public sessions, which this day is past,
Hath doom’d to death ill-fortuned Malheureux.
Cri. But, sir, we heard he offer’d to make good, 100
That Freevill lived at Shatewe’s the jeweller’s——
Bea. And that ’twas but a plot betwixt them two.
Tyse. O, ay, ay, he gaged his life with it; but know,
When all approach’d the test, Shatewe[104] denied
He saw or heard of any such complot,
Or of Freevill; so that his own defence
Appeared so false, that, like a madman’s sword,
He stroke his own heart; he hath the course of law,
And instantly must suffer. But the jest
(If hanging be a jest, as many make it) 110
Is to take notice of one Mulligrub,
A sharking vintner.
Free. What of him, sir?
Tyse. Nothing but hanging: the whoreson slave is mad before he hath lost his senses.
Free. Was his fact[105] clear and made apparent, sir?
Tyse. No, faith, suspicious; for ’twas thus protested:
A cloak was stol’n; that cloak he had; he had it,
Himself confess’d, by force; the rest of his defence
The choler of a justice wronged in wine, 120
Join’d with malignance of some hasty jurors,
Whose wit was lighted by the justice’ nose;
The knave was cast.
But, Lord, to hear his moan, his prayers, his wishes,
His zeal ill-timèd, and his words unpitied,
Would make a dead man rise and smile,
Whilst he observed how fear can make men vile.
Cri. Shall we go meet the execution?
Bea. I shall be ruled by you.
Tyse. By my troth, a rare motion;[106] you must haste,
For malefactors goes like the world, upon wheels. 130
Bea. Will you man us? You shall be our guide.
[To[107] Freevill.
Free. I am your servant.
Tyse. Ha, servant? Zounds, I am no companion for panders! you’re best make him your love.
Bea. So will I, sir; we must live by the quick, you say.
Tyse. ’Sdeath o’ virtue! what a damn’d thing’s this!
Who’ll trust fair faces, tears, and vows? ’Sdeath! not I.
She is a woman,—that is,—she can lie.
Cri. Come, come, turn not a man of time,[108] to make all ill
Whose goodness you conceive not, since the worst of chance 140
Is to crave grace for heedless ignorance.
[Exeunt.
[99] This word, which occurs in Love’s Labour Lost (and in several old plays), was invented long before Shakespeare’s time. See Dyce’s Shakesp. Glossary.
[100] So ed. 2.—Ed. 1. “He sings, she sounds.”
[101] Swoons. (The stage direction is from ed. 2.)
[102] So ed. 1.—Ed. 2. “dead.”
[103] Ed. 1. “laved.”
[104] Ed. 1. “Shatews.”
[105] Guilt.
[106] Proposal.
[107] The stage direction is printed as part of the text in old eds.
[108] The text seems to be corrupt.
A Public Place.
Enter Cocledemoy, like a sergeant.
Coc. So, I ha’ lost my sergeant in an ecliptic mist, drunk! horrible drunk! he is fine. So now will I fit myself; I hope this habit will do me no harm; I am an honest man already. Fit, fit, fit, as a punk’s tail, that serves everybody. By this time my vintner thinks of nothing but hell and sulphur; he farts fire and brimstone already. Hang toasts! the execution approacheth.
Enter Sir Lionel, Sir Hubert; Malheureux, pinioned; Tysefew, Beatrice, Freevill, Crispinella, Franceschina, and halberds.
Mal. I do not blush, although condemned by laws;
No kind of death is shameful but the cause,
Which I do know is none; and yet my lust 10
Hath made the one (although not cause) most just.
May I not be reprieved? Freevill is but mislodg’d;
Some lethargy hath seiz’d him—no, much malice;
Do not lay blood upon your souls with good intents;
Men may do ill, and law sometime repents.
[Cocledemoy picks Malheureux’ pocket of his purse.
Sir Lio. Sir, sir, prepare; vain is all lewd defence.
Mal. Conscience was law, but now law’s conscience.
My endless peace is made; and to the poor,—
My purse, my purse!
Coc. Ay, sir; and it shall please you, the poor has your purse already. 21
Mal. You[109] are a wily[110] man.
—But now, thou source of devils, oh, how I loathe
The very memory of that I adored!
He that’s of fair blood, well mien’d, of good breeding,
Best famed, of sweet acquaintance, and true friends,
And would with desperate impudence lose all these,
And hazard landing at this fatal shore,—
Let him ne’er kill, nor steal, but love a whore.
Fra. De man does rave; tinck a got, tinck a got, and bid de flesh, de world, and the dible, farewell. 31
Mal. Farewell!
Free. Farewell!
[Freevill discovers himself.
Fra. Vat ist you see?—Hah!
Free. Sir, your pardon, with my this defence:
Do not forget protested violence
Of your low affections: no requests,
No arguments of reason, no known danger,
No assured wicked bloodiness,
Could draw your heart from this damnation. 40
Mal. Why, stay!
Fra. Unprosperous devil, vat sall me do now?
Free. Therefore, to force you from the truer danger,
I wrought the feignèd; suffering this fair devil
In shape of woman to make good her plot:
And, knowing that the hook was deeply fast,
I gave her line at will, till, with her own vain strivings,
See here she’s tired. O thou comely damnation!
Dost think that vice is not to be withstood?
O what is woman, merely made of blood! 50
Sir Lio. You maze us all; let us not be lost in darkness!
Free. All shall be lighted; but this time and place
Forbids longer speech; only what you can think
Has been extremely ill, is only hers.
Sir Lio. To severest prison with her! With what heart canst live—
What eyes behold a face?
Fra. Ick vil not speak; torture, torture your fill,
For me am worse than hang’d; me ha’ lost my will.
[Exit Franceschina with the guard.
Sir Lio. To the extremest whip and jail.
Free. Frolic, how is it, sirs? 60
Mal. I am myself. How long was’t ere I could
Persuade my passion to grow calm to you!
Rich sense makes good bad language, and a friend
Should weigh no action, but the action’s end.
I am now worthy yours; when before
The beast of man, loose blood, distemper’d us:
He that lust rules cannot be virtuous.
Enter Mulligrub, Mistress Mulligrub, and Officers.
Off. On afore there! room for the prisoners!
Mul. I pray you do not lead me to execution through Cheapside. I owe Master Burnish, the goldsmith, money, and I fear he’ll set a sergeant on my back for it.
Coc. Trouble not your sconce, my Christian brothers, but have an eye unto the main chance. I will warrant your shoulders; as for your neck, Plinius Secundus, or Marcus Tullius Cicero, or somebody it is, says that a threefold cord is hardly broken. 75
Mul. Well, I am not the first honest man that hath been cast away; and I hope shall not be the last.
Coc. O, sir, have a good stomach and maws; you shall have a joyful supper.
Mul. In troth I have no stomach to it; and it please you, take my trencher; I use to fast at nights. 81
Mistress Mul. O husband! I little thought you should have come to think on God thus soon;[111] nay, and you had been hang’d deservedly it would never have grieved me; I have known of many honest innocent men have been hang’d deservedly: but to be cast away for nothing!
Coc. Good woman, hold your peace, your prittles and your prattles, your bibbles and your babbles; for I pray you hear me in private: I am a widower, and you are almost a widow; shall I be welcome to your houses, to your tables, and your other things? 92
Mistress Mul. I have a piece of mutton and a featherbed for you at all times; I pray make haste.
Mul. I do here make my confession: if I owe any
man anything, I do heartily forgive him; if any man owe me anything, let him pay my wife.
Coc. I will look to your wife’s payment, I warrant you.
Mul. And now, good yoke-fellow, leave thy poor Mulligrub. 101
Mistress Mul. Nay, then I were unkind; i’faith I will not leave you until I have seen you hang.
Coc. But brother,[112] brother, you must think of your sins and iniquities; you have been a broacher of profane vessels; you have made us drink of the juice of the whore of Babylon: for whereas good ale, perrys, bragots,[113] cyders, and metheglins, was the true ancient British and Troyan drinks, you ha’ brought in Popish wines, Spanish wines, French wines, tam Marti quam Mercurio, both muscadine and malmsey, to the subversion, staggering, and sometimes overthrow of many a good Christian. You ha’ been a great jumbler; O remember the sins of your nights! for your night works ha’ been unsavoury in the taste of your customers. 115
Mul. I confess, I confess; and I forgive as I would be forgiven. Do you know one Cocledemoy?
Coc. O very well. Know him!—an honest man he is, and a comely; an upright dealer with his neighbours, and their wives speak good things of him. 120
Mul. Well, wheresoe’er he is, or whatsoe’er he is, I’ll take it on my death he’s the cause of my hanging. I
heartily forgive him, and if he would come forth he might save me; for he only knows the why and the wherefore.
Coc. You do, from your hearts and midrifs and entrails, forgive him then? you will not let him rot in rusty irons, procure him to be hang’d in lousy linen without a song, and after he is dead piss on his grave?
Mul. That hard heart of mine has procured all this; but I forgive as I would be forgiven. 131
Coc. [Discovering himself] Hang toasts, my worshipful Mulligrub. Behold thy Cocledemoy, my fine vintner; my castrophomical fine boy; behold and see!
Tyse. Bliss o’ the blessed, who would but look for two knaves here?
Coc. No knave, worshipful friend, no knave; for observe, honest Cocledemoy restores whatsoever he has got, to make you know that whatsoever he has done, has been only euphoniæ gratia—for wit’s sake. I acquit this vintner, as he has acquitted me; all has been done for emphasis of wit, my fine boy, my worshipful friends.
Tyse. Go, you are a flatt’ring knave. 143
Coc. I am so; ’tis a good thriving trade; it comes forward better than the seven liberal sciences, or the nine cardinal virtues; which may well appear in this, you shall never have flattering knave turn courtier. And yet I have read of many courtiers that have turned flattering knaves.
Sir Hub. Was’t even but so? why, then all’s well. 150
Mul. I could even weep for joy.
Mistress Mul. I could weep too, but God knows for what!
Tyse. Here’s another tack to be given—your son and daughter.
Sir Hub. Is’t possible? heart, ay, all my heart; will you be joined here?
Tyse. Yes, faith, father; marriage and hanging are spun both in one hour.
Coc. Why, then, my worshipful good friends, I bid myself most heartily welcome to your merry nuptials and wanton jigga-joggies.—And now, my very fine Heliconian gallants, and you, my worshipful friends in the middle region, 164
If with content our hurtless mirth hath been,
Let your pleased minds at our much care be seen;[114]
For he shall find, that slights such trivial wit,
’Tis easier to reprove than better it.
We scorn to fear, and yet we fear to swell;
We do not hope ’tis best,—’tis all, if well.
[Exeunt. 170
[109] Ed. 1. “Thou art.”
[110] Old eds. “Welyman” and “wely-man.”
[111] The reader will be reminded of Mistress Quickly’s description of Falstaff’s last moments:—“‘How now, Sir John,’ quoth I, ‘what, man! be o’ good cheer.’ So a’ cried out ‘God, God, God!’ three or four times. Now I to comfort him, bid him a’ should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet.”
[112] Old eds. “brothers, brothers.”
[113] Bragot was the name of a sort of mead, once popular in Wales and in the West of England. See Nares’ Glossary, s. Bragget.
[114] Ed. 1. “as our much care hath bin.” Ed. 2. “as our much care be seene.”
THE FAWN.
Parasitaster, Or The Fawne, As It Hath Bene Divers times presented at the blacke Friars, by the Children of the Queenes Maiesties Reuels. Written by Iohn Marston. At London Printed by T. P. for W. C. 1606. 4to.
Parasitaster, Or The Fawne, As It Hath Bene Divers Times Presented at the blacke Friars, by the Children of the Queenes Maiesties Reuels, and since at Powles. Written by Iohn Marston. And now corrected of many faults, which by reason of the Author’s absence, were let slip in the first edition. At London Printed by T. P. for W. C. 1606. 4to.
STORY OF THE PLAY.
Hercules, the widowed Duke of Ferrara, is anxious that his son Tiberio should marry Dulcimel, daughter of Gonzago, Duke of Urbin; but, finding that he cannot persuade his son to marriage, he declares that he will himself marry Dulcimel. Tiberio is sent to the Court of Urbin to negotiate on his father’s behalf. Hercules follows in disguise to watch the issue, and attaches himself (under the name of Faunus) to Tiberio’s train at Urbin, where by adroit flattery he quickly gains the favour of Gonzago and the confidence of the courtiers. Dulcimel falls in love with Tiberio, and determines to make him her husband. She imposes on her father, Gonzago, a weak-minded lord with a boundless belief in his own wisdom, by a pretended discovery of Tiberio’s love to her; and Gonzago, acting throughout under the impression that he is foiling Tiberio, becomes in the hands of his witty daughter the instrument by which her project is accomplished. Taxed by Gonzago with having made love to Dulcimel, Tiberio warmly denies the charge, but at length he perceives that the lady is making amorous advances, and his blood is fired. In the courtyard of the palace grew a plane-tree by which it was possible to ascend to the window of Dulcimel’s bedchamber. Dulcimel informs her father that Tiberio
intended to climb the plane-tree at night and enter her chamber, and that he had asked her to have a priest to be in readiness to conduct the marriage service. Gonzago upbraids Tiberio with his perfidy, and commands him to leave the court before the next morning. Tiberio asks for an explanation, and Gonzago then repeats what his daughter had said. Tiberio is not slow to avail himself of Dulcimel’s invitation; he mounts the plane-tree, the priest is ready, and the marriage is consummated. Gonzago’s chagrin is changed to satisfaction when Hercules, putting off his disguise, expresses his approval of the match.
Much of the play is devoted to an exposure of the faults and follies of Gonzago’s courtiers. At the close of the fifth act there is holden a court of Cupid, at which the delinquents are arraigned.
I have ever more endeavoured to know myself, than to be known of others; and rather to be unpartially beloved of all, than factiously to be admired of a few; yet so powerfully have I been enticed with the delights of poetry, and (I must ingeniously[115] confess) above better desert so fortunate in the stage-pleasings, that (let my resolutions be never so fixed to call mine eyes into myself) I much fear that most lamentable death of him,
“Qui nimis notus omnibus,
Ignotus moritur sibi.”—Seneca.[116]
But since the over-vehement pursuit of these delights hath been the sickness of my youth, and now is grown to be the vice of my firmer age—since to satisfy others, I neglect myself—let it be the courtesy of my peruser rather to pity my self-hindering labours than to malice[117] me; and let him be pleased to be my reader, and not my interpreter, since I would fain reserve that office in
my own hands, it being my daily prayer:—“Absit[118] a jocorum nostrorum simplicitate malignus interpres.”—Martial.
If any shall wonder why I print a comedy, whose life rests much in the actor’s voice, let such know that it cannot avoid publishing; let it therefore stand with good excuse that I have been my own setter out.
If any desire to understand the scope of my comedy, know it hath the same limits which Juvenal gives to his Satires:—
“Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas,
Gaudia, discursus, nostri farrago libelli est.”—Juvenal.
As for the factious malice and studied detractions of some few that tread in the same path with me, let all know I most easily neglect them, and (carelessly slumbering to their vicious endeavours) smile heartily at their self-hurting baseness. My bosom friend, good Epictetus, makes me easily to contemn all such men’s malice: since other men’s tongues are not within my teeth, why should I hope to govern them? For mine own interest for once, let this be printed,—that of men of my own addiction I love most, pity some, hate none; for let me truly say it, I once only loved myself, for loving them, and surely I shall ever rest so constant to my first affection, that let their ungentle combinings, discourteous whisperings, never so treacherously labour to undermine my unfenced reputation, I shall (as long
as I have being) love the least of their graces, and only pity the greatest of their vices.
And now, to kill envy, know you, that affect to be the only minions of Phœbus, I am not so blushlessly ambitious as to hope to gain any the least supreme eminency among you; I affect not only the “‘Euge’ tuum et ‘Belle!’”[119]—’tis not my fashion to think no writer virtuously confident that is not swellingly impudent; nor do I labour to be held the only spirit whose poems may be thought worthy to be kept in cedar[120] chests:—
“Heliconidasque pallidamque Pyrenen
Illis relinquo quorum imagines lambunt
Hederæ sequaces....”—Persius.
He that pursues fame shall, for me, without any rival, have breath enough. I esteem felicity to be a more solid contentment; only let it be lawful for me, with unaffected modesty and full thought, to end boldly with that of Persius:—
“Ipse semipaganus
Ad sacra vatum carmen affero nostrum.”—Persius.
JO. MARSTON.
[115] Ed. 3 (i.e., the 8vo of 1633) “ingenuously.” I have retained the reading of the earlier eds., as ingenious was commonly used in the sense of ingenuous (Middleton, iv. 14, &c.)
[116] Thyestes, 402-3.
[118] From the prose preface to Martial’s epigrams.
[119] Persius, Sat. i. l. 49.
[120] “Cedro digna locutus.”—Persius, Sat. i. l. 42.
TO THE READER.[121]
Reader, know I have perused this copy, to make some satisfaction for the first faulty impression; yet so urgent hath been my business that some errors have still passed, which thy discretion may amend. Comedies are writ to be spoken, not read; remember the life of these things consists in action; and for such courteous survey of my pen, I will present a tragedy[122] to you, which shall boldly abide the most curious perusal.
[121] This note is from the second 4to.
[122] “Sophonisba.”—Marginal note in the second 4to.
PROLOGUS.
Let those once know that here with malice lurk,
’Tis base to be too wise in others’ work;
The rest sit thus saluted:—
Spectators, know you may, with freest faces,
Behold this scene; for here no rude disgraces
Shall taint a public or a private name;
This pen at viler rate doth value fame,
Than at the price of others’ infamy
To purchase it. Let others dare the rope,
Your modest pleasure is our author’s scope. 10
The hurdle and the rack to them he leaves
That have naught left to be accompted any,
But by not being; nor doth he hope to win
Your louder hand with that most common sin
Of vulgar pens, rank bawdry, that smells
Even through your masks, usque ad nauseam.
The Venus of this scene doth loathe to wear
So vile, so common, so immodest clothings;
But if the nimble form of comedy,
Mere spectacle of life and public manners, 20
May gracefully arrive to your pleased ears,
We boldly dare the utmost death of fears;
For we do know that this most fair-fill’d room
Is loaden with most attic judgments, ablest spirits,
Than whom there are none more exact, full, strong,
Yet none more soft, benign in censuring.
I know there’s not one ass in all this presence—
Not one calumnious rascal, or base villain
Of emptiest merit—that would tax and slander,
If innocency herself should write, not one we know’t. 30
O you are all the very breath of Phœbus;
In your pleas’d gracings all the true lifeblood
Of our poor author lives,—you are his very grace.
Now if that any wonder why he’s drawn
To such base soothings, know his play’s—The Fawn.[123]
[123] Fawner, sycophant.—A word coined by Marston.
Hercules, Duke of Ferrara, disguised as Faunus.
Gonzago, Duke of Urbin, a weak lord of a self-admiring wisdom.
Tiberio, son to Hercules.
Granuffo, a silent lord.
Don Zuccone, a causelessly jealous lord.
Sir Amoroso Debile-Dosso, a sickly knight.
Herod Frappatore, brother to Sir Amoroso.
Nymphadoro, a young courtier and a common lover.
Dondolo, a bald fool.
Renaldo, brother to Hercules.
Dulcimel, daughter to Gonzago.
Philocalia, an honourable learned lady, companion to the Princess Dulcimel.
Donna Zoya, a virtuous, fair, witty lady, wife to Don Zuccone.
Donna Garbetza, wife to Sir Amoroso.
Poveia, and
Donnetta, two ladies, attendants on Dulcimel.
Puttotta, a poor laundress of the court that washeth and diets footmen.
Pages.
Scene—Urbin.
THE FAWN.
ACT I.[124]
SCENE I.
Neighbourhood of Urbin.
Enter Hercules[125] and Renaldo.
Herc. See, yonder’s Urbin! Those far-appearing spires rise from the city. You shall conduct me no further: return to Ferrara: my dukedom, by your care in my absence, shall rest constantly united, and most religiously loyal.
Ren. My prince and brother, let my blood and love Challenge the freedom of one question.
Herc. You have’t.
Ren. Why, in your steadier age, in strength of life
And firmest wit of time, will you break forth 10
Those stricter limits of regardful state
(Which with severe distinction you still kept),
And now to unknown dangers you’ll give up
Yourself, Ferrara’s duke, and in yourself
The state and us? O, my loved brother!
Honour avoids not only just defame,
But flies all means that may ill voice his name. 17
Herc. Busy yourself with no fears, for I shall rest most wary of our safety; only some glimpses I will give you for your satisfaction why I leave Ferrara. I have vowed to visit the court of Urbin in some disguise, as thus: my son, as you can well witness with me, could I never persuade to marriage, although myself was then an ever-resolved widower, and tho’ I proposed to him this very lady, to whom he is gone in my right to negotiate; now, how[126] cooler blood will behave itself in this business, would I have an only testimony; other
contents shall I give myself, as not to take love by attorney, or make my election out of tongues; other sufficings there are which my regard would fain make sound to me: something of much you know; that, and what else you must not know, bids you excuse this kind of my departure. 33
Ren. I commend all to your wisdom, and yours to the Wisest.
Herc. Think not but I shall approve that more than folly which even now appears in a most ridiculous expectation: be in this assured,—The bottom of gravity is nothing like the top. Once more, fare you well.
[Exit Renaldo.
And now, thou ceremonious sovereignty— 40
Ye proud, severer, stateful compliments,
The secret arts of rule—I put you off;
Nor ever shall those manacles of form
Once more lock up the appetite of blood.
’Tis now an age of man whilst we, all strict,
Have lived in awe of carriage regular,
Apted unto my place; nor hath my life
Once tasted of exorbitant affects,
Wild longings, or the least of disrank’d shapes.
But we must once be wild; ’tis ancient truth,— 50
O fortunate, whose madness falls in youth!
Well, this is text, who ever keeps his place
In servile station, is all low and base.
Shall I, because some few may cry, “Light! vain!”
Beat down affection from desirèd rule?
He that doth strive to please the world’s a fool.
To have that fellow cry, “O mark him, grave,
See how austerely he doth give example
Of repressed heat and steady life!”
Whilst my forced life against the stream of blood 60
Is tugg’d[127] along, and all to keep the god
Of fools and women, nice Opinion,
Whose strict preserving makes oft great men fools,
And fools oft[128] great men. No, thou world, know thus,
There’s nothing free but it is generous.
[Exit.
[124] In the margin of old eds. is the motto “Dat veniam corvis, vexat censura columbas” (Juvenal, Sat. ii. 63).
[125] “Ercole, Duke of Ferrara, is thus noticed in Thomas’s ‘Historye of Italye,’ ed. 1561, fol. 212:—‘He is a goodly man of personage, hyghe of stature, strong and well proporcyonate in all his members, bald on the crowne of the head, and amiable enough of countenance. He hath a good witte, and is somewhat learned, and indifferent in the administracyon of justice. And one thyng special I remember of him, worthy to be recited. The emperour, at his being in Italy, borowed money of all handes, and demaundyng amongst the rest a hundred thousand crownes in lone of this duke, he brought him a bagge of fifty thousand crownes, excusyng himself that to lend a hundred thousand crownes he was not hable, but to geve his majestee those fifty thousand he could be contented with all his hert; and, by this shift, kept the other fifty thousand crownes in hys purse. Finally of the religion he is no more earnest than most prynces are, and in his life he foloweth the court of love, to lose no time of pleasure. He is frendly to faire women, and cherisheth change. By his fathers daies, he maried Madame Renea, daughter unto Lewys the xii. French kinge.’ The names of his two sons, here given, are Alfonso and Luigi.”—Halliwell.
[126] Eds. 1. and 3. “how his cooler.”
[127] Eds. 1. and 3. “lugg’d.”
[128] Eds. 1. and 3. “of.”
SCENE II.
Palace of the Duke of Urbin.
Enter Nymphadoro, Herod, and Page.
Herod. How now, my little more than nothing, what news is stirring?
Page. All the city’s a-fire!
Nym. On fire?
Page. With joy of the Princess Dulcimel’s birthday: there’s show upon show; sport upon sport.
Herod. What sport? what sport?
Page. Marry, sir, to solemnise the princess’ birthday. There’s first, crackers, which run into the air, and when they are at the top, like some ambitious strange heretic,
keep a cracking and a cracking, and then break, and down they come. 12
Herod. A pretty crab; he would yield tart juice and he were squeez’d.
Nym. What sport else?
Page. Other fireworks.
Herod. Spirit of wine, I cannot tell how these fireworks should be good at the solemnising the birth of men or women. I am sure they are dangerous at their begetting. What, more fireworks, sir? 20
Page. There be squibs, sir; which squibs, running upon lines,[129] like some of our gaudy gallants, sir, keep a smother, sir, with flishing and flashing, and, in the end, sir, they do, sir——
Nym. What, sir?
Page. Stink, sir.
Herod. ’Fore Heaven, a most sweet youth!
Enter Dondolo.
Don. News! news! news! news!
Herod. What, in the name of prophecy?
Nym. Art thou grown wise? 30
Herod. Doth the duke want no money?
Nym. Is there a maid found at twenty-four?
Herod. Speak, thou three-legg’d tripos, is thy ship of fools,[130] afloat yet?
Don. I ha’ many things in my head to tell you.
Herod. Ay, thy head is always working; it rolls, and it roils, Dondolo, but it gathers no moss, Dondolo.
Don. Tiberio, the Duke of Ferrara’s son, excellently horsed, all upon Flanders mares, is arrived at the court this very day, somewhat late in the night-time. 40
Herod. An excellent nuntius.
Don. Why, my gallants, I have had a good wit.
Herod. Yes, troth, but now ’tis grown like an almanac for the last year—past date; the mark’s out of thy mouth, Dondolo.
Nym. And what’s the prince’s ambassage? Thou art private with the duke; thou belongest to his close-stool.
Don. Why, every fool knows that; I know it myself, man, as well as the best man: he is come to solicit a marriage betwixt his father, the Duke of Ferrara, and our Duke of Urbin’s daughter, Dulcimel. 51
Nym. Pity of my passions! Nymphadoro shall lose one of his mistresses.
Herod. Nay, if thou hast more than one, the loss can ne’er be grievous, since ’tis certain he that loves many formally, never loves any violently.
Nym. Most trusted Frappatore, is my hand the weaker because it is divided into many fingers? No, ’tis the more strongly nimble. I do now love threescore and
nine ladies, all of them most extremely well, but I do love the princess most extremely best; but, in very sighing sadness, I ha’ lost all hope, and with that hope a lady that is most rare, most fair, most wise, most sweet, most—— 64
Herod. Anything; true, but remember, still this fair, this wise, this sweet, this all-of-excellency, has in the tail of all—a woman.
Nym. Peace! the presence fills against the prince approacheth. Mark who enters.
Herc. My brother, Sir Amoroso Debile-Dosso. 70
Nym. Not he.
Herc. No, not he?
Nym. How, is he changed?
Herc. Why, grown the very dregs of the drabs’ cup.
Nym. O Babylon, thy walls are fallen! Is he married?
Herc. Yes; yet still the ladies’ common—or the common ladies’—servant.
Nym. How does his own lady bear with him?
Herc. Faith, like the Roman Milo, bore with him when he was a calf, and now carries him when he’s grown an ox. 81
Nym. Peace! the duke’s at hand.
Cornets. Enter Gonzago, Granuffo, Dulcimel, Philocalia, Zoya.
Gon. Daughter, for that our last speech leaves the firmest print, be thus advised. When young Tiberio negotiates his father’s love, hold heedy guard over thy passions, and still keep this full thought firm in thy
reason: ’tis his old father’s love the young man moves (is’t not well thought, my lord, we must bear brain[131]), and when thou shalt behold Tiberio’s lifeful eyes and well-fill’d veins, complexion firm, and hairs that curls with strength of lusty moisture (I think we yet can speak, we ha’ been eloquent), thou must shape thy thoughts to apprehend his father well in years— 93
A grave wise prince, whose beauty is his honour,
And well-pass’d life; and do not give thy thoughts
Least liberty to shape a diverse scope
(My Lord Granuffo, pray ye note my phrase):
So shalt thou not abuse thy younger hope,
Nor afflict us, who only joy in life,
To see thee his.
Dul. Gracious my father, fear not; 100
I rest most duteous to your dispose.
[Consort of music.
Gon. Set on then; for the music gives us notice
The prince is hard at hand.
Tiberio with his train, with Hercules disguised.
Dul. You are most welcome to our long-desiring father. To us you are come——
Tib. From our long-desiring father.
Dul. Is this your father’s true proportion?
[Shows a picture.
Tib. No, lady; but the perfect counterfeit.
Dul. And the best graced——
Tib. The painter’s art could yield.
Dul. I wonder he would send a counterfeit
To move our love! 110
Gon. Hear, that’s my wit, when I was eighteen old—such a pretty toying wit had I; but age hath made us wise. Hast not, my lord?
Tib. Why, fairest princess, if your eye dislike
That deader piece, behold me his true form
And livelier image. Such my father hath been.
Dul. My lord, please you to scent this flower.
Tib. ’Tis withered, lady—the flower’s scent is gone.
Dul. This hath been such as you are—hath been, sir.
They say, in England, that a far-famed[132] friar 120
Had girt the island round with a brass wall,
If[133] they could ha’ catched Time is: but Time is past
Left it still[134] clipt with agèd Neptune’s arm.
Tib. Aurora yet keeps chaste old Tithon’s bed.
Dul. Yet blushes at it when she rises.
Gon. Pretty, pretty—just like my younger wit—you know it, my lord.
Dul. But is your father’s age thus fresh—hath yet his head so many hairs?
Tib. More, more, by many a one. 130
Dul. More, say you?
Tib. More.
Dul. Right, sir, for this hath none. Is his eye so quick as this same piece makes him show?
Tib. The courtesy of art hath given more life to that part than the sad cares of state would grant my father.
Dul. This model speaks about forty.
Tib. Then doth it somewhat flatter, for our father hath seen more years, and is a little shrunk from the full strength of time. 140
Gon. Somewhat coldly praised.
Dul. Your father hath a fair solicitor,
And be it spoke with virgin modesty,
I would he were no elder; not that I do fly
His side for years, or other hopes of youth,
But in regard the malice of lewd tongues,
Quick to deprave[135] on possibilities
(Almost impossibilities), will spread
Rumours to honour dangerous.
[Dulcimel and Tiberio confer privately.
Gon. What? whisper? Ay, my Lord Granuffo, ’twere fit 150
To part their lips. Men of discerning wit
That have read Pliny can discourse or so;
But give me practice: well experienced age
Is the true Delphos. I am no oracle,
But yet I’ll prophesy. Well, my Lord Granuffo,
’Tis fit to interrupt their privacy,
Is’t not, my lord? Now, sure, thou art a man
Of a most learned silence, and one whose words
Have been most precious to me. Right, I know thy heart;
’Tis true, thy legs discourse with right and grace, 160
And thy tongue is constant.—Fair my lord,
Forbear all[136] private closer conference;
What from your father comes, comes openly,
And so must speak: for you must know my age
Hath seen the beings and the quid of things:
I know the dimensions and the termini
Of all existence. Sir, I know what shapes
Appetite forms; but policy and states
Have more elected ends: your father’s suit
Is with all public grace received, and private love 170
Embraced. As for our daughter’s bent of mind,
She must seem somewhat nice; ’tis virgins’ kind
To hold long out; if yet she chance deny,
Ascribe it to her decent modesty.
We have been a philosopher and spoke
With much applause; but now age makes us wise,
And draws our eyes to search the heart of things
And leave vain seemings; therefore you must know
I would be loath the gaudy shape of youth
Should once[137] provoke a[138] not-allow’d-of heat, 180
Or hinder, or——for, sir, I know; and so,
Therefore, before us time and place affords
Free speech, else not. Wise heads use but few words:
In short breath, know the Court of Urbin holds
Your presence and your embassage so dear,
That we want means once to express[139] our heart
But with our heart. Plain meaning shunneth art;
You are most welcome (Lord Granuffo, a trick,
A figure, note); we use no rhetoric.
[Exeunt all but Hercules, Nymphadoro, and Herod.
Herod. Did not Tiberio call his father fool? 190
Nym. No; he said years had weakened his youthful quickness.
Herod. He swore he was bald?
Nym. No; but not thick-hair’d.
Herod. By this light, I’ll swear he said his father had the hipgout, the strangury, the fistula in ano, and a most unabideable breath, no teeth, less eyes, great fingers, little legs, an eternal flux, and an everlasting cough of the lungs.
Nym. Fie, fie! by this light he did not. 200
Herod. By this light he should ha’ done then. Horn on him, threescore and five, to have and to hold a lady of fifteen. O Mezentius! a tyranny equal if not above thy torturing; thou didst bind the living and the dead bodies together, and forced them so to pine and rot; but this cruelty binds breast to breast not only different bodies, but, if it were possible, most unequal minds together, with an enforcement even scandalous to Nature. Now the jail deliver me an intelligencer! be good to me, ye cloisters of bondage! Of whence art thou? 210
Herod. A Ferrarese! what to me? Camest thou in with the Prince Tiberio?
Herc. With the Prince Tiberio. What o’[140] that? You will not rail at me, will you?
Herod. Who, I? I rail at one of Ferrara—a Ferrarese?[141] No. Didst thou ride?
Herc. No.
Herod. Hast thou worn socks?
Herc. No. 220
Herod. Then blessed be the most happy gravel betwixt thy toes! I do prophesy thy tyrannising itch shall be honourable, and thy right worshipful louse shall appear in full presence. Art thou an officer to the prince?[142]
Herc. I am; what o’ that?
Herod. My cap! what officer?
Herc. Yeoman of his bottles. What to that?
Herod. My lip! thy name, good yeoman of the bottles? 230
Herc. Faunus.
Nym. Faunus? an old courtier? I wonder thou art in no better clothes and place, Faunus!
Herc. I may be in better place, sir, and with them[143] of more regard, if this match of our duke’s intermarriage with the heir of Urbin proceed, the Duke of Urbin
dying, and our lord coming in his lady’s right of title to your dukedom. 238
Herod. Why then shalt thou, O yeoman of the bottles, become a maker of magnificoes. Thou shalt beg some odd suit, and change thy old shirt,[144] pare thy beard, cleanse thy teeth, and eat apricocks,[145] marry a rich widow, or a crack’d lady, whose case thou shalt make good. Then, my Pythagoras, shall thou and I make a transmigration of souls: thou shalt marry my daughter, or my wife shall be thy gracious mistress. Seventeen punks shall be thy proportion. Thou shalt beg to thy comfort of clean linen, eat no more fresh beef at supper, or save[146] the broth for next day’s porridge; but the fleshpots of Egypt shall fatten thee, and the grasshopper shall flourish in thy summer. 251
Nym. And what dost thou think of the duke’s overture of marriage?
Herod. What do you think?
Herc. May I speak boldly as at Aleppo?
Nym. Speak till thy lungs ache, talk out thy teeth; here are none of those cankers, these mischiefs of society, intelligencers, or informers, that will cast rumour into the teeth of some Lælius Balbus,[147] a man cruelly
eloquent and bloodily learned. No; what sayest thou, Faunus? 261
Herc. With an undoubted breast thus:—I may speak boldly?
Herod. By this night,[148] I’ll speak broadly first, and thou wilt, man. Our Duke of Urbin is a man very happily mad, for he thinks himself right perfectly wise, and most demonstratively learned—nay, more——
Herc. No more—I’ll on. Methinks the young lord our Prince of Ferrara so bounteously adorned with all of grace, feature, and best shaped proportion, fair use of speech, full opportunity, and that which makes the sympathy of all, equality of heat, of years, of blood; methinks these loadstones should attract the metal of the young princess rather to the son than to the noisome, cold, and most weak side of his half-rotten father. 276
Herod. Tha’rt ours—tha’rt ours. Now dare we speak as boldly as if Adam had not fallen, and made us all slaves. Hark ye, the duke is an arrant doting ass—an ass—and in the knowledge of my very sense, will turn a foolish animal; for his son will prove like one of Baal’s priests, have all the flesh presented to the idol his father, but he in the night will feed on’t—will devour it.[149] He will, yeoman of the bottles, he will. 285
Herc. Now, gentlemen, I am sure the lust of speech
hath equally drenched us all; know I am no servant to this Prince Tiberio.
Herod. Not?
Herc. Not, but one to him out of some private urging most vowed—one that pursues him but for opportunity of safe[150] satisfaction. Now, if ye can prefer my service to him, I shall rest yours wholly. 293
Herod. Just in the devil’s mouth! thou shalt have place! Fawn, thou shalt! Behold this generous Nymphadoro, a gallant of clean boot, straight back, and beard[151] of a most hopeful expectation. He is a servant of fair Dulcimel’s, her very creature, born to the princess’ sole adoration; a man so spent in time to her, that pity (if no more of grace) must follow[152] him when we have gained the room. Second his suit, Faunus;[153] I’ll be your intelligencer. 302
Herc. Our very heart, and, if need be, work[154] to most desperate ends.
Herod. Well urged.
Herc. Words fit acquaintance, but full actions friends.
Nym. Thou shalt not want, Faunus.
Herc. You promise well.
Herod. Be thou but firm, that old doting iniquity of age—that horny-eyed[155] lecherous duke, thy lord—shall be baffled to extremest derision; his son prove his fool father’s own issue. 312
Nym. And we, and thou with us, blessed and enriched past all misery of possible contempt, and above the hopes of greatest conjectures.
Herc. Nay, as for wealth, vilia miretur vulgus.[156] I know by his physiognomy, for wealth he is of my addiction, and bids a fico[157] for’t.
Nym. Why, thou art but a younger brother: but poor Baldazozo. 320
Herod. Faith, to speak truth, my means are written in the book of fate, as yet unknown: and yet[158] I am at my fool, and my hunting gelding. Come, Via,[159] to this feastful entertainment.
[Exeunt. Remanet Hercules.
Herc. I never knew till now how old I was.
By Him by whom we are, I think a prince,
Whose tender sufferance never felt a gust
Of bolder breathings, but still lived gently fann’d
With the soft gales of his own flatterers’ lips,
Shall never know his own complexion. 330
Dear sleep and lust, I thank you; but for you,
Mortal till now I scarce had known myself.
Thou grateful poison, sleek mischief, flattery,
Thou dreamful slumber (that doth fall on kings
As soft and soon[160] as their first holy oil),
Be thou for ever damn’d; I now repent
Severe indictions to some sharp styles;
Freeness, so’t grow not to licentiousness,
Is grateful to just states. Most spotless kingdom,
And men, O happy born under good stars, 340
Where what is honest you may freely think,
Speak what you think, and write what you do speak,
Not bound to servile soothings! But since our rank
Hath ever been afflicted with these flies
(That blow corruption on the sweetest virtues),
I will revenge us all upon you all
With the same stratagem we still are caught,
Flattery itself; and sure all know the sharpness
Of reprehensive language is even blunted
To full contempt. Since vice is now term’d fashion, 350
And most are grown to ill, even with defence
I vow to waste this most prodigious heat,
That falls into my age like scorching flames
In depth of numb’d December, in flattering all
In all of their extremest viciousness,
Till in their own lov’d race they fall most lame,
And meet full butt the close of Vice’s shame.
[Exit.
[129] Cf. Dekker and Webster’s Northward Ho (1606), iv. 3:—
“Bell. But what say you to such gentlemen as these are?
“Bawd. Foh! they, as soon as they come to their lands, get up to London and like squibs that run upon lines, they keep a spitting of fire and cracking till they ha’ spent all; and when my squib is out what says his punk? foh, he stinks!”
[130] “Ship of Fools”—an allusion to Sebastian Brandt’s famous work, translated by Alexander Barclay.
[131] “Bear brain” = be shrewd, wary.
[132] Eds. 1. and 3. “farre found.”
[133] Old eds. “If that they could have,” &c. (The speech is printed as prose in old eds.) The “far-famed friar” is of course Friar Bacon. See the extract from The Famous History of Fryer Bacon appended to Dyce’s edition of Robert Greene’s Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay.
[134] Ed. 2. “hill.”
[135] Defame. “Mesdire. To deprave, reproach, revile, rayle on,” &c.—Cotgrave.
[136] Ed. 2. “all, all.”
[137] Old eds. “one.”
[138] Old eds. “and.”
[139] Ed. 2. “oppresse.”
[140] Ed. 2. “to.”
[141] Old eds. “Ferazees.”
[142] So ed. 2.—Ed. 1. “princes;” ed. 3. “princesse.”
[143] Ed. 2. “you.”
[144] Eds. 1. and 3. “sute.”
[145] “Abricot, the abricot or apricocke plum.”—Cotgrave.
[146] Eds. 1. and 3. “have thy broth.”
[147] Old eds. “Baldus.”—Lælius Balbus was a noted informer in the days of Tiberius. When he was banished (A.D. 37) there was great rejoicing because “truci eloquentia habebatur, promptus adversum insontes” (Tacitus, Ann. vi. 48).
[148] Quy. “light”?
[149] “The allusion is to the story of Bel and the Dragon in the Apocrypha.”—Dilke.
[150] Eds. 1. and 3. “false.”
[151] Eds. 1. and 3. “head.”
[152] Eds. 1. and 3. “follow him second.... Serv’d his,” &c.
[153] Old eds. “Hercules.”
[154] Eds. 1. and 3. “workes.”
[155] Old eds. “only eyed.”
[156] Ovid, Amores, xv. 36.
[157] See Dyce’s Shakesp. Glossary.
[158] The meaning is—“And yet I contrive to keep my fool,” &c.
[160] So the old eds.; but quy. “soote” (sweet)?
ACT II.
SCENE I.
A banqueting-hall.
Herod and Nymphadoro with napkins in their hands, followed by Pages with stools and meat.
Herod. Come, sir; a stool, boy! these court-feasts are to us servitors court-fasts—such scambling, such shift for to eat, and where to eat. Here a squire of low degree hath got the carcass of a plover, there pages of the chamber divide the spoils of a tatter’d pheasant; here the sewer[161] has friended a country gentleman with a sweet green goose, and there a young fellow that late has bought his office, has caught a woodcock by the nose, with cups full ever-flowing.[162] 9
Nym. But is not Faunus preferr’d with a right hand?
Herod. Did you ever see a fellow so spurted up in a moment? He has got the right ear of the duke, the prince, princess, most of the lords, but all the ladies;
why, he is become their only minion, usher, and supporter.
Nym. He hath gotten more lov’d reputation of virtue, of learning, of all graces, in one hour, than all your snarling reformers have in——
Herod. Nay, that’s unquestionable; and, indeed, what a fruitless labour, what a filling of Danae’s[163] tub, is it become to inveigh against folly! Community takes away the sense, and example the shame. No, 22
Praise me these fellows, hang on their chariot wheel,
And mount with them whom Fortune heaves, nay, drives;
A stoical sour virtue seldom thrives.
Oppose such fortune, and then burst with those are pitied.
The[164] hill of Chance is paved with poor men’s bones,
And bulks of luckless souls, over whose eyes
Their chariot wheels must ruthless grate that rise.
Enter Hercules, freshly suited.
Nym. Behold that thing of most fortunate, most prosperous impudence,[165] Don Faunus himself. 31
Herod. Blessed and long-lasting be thy carnation ribbon, O man of more than wit, much more than virtue—of
fortune! Faunus,[166] wilt eat any of a young spring sallet?
Herc. Where did the herbs grow, my gallant, where did they grow?
Herod. Hard by in the city here.
Herc. No, I’ll none—I’ll eat no city herbs, no city roots; for here in the city a man shall have his excrements in his teeth again within four and twenty hours. I love no city sallets. Hast any canary? 42
Nym. How the poor snake wriggles with his sudden warmth!
Herod. Here, Faunus, a health as deep as a female.
[Herod drinks.
Herc. ’Fore Jove! we must be more endear’d.
Nym. How dost thou feel thyself now, Fawn?
Herc. Very womanly, with my fingers. I protest I think I shall love you. Are you married? I am truly taken with your virtues. Are you married? 50
Herod. Yes.
Herc. Why, I like you well for it.
Herod. No, troth, Fawn, I am not married.
Herc. Why, I like you better for it; ’fore heaven, I must love you!
Herod. Why, Fawn, why?
Herc. ’Fore heaven! you are blest with three rare graces—fine linen, clean linings, a sanguine complexion, and I am sure, an excellent wit, for you are a gentleman born. 60
Herod. Thank thee, sweet Fawn; but why is clean linen such a grace, I prithee?
Herc. O, my excellent and inward dearly-approved friend! What’s your name, sir? Clean linen is the first our life craves, and the last our death enjoys.
Herod. But what hope rests for Nymphadoro? Thou art now within the buttons of the prince. Shall the duke his father marry the lady?
Herc. ’Tis to be hoped not.
Nym. That’s some relief as long as there’s hope. 70
Herc. But sure, sir, ’tis almost undoubted the lady will carry him.
Nym. O pestilent air! is there no plot so cunning, no surmise so false, no way of avoidance?
Herc. Hast thou any pity either of his passion or the lady’s years—a gentleman in the summer and hunting season of his youth, the lady met in the same warmth. Were’t not to be wept that such a sapless chafing-dish-using old dotard as the Duke of Ferrara, with his withered hand, should pluck such a bud, such a—oh, the life of sense! 81
Nym. Thou art now a perfect courtier of just fashion; good grace, canst not relieve us?
Herc. Ha’ ye any money?
Nym. Pish, Fawn, we are young gallants!
Herc. The liker to have no money. But, my young gallants, to speak like myself, I must hug your humour. Why, look you, there is fate, destiny, constellations, and planets (which, though they are under nature, yet they are above women). Who hath read the book of chance?
No, cherish your hope, sweeten your imaginations with thoughts of—ah! why, women are the most giddy, uncertain motions under heaven. ’Tis neither proportion of body, virtue of mind, amplitude of fortune, greatness of blood, but only mere chanceful appetite, sways them; which makes some one like a man, be it but for the paring of his nails. Via! as for inequality, art not a gentleman? 98
Nym. That I am; and my beneficence shall show it.
Herc. I know you are, by that only word beneficence, which only speaks of the future tense (shall know it); but may I breathe in your bosoms? I only fear Tiberio will abuse his father’s trust, and so make your hopes desperate.
Nym. How?—the prince? Would he only stood cross to my wishes, he should find me an Italian.
Herc. How an Italian? 107
Herod. By thy aid an Italian; dear Faunus, thou art now wriggled into the prince’s bosom, and thy sweet hand should minister that nectar to him should make him immortal. Nymphadoro, in direct phrase, thou shouldst murder the prince, so revenge thine own wrongs, and be rewarded for that revenge.
Herc. Afore the light of my eyes, I think I shall admire, wonder at you. What! ha’ ye plots, projects, correspondences, and stratagems? Why are not you in better place? 117
Enter Sir Amoroso.
Who’s this?
Herod. My eldest brother, Sir Amoroso Debile-Dosso.
Herc. O, I know him! God bless thine eyes, sweet Sir Amoroso! A rouse—a vin de monte[167] to the health of thy chine,[168] my dear sweet signior!
Sir Amor. Pardon me, sir; I drink no wine this spring.
Herod. O no, sir; he takes the diet this spring always. Boy, my brother’s bottle.
Sir Amor. ’Faith, Fawn, an odd unwholesome cold makes me still hoarse and rheumatic. 127
Herod. Yes, in troth, a paltry murr.[169] Last morning, he blew nine bones out of his nose with an odd unwholesome murr. How does my sister, your lady? What, does she breed?
Herc. I perceive, knight, you have children. O! ’tis a blessed assurance of Heaven’s favour, and long-lasting name, to have many children.
Sir Amor. But I ha’ none, Fawn, now. 135
Herc. O that’s most excellent—a right special happiness. He shall not be a drudge to his cradle, a slave to his child; he shall be sure not to cherish another’s blood, nor toil to advance, peradventure, some rascal’s lust. Without children, a man is unclogg’d, his wife almost a maid. Messallina, thou criedst out, O blessed barrenness! Why, once with child, the very Venus of a lady’s entertainment hath lost all pleasure.
Sir Amor. By this ring, Faunus, I do hug thee with
most passionate affection, and shall make my wife thank thee. 146
Herod. Nay, my brother grudgeth not at my probable inheritance. He means once to give a younger brother hope to see fortune.
Nym. And yet I hear, Sir Amoroso, you cherish your loins with high art, the only engrosser of eringoes; prepared cantharides, cullisses[170] made of dissolved pearl and bruised amber; the pith of parkets,[171] and candied lamb-stones are his perpetual meats; beds made of the down under pigeons’ wings and goose-necks, fomentations, baths, electuaries, frictions, and all the nurses of most forcible excited concupiscence, he useth with most nice and tender industry. 158
Herc. Pish, Zoccoli! No, Nymphadoro, if Sir Amoroso would ha’ children, let him lie on a mattress, plow or thresh, eat onions, garlic, and leek porridge. Pharaoh and his council were mistaken; and their device to hinder the increase of procreation in the Israelites with enforcing them to much labour of body, and to feed hard, with beets, garlic, and onions (meat that make the original of man most sharp and taking), was absurd. No, he should have given barley bread, lettuce, melons, cucumbers,
huge store of veal and fresh beef, blown up their flesh, held them from exercise, rolled them in feathers, and most surely seen them drunk once a day; then would they at their best have begotten but wenches, and in short their generation enfeebled to nothing. 172
Sir Amor. O, divine Faunus, where might a man take up forty pound in a commodity of garlic and onions? Nymphadoro, thine ear.
Herc. Come, what are you fleering at? There’s some weakness in your brother you wrinkle at thus; come, prithee, impart; what? we are mutually incorporated, turn’d one into another, brued [sic] together. Come, I believe you are familiar with your sister, and it were known.
Herod. Witch, Faunus, witch! Why, how dost dream I live? Is’t four score a year, think’st thou, maintains my geldings, my pages, foot-cloths, my best feeding, high play, and excellent company? No, ’tis from hence, from hence, I mint some four hundred pound a year. 185
Herc. Dost thou live like a porter, by the[172] back, boy?
Herod. As for my weak-rein’d brother, hang him! He has sore shins. Damn him, heteroclite! his brain’s perished! His youth spent his fodder so fast on others’ cattle, that he now wants for his own winter. I am fain to supply, Fawn, for which I am supplied.
Herc. Dost thou branch him, boy?
Herod. What else, Fawn? 193
Herc. What else? Nay, ’tis enough. Why, many men corrupt other men’s wives, some their maids, others their
neighbours’ daughters; but to lie with one’s brother’s wedlock,[173] O, my dear Herod, ’tis vile[174] and uncommon lust.
Herod. ’Fore Heaven, I love thee to the heart! Well, I may praise God for my brother’s weakness, for I assure thee the land shall descend to me, my little Fawn. 201
Herc. To thee, my little Herod? O, my rare rascal, I do find more and more in thee to wonder at, for thou art, indeed—if I prosper, thou shalt know what. Who’s this?[175]
Enter Don Zuccone.
Herod. What! know you not Don Zuccone, the only desperately railing lord[176] at’s lady that ever was confidently melancholy—that egregious idiot, that husband of the most witty, fair (and be it spoken with many men’s true grief), most chaste Lady Zoya! But we have entered into a confederacy of afflicting him. 211
Herc. Plots ha’ you laid, inductions dangerous?[177]
Nym. A quiet bosom to my sweet Don. Are you going to visit your lady?
Zuc. What o’clock is’t? Is it past three?
Herod. Past four, I assure you, sweet Don.
Zuc. O, then, I may be admitted. Her afternoon’s private nap is taken. I shall take her napping. I hear there’s one jealous that I lie with my own wife, and begins to withdraw his hand. I protest, I vow,—and
you will, on my knees I’ll take my sacrament on it,—I lay not with her this four years—this four years; let her not be turn’d upon me, I beseech you. 223
Herc. My dear Don!
Zuc. O, Faunus, do’st know our lady?
Herc. Your lady?
Zuc. No, our lady. For the love of charity, incorporate with her; I would have all nations and degrees, all ages, know our lady; for I covet only to be undoubtedly notorious. 230
Herc. For indeed, sir, a repressed fame mounts like camomile[178]—the more trod down, the more it grows. Things known common and undoubted, lose rumour.
Nym. I hope yet your conjectures may err. Your lady keeps full face, unbated roundness, cheerful aspect. Were she so infamously prostitute, her cheek would fall, her colour fade, the spirit of her eye would die.
Zuc. O, young man, such women are like Danaus’ tub; and, indeed, all women are like Achelous,[179] with whom Hercules wrestling, he was no sooner hurl’d to the earth, but he rose up with double vigour. Their fall strengthened them. 242
Enter Dondolo.
Don. News, news, news, news! O, my dear Don,
be raised—be jovial[180]—be triumphant! Ah, my dear Don!
Nym. To me first, in private, thy news, I prithee.
Don. Will you be secret?
Nym. O’ my life.
Don. As you are generous?
Nym. As I am generous. 250
Don. Don Zuccone’s lady’s with child.
Herc. Nymph, Nymph, what is’t?—what’s the news?
Nym. You will be secret?
Herod. Silence itself.
Nym. Don Zuccone’s lady’s with child apparently.
Herc. Herod, Herod, what’s the matter, prithee? the news?
Herod. You must tell nobody?
Herc. As I am generous——
Herod. Don Zuccone’s lady’s with child apparently.
Zuc. Fawn, what’s the whisper?—what’s the fool’s secret news? 262
Herc. Truth, my lord, a thing that—that—well, i’faith, it is not fit you know it: now[181]—now—now—
Zuc. Not fit I know it? As thou art baptized, tell me—tell me.
Herc. Will you plight your patience to it?
Zuc. Speak, I am a very block. I will not be moved—I am a very block.
Herc. But if you should grow disquiet (as, I protest,
it would make a saint blaspheme), I should be unwilling to procure your impatience. 272
Zuc. Yes,[182] do! Burst me! burst me! burst me with longing!
Herc. Nay, faith, ’tis no great matter! Hark ye, you’ll tell nobody?
Zuc. Not.
Herc. As you are noble?
Zuc. As I am honest.
Herc. Your lady-wife is[183] apparently with child. 280
Zuc. With child?
Herc. With child.
Zuc. Fool!
Herc. My Don.
Zuc. With child!—by the pleasure of generation, I proclaim I lay not with her this——Give us patience!—give us patience!
Herc. Why? my lord, ’tis nothing to wear a forker.[184]
Zuc. Heaven and earth!
Herc. All things under the moon are subject to their mistress’ grace. Horns! Lend me your ring, my Don—I’ll put it on my finger. Now ’tis on yours again. Why is the gold now e’er the worse in lustre or fitness? 293
Zuc. Am I used thus?
Herc. Ay, my lord, true. Nay, to be—(look ye, mark ye)—to be used like a dead ox—to have your own hide
pluck’d on—to be drawn on with your own horn,—to have the lordship of your father, the honour of your ancestors, maugre your beard, to descend to the base lust of some groom of your stable, or the page of your chamber! 301
Zuc. O, Phalaris! thy bull!
Sir Amor. Good Don, ha’ patience! you are not the only cuckold! I would now be separated.
Zuc. ’Las! that’s but the least drop of the storm of my revenge! I will unlegitimate[185] the issue! What I will do shall be horrible but to think.
Herc. But, sir——
Zuc. But, sir, I will do what a man of my form may do; and laugh on, laugh on, do Sir Amorous—you have a lady, too. 311
Herod. But, my sweet lord——
Zuc. Do not anger me, lest I most dreadfully curse thee, and wish thee married! O, Zuccone, spit white, spit thy gall out. The only boon I crave of Heaven is——But to have my honours inherited by a bastard! I will be most tyrannous—bloodily tyrannous in my revenge, and most terrible in my curses! Live to grow blind with lust, senseless with use, loathed after, flattered before, hated always, trusted never, abhorred ever! and last, may she live to wear a most foul smock seven weeks together, Heaven, I beseech thee! 322
[Exit.
Zoy. Is he gone?—is he blown off? Now; out upon him, insufferably jealous fool.
Don. Lady!
Zoy. Didst thou give him the famed report? Does he believe I am with child? Does he give faith?
Don. In most sincerity, most sincerely.
Zoy. Nay, ’tis a pure fool! I can tell ye he was bred up in Germany. 330
Nym. But the laughter rises, that he vows he lay not in your bed this four year, with such exquisite protestations.
Zoy. That’s most full truth. He hath most unjustly severed his sheets ever since the old Duke Pietro (Heaven rest his soul!)——
Don. Fie! You may not pray for the dead; ’tis indifferent to them what you say.
Nym. Well said, fool.
Zoy. Ever since the old Duke Pietro, the great devil of hell torture his soul—— 341
Don. O, lady! yet charity!
Zoy. Why? ’tis indifferent to them what you say, fool. But does my lord ravel out? does he fret? For pity of an afflicted lady, load him soundly; let him not go[186] clear from vexation: he has the most dishonourably, with the most sinful, most vicious obstinacy, persevered to wrong me, that, were I not of a male constitution, ’twere
impossible for me to survive it; but in madness’ name, let him on. I ha’ not the weak sense[187] of some of your soft-eyed whimpering ladies, who, if they were used like me, would gall their fingers with wringing their hands, look like bleeding Lucreces, and shed salt water enough to powder all the beef in the duke’s larder. No, I am resolute Donna Zoya. Ha! that wives were of my metal! I would make these ridiculously jealous fools howl like a starved dog before he got a bit. I was created to be the affliction of such an unsanctified member, and will boil him in his own syrup. 359
Enter Zuccone, listening.
Herc. Peace! the wolf’s ear takes the wind of us.
Herod. The enemy is in ambush.
Zoy. If any man ha’ the wit, now let him talk wantonly but not bawdily. Come, gallants, who’ll be my servants? I am now very open-hearted and full of entertainment.
Herc. Grace me to call you mistress?
Nym. Or me?
Herod. Or me?
Sir Amor. Or me? 368
Zoy. Or all! I am taken with you all—with you all.
Herc. As, indeed, why should any woman only love any[188] one man, since it is reasonable women should affect all perfection,[189] but all perfection never rests in one man.
Many men have many virtues, but ladies should love many virtues, therefore ladies should love many men; for as in women, so in men; some women hath only a good eye,—one can discourse beautifully, if she do not laugh,—one’s well-favoured to her nose,—another hath only a good brow,—t’other a plump lip,—a third only holds beauty to the teeth, and there the soil alters; some, peradventure, hold good to the breast, and then downward turn like the dreamt-of image,[190] whose head was gold, breast silver, thighs iron, and all beneath clay and earth; one only winks eloquently,—another only kisses well,—t’other only talks well,—a fourth only lies well; so, in men, one gallant has only a good face,—another has only a grave methodical beard, and is a notable wise fellow until he speaks,—a third only makes water well, and that’s a good provoking quality,—one only swears well,—another only speaks well,—a third only does well. All in their kind good: goodness is to be best affected, therefore they; it is a base thing, and indeed an impossible, for a worthy mind to be contented with the whole world, but most vile and abject to be satisfied with one point or prick[191] of the world. 394
Zoy. Excellent Faunus! I kiss thee for this, by this hand.
Sir Amor. I thought as well: kiss me too, dear mistress.
Zoy. No, good Sir Amoroso;[192] your teeth hath taken rust, your breath wants airing, and indeed I love sound kissing. Come, gallants, who’ll run a caranto, or leap a levalto? 401
Herc. Take heed, lady, from offending or bruising the hope of your womb.
Zoy. No matter; now I ha’ the sleight, or rather the fashion of it, I fear no barrenness.
Herc. O, but you know not your husband’s aptness.
Zoy. Husband! husband! as if women could have no children without husbands.
Nym. Ay, but then they will not be so like your husband. 410
Zoy. No matter, they’ll be like their father; ’tis honour enough to my husband that they vouchsafe to call him father, and that his land shall descend to them. (Does he not gnash his very teeth in anguish?) Like our husband? I had rather they were ungroan’d for. Like our husband?—prove such a melancholy jealous ass as he is? (Does he not stamp?)
Nym. But troth, your husband has a good face.
Zoy. Faith, good enough face for a husband. Come, gallants, I’ll dance to mine own whistle: I am as light now as——Ah! [she sings and dances]. A kiss to you, to my sweet free servants. Dream on me, and adieu.
[Exit Zoya.
Zuccone discovers himself.
Zuc. I shall lose my wits. 423
Herc. Be comforted, dear Don, you ha’ none to leese.
Zuc. My wife is grown like a Dutch crest, always rampant, rampant: ’fore I will endure this affliction, I will live by raking cockles out of kennels; nay, I will run my country,—forsake my religion,—go weave fustians,—or roll the wheel-barrow at Rotterdam.
Herc. I would be divorced, despite her friends, or the oath of her chamber-maid. 431
Zuc. Nay, I will be divorced, in despite of ’em all; I’ll go to law with her.
Herc. That’s excellent; nay, I would go to law.
Zuc. Nay, I will go to law.
Herc. Why, that’s sport alone; what though it be most exacting? wherefore is money?
Zuc. True, wherefore is money? 438
Herc. What, though you shall pay for every quill, each drop of ink, each minim, letter, tittle, comma, prick, each breath, nay, not only for thine own orator’s prating, but for some other orator’s silence,—though thou must buy silence with a full hand,—’tis well known Demosthenes[193] took above two thousand pound once only to hold his peace,—though thou a man of noble gentry, yet you must wait, and besiege his study door, which will prove more hard to be entered than old Troy, for that was gotten into by a wooden horse; but the entrance of this may chance cost thee a whole stock of cattle, oves et
boves, et cœtera pecora campi;—though then thou must sit there, thrust and contemned, bare-headed to a grograine scribe, ready to start up at the door creaking, press’d to get in, “with your leave, sir,” to some surly groom, the third son of a rope-maker:[194]—what of all this? 454
Zuc. To a resolute mind these torments are not felt.
Herc. A very arrant ass, when he is hungry, will feed on, though he be whipt to the bones, and shall a very arrant ass, Zuccone, be more virtuously patient than a noble——
Don. No, Fawn, the world shall know I have more virtue than so—— 461
Herc. Do so, and be wise.
Zuc. I will, I warrant thee: so I may be revenged, what care I what I do?
Herc. Call a dog worshipful?
Zuc. Nay, I will embrace,—nay, I will embrace a jakes-farmer, after eleven o’clock at night,—I will stand bare, and give wall to a bellows-mender,—pawn my lordship,—sell my foot-cloth,[195]—but I will be revenged. Does she think she has married an ass? 470
Herc. A fool?
Zuc. A coxcomb?
Herc. A ninny-hammer?
Zuc. A woodcock?
Herc. A calf?
Zuc. No, she shall find that I ha’ eyes.
Herc. And brain.
Zuc. And nose.
Herc. And forehead.
Zuc. She shall, i’faith, Fawn; she shall, she shall, sweet Fawn; she shall, i’faith, old boy; it joys my blood to think on’t; she shall, i’faith. Farewell, loved Fawn; sweet Fawn, farewell: she shall, i’faith, boy. 483
[Exit Zuccone.
Enter Gongazo and Granuffo with Dulcimel.
Gon. We would be private, only Faunus stay; He is a wise fellow, daughter, a very wise fellow, for he is still just of my opinion. My Lord Granuffo, you may likewise stay, for I know you’ll say nothing. Say on, daughter.
[Exeunt all but Gonzago, Granuffo, Hercules and Dulcimel.
Dul. And as I told you, sir, Tiberio being sent,
Graced in high trust, as to negotiate 490
His royal father’s love, if he neglect
The honour of this faith, just care of state,
And every fortune that gives likelihood
To his best hopes, to draw our weaker heart
To his own love (as I protest he does)——
Gon. I’ll rate[196] the prince with such a heat of breath,
His ears shall glow; nay, I discover’d him;
I read his eyes, as I can read any[197] eye—
Tho’ it speak in darkest characters, I can;
Can we not, Fawn?—can we not, my lord? 500
Why, I conceive you now; I understand you both.
You both admire; yes, say is ’t not hit?
Though we are old, or so, yet we ha’ wit.
Dul. And you may say (if so[198] your wisdom please,
As you are truly wise), how weak a creature
Soft woman is to bear the siege and strength
Of so prevailing feature and fair language,
As that of his is ever: you may add
(If so your wisdom please, as you are wise)——
Gon. As mortal man may be.
Dul. I am of years 510
Apt for his love; and if he should proceed
In private urgent suit, how easy ’twere
To win my love: for you may say (if so
Your wisdom please) you find in me
A very forward passion to enjoy him,
And therefore you beseech him seriously
Straight to forbear, with such close-cunning art
To urge his too well gracèd suit: for you
(If so your lordship please) may say I told you all.
Gon. Go to, go to; what I will say, or so, 520
Until I say, none but myself shall know.
But I will say—Go to; does not my colour rise?
It shall rise; for I can force my blood
To come and go, as men of wit and state
Must sometimes feign their love, sometimes their hate.
That’s policy now; but come with this free heat,
Or this same Estro[199] or Enthusiasm
(For these are phrases both poetical);
Will we go rate the prince, and make him see
Himself in us; that is, our grace and wits 530
Shall show his shapeless folly,—vice kneels while virtue sits.
Enter Tiberio.
But see, we are prevented: daughter, in!
It is not fit thyself should hear what I
Must speak of thy most modest, wise, wise mind;
For th’art careful, sober, in all most wise,
And indeed our daughter. [Exit Dulcimel.] My Lord Tiberio,
A horse but yet a colt may leave his trot,
A man but yet a boy may well be broke
From vain addictions; the head of rivers stopp’d,
The channel dries; he that doth dread a fire, 540
Must put out sparks; and he who fears a bull,
Must cut his horns off when he is a calf.
Principiis obsta,[200] saith a learned man,
Who, though he was no duke, yet he was wise,
And had some sense or so.
Tib. What means my lord?
Gon.[201] La, sir! thus men of brain can speak in clouds,
Which weak eyes cannot pierce; but, my fair lord,
In direct phrase thus, my daughter tells me plain,
You go about with most direct entreats
To gain her love, and to abuse her father. 550
O, my fair lord, will you, a youth so blest
With rarest gifts of fortune and sweet graces,
Offer to love a young and tender lady;
Will you, I say, abuse your most wise father,
Who, tho’ he freeze in August, and his calves
Are sunk into his toes, yet may well wed our daughter,
As old as he in wit? Will you, I say
(For by my troth, my lord, I must be plain)?
My daughter is but young, and apt to love
So fit a person as your proper self, 560
And so she pray’d me tell you. Will you now
Entice her easy breast to abuse your trust,
Her proper honour, and your father’s hopes?
I speak no figures, but I charge you check
Your appetite and passions to our daughter,
Before it head, nor offer conference,
Or seek access, but by and before us.
What, judge you us as weak or as unwise?
No, you shall find that Venice duke has eyes;
And so think on’t.
[Exeunt Gonzago and Granuffo.
Tib. Astonishment and wonder! what means this?
Is the duke sober?
Herc. Why, ha’ not you endeavour’d 572
Courses that only[202] seconded appetite,
And not your honour, or your trust of place?
Do you not court the lady for yourself?
Tib. Fawn, thou dost love me. If I ha’ done so,
’Tis past my knowledge; and I prithee, Fawn,
If thou observ’st I do I know not what,
Make me to know it; for by the dear light,
I ha’ not found a thought that way. I apt for love?
Let lazy idleness, fill’d full of wine, 581
Heated with meats, high fed, with lustful ease,
Go dote on colour. As for me, why, death[203] o’ sense!
I court the lady? I was not born in Cyprus.
I love! when?—how?—whom? Think, let us yet keep
Our reason sound. I’ll think, and think, and sleep.
[Exit.
Herc. Amazed! even lost in wond’ring! I rest full
Of covetous expectation. I am left
As on a rock, from whence I may discern
The giddy sea of humour flow beneath, 590
Upon whose back the vainer bubbles float,
And forthwith break. O mighty flattery!
Thou easiest, common’st, and most grateful venom,
That poisons courts and all societies,
How grateful dost thou make me? Should one rail,
And come to fear[204] a vice, beware leg-rings
And the turn’d key on thee, when, if softer hand
Suppling a sore that itches (which should smart)—
Free speech gains foes, base fawnings steal the heart.
Swell, you imposthum’d members, till you burst, 600
Since ’tis in vain to hinder, on I’ll thrust;
And when in shame you fall, I’ll laugh from hence,
And cry, “So end all desperate impudence!”
Another’s court shall show me where and how
Vice may be cured, for now beside myself,
Possess’d with almost frenzy, from strong fervour
I know I shall produce things mere divine:
Without immoderate heat, no virtues shine.
For I speak strong, tho’ strange,—the dews that steep
Our souls in deepest thoughts are fury and sleep. 610
[Exit.
[161] The officer who set on the dishes and removed them at a banquet.
[162] Ed. 3. “overflowing.” The italicised words seem to be a quotation.
[163] So the old eds.; but probably “Danae’s” is a misprint for “the Danaides’.” Later we have “Danau’s tubbe.”
[164] “The hill ... that rise” (ll. 27-29). These lines are found only in the second 4to.
[165] “Impudence”—omitted in eds. 1. and 3.
[166] “Faunus”—omitted in eds. 1. and 3.
[167] Possibly a corrupt abbreviation of Ital. Vino di Montepulciano.
[168] So ed. 2.—Eds. 1. and 3. “to health [and to’th health] of thy chin.”
[169] See note, vol. i. p. 153.
[170] Rich broths.—Cf. Middleton, iii. 285:—“Let gold, amber, and dissolved pearl be common ingrediences, and that you cannot compose a cullice without ’em.”
[171] i.e., parroquets?—Cf. The Fox, iii. 6:
“The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales,
The brains of peacocks and of estriches,
Shall be our food.”
[172] Eds. 1. and 3. “thy.”
[173] Wife.—See Middleton, iv. 62, vii. 212.
[174] This must be a misprint.—Should we read “royal”?
[175] “Who’s this?”—omitted in eds. 1. and 3.
[176] “Lord”—omitted in eds. 1. and 3.
[177] Richard III., i. 1. l. 32: “Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous.”
[178] Cf. 1 Henry IV., ii. 4:—“For though the camomile the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth the more it is wasted the sooner it wears.” The comparison was very common.
[179] See Ovid’s Metamorphoses, lib. ix.
[180] So ed. 3.—Eds. 1. and 2. “Iouiald.”
[181] “Now—now—now”—omitted in ed. 2.
[182] Eds. 1. and 3. “Ye.”
[183] Omitted in ed. 2.
[184] Eds. 1. and 3. “forke.”
[185] Ed. 1. “vnlegittimall.”
[186] Eds. 1. and 3. “worke.”
[187] Old eds. “fence.”
[188] “Any one man.”—So ed. 2.; eds. 1. and 3. “such an one.”
[189] Eds. 1. and 3. proceed thus:—“yea, all should court many vertues, therefore ladies should court many men; for as in women, so in men, some woman hath,” &c.
[190] See the second chapter of The Book of Daniel.
[191] “Or prick”—omitted in ed. 2.
[192] Eds. 1. and 3. “Amorous.”
[193] Plutarch tells the story in his account of Demosthenes (Orat. Vit.):—“Πώλου δέ ποτε τοῦ ὑποκριτοῦ πρὸς αὐτὸν εἰπόντος, ὅτι δυσὶν ἡμέραις ἀγωνισάμενος τάλαντον λάβοι μισθὸν, Ἐγὼ δὲ, εἶπε, τέντε τάλαντα, μίαν ἡμέραν σιωπήσας.”
[194] Nashe persistently twitted Gabriel Harvey with being the son of a ropemaker.
[195] The housings of a horse.
[196] Ed. 1. “hate.”
[197] Eds. 1. and 3. “an.”
[198] “So”—omitted in eds. 1. and 3.
[199] “The œstrum or gadfly is here meant, which extremely torments cattle in the summer. It is metaphorically used for inspired fury of any kind.”—Dilke.
[200] Ovid, Remed. Am., l. 91.
[201] Not marked in eds. 1. and 3.
[202] Eds. 1. and 3. “that have seconded.”
[203] Eds. 1. and 3. “earth.” (“Death o’ sense” is a sort of meaningless oath. Cf. p. 138, l. 81. “Oh, the life of sense!” Later we have “Death o’ man! is she delivered?” iv. 1.)
[204] i.e., frighten.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Palace of the Duke of Urbin.
Enter Faunus and Nymphadoro.
Nym. Faith, Fawn, ’tis my humour, the natural sin of my sanguine complexion. I am most enforcedly in love with all women, almost affecting them all with an equal flame.
Herc. An excellent justice of an upright virtue: you love all God’s creatures with an unpartial affection.
Nym. Right; neither am I inconstant to any one in particular.
Herc. Tho’ you love all in general, true; for when you vow a most devoted love to one, you swear not to tender a most devoted love to another; and indeed why should any man over-love anything? ’Tis judgment for a man to love everything proportionably to his virtue: I love a dog with a hunting pleasure, as he is pleasurable in hunting; my horse, after a journeying easiness, as he is easy in journeying; my hawk, to the goodness of his wing; and my wench—— 17
Herc. Why, according to her creation. Nature made them pretty, toying, idle, fantastic, imperfect creatures; even so I would in justice affect them, with a pretty, toying, idle, fantastic, imperfect affection; and as indeed they are only created for show and pleasure, so would I only love them for show and pleasure.
Nym. Why, that’s my humour to the very thread; thou dost speak my proper thoughts.
Herc. But, sir, with what possibility can your constitution be so boundlessly amorous as to affect all women, of what degree, form, or complexion soever? 29
Nym. I’ll tell thee: for mine own part I am a perfect Ovidian, and can with him affect all. If[205] she be a virgin, of a modest eye, shamefaced, temperate aspect, her very modesty inflames me, her sober blushes fires me; if I behold a wanton, pretty, courtly, petulant ape, I am extremely in love with her, because she is not clownishly rude, and that she assures her lover of no ignorant, dull, unmoving[206] Venus; be she sourly severe, I think she wittily counterfeits, and I love her for her wit; if she be learned, and censures poets, I love her soul, and for her soul her body; be she a lady of profess’d ignorance, oh, I am infinitely taken with her simplicity, as one assured to find no sophistication about her; be she slender and lean, she’s the Greek’s delight; be she thick and plump, she’s the Italian’s pleasure; if she be tall, she’s of a
goodly form, and will print a fair proportion in a large bed; if she be short and low, she’s nimbly delightful, and ordinarily quick-witted; be she young, she’s for mine eye; be she old, she’s for my discourse, as one well knowing there’s much amiableness in a grave matron; but be she young or old, lean, fat, short, tall, white, red, brown, nay, even black, my discourse shall find reason to love her, if my means may procure opportunity to enjoy her. 53
Herc. Excellent, sir: nay, if a man were of competent means, were’t not a notable delight for a man to have for every month in that year?
Nym. Nay, for every week of the month?
Herc. Nay, for every day of the week?
Nym. Nay, for every hour of that day?
Herc. Nay, for every humour of a man in that hour, to have a several mistress to entertain him; as if he were saturnine, or melancholy, to have a black-haired, pale-faced, sallow, thinking mistress to clip him; if jovial and merry, a sanguine, light-tripping, singing,—indeed a mistress that would dance a[207] caranto as she goes to embrace him; if choleric, impatient, or ireful, to have a mistress with red hair, little ferret eyes, a lean cheek, and a sharp nose, to entertain him. And so of the rest. 68
Enter Donnetta.
Nym. O, sir, this were too great ambition! Well, I love and am beloved of a great many; for I court all in the way of honour, in the trade of marriage, Fawn; but above all, I affect the princess,—she’s my utmost end.
O, I love a lady whose beauty is joined with fortune, beyond all! yet one of beauty without fortune, for some uses; nay, one of fortune without beauty, for some ends; but never any that has neither fortune nor beauty, but for necessity; such a one as this is Donna Donnetta: here’s one has loved all the court just once over.
Herc. O, this is the fair lady with the foul teeth! Nature’s hand shook when she was in making, for the red that should have spread her cheeks, Nature let fall upon her nose; the white of her chin slipp’d into her eyes; and the gray of her eyes leapt before his time into her hair; and the yellowness of her hair fell without providence into her teeth. 85
Nym. By the vow of my heart, you are my most only elected; and I speak by way of protestation, I shall no longer wish to be than that your only affection shall rest in me, and mine only in you.
Don. But if you shall love any other? 90
Nym. Any other? Can any man love any other that knows you,—the only perfection of your sex, and astonishment of mankind?
Don. Fie! ye flatter me. Go, wear and understand my favour: this snail[’s] slow, but sure.
Nym. This kiss!
Don. Farewell!
Nym. The integrity and only vow of my faith to you; ever urge your well-deserved requital to me.
[Exit Donnetta.
Enter Garbetza.
Herc. Excellent! 100
Herc. Of your most only elected.
Nym. Right, Donna Garbetza.
Herc. O, I will acknowledge this is the lady made of cutwork, and all her body like a sand-box, full of holes, and contains nothing but dust. She chooseth her servants as men choose dogs, by the mouth; if they open well and full, their cry is pleasing. She may be chaste, for she has a bad face; and yet, questionless, she may be made a strumpet, for she is covetous. 110
Nym. By the vow of my heart, you are my most only elected (and I speak it by way of protestation), I shall no longer wish to be than all your affections shall only rest in me, and all mine only in you.
Herc. Excellent! this piece of stuff is good on both sides; he is so constant, he will not change his phrase.
Gar. But shall I give faith? may you not love another?
Nym. Another? Can any man love another that knows you,—the only perfection of your sex, and admiration of mankind? 120
Gar. Your speech flies too high for your meaning to follow, yet my mistrust shall not precede my experience: I wrought this favour for you.
Nym. The integrity and only vow of my faith to you; ever urge your well-deserved requital to me.
[Exit Garbetza.
Herc. Why, this is pure wit, nay, judgment.
Nym. Why, look thee, Fawn, observe me.
Herc. I do, sir.
Nym. I do love at this instant some nineteen ladies,
all in the trade of marriage. Now, sir, whose father dies first, or whose portion appeareth most, or whose fortunes betters soonest, her with quiet liberty at my leisure will I elect; for[208] that’s my humour. 133
Enter Dulcimel and Philocalia.
Herc. You profess a most excellent mystery, sir.
Nym. ’Fore Heaven! see the princess—she that is——
Herc. Your most only elected, too?
Nym. Oh! ay—oh! ay—but my hope’s faint yet.—By the vow of my heart, you are my most only elected and——
Dul. There’s a ship of fools going out! Shall I prefer thee, Nymphadoro? Thou mayst be master’s mate. My father hath made Dondolo captain, else thou shouldest have his place. 143
Nym. By Jove, Fawn, she speaks as sharply, and looks as sourly, as if she had been new squeezed out of a crab orange.
Herc. How term you that lady with whom she holds discourse?
Nym. O, Fawn, ’tis a lady even above ambition; and like the vertical sun, that neither forceth others to cast shadows, nor can others force or shade her. Her style is Donna Philocalia. 152
Herc. Philocalia! What! that renowmed[209] lady, whose
ample report hath struck wonder into remotest strangers? and yet her worth above that wonder? She, whose noble industries hath made her breast rich in true glories and undying habilities? she, that whilst other ladies spend the life of earth, Time, in reading their glass, their jewels, and (the shame of poesy) lustful sonnets, gives her soul meditations—those meditations wings that cleave the air, fan bright celestial fires, whose true reflection makes her see herself and them? she whose pity is ever above her envy, loving nothing less than insolent prosperity, and pitying nothing more than virtue destitute of fortune? 164
Nym. There were a lady for Ferrara’s duke!—one of great blood, firm age, undoubted honour, above her sex, most modestly artful, tho’ naturally modest; too excellent to be left unmatch’d, tho’ few worthy to match with her.
Herc. I cannot tell—my thoughts grow busy. 169
Phi. The princess would be private. Void the presence!
[Exeunt.
Dul. May I rest sure thou wilt conceal a secret?
Phi. Yes, madam.
Dul. How may I rest assured?
Phi. Truly thus—do not tell it me.
Dul. Why, canst thou not conceal a secret?
Phi. Yes, as long as it is a secret, but when two know it, how can it be a secret? and, indeed, with what justice can you expect secrecy in me that cannot be private to yourself? 179
Dul. Faith, Philocalia, I must of force trust thy silence; for my breast breaks if I confer not my thoughts upon thee.
Phi. You may trust my silence; I can command that; but if I chance to be questioned I must speak truth: I can conceal, but not deny my knowledge. That must command me.
Dul. Fie on these philosophical discoursing women! Prithee confer with me like a creature made of flesh and blood, and tell me if it be not a scandal to the soul of all being, proportion, that I, a female of fifteen,[210] of a lightsome and civil discretion—healthy, lusty, vigorous, full, and idle—should for ever be shackled to the crampy shins of a wayward, dull, sour, austere, rough, rheumy threescore and four? 194
Phi. Nay, threescore and ten at the least.
Dul. Now, Heaven bless me! as it is pity that every knave is not a fool, so it is shame that every old man is not, and resteth not, a widower. They say in China, when women are past child-bearing, they are all burnt to make gunpowder. I wonder what men should be done withal when they are past child-getting. Yet, upon my love, Philocalia (which with ladies is often above their honour), I do even dote upon the best part of the duke.
Phi. What’s that? 204
Dul. His son; yes, sooth, and so love him, that I must marry him.
Phi. And wherefore love him so, to marry him?
Dul. Because I love him; and because he is virtuous I love to marry.
Dul. Ay, with him, his virtues.
Phi. Ay, with him! alas, sweet princess, love or virtue are not of the essence of marriage!
Dul. A jest[211] upon your understanding! I’ll maintain that wisdom in a woman is most foolish quality. A lady of a good complexion, naturally well witted, perfectly bred, and well exercised in discourse of the best men, shall make fools of a thousand of these book-thinking creatures. I speak it by way of justification, I tell thee (look that nobody eavesdrop us),—I tell thee, I am truly learned, for I protest ignorance;[212] and wise, for I love myself; and virtuous enough for a lady of fifteen. 223
Phi. How virtuous?
Dul. Shall I speak like a creature of a good healthful blood, and not like one of these weak, green sickness, lean, phthisic starvelings? First, for the virtue of magnanimity, I am very valiant, for there is no heroic action so particularly noble and glorious to our sex, as not to fall to action; the greatest deed we can do is not to do (look that nobody listen). Then am I full of patience, and can bear more than a sumpter-horse; for (to speak sensibly), what burthen is there so heavy to a porter’s back as virginity to a well-complexioned young lady’s thoughts? (Look no body hearken.) By this hand the noblest vow is that of virginity, because the hardest. I will have the prince. 237
Phi. But by what means, sweet madam?
Dul. O Philocalia, in heavy sadness and unwanton phrase, there lies all the brain-work. By what means! I could fall into a miserable blank verse presently!
Phi. But, dear madam, your reason of loving him?
Dul. Faith, only a woman’s reason, because I was expressly forbidden to love him. At the first view I liked him; and no sooner had my father’s wisdom mistrusted my liking, but I grew loth his judgment should err; I pitied he should prove a fool in his old age, and without cause mistrust me. 248
Phi. But, when you saw no means of manifesting your affection to him, why did not your hopes perish?
Dul. O Philocalia! that difficulty only enflames me: when the enterprise is easy, the victory is inglorious. No, let my wise, aged, learned, intelligent father,—that can interpret eyes, understand the language of birds, interpret the grumbling of dogs and the conference of cats,—that can read even silence,—let him forbid all interviews, all speeches, all tokens, all messages, all (as he thinks) human means,—I will speak to the prince, court the prince, that he shall understand me;—nay, I will so stalk on the blind side of my all-knowing father’s wit, that, do what his wisdom can, he shall be my only mediator, my only messenger, my only honourable spokesman;—he shall carry my favours, he shall amplify my affection;—nay, he shall direct the prince the means, the very way to my bed;—he, and only he, when he only can do this, and only would not do this, he only shall do this. 267
Phi. Only you shall then deserve such a husband. O love, how violent are thy passages!
Dul. Pish, Philocalia! ’tis against the nature of love not to be violent.
Phi. And against the condition of violence to be constant.
Dul. Constancy?—constancy and patience are virtues in no living creatures but centinels and anglers. Here’s our father!
Enter Gonzago, Hercules, and Granuffo.
Gon. What, did he think to walk invisibly before our eyes? And he had Gyges’ ring I would find him.
Herc. ’Fore Jove, you rated him with emphasis.
Gon. Did we not shake the prince with energy? 280
Herc. With Ciceronian elocution?
Gon. And most pathetic, piercing oratory?
Herc. If he have any wit in him, he will make sweet use of it.
Gon. Nay, he shall make sweet use of it ere I have done. Lord, what overweening fools these young men be, that think us old men sots!
Herc. Arrant asses.
Gon. Doting idiots, when we, God wot—ha, ha! ’las, silly souls! 290
Herc. Poor weak creatures, to men of approved reach.
Gon. Full years.
Herc. Of wise experience.
Gon. And approved wit.
Gon. Count Granuffo, as I live, this Faunus is a rare understander of men—is a’ not? Faunus, this Granuffo is a right wise good lord, a man of excellent discourse and never speaks his signs to me, and men of profound reach instruct abundantly; he begs suits with signs, gives thanks with signs, puts off his hat leisurely, maintains his beard learnedly, keeps his lust privately, makes a nodding leg courtly, and lives happily. 303
Herc. Silence is an excellent modest grace, but especially before so instructing a wisdom as that of your excellency’s. As for his advancement, you gave it most royally, because he deserves it least duly, since to give to virtuous desert is rather a due requital than a princely magnificence, when to undeservingness it is merely all bounty and free grace. 310
Gon. Well spoke, ’tis enough. Don Granuffo, this Faunus is a very worthy fellow, and an excellent courtier, and beloved of most of the princes of Christendom, I can tell you; for howsoever some severer dissembler grace him not when he affronts him in the full face, yet, if he comes behind or on the one side, he’ll leer and put back his head upon him. Be sure, be you two precious to each other.
Herc. Sir, myself, my family, my fortunes, are all devoted, I protest, most religiously to your service. I vow my whole self only proud in being acknowledged by you, but as your creature; and my only utmost ambition is by my sword or soul to testify how sincerely I am consecrated to your adoration. 324
Gon. ’Tis enough; art a gentleman, Fawn?
Herc. Not uneminently[213] descended; for were the pedigrees of some fortunately mounted, searched, they would be secretly found to be of the blood of the poor Fawn. 329
Gon. ’Tis enough; you two I love heartily; for thy silence never displeaseth me, nor thy speech ever offend me. See, our daughter attends us.—My fair, my wise, my chaste, my duteous, and indeed, in all, my daughter (for such a pretty soul for all the world have I been), what! I think we have made the prince to feel his error.
What! did he think he had weak fools in hand?
No, he shall find, as wisely said Lucullus,
Young men are fools that go about to gull us. 338
Dul. But sooth, my wisest father, the young prince is yet forgetful, and resteth resolute in his much-unadvised love.
Gon. Is’t possible?
Dul. Nay, I protest, what ere he feign to you (as he can feign most deeply)——
Gon. Right, we know it; for if you mark’d, he would not once take sense of any such intent from him. O impudence, what mercy canst thou look for!
Dul. And as I said, royally wise and wisely royal father——
Gon. I think that eloquence is hereditary. 350
Dul. Tho’ he can feign, yet I presume your sense is quick enough to find him.
Gon. Quick, is’t not, Granuffo?[214] Is’t not, Fawn? Why, I did know you feigned, nay, I do know (by the just sequence of such impudence) that he hath laid some second siege unto thy bosom, with most miraculous conveyances of some rich present on thee.
Dul. O bounteous Heaven, how liberal are your graces to my Nestor-like father!
Gon. Is’t not so, say? 360
Dul. ’Tis so, oraculous father; he hath now more than courted with bare phrases.
See, father, see, the very bane of honour,
Corruption of justice and virginity:
Gifts hath he left with me. O view this scarf;
This, as he call’d it, most envièd silk,
That should embrace an arm, or waist, or side,
Which he much fear’d should never—this he left,
Despite my much resistance. 369
Gon. Did he so? Give’t me. I’ll give’t him. I’ll regive his token with so sharp advantage.
Dul. Nay, my worthy father, read but these cunning letters.
Gon. Letters—where?
[Reads.
Prove you but justly loving, and conceive me,
Till justice leave the gods, I’ll never leave thee.
For tho’ the duke seem wise, he’ll find this strain,
Where two hearts yield consent, all thwarting’s vain.
And darest thou then aver this wicked writ?
O world of wenching wiles, where is thy wit? 380
Enter Tiberio.
Dul. But other talk for us were far more fit, For, see, here comes the Prince Tiberio.
Gon. Daughter, upon thy obedience, instantly take thy chamber.
Dul. Dear father, in all duty, let me beseech your leave, that I may but——
Gon. Go to, go to! you are a simple fool, a very simple animal.
Dul. Yet[215] let me (the loyal servant of simplicity)——
Gon. What would you do? What! are you wiser than your father?—will you direct me? 391
Dul. Heavens forbid such insolence! Yet let me denounce my hearty hatred.
Gon. To what end?
Dul. Tho’t be but in the prince’s ear (since fits not maiden’s blush to rail aloud).
Gon. Go to, go to!
Dul. Let me but check his heat.
Gon. Well, well.
Dul. And take him down, dear father, from his full pride of hopes. 401
Gon. So, so, I say once more, go in.
[Exeunt Dulcimel and Philocalia.
I will not lose the glory of reproof.
Is this the office of ambassadors,
My Lord Tiberio?
Nay, duty of a son; nay, piety of a man?—
(A figure call’d in art gradatio:
With some learned, Climax)—to court a royal lady
For’s master, father, or perchance his friend,
And yet intend the purchase of his beauty 410
To his own use?
Tib. Your grace doth much amaze me.
Gon. Ay, feign dissemble; ’las! we are now grown old, weak-sighted; alas! any one fools us.
Tib. I deeply vow, my lord——
Gon. Peace, be not damn’d, have pity on your soul.
I confess, sweet prince, for you to love my daughter,
Young and witty,
Of equal mixture both of mind and body,
Is neither wondrous nor unnatural;
Yet to forswear and vow against one’s heart, 420
Is full of base, ignoble cowardice,
Since ’tis most plain, such speeches do contemn
Heaven and fear men (that’s sententious[216] now).
Tib. My gracious lord, if I unknowingly have err’d.
Gon. Unknowingly! can you blush, my lord?
Unknowingly! why, can you write these lines,
Present this scarf, unknowingly, my lord,
To my dear daughter? Um, unknowingly?
Can you urge your suit, prefer your gentlest love,
In your own right, to her too easy breast, 430
That, God knows, takes too much compassion on ye?
(And so she pray’d me say) unknowingly?
My lord, if you can act these things unknowingly,
Know we can know your actions so unknown;
For we are old, I will not say in wit
(For even[217] just worth must not approve itself);
But take your scarf, for she vows she’ll not wear it.
Tib. Nay, but my lord——
Gon. Nay, but my lord, my lord,
You must take it, wear it, keep it,
For by the honour of our house and blood, 440
I will deal wisely, and be provident;
Your father shall not say I pandarised,
Or fondly wink’d at your affection;
No, we’ll be wise. This night our daughter yields
Your father’s answer; this night we invite
Your presence therefore to a feastful waking;
To-morrow to Ferrara you return,
With wishèd answer to your royal father;
Meantime, as you respect our best relation
Of your fair bearing (Granuffo, is’t not good?)— 450
Of your fair bearing, rest more anxious—
(No, anxious is not a good word)—rest more vigilant
Over your passion, both forbear and bear,
Anechou e apechou[218] (that’s Greek to you now),
Else your youth shall find
Our nose not stuff’d, but we can take the wind
And smell you out—I say no more but thus—
And smell you out. What! ha’ we not our eyes,
Our nose and ears? What! are these hairs unwise?
Look to’t, quos ego,[219]— 460
(A figure called Aposiopesis or Increpatio).
[Exeunt Gonzago and Granuffo.
Tib. [reads the embroidered scarfs] Prove you but justly loving and conceive me,
Justice shall leave the gods before I leave thee:
Imagination prove as true as thou art sweet!
And tho’ the duke seem wise, he’ll find this strain,
When two hearts yield consent, all thwarting’s vain.
O quick, deviceful, strong-brain’d Dulcimel!
Thou art too full of wit to be a wife.
Why dost thou love? or what strong heat gave life
To such faint hopes? O woman! thou art made 470
Most only of, and for, deceit; thy form
Is nothing but delusion of our eyes,
Our ears, our hearts, and sometimes of our hands;
Hypocrisy and vanity brought forth,
Without male heat, thy most, most monstrous being.
Shall I abuse my royal father’s trust,
And make myself a scorn—the very food
Of rumour infamous? Shall I, that ever loath’d
A thought of woman, now begin to love
My worthy father’s right?—break faith to him 480
That got me, to get a faithless woman?
Herc. True,
My worthy lord, your grace is verè pius.
Tib. To take from my good father
The pleasure of his eyes and of his hands,
Imaginary solace of his fading life!
Herc. His life, that only lives to your sole good!
Tib. And myself good—his life’s most only end.
Herc. Which, O! may never end!
Tib. Yes, Fawn, in time. We must not prescribe to nature everything. There’s some end in everything. 490
Herc. But in a woman. Yet, as she is a wife, she is oftentimes the end of her husband.
Tib. Shall I, I say——
Herc. Shall you, I say, confound your own fair hopes,
Cross all your course of life, make your self vain
To your once steady graveness, and all to second
The ambitious quickness of a monstrous love,
That’s only out of difficulty born,
And followed only for the miracle
In the obtaining? I would ha’ ye now 500
Tell her father all.
Tib. Uncompassionate vild man!
Shall I not pity if I cannot love?
Or rather, shall I not for pity love
So wondrous wit in so most wondrous beauty,
That with such rarest art and cunning means
Entreats[220] what I (thing valueless) am not
Worthy to grant, my admiration?
Are fathers to be thought on in our loves?
Herc. True, right, sir;
Fathers or friends, a crown and love hath none, 510
But are allied to themselves alone.
Your father, I may boldly say, he’s an ass
To hope that you’ll forbear to swallow
What he cannot chew; nay, ’tis injustice, truly,
For him to judge it fit that you should starve
For that which only he can feast his eye withal,
And not disgest.[221]
Tib. O! Fawn, what man of so cold earth
But must love such a wit in such a body!
Thou last and only rareness of Heaven’s works,
From best of man made model of the gods! 520
Divinest woman, thou perfection
Of all proportion’s beauty, made when Jove was blithe—
Well filled with nectar, and full friends with man—
Thou dear as air, necessary as sleep
To careful man! Woman! O who can sin so deeply
As to be curs’d from knowing of the pleasures
Thy soft society, modest amorousness,
Yields to our tedious life!
Fawn, the duke shall not know this.
Herc. Unless you tell him. But what hope can live in you, 530
When your short stay and your most shorten’d conference,
Not only actions, but even looks observ’d,
Cut off all possibilities of obtaining?
Tib. Tush, Fawn,
To violence of women, love, and wit,
Nothing but not obtaining is impossible!
Notumque furens quid fœmina possit.
Herc. But then, how rest you to your father true?
Tib. To him that only can give dues, she rests most due.
[Exit.
Herc. Even so. He that with safety would well lurk in courts 540
To best-elected ends, of force is wrung
To keep broad eyes, soft feet, long ears, and most short tongue;
For ’tis of knowing creatures the main art
To use quick hams, wide arms, and most close heart.
[205] Compare with this speech the fourth elegy of Book II. of Ovid’s Amores.
[206] Eds. 1. and 3. “moving.”
[207] Eds. 1. and 3. “and.”
[208] So ed. 2.—Eds. 1. and 3. “for if my humour love.”
[209] So ed. 1.—Eds. 2. and 3. “renowned.” (For the form “renowmed” cf. Marlowe, i. 24, &c.)
[210] Eds. 1. and 3. “13.”
[211] So ed. 2.—Ed. 1. “I iest;” ed. 3. “I rest.”
[212] Eds. 1. and 3. “protest ignorant.”—Ed. 2. “prote ignorance.”
[213] So eds. 1. and 3.—Ed. 2. “Not one eminently.”
[214] Old eds. give:— “Gon. Quicke, ist not?
Gra. Ist not Fawne Why,” &c.
[215] Eds. 1. and 3. “Yet let me be the loyal,” &c.
[216] Ed. 2. “sentious.”
[217] Ed. 3. “every.”
[218] Eds. 1. and 2. “anexou e ampexou.”—Ed. 3. “anechon, eapechon.” The reference is to the maxim of Epictetus (reported by Aulus Gellius, xvii. 19)—Ἀνέχου καὶ Ἀπέχου.
[219] Virg., Æn. i. 135.
[220] Eds. 1. and 2. read:—“Entreates? What (I thing valules) am not, Worthie but to graunt,” &c. Ed. 3. and some copies of ed. 1. give:—“Entreates? What I thinke valulesse and not Worthy but to graunt,” &c.
[221] Old form of “digest.”
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Palace of the Duke of Urbin.
Enter Hercules and Garbetza.
Herc. Why, ’tis a most well-in-fashion affection, Donna Garbetza. Your knight, Sir Amorous, is a man of a most unfortunate back, spits white, has an ill breath; at three, after dinner, goes to the bath, takes the diet, nay, which is more, takes tobacco; therefore, with great authority, you may cuckold him.
Gar. I hope so; but would that friend my brother discover me—would he wrong himself to prejudice me—
Herc. No prejudice, dear Garbetza: his brother your husband, right; he cuckold his eldest brother, true; he gets her with child, just. 11
Gar. Sure there’s no wrong in right, true, and just?
Herc. And, indeed, since the virtue of procreation growed hopeless in your husband, to whom should you rather commit your love and honour to, than him that is most like and near your husband, his brother? But are
you assured your friend and brother rests entirely constant solely to you?
Gar. To me? O Fawn, let me sigh it with joy into thy bosom, my brother has been wooed by this and that and t’other lady, to entertain them (for I ha’ seen their letters); but his vow to me, O Fawn! is most immutable, unfeigning, peculiar, and indeed deserved. 23
Enter Puttotta and a Page. Puttotta with a letter in her hand.
Put. Never entreat me—never beseech me to have pity, forsooth, on your master, M.[222] Herod. Let him never be so daringly ambitious as to hope, with all his vows and protestations, to gain my affection! God’s my discretion! Has my sutlery, tapstry, laundry, made me be ta’en up at the court—preferr’d me to a husband; and have I advanced my husband, with the labour of mine own body, from the black-guard[223] to be one of the duke’s drummers, to make him one of the court forkers? Shall I, that purify many lords and some ladies, can tell who wears perfumes, who plasters, and for why, know who’s a gallant of a chaste shirt and[224] who not, shall I become—or dares your master think I will become—or if I would[225] become, presumes your master to hope I
would become one of his common feminines? No, let M. Herod brag of his brother’s wife. I scorn his letters and her leavings at my heel—i’faith, and so tell him. 41
Pag. Nay, softly,[226] dear Puttotta—Mistress Puttotta—Madam Puttotta! O be merciful to my languishing master! He may in time grow great and well-graced courtier, for he wears yellow already! Mix, therefore, your loves. As for Madam Garbetza, his brother’s wife, you see what he writes there.
Put. I must confess he says she is a spiny, green creature, of an unwholesome barren blood and cold embrace—a bony thing, of most unequal hips, uneven eyes, ill-rank’d teeth, and indeed one, but that she hires him, he endures not; yet, for all this does he hope to dishonest me? I am for his betters, I would he should well know it; for more by many than my husband know I am a woman of a known sound and upright carriage; and so he shall find if he deal with me; and so tell him, I pray you. What! does he hope to make me one of his gills, his punks, polecats, flirts, and feminines? 58
[Exit. As Putotta goes out, she flings away the letter. The Page puts it up, and, as he is talking, Hercules steals it out of his pocket.
Pag. Alas! my miserable master, what suds art thou wash’d into! Thou art born to be scorn’d of every carted community, and yet he’ll out-crack a German
when he is drunk, or a Spaniard after he hath eaten a fumatho,[227] that he has lien with that and that and t’other lady; that he lay last night in such a madonna’s[228] chamber, t’other night he lay[229] in such a countess’s couch, to-night he lies in such a lady’s closet; when poor I know all this while he only[230] lied in his throat.
[Exit.
Herc. Madam, let me sigh it in your bosom, how immutable and unfainting, and, indeed——
Gar. Fawn, I will undo that rascal! He shall starve for any further maintenance. 71
Herc. You may make him come to the covering and recovering of his old doublets.
Gar. He was in fair hope of proving heir to his elder brother, but he has gotten me with child.
Herc. So, you withdrawing your favour, his present means fail him; and by getting you with child, his future means for ever rest despairful to him.
Gar. O Heaven! that I could curse him beneath damnation! Impudent varlet! By my reputation, Fawn, I only loved him because I thought I only did not love him. He vowed infinite beauties doted on him! Alas! I was a simple country lady, wore gold buttons, trunk[231] sleeves, and flaggon bracelets. In this state of innocency was I brought up to the court. 85
Herc. And now, instead of country innocency, have you got court honesty? Well, madam, leave your brother to my placing; he shall have a special cabin in the ship of fools.
Gar. Right. Remember he got his elder brother’s wife with child, and so deprived himself of th’ inheritance.
Herc. That will stow[232] him under hatches, I warrant you.
Gar. And so deprived himself of inheritance! Dear Fawn, be my champion! 95
Herc. The very scourge of your most basely offending brother.
Gar. Ignoble villain! that I might but see thee wretched without pity and recovery! Well!
Enter Herod and Nymphadoro.
Herc. Stand, Herod; you are full met, sir. 100
Herod. But not met full, sir. I am as gaunt as a hunting gelding after three train’d scents! ’Fore Venus, Fawn, I have been shaling[233] of peascods. Upon[234] four great madonnas have I this afternoon grafted the forked tree!
Herc. Is’t possible?
Herod. Possible! Fie on this satiety!—’tis a dull, blunt, weary, and drowsy passion. Who would be a proper fellow to be thus greedily devoured and
swallowed among ladies? Faith, ’tis my torment—my very rack! 111
Herc. Right, Herod, true; for imagine all a man possess’d with[235] a perpetual pleasure, like that of generation, even in the highest lusciousness, he straight sinks as unable to bear so continual, so pure, so universal a sensuality.
Herod. By even truth, ’tis very right; and, for my part, would I were eunuch’d rather than thus suck’d away with kisses, enfeebling dalliance; and O the falling sickness on them all! why did reasonable nature give so strange, so rebellious, so tyrannous, so insatiate parts of appetite to so weak a governess—a[236] woman? 122
Herc. Or why, O custom! didst thou oblige them to modesty, such cold temperance, that they must be wooed by men—courted by men? Why, all know they are more full of strong desires—those desires most impatient of delay or hindrance, they have more unruly passions than men, and weaker reason to temper those passions than men.
Nym. Why, then, hath not the discretion of Nature thought it just that customary coyness, old fashions, terms of honour and of modesty, forsooth, all laid aside, they court not us, beseech not us rather, for sweets of love than we them? Why, by Janus! women are but men turn’d the wrong side outward. 135
Herc. O, sir, Nature is a wise workman. She knows right well that if women should woo us to the act of
love, we should all be utterly shamed. How often should they take us unprovided, when they are always ready! 140
Herod. Ay, sir, right, sir; to some few such unfortunate handsome fellows as myself am; to my grief, I know it.
Herc. Why, here are two perfect creatures—the one, Nymphadoro, loves all, and my Herod here enjoys all.
Herod. ’Faith, some score or two of ladies or so ravish me among them, divide my presents, and would indeed engross me, were I indeed such an ass as to be made a monopoly of. Look, sirrah, what a vild hand one of them writes. Who would ever take this for a d.—dearest, or read this for only—only dearest? 152
Herc. Here’s a lie indeed.
Herod. True, but here’s another much more legibly, a good secretary,—My most affected Herod, the utmost ambition of my hopes and only——
Herc. There is one lie better shaped by odds!
Herod. Right; but here’s a lady’s Roman hand to me is beyond all. Look ye,—To her most elected servant and worthy friend, Herod Baldonzozo, Esquire. I believe thou knowest what countess’s hand this is. I’ll show thee another. 162
Herc. No, good Herod; I’ll show thee one now.—To his most elected mistress and worthy laundress, divine Mistress Puttotta, at her tent in the wood-yard, or elsewhere, give these——
Herod. Prithee, ha’ silence! What’s that?
Herc. If my tears or vows, my faithfulst[237] protestations on my knees——
Herod. Good, hold! 170
Herc. Fair and only-loved laundress!—
Herod. Forbear, I beseech thee!
Herc. Might move thy stony heart to take pity on my sighs——
Herod. Do not shame me to the day of judgment!
Herc. Alas! I write it in passion!—alas! thou knowest besides my loathed sister, thou art——
Herod. For the Lord’s sake!
Herc. The only hope of my pleasure, the only pleasure of my hopes! Be pleased, therefore, to—— 180
Herod. Cease, I beseech thee!
Herc. Pish! ne’er blush, man; ’tis an uncourtly quality! As for thy lying, as long as there’s policy in’t, it is very passable! Wherefore has Heaven given man tongue but to speak to a man’s own glory? He that cannot swell bigger than his natural skin, nor seem to be in more grace than he is, has not learn’d the very rudiments or A B C of courtship.
Herod. Upon my heart, Fawn, thou pleasest me to the soul; why, look you, for mine own part, I must confess——
Enter Dondolo.
See, here’s the duke’s fool!
Don. Aboard! aboard! aboard! all manner of fools,
of court, city, or country, of what degree, sex, or nature!
Herod. Fool!
Don. Herod!
Herc. What, are ye full freighted? Is your ship well fool’d?
Don. O, ’twas excellently thronged full: a justice of peace, tho’ he had been one of the most illiterate asses in a country, could hardly ha’ got a hanging cabin. O, we had first some long fortunate great politicians, that were so sottishly paradised as to think, when popular hate seconded princes’ displeasure to them, any unmerited violence could seem to the world injustice; some purple fellows, whom chance reared, and their own deficiencies of spirit hurled down. We had some courtiers that o’er-bought their offices, and yet durst fall in love; priests that forsook their functions to avoid a thwart stroke with a wet finger.[238] But now, alas, Fawn! there’s space[239] and place.
Herc. Why, how gat all these forth? Was not the warrant strong?
Don. Yes, yes; but they got a supersedeas: all of them proved themselves either knaves or madmen, and so were all let go; there’s none left now in our ship, but a few citizens, that let their wives keep their shop-books, some philosophers, and a few critics; one of which critics has lost his flesh with fishing at the measure of Plautus’ verses; another has vow’d to get the
consumption of the lungs, or to leave to posterity the true orthography and pronunciation of laughing;[240] a third hath melted a great deal o’ suet, worn out his thumbs with turning, read out his eyes, and studied his face out of a sanguine into a meagre, spawling, fleamy loathsomeness,—and all to find but why mentula should be the feminine gender, since the rule is Propria quæ maribus tribuuntur mascula dicas. These philosophers, critics, and all the maids we could find at sixteen, are all our fraught now. 230
Herc. O, then, your ship of fools is full.
Nym. True, the maids at seventeen fill it.
Don. Fill it, quoth you; alas! we have very few, and these we were fain to take up in the country too.
Herc. But what philosophers ha’ ye?
Don. O, very strange fellows: one knows nothing; dares not aver he lives, goes, sees, feels.
Nym. A most insensible philosopher.
Don. Another, that there is no present time, and that one man to-day and to-morrow is not the same man; so that he that yesterday owed money, to-day owes none, because he is not the same man. 242
Herod. Would that philosophy[241] would hold good in law!
Herc. But why has the duke thus labour’d to have all the fools shipp’d out of his dominions?
Don. Marry, because he would play the fool himself alone, without any rival.
Herc. Ware your breech, fool.
Don. I warrant thee, old lad, ’tis the privilege of poor fools to talk before an intelligencer; marry, if I could fool myself into a lordship, as I know some ha’ fool’d[242] themselves out of a lordship,—were I grown some huge fellow, and got the leer of the people upon me, if the fates had so decreed it,—I should talk treason, tho’ I ne’er open’d my lips. 256
Herc. Indeed![243] fatis agimur, cedite fatis! But how runs rumour?—what breath’s strongest in the palace, now? I think you know all.
Don. Yes, we fools think we know all. The prince hath audience to-night,—is feasted, and after supper is entertain’d with no comedy, masque, or barriers; but with——
Nym. What, I prithee?
Herod. What, I prithee?
Don. With a most new and special shape of delight.
Nym. What, for Jove’s sake? 267
Don. Marry, gallants, a session, a general council of love, summon’d in the name of Don Cupid, to which, upon pain of their mistress’ displeasure, shall appear,—all favour-wearers, sonnet-mongers, health-drinkers, and
neat enrichers[244] of barbers and perfumers; and to conclude, all that can wyhee or wag the tail, are, upon grievous pains of their back, summon’d to be assistant in that session of love.
Herc. Hold! hold! Do not pall the delight before it come to our palate; and what other rumour keeps air in[245] men’s lungs?
Don. O, the egregiousness of folly! Ha’ you not heard of Don Zuccone? 280
Nym. What of him, good fool?
Don. He is separated.
Nym. Divorced?
Don. That salt,—that criticism,—that very all epigram of a woman,—that analysis,—that compendium of wittiness!
Nym. Now, Jesu, what words the fool has!
Don. We ha’ still such words, but I will not unshale the jest before it be ripe, and therefore, kissing your worship’s fingers, in most sweet terms, without any sense, and with most fair looks, without any good meaning, I most courtlike take my leave, basilus[246] manus de vostro signioria. 293
Herod. Stay, fool, we’ll follow thee: for, ’fore Heaven, we must prepare ourselves for this session.
[Exeunt.
Enter Zuccone, pursued by Zoya, on her knees attended by Ladies.
Zuc. I will have no mercy, I will not relent;—Justice’ beard is shaven, and it shall give thee no hold. I am separated, and I will be separated.
Zoy. Dear my lord, husband!
Zuc. Hence, creature! I am none of thy husband, or father of thy bastard. No, I will be tyrannous, and a most deep revenger: the order shall stand. Ha, thou quean, I ha’ no wife now! 303
Zoy. Sweet my lord!
Zuc. Hence! avaunt! I will marry a woman with no womb,—a creature with two noses,—a wench with no hair,—rather than remarry thee! Nay, I will first marry,—mark me, I will first marry,—observe me, I will rather marry a woman that with thirst drinks the blood of man! nay, heed me, a woman that will thrust in crowds,—a lady, that, being with child, ventures the hope of her womb,—nay, gives two crowns for a room to behold a goodly man[247] three parts alive quartered, his privities hackled off, his belly lanch’d[248] up! Nay, I’ll rather marry a woman to whom these smoking, hideous, bloodful, horrid, tho’ most just spectacles, are very lust, rather than reaccept
thee. Was I not a handsome fellow, from my foot to my feather? Had I not wit?—nay, which is more, was I not a Don, and didst thou Acteon me? Did I not make thee a lady? 320
Herc. And did she not make you a more worshipful thing,—a cuckold!
Zuc. I married thee in hope of children.
Herc. And has not she showed herself fruitful that was got with child without help of her husband?
Zuc. Ha, thou ungrateful, immodest, unwise, and one[249] that, God’s my witness, I ha’ lov’d! But, go thy ways; twist with whom thou wilt: for my part, tha’st spun a fair thread;—who’ll kiss thee now,—who’ll court thee now,—who’ll ha’ thee now? 330
Zoy. Pity the frailty of my sex, sweet lord.
Zuc. No; pity is a fool, and I will not wear his[250] coxcomb. I have vowed to loathe thee. The Irishman shall hate aqua vitae,—the Welshman cheese,—the Dutchman shall loath salt butter,—before I relove thee. Does the babe pule? Thou shouldst ha’ cried before, ’tis too late now. No, the trees in autumn shall sooner call back the spring with shedding of their leaves, than thou reverse my just, irrevocable hatred with thy tears. Away! go! vaunt! 340
[Exeunt Zoya and the Ladies.
Herc. Nay, but most of this is your fault, that for many years, only upon mere mistrust, sever’d your body from your lady, and in that time gave opportunity, turn’d a
jealous ass, and hired[251] some to try and tempt your lady’s honour, whilst she, with all possible industry of apparent merit, diverting your unfortunate suspicion——
Zuc. I know’t; I confess, all this I did, and I do glory in’t. Why? cannot a young lady for many months keep honest? No, I misthought it. My wife had wit, beauty, health, good birth, fair clothes, and a passing body; a lady of rare discourse, quick eye, sweet language, alluring behaviour, and exquisite entertainment. I misthought it, I fear’d, I doubted, and at the last I found it out. I praise my wit: I knew I was a cuckold.
Herc. An excellent wit. 355
Zuc. True, Fawn; you shall read of some lords that have had such a wit, I can tell you; and I found it out that I was a cuckold!
Herc. Which now you have found, you will not be such an ass as Cæsar, great Pompey, Lucullus, Anthony, or Cato, and divers other Romans,—cuckolds, who all knew it, and yet were ne’er divorced upon’t:—or, like that smith-god, Vulcan, who, having taken his wife taking, yet was presently appeased, and entreated to make an armour for a bastard of hers, Æneas.[252] 365
Zuc. No, the Romans were asses, and thought that a woman might mix her thigh with a stranger wantonly, and yet still love her husband matrimonially.
Herc. As indeed they say a many married men lie sometime with strange women, whom, but for the instant use, they abhor.
Zuc. And as for Vulcan, ’twas humanity more than human; such excess of goodness, for my part, only belong to the gods.
Herc. Ass for you!
Zuc. As for me, my Fawn, I am a bachelor now.
Herc. But you are a cuckold still, and one that knows himself to be a cuckold.
Zuc. Right, that’s it; and I knew it not, ’twere nothing; and if I had not pursued it too, it had lyen in oblivion, and shadowed in doubt, but now I ha’ blazed it. 381
Herc. The world shall know what you are.
Zuc. True; I’ll pocket up no horns; but my revenge shall speak in thunder.
Herc. Indeed, I must confess I know twenty are cuckolds,[253] honestly and decently enough: a worthy gallant spirit (whose virtue suppresseth his mishap) is lamented but not disesteem’d by it; yet the world shall know——
Zuc. I am none of those silent coxcombs—it shall out.
Herc. And although it be no great part of injustice for him to be struck with the scabbard that has struck with the blade (for there is few of us but hath made some one cuckold or other)—— 393
Zuc. True, I ha’ done’t myself.
Herc. Yet——
Zuc. Yet I hope a man of wit may prevent his own mishap, or if he can prevent it——
Herc. Yet——
Zuc. Yet make it known yet, and so known that the
world may tremble with only thinking of it. Well, Fawn, whom shall I marry now? O Heaven! that God made for a man no other means of procreation and maintaining the world peopled but by women! O![254] that we could increase like roses, by being slipp’d one from another,[255]—or like flies, procreate with blowing, or any other way than by a woman,—by women, who have no reason in their love or mercy in their hate, no rule in their pity, no pity in their revenge, no judgment to speak, and yet no patience to hold their tongues;
Man’s opposite, the more held down, they swell; 410
Above them naught but will, beneath them naught but hell.
Herc. Or, that since Heaven hath given us no other means to allay our furious appetite, no other way of increasing our progeny,—since we must entreat and beg for assuagement of our passions, and entertainment of our affections,—why did not Heaven make us a nobler creature than women, to show unto?—some admirable deity, of an uncorruptible beauty, that might[256] be worth our knees, the expense of our heat, and the crinkling of our hams.[257] 420
Zuc. But that we must court, sonnet, flatter, bribe, kneel, sue to so feeble and imperfect, inconstant, idle, vain, hollow bubble, as woman is! O, my Fawn![258]
Herc. O, my lord, look who here comes!
Enter Zoya, supported by a Gentleman Usher, followed by Herod and Nymphadoro, with much state; soft music playing.
Zuc. Death o’ man! is she delivered?
Herc. Delivered! Yes, O my Don, delivered! Yes, Donna Zoya,—the grace of society,—the music of sweetly agreeing perfection,—more clearly chaste than ice or frozen rain,—that glory of her sex,—that wonder of wit,—that beauty more fresh’d than any cool and trembling wind,—that now only wish of a man,—is delivered!—is delivered! 432
Zuc. How?
Herc. From Don Zuccone, that dry scaliness,—that sarpego,—that barren drouth, and shame of all humanity!
Zoy. What fellow’s that?
Nym. Don Zuccone, your sometime husband.
Enter Philocalia.
Zoy. Alas! poor creature.
Phil. The princess prays your company.
Zoy. I wait upon her pleasure. 440
[All but Hercules, Zuccone, Herod, and Nymphadoro, depart.
Zuc. Gentleman, why hazard you your reputation in shameful company with such a branded creature?
Herod. Miserable man! whose fortune were beyond tears to be pitied, but that thou art the ridiculous author of thine own laugh’d-at mischief.
Zuc. Without paraphrase, your meaning?
Nym. Why, thou woman’s fool?
Zuc. Good gentlemen, let one die but once.
Herod. Was not thou most curstfully mad to sever thyself from such an unequall’d rarity? 450
Zuc. Is she not a strumpet? Is she not with child?
Nym. Yes, with feathers.
Herc. Why, weakness of reason, couldst not perceive all was feign’d to be rid of thee?
Zuc. Of me?
Nym. She with child? Untrodden snow is not so spotless!
Herod. Chaste as the first voice of a new-born infant!
Herc. Know, she grew loathing of thy jealousy!
Nym. Thy most pernicious curiosity. 460
Herc. Whose suspicions made her inimitable graces motive of thy base jealousy.
Herod. Why, beast of man!
Nym. Wretched above expression! that snored’st over a beauty which thousands desired!—neglectedst[259] her bed, for whose enjoying a very saint would have sued!
Herc. Defamed her!
Herod. Suggested privily against her!
Nym. Gave foul language publicly of her! 469
Herc. And now, lastly, done that for her which she only pray’d for, and wish’d as wholesome air for, namely, to be rid from such an unworthy—
Herod. Senseless—
Nym. Injurious—
Herc. Malicious—
Herod. Suspicious—
Nym. Misshaped—
Herc. Ill-languaged—
Herod. Unworthy—
Nym. Ridiculous— 480
Herc. Jealous—
Herod. Arch coxcomb as thou art!
[Exeunt Nymphadoro and Herod.
Zuc. O I am sick!—my blood has the cramp! my stomach o’erturns!—O I am very sick!
Herc. Why, my sweet Don, you are no cuckold!
Zuc.[260] That’s the grief on’t.
Herc. That’s——
Zuc. That I ha’ wrong’d so sweet (and now, in my knowledge), so delicate a creature! O methinks I embrace her yet! 490
Herc. Alas! my lord, you have done her no wrong—no wrong in the world; you have done her a pleasure—a great pleasure! A thousand gentlemen—nay, dukes—will be proud to accept your leavings—your leavings! Now is she courted! This heir sends her jewels, that
lord proffers her jointures, t’other knight proclaims challenges to maintain her the only not beautiful, but very beauty of women.
Zuc. But I shall never embrace her more! 499
Herc. Nay, that’s true—that’s most true. I would not afflict you, only think how unrelentless you were to her but supposed fault.
Zuc. O! ’tis true—too true!
Herc. Think how you scorn’d her tears!
Zuc. Most right!
Herc. Tears that were only shed (I would not vex you) in very grief to see you covet your own shame!
Zuc. Too true—too true!
Herc. For, indeed, she is the sweetest modest soul, the fullest of pity! 510
Zuc. O[261] ay! O ay!
Herc. The softness and very courtesy of her sex, as one that never lov’d any——
Zuc. But me!
Herc. So much that he might hope to dishonour her, nor any so little that he might fear she disdain’d[262] him. O! the graces made her a soul as soft as spotless down upon the swan’s fair breast that drew bright Cytherea’s chariot. Yet think (I would not vex you), yet think how cruel[263] you were to her. 520
Zuc. As a tiger—as a very tiger!
Herc. And never hope to be reconciled, never dream to be reconciled—never!
Zuc. Never! Alas! good Fawn, what wouldst wish me to do now?
Herc. Faith, go hang yourself, my Don; that’s best, sure.
Zuc. Nay, that’s too good; for I’ll do worse than that—I’ll marry again. Where canst pick out a morsel for me, Fawn? 530
Herc. There is a modest, matron-like creature——
Zuc. What years, Fawn?
Herc. Some fourscore, wanting one.
Zuc. A good sober age! Is she wealthy?
Herc. Very wealthy.
Zuc. Excellent!
Herc. She has three hairs on her scalp and four teeth in her head; a brow wrinkled and pucker’d like old parchment half burnt. She has had eyes. No woman’s jawbones are more apparent; her sometimes envious lips now shrink in, and give her nose and her chin leave to kiss each other very moistly. As for her reverend mouth, it seldom opens, but the very breath that flies out of it infects the fowls of the air, and makes them drop down dead. Her breasts hang like cobwebs; her flesh will never make you cuckold; her bones may. 547
Zuc. But is she wealthy?
Herc. Very wealthy.
Zuc. And will she ha’ me, art sure?
Herc. No, sure, she will not have you. Why, do you think that a waiting-woman of three bastards, a strumpet nine times carted, or a hag whose eyes shoot poison—that
has been an old witch, and is now turning into a gib-cat,[264]—what![265] will ha’ you? Marry Don Zuccone, the contempt of women and the shame of men, that has afflicted, contemn’d so choice a perfection as Donna Zoya’s! 557
Zuc. Alas! Fawn, I confess. What wouldst ha’ me do?
Herc. Hang yourself! You shall not marry—you cannot. I’ll tell ye what ye shall do: there is a ship of fools setting forth; if you make[266] good means, and intreat hard, you may obtain a passage, man—be master’s mate, I warrant you.
Zuc. Fawn, thou art a scurvy bitter knave, and dost flout Dons to their faces; ’twas thou flattered’st me to this, and now thou laugh’st at me, dost? though indeed I had a certain proclivity, but thou madest me resolute: dost grin and gern?[267] O you comforters of life, helps in sickness, joys in death, and preservers of us, in our children, after death, women, have mercy on me! 570
Herc. O my Don, that God made no other means of procreation but by these women! I speak it not to vex you.
Zuc. O Fawn, thou hast no mercy in thee: dost thou leer on me? Well, I’ll creep upon my knees to my wife:
dost laugh at me? dost gern at me? dost smile? dost leer on me, dost thou? O I am an ass; true, I am a coxcomb; well, I am mad; good: a mischief on your cogging tongue, your soothing throat, your oily jaws, your supple hams,[268] your dissembling smiles, and O the grand devil on you all! When mischief favours our fortunes, and we are miserably,[269] tho’ justly wretched, 582
More pity, comfort, and more help we have
In foes profess’d, than in a flattering knave.
[Exit.
Herc. Thus few strike sail until they run on shelf;
The eye sees all things but his proper self;
In all things curiosity hath been
Vicious at least, but herein most pernicious.
What madness is’t to search and find a wound
For which there is no cure, and which unfound 590
Ne’er rankles, whose finding only wounds?
But he that upon vain surmise forsakes
His bed thus long, only to search his shame;
Gives to his wife youth, opportunity,
Keeps her in idleful deliciousness,
Heats and inflames imagination,
Provokes her to revenge with churlish wrongs,—
What should he hope but this? Why should it lie in women,
Or even in chastity itself (since chastity’s a female),
T’ avoid desires so ripened, such sweets so candied? 600
But she that hath out-born such mass of wrongs,
Out-dured all persecutions, all contempts,
Suspects, disgrace, all wants, and all the mischief,
The baseness of a canker’d churl could cast upon her,
With constant virtue, best feign’d[270] chastity,
And in the end turns all his jealousies
To his own scorn, that lady, I implore,
It may be lawful not to praise, but even adore.
Enter Gonzago, Granuffo, with full state. Enter the Cornets sounding.
Gon. Are our sports ready? is the prince at hand?
Herc. The prince is now arrived at the court gate. 610
Gon. What means our daughter’s breathless haste?
Enter Dulcimel in haste.
Dul. O my princely father, now or never let your princely wisdom appear!
Gon. Fear not, our daughter, if it rest within human reason, I warrant thee; no, I warrant thee, Granuffo, if it rest in man’s capacity. Speak, dear daughter.
Dul. My lord, the prince——
Gon. The prince, what of him, dear daughter?
Dul. O Lord, what wisdom our good parents need to shield their chickens from deceits and wiles of kite-like youth! 621
Gon. Her very phrase displays whose child she is.
Dul. Alas! had not your grace been provident,
A very Nestor in advice and knowledge,
Ha! where had you, poor Dulcimel, been now?
What vainness had not I been drawn into!
Gon. ’Fore God! she speaks very passionately. Alas! daughter, Heaven gives every man his talent; indeed, virtue and wisdom are not fortune’s gifts, therefore those that fortune cannot make virtuous, she commonly makes rich; for our own part, we acknowledge Heaven’s goodness; and, if it were possible to be as wise again as we are, we would ne’er impute it to ourselves: for, as we be flesh and blood, alas! we are fools; but as we are princes, scholars, and have read Cicero de Oratore, I must confess there is another matter in’t. What of the prince, dear daughter? 637
Dul. Father, do you see that tree, that leans just on my chamber window?
Gon. What of that tree?
Enter Tiberio with his train.
Dul. O, sir, but note the policy of youth;
Mark but the stratagems of working love.
The prince salutes me, and thus greets my ear.
Gon. Speak softly; he is enter’d.
Dul. Although he knew I yet stood wavering what to elect, because, though I affected, yet destitute of means to enjoy each other, impossibility of having might kill our hope and with our hope desires to enjoy, therefore, to avoid all faint excuses and vain fears, thus he devised
—To Dulcimel’s chamber-window 650
A well-grown plane tree spreads his happy arms
By that, in depth of night, one may ascend
(Despite all father’s jealousies and fears)
Into her bed.
Gon. Speak low; the prince both marks and listens.
Dul. You shall provide a priest (quoth he). In truth I promised, and so you well may tell him; for I temporised, and only held him off——
Gon. Politely; our daughter to a hair.
Dul. With full intention to disclose it all to your preventing wisdom.
Gon. Ay, let me alone for that; but when intends he this invasion?—when will this squirrel climb? 663
Dul. O, sir, in that is all:—when but this night?
Gon. This night?
Dul. This very night, when the court revels had o’erwaked your spirits, and made them full of sleep, then——
Gon. Then, verbum sat sapienti! Go, take your chamber, down upon your knees; thank God your father is no foolish sot, but one that can foresee and see. 671
[Exit Dulcimel.
My lord, we discharge your presence from our court.
Tib. What means the duke?
Gon. And if to-morrow past you rest in Urbin,
The privilege of an ambassador
Is taken from you.
Tib. Good, your grace: some reason?
Gon. What! twice admonish’d, twice again offending,
And, now grown blushless? You promis’d to get into
Her chamber, she to get a priest:
Indeed she wish’d me tell you she confess’d it: 680
And there, despite all father’s jealous fears,
To consummate full joys. Know, sir, our daughter
Is our daughter, and has wit at will
To gull a thousand easy things like you.
But, sir, depart: the parliament prepar’d,
Shall on without you: all the court this night
Shall triumph that our daughter has escaped
Her honour’s blowing up: your end you see
We speak but short but full, Socratice.
[Exeunt all but Hercules and Tiberio.
Tib. What should I think, what hope, what but imagine 690
We speak but short but full, Socratice.
Of these enigmas?[271]
Herc. Sure, sir, the lady loves you
With violent passion, and this night prepares
A priest with nuptial rites, to entertain you
In her most private chamber.
Tib. This I know,
With too much torture, since means are all unknown
To come unto these ends. Where’s this her chamber?
Then what means shall without suspicion
Convey me to her chamber? O these doubts
End in despair——
Enter Gonzago hastily.
Gon. Sir, sir, this plane-tree was not planted here 700
To get into my daughter’s chamber, and so she pray’d me tell you.
What though the main arms spread into her window,
And easy labour climbs it, sir, know
She has a voice to speak, and bid you welcome
With so full breast that both your ears shall hear on’t,
And so she pray’d me tell you. Ha’ we no brain!
Youth thinks that age, age knows that youth is vain.
[Exit.
Tib. Why, now I have it, Fawn,—the way, the means, and meaning. Good duke, and ’twere not for pity, I could laugh at thee. Dulcimel, I am thine most miraculously; I will now begin to sigh, read poets, look pale, go neatly, and be most apparently in love; as for—— 713
Herc. As for your old father——
Tib. Alas! he and all know, this an old saw hath bin,
Faith’s breach for love and kingdoms is no sin.
[Exit.
Herc. Where are we now, Cyllenian Mercury?
And thou, quick issue[272] of Jove’s broken pate,
Aid and direct us; you better stars to knowledge,
Sweet constellations, that affect[273] pure oil, 720
And holy vigil of the pale-cheek’d muses,
Give your best influence, that with able spright
We may correct and please, giving full light
To every angle of this various sense:
Works of strong birth end better than commence.
[Exit.
[222] As I am not sure whether we should read “Master” or “Messer,” (Ital.), I follow the old copies.
[223] “Black-guard”—the kitchen-drudges.
[224] “And who not, shall”—omitted in ed. 3. and some copies of ed. 1.
[225] “Would”—omitted in ed. 3. and some copies of ed. 1.
[226] So Dilke.—Old eds. “costly.”
[227] Pilchard.—“If Cornish pilchards, otherwise called fumadoes, be so saleable as they are in France, Spain, and Italy,” &c.—Nash’s Lenten Stuff.
[228] Ed. 3. and some copies of ed. 1. “maidens.”
[229] Ed. 1. “laide.”—Ed. 3. “layd.”
[230] Omitted in ed. 3.
[231] Large sleeves, stuffed with wool, hair, &c.
[232] Ed. 3. and some copies of ed. 1. “follow.”
[233] Shelling.
[234] Ed. 3. “upon fair Madonna.”
[235] Ed. 3. “were.”
[236] Ed. 3. and some copies of ed. 1. “as.”
[237] Ed. 3. and some copies of ed. 1. “doubtlest.”
[238] “With a wet finger”—nimbly, easily.
[239] Eds. 1. and 3. “place and place.”
[240] Probably a hit at Ben Jonson, who in Volpone (acted in 1605) makes laughter rhyme with slaughter:—
“E’en his face begetteth laughter,
And he speaks truth free from slaughter” (i. 1).
[241] Eds. 1. and 2. “philosopher.”
[242] So ed. 3.—Eds. 1. and 2. “foole.”
[243] Eds. 1. and 3. omit “Indeed,” and read “In fatis agimur.”
[244] So ed. 2.—Eds. 1. and 3. “in riches.”
[245] Ed. 1. “on.”
[246] “Basilus manus”—corrupt Spanish (for besár los manos). Cf. Dyce’s Beaumont and Fletcher, viii. 77; Old Plays, ed. Bullen, ii. 114, iv. 316, &c.
[247] Possibly there is an allusion to the execution of Sir Everard Digby, who, for his share in the Gunpowder Plot, was drawn, hanged, and quartered on 30th January 1606. Cf. Middleton, i. 255.
[248] Lanch was an old form of lance. Cf. 1 Tamburlaine, i. 2:—
“And either lanch his greedy thirsting throat,
Or take him prisoner.”
[249] Omitted in eds. 1. and 3.
[250] Ed. 2. “hir.”
[251] Ed. 1. “heard some so try.”
[252] Omitted in eds. 1. and 3.
[253] Eds. 1. and 3. “cuckolds, and decently and stately enough.”
[254] I have followed the reading of ed. 2. Eds. 1. and 3. read:—“O that we could get one another with child, Fawn, or like flies,” &c.
[255] The reader will recall a famous passage of Sir Thomas Browne’s Religio Medici:—“I could be content that we might procreate like trees, without conjunction, or that there were any way to perpetuate the world without this trivial and vulgar way of union: it is the foolishest act a wise man commits in all his life.” Montaigne has some reflections of a similar kind. See also the complaint in Euripides’ Hippolytus, ll. 616-24.
[256] “Might”—omitted in ed. 1.
[257] “Hams”—omitted in eds. 1. and 3.
[258] Ed. 1. “face.”—Ed. 3. “fate.”
[259] So ed. 3.—Eds. 1. and 2. “neglecst.”
[260] Eds. 1. and 3. read:—“Thats the griefe on’t Herc. [Hercules, ed. 3.] thats the griefe ont that I,” &c.
[261] Ed. 2. “O yes! O yes!”
[262] Eds. 1. and 3. “disclaim’d.”
[263] Ed. 1. “ciuill.”
[264] A spayed cat.—“Why witches are turned into cats, he [Bodin] alledgeth no reason, and therefore (to help him forth with that paraphrase) I say that witches are curst queans, and many times scratch one another or their neighbours by the faces; and therefore perchance are turned into cats. But I have put twenty of these witchmongers to silence with one question: to wit—whether a witch that can turn a woman into cat can also turn a cat into a woman.”—Scot’s Discovery of Witchcraft, book v., chap. 1.
[265] Omitted in ed. 2.
[266] So ed. 2.—Eds. 1. and 3. “see” and “seek.”
[267] “Gern” = snarl.
[268] Eds. 1. and 3. “thumbes.”
[269] Eds. 1. and 3. “miserable.”
[270] Quy. “’fined” (= refined)?
[271] Eds. 1. and 3. “engines.”
[272] Eds. 1. and 3. “messenger.”
[273] Eds. 1. and 3. “effect.”
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Courtyard of the Palace.
Whilst the Act is a-playing, Hercules and Tiberio Enters; Tiberio climbs the tree, and is received above by Dulcimel, Philocalia, and a Priest: Hercules stays beneath.
Herc. Thou mother of chaste dew, night’s modest lamp,
Thou by whose faint shine the blushing lovers
Join glowing cheeks, and mix their trembling lips
In vows well kiss’d, rise all as full of splendour
As my breast is of joy! You genital,
You fruitful well-mix’d heats, O, bless the sheets
Of yonder chamber, that Ferrara’s dukedom,
The race of princely issue, be not curs’d,
And ended in abhorrèd barrenness!
At length kill all my fears, nor let it rest 10
Once more my tremblings that my too cold son
(That ever-scorner of humaner loves)
Will still contemn the sweets of marriage,
Still kill[274] our hope of name in his dull coldness.
Let it be lawful to make use, ye powers,[275]
Of human weakness, that pursueth still
What is inhibited, and most affects
What is most difficult to be obtain’d:
So we may learn, that nicer love’s a shade—
It follows fled, pursued flies as afraid: 20
And in the end close all the various errors
Of passages most truly comical
In moral learning with like confidence
Of him that vow’d good fortune of the scene
Shall neither make him fat, or bad make lean.
Enter Dondolo laughing.
Don. Ha, ha, ha!
Herc. Why dost laugh, fool, here’s nobody with thee?
Don. Why, therefore do I laugh, because there’s nobody with me. Would I were a fool alone! I’faith, I am come to attend—let me go,—I am sent to the princess, to come and attend her father to the end of Cupid’s Parliament. 32
Herc. Why, ha’ they sat already upon any statutes?
Don. Sat? ay, all’s agreed in the nether house!
Herc. Why, are they divided?
Don. O ay, in Cupid’s Parliament all the young gallants are o’ the nether house, and all the old signiors that can but only kiss are of the upper house. Is the princess above?
Herc. No, sure; I think the princess is beneath, man. Ha’ they supp’d, fool? 41
Don. O yes, the confusion of tongues at the large table is broke up, for see the presence fills. A fool, a fool, a fool, my coxcomb for a fool!
Enter Sir Amorous, Herod, Nymphadoro, Garbetza, Donnetta, and Poveia.
Herod. Stop, ass; what’s matter, idiot?
Don. O gallants, my fools that were appointed to wait on Don Cupid have launch’d out their ship to purge their stomachs on the water, and before Jupiter, I fear they will prove defective in their attendance. 49
Herod. Pish, fool, they’ll float in with the next tide.
Don. Ay, but when’s that? Let’s see mine almanack or prognostication.
Sir Amor. What, is this for this year?
Don. In true wisdom, sir, it is. Let me see the moon, ’fore pity ’tis in the wayne. What grief is this, that so great a planet should ever decline or lose splendour! Full sea at——
Sir Amor. Where’s the sign now, fool?
Don. In Capricorn, Sir Amoroso.
Gar. What strange thing does this almanack speak of, fool? 61
Don. Is this your lady, Sir Amorous?
Sir Amor. It is; kiss her, fool.
Herod. You may kiss her now, she is married.
Sir Amor. So he might ha’ done before.
Don. In sober modesty, sir, I do not use to do it behind.
Herod. Good fool, be acquainted with this lady too; she’s of a very honest nature, I assure thee.
Don. I easily believe you, sir, for she hath a very vile[276] face, I assure you. 70
Gar. But what strange things does thy almanack speak of, good fool?
Don. That this year no child shall be begotten but shall have a true father.
Sir Amor. That’s good news, i’faith. I am glad I got my wife with child this year.
Herc. Why, Sir Amorous, this may be, and yet you not the true father—may it not, Herod?
Gar. But what more says it, good Fawn? 79
Herod. Faith, lady, very strange things! It says that some ladies of your hair shall have feeble hams, short memories, and very weak eyesight, so that they shall mistake their own page, or even brother-in-law, sometimes for their husbands.
Sir Amor. Is that all, Fawn?
Herc. No, Sir Amorous; here’s likewise prophesied a great scarcity of gentry to ensue, so that some bores shall be dubbed Sir Amoroso. A great scarcity of lawyers is likewise this year to ensue, so that some one of them shall be entreated to take fees o’ both sides. 90
Enter Don Zuccone, following Donna Zoya on his knees.
Zuc. Most dear, dear lady! Wife, lady, wife! O do not but look on me, and ha’ some mercy!
Zoy. I will ha’ no mercy!—I will not relent!
Zuc. Sweet lady!
Zoy. The order shall stand; I am separated, and I will be separated!
Zuc. Dear! my love! wife!
Zoy. Hence, fellow! I am none of thy wife! No, I will be tyrannous and a most deep revenger. The order shall stand! I will marry a fellow that keeps a fox in his bosom, a goat under his armholes, and a polecat in his mouth, rather than reaccept thee. 102
Zuc. Alas! by the Lord, lady, what should I say? As Heaven shall bless me—what should I say?
Herod. Kneel and cry, man!
Zoy. Was I not handsome, generous, honest enough from my foot to my feather, for such a fellow as thou art?
Zuc. Alas! I confess—I confess!
Zoy. But go thy ways, and wive with whom thou wilt, for my part. Thou hast spun a fair thread. Who’ll kiss thee now? who’ll court thee now? who’ll ha’ thee now? 113
Zuc. Yet be a woman; and, for God’s sake, help me!
Herod. And do not stand too stiffly.
Zuc. And do not stand too stiffly! Do you make an ass of me? But let these rascals laugh at me. Alas! what[277] could I do withal? ’twas my destiny that I should abuse you! 120
Zoy. So it is your destiny that I should thus revenge your abuse. No, the Irishman shall hate aqua vitæ, the Welshman cheese, and the Dutchman salt butter, before I’ll love or receive thee. Does he cry? does the babe pule? ’Tis too late now—thou shouldst ha’ cried before—’tis too late now. Go, bury thy head in silence; and let oblivion be thy utmost hope.
[The Courtiers address themselves to dancing, whilst the Duke enters with Granuffo, and takes his state.[278]
Herc. Gallants, to dancing. Loud music, the duke’s upon entrance!
Gon. Are the sports ready? 130
Herc. Ready.
Gon. ’Tis enough. Of whose invention is this parliament?
Herc. Ours.
Gon. ’Tis enough.
This night we will exult! O let this night
Be ever memorised with prouder triumphs—
Let it be writ in lasting character
That this night our great wisdom did discover
So close a practice—that this night, I say, 140
Our policy found out, nay, dash’d the drifts
Of the young prince, and put him to his shifts,
Nay, past his shifts (’fore Jove! we could make a good poet).—
Delight us. On! we deign our princely ear—
We are well pleased to grace you;[279] then scorn fear.
[Cornets playing. Drunkenness, Sloth, Pride, and Plenty lead Cupid to his state, who is followed by Folly, War, Beggary, and Slaughter.[280]
Stand, ’tis wisdom to acknowledge ignorance
Of what we know not; we would not now prove foolish.
Expound the meaning of your show.
Herc. Triumphant Cupid, that sleeps on the soft cheek
Of rarest beauty, whose throne’s in ladies’ eyes;— 150
Who[281] forced writhed lightning from Jove’s shaking hand,
Forced strong Alcides to resign his club,
Pluck’d Neptune’s trident from his mighty arm,
Unhelmèd Mars;—he (with those trophies borne,
Led in by Sloth, Pride, Plenty, Drunkenness,
Follow’d by Folly, War, Slaughter,[282] Beggary)
Takes his fair throne. Sit pleased; for now we move,
And speak not for our glory but for love.
[Hercules takes a bowl of wine.
Gon. A pretty figure.
What, begins this session with ceremony? 160
Herc. With a full health to our great mistress, Venus,
Let every state of Cupid’s parliament
Begin the session, et quod bonum faustumque sit precor.
[Hercules drinks a health.
Gon. Give’t us; we’ll pledge: nor shall a man that lives,
In charity refuse it. I will not be so old
As not be graced to honour Cupid. Give’t us full.
When we were young we could ha’ troll’d it off,
Drunk down a Dutchman.
Herc. ’Tis lamentable; pity your grace has forgot it. Drunkenness! O ’tis a most fluent and swelling virtue; sure the most just of all virtues: ’tis justice itself; for, if it chance to oppress and take too much, it presently restores it again. It makes the king and the peasant equal; for, if they are both drunk alike, they are both beasts alike. As for that most precious light of heaven—Truth—if Time be the father of her, I am sure Drunkenness is oftentimes the mother of her, and brings her forth. Drunkenness brings all out, for it brings all the drink out of the pot, all the wit out of the pate, and all the money out of the purse. 180
Gon. My Lord Granuffo, this Fawn is an excellent fellow.
Don. Silence.
Gon. I warrant you for my lord here.
Cup. Since multitude of laws are signs either of much tyranny in the prince or much rebellious disobedience in the subject, we rather think it fit to study how to have our old laws thoroughly executed, than to have new statutes cumbrously invented.
Gon. Afore Jove, he speaks very well. 190
Herc. O, sir, Love is very eloquent, makes all men good orators: himself then must needs be eloquent.
Cup. Let it therefore be the main of our assembly to survey our old laws, and punish their transgressions; for that continually the complaints of lovers ascend up to
our deity, that love is abused, and basely bought and sold, beauty[’s] corrupted, affection feign’d, and pleasure herself sophisticated; that young gallants are proud in appetite and weak in performance; that young ladies are phantastically inconstant,—old ladies impudently unsatiate,—wives complain of unmarried women, that they steal the dues belonging to their sheets,—and maids exclaim upon wives, that they unjustly engross all into their own hands, as not content with their own husbands, but also purloining that which should be their comfort. Let us therefore be severe in our justice; and if any, of what degree soever, have approvedly offended, let him be instantly unpartially arrested and punished. Read our statutes. 209
Herc. A statute made in the five thousand four hundred threescore and three year of the easeful reign of the mighty potent Don Cupid, emperor[283] of sighs and protestations, great king of kisses, archduke of dalliance, and sole loved of her,[284] for the maintaining and relieving of his old soldiers, maim’d or dismember’d in love.
Don. Those that are lightly hurt, shame to complain; those that are deeply struck are past recovery.
Cup. On to the next.
Herc. An act against the plurality of mistresses.
Cup. Read. 220
Herc. Whereas some over amorous and unconscionable covetous young gallants, without all grace of Venus, or the fear of Cupid in their minds, have at one time engrossed
the care or cures of divers mistresses, with the charge of ladies, into their own tenure or occupation,[285] whereby their mistresses must of necessity be very ill and insufficiently served, and likewise many able portly gallants live unfurnished of competent entertainment, to the merit of their bodies; and whereas likewise some other greedy strangers have taken in the purlieus, outset land, and the ancient commons of our sovereign liege Don Cupid, taking in his very highways, and enclosing them, and annexing them to their own lordships, to the much impoverishing and putting of divers of Cupid’s true hearts and loyal subjects to base and abhominable[286] shifts: Be it therefore enacted, by the sovereign authority and erected ensign of Don Cupid, with the assent of some of the lords, most of the ladies, and all the commons, that what person or persons soever shall, in the trade of honour, presume to wear at one time two ladies’ favours, or at one time shall earnestly court two women in the way of marriage, or if any under the degree of a duke shall keep above twenty women of pleasure, a duke’s brother fifteen, a lord ten, a knight or a pensioner or both four, a gentleman two, shall ipso facto be arrested by folly’s mace, and instantly committed to the ship of fools, without either bail or main prize, Millesimo centesimo quingentesimo quadragesimo nono Cupidinis semper unius.—Nymphadoro, to the bar! 248
Nym. Shame o’ folly, will Fawn now turn an informer? Does he laugh at me?
Herc. Domina Garbetza, did he not ever protest you were his most only elected mistress?
Gar. He did.
Herc. Domina Donetta, did he not ever protest, you were his most only elected mistress?
Don. He did.
Herc. Domina Poveia, did he not ever protest, that you were his most only elected mistress?
Pov. He did.
Nym. Mercy! 260
Cup. Our mercy is nothing, unless some lady will beg thee.
Ladies. Out upon him, dissembling, perfidious liar!
Herc. Indeed ’tis no reason ladies should beg liars.
Nym. Thus he that loveth many, if once known,
Is justly plagued to be belov’d of none.
[Exit.
Herc. An act against counterfeiting of Cupid’s royal coin, and abusing his subjects with false money.—To the bar, Sir Amorous!—In most lamentable form complaineth to your blind celsitude your distressed orators, the women of the world, that in respect that many spendthrifts, who having exhausted and wasted their substance, and in stranger parts have with empty shows, treasonably purchased ladies’ affections, without being of ability to pay them for it with current money, and therefore have deceitfully sought to satisfy them with counterfeit metal, to the great displeasure and no small loss of your humblest subjects: may it therefore with your pitiful assent be enacted, that what lord, knight, or gentleman soever, knowing himself insufficient, bankrout, exhausted, and
wasted, shall traitorously dare to entertain any lady, as wife or mistress, ipso facto to be severed from all commercement with women, his wife or mistress in that state offending to be forgiven with a pardon of course, and himself instantly to be pressed to sail in the ship of fools, without either bail or main-prize.—Sir Amorous is arrested. 286
Sir Amor.[287] Judgment of the court.
Herc. I take my oath upon thy brother’s body, ’tis none of thine.
Sir Amor. By the heart of dissemblance, this Fawn has wrought with us as strange tailors work in corporate cities, where they are not free; all inward, inward he lurk’d in the bosom of us, and yet we know not his profession. Sir, let me have counsel?
Herc. ’Tis[288] in great Cupid’s case; you may have no counsel. 296
Sir Amor. Death[289] o’ justice! are we in Normandy? What is my lady’s doom then?
Cup. Acquitted by the express parole of the statute. Hence, and in thy ignorance be quietly happy. Away with him—on!
Herc. An act against forgers of love-letters, false braggarts of ladies’ favours, and vain boasters of counterfeit tokens.
Herod. ’Tis I, ’tis I! I confess guilty, guilty! 305
Herc. I will be most humane and right courteously
languaged in thy correction, and only say, thy vice, from apparent here, has made thee an apparent beggar, and now of a false knave hath made thee a true fool. Folly to the ship with him, and twice a day let him be duck’d at the main-yard.
Cup. Proceed! 312
Herc. An act against slanderers of Cupid’s liege ladies’ names, and lewd defamers of their honours.
Zuc. ’Tis I, ’tis I! I weep and cry out, I have been a most contumelious offender. My only cry is Miserere!
Cup. If your relenting lady will have pity on you,
The fault against our deity be pardoned.
Zuc. Madam, if ever I have found favour in your eyes, if ever you have thought me a reasonable handsome fellow, as I am sure before I had a beard you might, O be merciful! 322
Zoy. Well, upon your apparent repentance, that all modest spectators may witness I have for a short time only thus feignedly hated you that you might ever after truly love me, upon these cautions I reaccept you; first you shall vow——
Zuc. I do vow, as Heaven bless me, I will do!
Zoy. What?
Zuc. Whate’er it be; say on, I beseech you. 330
Zoy. You shall vow——
Zuc. Yes.
Zoy. That you shall never——
Zuc. Never——
Zoy. Feign love to my waiting-woman or chamber-maid.
Zuc. No.
Zoy. Never promise them such a farm to their marriage——
Zuc. No.
Zoy. If she’ll discover but whom I affect. 340
Zuc. Never.
Zoy. Or if they know none, that they’ll but take a false oath I do, only to be rid of me.
Zuc. I swear I will not; I will not only not counterfeitly love your women, but I will truly hate them; an’t be possible, so far from maintaining them, that I will beggar them. I will never pick their trunks for letters, search their pockets, ruffle their bosoms, or tear their foul smocks;—never! never!
Zoy. That if I chance to have a humour to be in a masque, you shall not grow jealous. 351
Zuc. Never.
Zoy. Or grudge at the expense.
Zuc. Never! I will eat mine own arms first.
Zoy. That you shall not search, if my chamber-door hinges be oil’d to avoid creaking.
Zuc. As I am a sensible creature.
Zoy. Nor ever suspect the reason why my bedchamber floor is double-matted.
Zuc. Not, as I have blood in me. 360
Zoy. You shall vow to wear clean linen, and feed wholesomely.
Zuc. Ay, and highly. I will take no more tobacco, or come to your sheets drunk, or get wenches. I will ever feed on fried frogs, broil’d[290] snails, and boil’d lamb-stones;—I
will adore thee more than a mortal,—observe and serve you as more than a mistress,—do all duties of a husband,—all offices of a man,—all services of thy creature,—and ever live in thy pleasure, or die in thy service. 370
Zoy. Then here my quarrel ends; thus cease all strife.
Zuc. Until they lose, men know not what’s a wife.
We slight and dully view the lamp of heaven,
Because we daily see’t, which but bereaved,
And held one little week from darken’d eyes,
With greedy wonder we should all admire;
Opinion[291] of command puts out love’s fire.
Herc. An act against mummers, false seemers, that abuse ladies with counterfeit faces, courting only by signs, and seeming wise only by silence. 380
Cup. The penalty?
Herc. To be urged to speak, and then, if inward ability answer not outward seeming, to be committed instantly to the ship of fools during great Cupid’s pleasure.—My Lord Granuffo, to the bar! Speak, speak; is not this law just?
Gra. Just, sure; for in good truth or in good sooth,
When wise men speak, they still must open their mouth.
Herc. The brazen head has spoken.
Don. Thou art arrested.
Gra. Me?
Herc. And judg’d: away!
[Exit Granuffo.
Gon. Thus silence, with grave looks, with hums and haws, 391
Makes many worshipp’d, when if tried they’re daws;
That’s the morality or l’envoy of it—
L’envoy of it. On.
Herc. An act against privy conspiracies, by which, if any with ambitions wisdom shall hope and strive to outstrip Love, to cross his words, and make frustrate his sweet pleasure,—if such a presumptuous wisdom fall to nothing, and die in laughter, the wizard so transgressing is ipso facto adjudged to offend in most deep treason, to forfeit all his wit at the will of the lord, and be instantly committed to the ship of fools for ever. 401
Gon. Ay, marry, sir! O might Œdipus riddle me out such a fellow! Of all creatures breathing, I do hate those things that struggle to seem wise, and yet are indeed very fools. I remember, when I was a young man, in my father’s days, there were four gallant spirits, for resolution, as proper for body, as witty in discourse, as any were in Europe, nay, Europe had not such; I was one of them. We four did all love one lady,—a modest, chaste virgin she was; we all enjoy’d her, I well remember, and so enjoy’d her that, despite the strictest guard was set upon her, we had her at our pleasure: I speak it for her honour and my credit. Where shall you find such witty fellows nowadays? Alas! how easy it is, in these weaker times, to cross love-tricks. Ha! ha! ha! Alas! I smile to think I must confess, with some glory[292] to mine own wisdom, to think how I found out, and crossed, and curb’d, and jerk’d, and firk’d, and in the end made
desperate Tiberio’s hope. Alas! good silly youth, that dares to cope with age and such a beard. I speak it without glory. 421
Herc. But what yet might your well-known wisdom think,
If such a one, as being most severe,
A most protested opposite to the match
Of two young lovers,—who having barr’d them speech,
All interviews, all messages, all means,
To plot their wishèd ends,—even he himself
Was, by their cunning, made the go-between,
The only messenger, the token-carrier,
Told them the times when they might fitly meet, 430
Nay, show’d the way to one another’s bed?
Gon. May one have the sight of such a fellow for nothing?
Doth there breathe such an egregious ass?
Is there such a foolish animal in rerum natura?
How is it possible such simplicity can exist? Let us not lose our laughing at him, for God’s sake! Let Folly’s sceptre light upon him, and to the ship of fools with him instantly!
Don. Of all these follies I arrest your grace.
Gon. Me? ha! me? me, varlet? me, fool? Ha! to th’ jail with him! What, varlet? call me ass?—me?
Herc. What! grave Urbin’s duke? 441
Dares Folly’s sceptre touch his prudent shoulders?
Is he a coxcomb? No, my lord is wise;
For we all know that Urbin’s duke has eyes.
Gon. God ha’ mercy, Fawn! Hold fast, varlet!
Hold thee, good Fawn!—railing reprobate!
Herc. Indeed, I must confess your grace did tell
And first did intimate your daughter’s love
To otherwise most cold Tiberio;
After convey’d her private favour to him, 450
A curious scarf, wherein her needle wrought
Her private love to him.
Gon. What! I do this? Ha!
Herc. And last, by her persuasion, show’d the youth
The very way and best-elected time
To come unto her chamber.
Gon. Thus did I, sir?
Herc. Thus did you, sir; but I must confess
You meant not to do this, but were rankly gull’d—
Made a plain natural. This sure, sir, you did.
And in assurance, Prince Tiberio,
Renowned, witted Dulcimel, appear! 460
The acts of constant honour cannot fear.
[Exit Hercules.
Tiberio and Dulcimel above, are discovered hand in hand.
Dul. Royally wise and wisely royal father——
Don. That’s sententious now—a figure call’d in art Ironia.
Dul. I humbly thank your worthy piety
That through your only means I have obtained
So fit, [so] loving, and desired a husband.
Gon. Death o’ discretion! if I should prove a fool now. Am not I an ass, think you, ha? I will have
them both bound together, and sent to the Duke of Ferrara presently. 471
Tib. I am sure, good father, we are both bound together as fast as the priest can make us already. I thank you for it, kind father; I thank you only for’t.
Hercules Enters in his own shape.
Herc. And as for sending them to the Duke of Ferrara, see, my good lord, Ferrara’s o’erjoy’d prince meets thee in fullest wish.
Gon. By the Lord! I am ashamed of myself, that’s the plain troth; but I know now wherefore this parliament[293] was. What a slumber have I been in! 480
Herc. Never grieve nor wonder—all things sweetly fit.
Gon. There is no folly to protested wit.
Herc. What still in wond’ring ignorance doth rest,
In private conference your dear-lov’d breast
Shall fully take.—But now we change our face.
[274] Ed. 1. “till.”
[275] Ed. 1. “sowers.”
[276] Eds. 1. and 3. “good.”
[277] “What could I do withal?” = how could I help it?
[278] Throne, chair of state.
[279] Eds. 1. and 3. “him.”
[280] Ed. 2. “Laughter.”
[281] Old eds. “Whose force writh’d.”
[282] Old eds. “Laughter.”
[283] Compare Biron’s famous soliloquy in Love’s Labour Lost, iii. 1.
[284] Ed. 2. “him.”—Neither reading is intelligible.
[285] See Dyce’s Shakesp. Gloss., s. Occupy.
[286] The old form of spelling (ridiculed in Love’s Labour Lost) from the erroneous derivation ab homine.
[287] Eds. 1. and 3. “Don. Amor. Sir Judgement of the countrie.”
[288] Ed. 1. “’Tis in great case.”—Ed. 3. “’Tis in a great case.”
[289] Eds. 1. and 3. “Sir death,” &c.
[290] Eds. 1. and 3. “wild.”
[291] Ed. 1. “And prowde hayht.”—Ed. 3. “And proud height.”
[292] Boasting.
[293] Omitted in eds. 1. and 3.
EPILOGUS.
And thus, in bold yet modest phrase we end.
He whose Thalia with swiftest hand hath penn’d
This lighter subject, and hath boldly torn
Fresh bays from Daphne’s arm, doth only scorn
Malicious censures of some envious few, 490
Who think they lose if others have their due:
But let such adders hiss; know, all the sting,
All the vain foam of all those snakes that ring
Minerva’s glassful shield, can never taint,
Poison, or pierce; firm art disdains to faint:—
But yet of you that with impartial faces,
With no preparèd malice, but with graces
Of sober knowledge, have survey’d the frame
Of his slight scene, if you shall judge his flame
Distemperately weak, as faulty much 500
In style, in plot, in spirit; lo! if such,
He deigns, in self-accusing phrase, to crave
Not[294] praise, but pardon, which he hopes to have;
Since he protests he ever hath aspired
To be belovèd rather than admired.
[Exeunt omnes.
[294] Old eds. “For praise.”