ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—The Banqueting Room in Belforest's Mansion.
Night time. A Banquet set out. Music.
Enter D'Amville, Belforest, Levidulcia, Rousard, Castabella, Languebeau Snuffe, at one side. At the other side enter Cataplasma and Soquette, ushered by Fresco.
Lev. Mistress Cataplasma, I expected you an hour since.
Cata. Certain ladies at my house, madam, detained me; otherwise I had attended your ladyship sooner.
Lev. We are beholden to you for your company. My lord, I pray you bid these gentlewomen welcome; they're my invited friends.
D'Am. Gentlewomen, y'are welcome. Pray sit down.
Lev. Fresco, by my Lord D'Amville's leave, I prithee go into the buttery. Thou shalt find some o' my men there. If they bid thee not welcome they are very loggerheads.
Fres. If your loggerheads will not, your hogsheads shall, madam, if I get into the buttery. [Exit.
D'Am. That fellow's disposition to mirth should be our present example. Let's be grave, and meditate when our affairs require our seriousness. 'Tis out of season to be heavily disposed.
Lev. We should be all wound up into the key of mirth.
D'Am. The music there!
Bel. Where's my Lord Montferrers? Tell him here's a room attends him.
Enter Montferrers.
Mont. Heaven given your marriage that I am deprived of, joy!
D'Am. My Lord Belforest, Castabella's health!
[D'Amville drinks.
Set ope the cellar doors, and let this health
Go freely round the house.—Another to
Your son, my lord; to noble Charlemont—
He is a soldier—Let the instruments
Of war congratulate his memory.
[Drums and trumpets.
Enter a Servant.
Ser. My lord, here's one, i' the habit of a soldier, says he is newly returned from Ostend, and has some business of import to speak.
D'Am. Ostend! let him come in. My soul foretells
He brings the news will make our music full.
My brother's joy would do't, and here comes he
Will raise it.
Enter Borachio disguised.
Mont. O my spirit, it does dissuade
My tongue to question him, as if it knew
His answer would displease.
D'Am. Soldier, what news?
We heard a rumour of a blow you gave
The enemy.[145]
Bor. 'Tis very true, my lord.
Bel. Canst thou relate it?
Bor. Yes.
D'Am. I prithee do.
Bor. The enemy, defeated of a fair
Advantage by a flatt'ring stratagem,
Plants all the artillery against the town;
Whose thunder and lightning made our bulwarks shake,
And threatened in that terrible report
The storm wherewith they meant to second it.
The assault was general. But, for the place
That promised most advantage to be forced,
The pride of all their army was drawn forth
And equally divided into front
And rear. They marched, and coming to a stand,
Ready to pass our channel at an ebb,
We advised it for our safest course, to draw
Our sluices up and mak't impassable.
Our governor opposed and suffered them
To charge us home e'en to the rampier's foot.
But when their front was forcing up our breach
At push o' pike, then did his policy
Let go the sluices, and tripped up the heels
Of the whole body of their troop that stood
Within the violent current of the stream.
Their front, beleaguered 'twixt the water and
The town, seeing the flood was grown too deep
To promise them a safe retreat, exposed
The force of all their spirits (like the last
Expiring gasp of a strong-hearted man)
Upon the hazard of one charge, but were
Oppressed, and fell. The rest that could not swim
Were only drowned; but those that thought to 'scape
By swimming, were by murderers that flanked
The level of the flood, both drowned and slain.
D'Am. Now, by my soul, soldier, a brave service.
Mont. O what became of my dear Charlemont?
Bor. Walking next day upon the fatal shore,
Among the slaughtered bodies of their men
Which the full-stomached sea had cast upon
The sands, it was my unhappy chance to light
Upon a face, whose favour[146] when it lived,
My astonished mind informed me I had seen.
He lay in's armour, as if that had been
His coffin; and the weeping sea, like one
Whose milder temper doth lament the death
Of him whom in his rage he slew, runs up
The shore, embraces him, kisses his cheek,
Goes back again, and forces up the sands
To bury him, and every time it parts
Sheds tears upon him, till at last (as if
It could no longer endure to see the man
Whom it had slain, yet loth to leave him) with
A kind of unresolved unwilling pace,
Winding her waves one in another, like
A man that folds his arms or wrings his hands
For grief, ebbed from the body, and descends
As if it would sink down into the earth,
And hide itself for shame of such a deed.[147]
D'Am. And, soldier, who was this?
Mont. O Charlemont!
Bor. Your fear hath told you that, whereof my grief
Was loth to be the messenger.
Cast. O God! [Exit.
D'Am. Charlemont drowned! Why how could that be, since
It was the adverse party that received
The overthrow?
Bor. His forward spirit pressed into the front,
And being engaged within the enemy
When they retreated through the rising stream,
I' the violent confusion of the throng
Was overborne, and perished in the flood.
And here's the sad remembrance of his life—the scarf,
Which, for his sake, I will for ever wear.
Mont. Torment me not with witnesses of that
Which I desire not to believe, yet must.
D'Am. Thou art a screech-owl and dost come i' the night
To be the cursèd messenger of death.
Away! depart my house, or, by my soul,
You'll find me a more fatal enemy
Than ever was Ostend. Begone; dispatch!
Bor. Sir, 'twas my love.
D'Am. Your love to vex my heart
With that I hate?
Hark, do you hear, you knave?
O thou'rt a most delicate, sweet, eloquent villain!
[Aside.
Bor. Was't not well counterfeited? [Aside.
D'Am. Rarely.—[Aside.] Begone. I will not here reply.
Bor. Why then, farewell. I will not trouble you.
[Exit.
D'Am. So. The foundation's laid. Now by degrees
[Aside.
The work will rise and soon be perfected.
O this uncertain state of mortal man!
Bel. What then? It is the inevitable fate
Of all things underneath the moon.
D'Am. 'Tis true.
Brother, for health's sake overcome your grief.
Mont. I cannot, sir. I am incapable
Of comfort. My turn will be next. I feel
Myself not well.
D'Am. You yield too much to grief.
Lang. All men are mortal. The hour of death is uncertain. Age makes sickness the more dangerous, and grief is subject to distraction. You know not how soon you may be deprived of the benefit of sense. In my understanding, therefore,
You shall do well if you be sick to set
Your state in present order. Make your will.
D'Am. I have my wish. Lights for my brother.
Mont. I'll withdraw a while,
And crave the honest counsel of this man.
Bel. With all my heart. I pray attend him, sir.
[Exeunt Montferrers and Snuffe.
This next room, please your lordship.
D'Am. Where you will.
[Exeunt Belforest and D'Amville.
Lev. My daughter's gone. Come, son, Mistress Cataplasma, come, we'll up into her chamber. I'd fain see how she entertains the expectation of her husband's bedfellowship.
Rou. 'Faith, howsoever she entertains it, I
Shall hardly please her; therefore let her rest.
Lev. Nay, please her hardly, and you please her best.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—The Hall in the same.
Enter three Servants, drunk, drawing in Fresco.
1st Ser. Boy! fill some drink, boy.
Fres. Enough, good sir; not a drop more by this light.
2nd Ser. Not by this light? Why then put out the candles and we'll drink i' the dark, and t'-to't, old boy.
Fres. No, no, no, no, no.
3rd Ser. Why then take thy liquor. A health, Fresco! [Kneels.
Fres. Your health will make me sick, sir.
1st Ser. Then 'twill bring you o' your knees, I hope, sir.
Fres. May I not stand and pledge it, sir?
2nd Ser. I hope you will do as we do.
Fres. Nay then, indeed I must not stand, for you cannot.
3rd Ser. Well said, old boy.
Fres. Old boy! you'll make me a young child anon; for if I continue this I shall scarce be able to go alone.
1st Ser. My body is as weak as water, Fresco.
Fres. Good reason, sir. The beer has sent all the malt up into your brain and left nothing but the water in your body.
Enter D'Amville and Borachio, closely observing their drunkenness.
D'Am. Borachio, seest those fellows?
Bor. Yes, my lord.
D'Am. Their drunkenness, that seems ridiculous,
Shall be a serious instrument to bring
Our sober purposes to their success.
Bor. I am prepared for the execution, sir.
D'Am. Cast off this habit and about it straight.
Bor. Let them drink healths and drown their brains i' the flood;
I promise them they shall be pledged in blood.
[Exit.
1st Ser. You ha' left a damnable snuff here.
2nd Ser. Do you take that in snuff, sir?
1st Ser. You are a damnable rogue then—
[Together by the ears.
D'Am. Fortune, I honour thee. My plot still rises
According to the model of mine own desires.
Lights for my brother—What ha' you drunk yourselves mad, you knaves?
1st Ser. My lord, the jacks abused me.
D'Am. I think they are the jacks[148] indeed that have abused thee. Dost hear? That fellow is a proud knave. He has abused thee. As thou goest over the fields by-and-by in lighting my brother home, I'll tell thee what shalt do. Knock him over the pate with thy torch. I'll bear thee out in't.
1st Ser. I will singe the goose by this torch. [Exit.
D'Am. [To 2nd Servant.] Dost hear, fellow?
Seest thou that proud knave.
I have given him a lesson for his sauciness.
He's wronged thee. I will tell thee what shalt do:
As we go over the fields by-and-by
Clap him suddenly o'er the coxcomb with
Thy torch. I'll bear thee out in't.
2nd Ser. I will make him understand as much. [Exit.
Enter Languebeau Snuffe.
D'Am. Now, Monsieur Snuffe, what has my brother done?
Lang. Made his will, and by that will made you his heir with this proviso, that as occasion shall hereafter move him, he may revoke, or alter it when he pleases.
D'Am. Yes. Let him if he can.—I'll make it sure
From his revoking. [Aside.
Enter Montferrers and Belforest attended with lights.
Mont. Brother, now good night.
D'Am. The sky is dark; we'll bring you o'er the fields.
Who can but strike, wants wisdom to maintain;
He that strikes safe and sure, has heart and brain.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—An Apartment in the same.
Enter Castabella.
Cas. O love, thou chaste affection of the soul,
Without the adulterate mixture of the blood,
That virtue, which to goodness addeth good,—
The minion of Heaven's heart. Heaven! is't my fate
For loving that thou lov'st, to get thy hate,
Or was my Charlemont thy chosen love,
And therefore hast received him to thyself?
Then I confess thy anger's not unjust.
I was thy rival. Yet to be divorced
From love, has been a punishment enough
(Sweet Heaven!) without being married unto hate,
Hadst thou been pleased,—O double misery,—
Yet, since thy pleasure hath inflicted it,
If not my heart, my duty shall submit.
Enter Levidulcia, Rousard, Cataplasma, Soquette, and Fresco with a lanthorn.
Lev. Mistress Cataplasma, good night. I pray when your man has brought you home, let him return and light me to my house.
Cata. He shall instantly wait upon your ladyship.
Lev. Good Mistress Cataplasma! for my servants are all drunk, I cannot be beholden to 'em for their attendance.
[Exeunt Cataplasma, Soquette, and Fresco.
O here's your bride!
Rous. And melancholic too, methinks.
Lev. How can she choose? Your sickness will
Distaste the expected sweetness o' the night
That makes her heavy.
Rous. That should make her light.
Lev. Look you to that.
Cast. What sweetness speak you of?
The sweetness of the night consists in rest.
Rous. With that sweetness thou shalt be surely blest
Unless my groaning wake thee. Do not moan.
Lev. She'd rather you would wake, and make her groan.
Rous. Nay 'troth, sweetheart, I will not trouble thee.
Thou shalt not lose thy maidenhead to-night.
Cast. O might that weakness ever be in force,
I never would desire to sue divorce.
Rous. Wilt go to bed?
Cast. I will attend you, sir.
Rous. Mother, good night.
Lev. Pleasure be your bedfellow.
[Exeunt Rousard and Castabella.
Why sure their generation was asleep
When she begot those dormice, that she made
Them up so weakly and imperfectly.
One wants desire, the t'other ability,
When my affection even with their cold bloods
(As snow rubbed through an active hand does make
The flesh to burn) by agitation is
Inflamed, I could embrace and entertain
The air to cool it.
Enter Sebastian.
Sebas. That but mitigates
The heat; rather embrace and entertain
A younger brother; he can quench the fire.
Lev. Can you so, sir? Now I beshrew your ear.
Why, bold Sebastian, how dare you approach
So near the presence of your displeased father?
Sebas. Under the protection of his present absence.
Lev. Belike you knew he was abroad then?
Sebas. Yes.
Let me encounter you so: I'll persuade
Your means to reconcile me to his loves.
Lev. Is that the way? I understand you not.
But for your reconcilement meet me at home;
I'll satisfy your suit.
Sebas. Within this half-hour? [Exit.
Lev. Or within this whole hour. When you will.—A lusty blood! has both the presence and spirit of a man. I like the freedom of his behaviour.
—Ho!—Sebastian! Gone?—Has set
My blood o' boiling i' my veins. And now,
Like water poured upon the ground that mixes
Itself with every moisture it meets, I could
Clasp with any man.
Enter Fresco with a lanthorn.
O, Fresco, art thou come?
If t'other fail, then thou art entertained.
Lust is a spirit, which whosoe'er doth raise,
The next man that encounters boldly, lays. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—A Country Road near a Gravel Pit. Night time.
Enter Borachio warily and hastily over the Stage with a stone in either hand.
Bor. Such stones men use to raise a house upon,
But with these stones I go to ruin one. [Descends.
Enter two Servants drunk, fighting with their torches; D'Amville, Montferrers, Belforest, and Languebeau Snuffe.
Bel. Passion o' me, you drunken knaves! You'll put
The lights out.
D'Am. No, my lord; they are but in jest.
1st Ser. Mine's out.
D'Am. Then light it at his head,—that's light enough.—
'Fore God, they are out. You drunken rascals, back
And light 'em.
Bel. 'Tis exceeding dark. [Exeunt Servants.
D'Am. No matter;
I am acquainted with the way. Your hand.
Let's easily walk. I'll lead you till they come.
Mont. My soul's oppressed with grief. 'T lies heavy at
My heart. O my departed son, ere long
I shall be with thee!
[D'Amville thrusts him down into the gravel pit.
D'Am. Marry, God forbid!
Mont. O, O, O!
D'Am. Now all the host of Heaven forbid! Knaves! Rogues!
Bel. Pray God he be not hurt. He's fallen into the gravel pit.
D'Am. Brother! dear brother! Rascals! villains! Knaves!
Re-enter Servants with lights.
Eternal darkness damn you! come away!
Go round about into the gravel pit,
And help my brother up. Why what a strange
Unlucky night is this! Is't not, my lord?
I think that dog that howled the news of grief,
That fatal screech-owl, ushered on this mischief.
[Exit Servants and Re-enter with the murdered body.
Lang. Mischief indeed, my lord. Your brother's dead!
Bel. He's dead?
Ser. He's dead!
D'Am. Dead be your tongues! Drop out
Mine eye-balls and let envious Fortune play
At tennis with 'em. Have I lived to this?
Malicious Nature, hadst thou borne me blind,
Thou hadst yet been something favourable to me.
No breath? no motion? Prithee tell me, Heaven,
Hast shut thine eye to wink at murder; or
Hast put this sable garment on to mourn
At's death?
Not one poor spark in the whole spacious sky
Of all that endless number would vouchsafe
To shine?—You viceroys to the king of Nature,
Whose constellations govern mortal births,
Where is that fatal planet ruled at his
Nativity? that might ha' pleased to light him out,
As well as into the world, unless it be
Ashamèd I have been the instrument
Of such a good man's cursèd destiny.—
Bel. Passion transports you. Recollect yourself.
Lament him not. Whether our deaths be good
Or bad, it is not death, but life that tries.
He lived well; therefore, questionless, well dies.
D'Am. Ay, 'tis an easy thing for him that has
No pain, to talk of patience. Do you think
That Nature has no feeling?
Bel. Feeling? Yes.
But has she purposed anything for nothing?
What good receives this body by your grief?
Whether is't more unnatural, not to grieve
For him you cannot help with it, or hurt
Yourself with grieving, and yet grieve in vain?
D'Am. Indeed, had he been taken from me like
A piece o' dead flesh, I should neither ha' felt it
Nor grieved for't. But come hither, pray look here.
Behold the lively tincture of his blood!
Neither the dropsy nor the jaundice in't,
But the true freshness of a sanguine red,
For all the fog of this black murderous night
Has mixed with it. For anything I know
He might ha' lived till doomsday, and ha' done
More good than either you or I. O brother!
He was a man of such a native goodness,
As if regeneration had been given
Him in his mother's womb. So harmless
That rather than ha' trod upon a worm
He would ha' shunned the way.
So dearly pitiful that ere the poor
Could ask his charity with dry eyes he gave 'em
Relief with tears—with tears—yes, faith, with tears.
Bel. Take up the corpse. For wisdom's sake let reason fortify this weakness.
D'Am. Why, what would you ha' me do? Foolish Nature
Will have her course in spite o' wisdom. But
I have e'en done. All these words were
But a great wind; and now this shower of tears
Has laid it, I am calm again. You may
Set forward when you will. I'll follow you
Like one that must and would not.
Lang. Our opposition will but trouble him.
Bel. The grief that melts to tears by itself is spent;
Passion resisted grows more violent.
[Exeunt all except D'Amville. Borachio ascends.
D'Am. Here's a sweet comedy. 'T begins with O Dolentis[149] and concludes with ha, ha, he!
Bor. Ha, ha, he!
D'Am. O my echo! I could stand
Reverberating this sweet musical air
Of joy till I had perished my sound lungs
With violent laughter. Lonely night-raven,
Thou hast seized a carcase.
Bor. Put him out on's pain.
I lay so fitly underneath the bank,
From whence he fell, that ere his faltering tongue
Could utter double O, I knocked out's brains
With this fair ruby, and had another stone,
Just of this form and bigness, ready; that
I laid i' the broken skull upon the ground
For's pillow, against the which they thought he fell
And perished.
D'Am. Upon this ground I'll build my manor house;
And this shall be the chiefest corner stone.
Bor. 'T has crowned the most judicious murder that
The brain of man was e'er delivered of.
D'Am. Ay, mark the plot. Not any circumstance
That stood within the reach of the design
Of persons, dispositions, matter, time, or place
But by this brain of mine was made
An instrumental help; yet nothing from
The induction to the accomplishment seemed forced,
Or done o' purpose, but by accident.
Bor. First, my report that Charlemont was dead,
Though false, yet covered with a mask of truth.
D'Am. Ay, and delivered in as fit a time
When all our minds so wholly were possessed
With one affair, that no man would suspect
A thought employed for any second end.
Bor. Then the precisian[150] to be ready, when
Your brother spake of death, to move his will.
D'Am. His business called him thither, and it fell
Within his office unrequested to't.
From him it came religiously, and saved
Our project from suspicion which if I
Had moved, had been endangered.
Bor. Then your healths,
Though seeming but the ordinary rites
And ceremonies due to festivals—
D'Am. Yet used by me to make the servants drunk,
An instrument the plot could not have missed.
'Twas easy to set drunkards by the ears,
They'd nothing but their torches to fight with,
And when those lights were out—
Bor. Then darkness did
Protect the execution of the work
Both from prevention and discovery.
D'Am. Here was a murder bravely carried through
The eye of observation, unobserved.
Bor. And those that saw the passage of it made
The instruments, yet knew not what they did.
D'Am. That power of rule philosophers ascribe
To him they call the Supreme of the stars
Making their influences governors
Of sublunary creatures, when themselves
Are senseless of their operations.
What! [Thunder and lightning.
Dost start at thunder? Credit my belief
'Tis a mere effect of Nature—an exhalation hot
And dry involved within a watery vapour
I' the middle region of the air; whose coldness,
Congealing that thick moisture to a cloud,
The angry exhalation, shut within
A prison of contrary quality,
Strives to be free and with the violent
Eruption through the grossness of that cloud,
Makes this noise we hear.
Bor. 'Tis a fearful noise.
D'Am. 'Tis a brave noise, and methinks
Graces our accomplished project as
A peal of ordnance does a triumph. It speaks
Encouragement. Now Nature shows thee how
It favoured our performance, to forbear
This noise when we set forth, because it should
Not terrify my brother's going home,
Which would have dashed our purpose,—to forbear
This lightning in our passage lest it should
Ha' warned him o' the pitfall.
Then propitious Nature winked
At our proceedings: now it doth express
How that forbearance favoured our success.
Bor. You have confirmed me. For it follows well
That Nature, since herself decay doth hate,
Should favour those that strengthen their estate.
D'Am. Our next endeavour is, since on the false
Report that Charlemont is dead depends
The fabric of the work, to credit that
With all the countenance we can.
Bor. Faith, sir,
Even let his own inheritance, whereof
You have dispossessed him, countenance the act.
Spare so much out of that to give him a
Solemnity of funeral. 'Twill quit
The cost, and make your apprehension of
His death appear more confident and true.
D'Am. I'll take thy counsel. Now farewell, black Night;
Thou beauteous mistress of a murderer.
To honour thee that hast accomplished all
I'll wear thy colours at his funeral. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.—Levidulcia's Apartment.
Enter Levidulcia manned[151] by Fresco.
Lev. Thou art welcome into my chamber, Fresco.
Prithee shut the door.—Nay; thou mistakest me.
Come in and shut it.
Free. 'Tis somewhat late, madam.
Lev. No matter. I have somewhat to say to thee.
What, is not thy mistress towards a husband yet?
Fres. Faith, madam, she has suitors, but they will not suit her, methinks. They will not come off lustily, it seems.
Lev. They will not come on lustily, thou wouldst say.
Fres. I mean, madam they are not rich enough.
Lev. But ay, Fresco, they are not bold enough. Thy mistress is of a lively attractive blood, Fresco, and in truth she is of my mind for that. A poor spirit is poorer than a poor purse. Give me a fellow that brings not only temptation with him, but has the activity of wit and audacity of spirit to apply every word and gesture of a woman's speech and behaviour to his own desire, and make her believe she's the suitor herself; never give back till he has made her yield to it.
Fres. Indeed among our equals, madam; but otherwise we shall be put horribly out o' countenance.
Lev. Thou art deceived, Fresco. Ladies are as courteous as yeomen's wives, and methinks they should be more gentle. Hot diet and soft ease makes 'em like wax always kept warm, more easy to take impression.—Prithee, untie my shoe.—What, art thou shamefaced too? Go roundly to work, man. My leg is not gouty: 'twill endure the feeling, I warrant thee. Come hither, Fresco; thine ear. S'dainty, I mistook the place, I missed thine ear and hit thy lip.
Fres. Your ladyship has made me blush.
Lev. That shows thou art full o' lusty blood and thou knowest not how to use it. Let me see thy hand. Thou shouldst not be shamefaced by thy hand, Fresco. Here's a brawny flesh and a hairy skin, both signs of an able body. I do not like these phlegmatic, smooth-skinned, soft-fleshed fellows. They are like candied suckets[152] when they begin to perish, which I would always empty my closet of, and give 'em my chambermaid.—I have some skill in palmistry: by this line that stands directly against me thou shouldst be near a good fortune, Fresco, if thou hadst the grace to entertain it.
Fres. O what is that, madam, I pray?
Lev. No less than the love of a fair lady, if thou dost not lose her with faint-heartedness.
Fres. A lady, madam? Alas, a lady is a great thing: I cannot compass her.
Lev. No? Why, I am a lady. Am I so great I cannot be compassed? Clasp my waist, and try.
Fres. I could find i' my heart, madam—[Sebastian knocks within.
Lev. 'Uds body, my husband! Faint-hearted fool! I think thou wert begotten between the North Pole and the congealed passage.[153] Now, like an ambitious coward that betrays himself with fearful delay, you must suffer for the treason you never committed. Go, hide thyself behind yon arras instantly. [Fresco hides himself.
Enter Sebastian.
Sebastian! What do you here so late?
Sebas. Nothing yet, but I hope I shall. [Kisses her.
Lev. Y'are very bold.
Sebas. And you very valiant, for you met me at full career.[154]
Lev. You come to ha' me move your father's reconciliation. I'll write a word or two i' your behalf.
Sebas. A word or two, madam? That you do for me will not be contained in less than the compass of two sheets. But in plain terms shall we take the opportunity of privateness.
Lev. What to do?
Sebas. To dance the beginning of the world after the English manner.
Lev. Why not after the French or Italian?
Sebas. Fie! they dance it preposterously; backward!
Lev. Are you so active to dance?
Sebas. I can shake my heels.
Lev. Y'are well made for't.
Sebas. Measure me from top to toe you shall not find me differ much from the true standard of proportion. [Belforest knocks within.
Lev. I think I am accursed, Sebastian. There's one at the door has beaten opportunity away from us. In brief, I love thee, and it shall not be long before I give thee a testimony of it. To save thee now from suspicion do no more but draw thy rapier, chafe thyself, and when he comes in, rush by without taking notice of him. Only seem to be angry, and let me alone for the rest.[155]
Enter Belforest.
Sebas. Now by the hand of Mercury—[Exit.
Bel. What's the matter, wife?
Lev. Oh, oh, husband!
Bel. Prithee what ail'st thou, woman?
Lev. O feel my pulse. It beats, I warrant you. Be patient a little, sweet husband: tarry but till my breath come to me again and I'll satisfy you.
Bel. What ails Sebastian? He looks so distractedly.
Lev. The poor gentleman's almost out on's wits, I think. You remember the displeasure his father took against him about the liberty of speech he used even now, when your daughter went to be married?
Bel. Yes. What of that?
Lev. 'T has crazed him sure. He met a poor man i' the street even now. Upon what quarrel I know not, but he pursued him so violently that if my house had not been his rescue he had surely killed him.
Bel. What a strange desperate young man is that!
Lev. Nay, husband, he grew so in rage, when he saw the man was conveyed from him, that he was ready even to have drawn his naked weapon upon me. And had not your knocking at the door prevented him, surely he'd done something to me.
Bel. Where's the man?
Lev. Alas, here! I warrant you the poor fearful soul is scarce come to himself again yet.—If the fool have any wit he will apprehend me. [Aside.]—Do you hear, sir? You may be bold to come forth: the fury that haunted you is gone. [Fresco peeps fearfully forth from behind the arras.
Fres. Are you sure he is gone?
Bel. He's gone, he's gone, I warrant thee.
Fres. I would I were gone too. H's shook me almost into a dead palsy.
Bel. How fell the difference between you?
Fres. I would I were out at the back door.
Bel. Thou art safe enough. Prithee tell's the falling out.
Fres. Yes, sir, when I have recovered my spirits. My memory is almost frighted from me.—Oh, so, so, so!—Why, sir, as I came along the street, sir—this same gentleman came stumbling after me and trod o' my heel.—I cried O. Do you cry, sirrah? says he. Let me see your heel; if it be not hurt I'll make you cry for something. So he claps my head between his legs and pulls off my shoe. I having shifted no socks in a sen'night, the gentleman cried foh! and said my feet were base and cowardly feet, they stunk for fear. Then he knocked my shoe about my pate, and I cried O once more. In the meantime comes a shag-haired dog by, and rubs against his shins. The gentleman took the dog in shag-hair to be some watchman in a rug gown, and swore he would hang me up at the next door with my lanthorn in my hand, that passengers might see their way as they went, without rubbing against gentlemen's shins. So, for want of a cord, he took his own garters off, and as he was going to make a noose, I watched my time and ran away. And as I ran, indeed I bid him hang himself in his own garters. So he, in choler, pursued me hither, as you see.
Bel. Why, this savours of distraction.
Lev. Of mere distraction.
Fres. Howsover it savours, I am sure it smells like a lie. [Aside.
Bel. Thou may'st go forth at the back door, honest fellow; the way is private and safe.
Fres. So it had need, for your fore-door here is both common and dangerous. [Exit Belforest.
Lev. Good night, honest Fresco.
Fres. Good night, madam. If you get me kissing o' ladies again!—[Exit.
Lev. This falls out handsomely.
But yet the matter does not well succeed,
Till I have brought it to the very deed. [Exit.
SCENE VI.—A Camp.
Enter Charlemont in arms, a Musketeer, and a Serjeant.
Charl. Serjeant, what hour o' the night is't?
Serj. About one.
Charl. I would you would relieve me, for I am
So heavy that I shall ha' much ado
To stand out my perdu. [Thunder and lightning.
Serj. I'll e'en but walk
The round, sir, and then presently return.
Sol. For God's sake, serjeant, relieve me. Above five hours together in so foul a stormy night as this!
Serj. Why 'tis a music, soldier. Heaven and earth are now in consort, when the thunder and the cannon play one to another. [Exit Serjeant.
Charl. I know not why I should be thus inclined
To sleep. I feel my disposition pressed
With a necessity of heaviness.
Soldier, if thou hast any better eyes,
I prithee wake me when the serjeant comes.
Sol. Sir, 'tis so dark and stormy that I shall
Scarce either see or hear him, ere he comes
Upon me.
Charl. I cannot force myself to wake.—[Sleeps.
Enter the Ghost of Montferrers.
Mont. Return to France, for thy old father's dead,
And thou by murder disinherited.
Attend with patience the success of things,
But leave revenge unto the King of kings. [Exit.
[Charlemont starts and wakes.
Charl. O my affrighted soul, what fearful dream
Was this that waked me? Dreams are but the raised
Impressions of premeditated things
By serious apprehension left upon
Our minds; or else the imaginary shapes
Of objects proper to the complexion, or
The dispositions of our bodies. These
Can neither of them be the cause why I
Should dream thus; for my mind has not been moved
With any one conception of a thought
To such a purpose; nor my nature wont
To trouble me with fantasies of terror.
It must be something that my Genius would
Inform me of. Now gracious Heaven forbid!
Oh! let my spirit be deprived of all
Foresight and knowledge, ere it understand
That vision acted, or divine that act
To come. Why should I think so? Left I not
My worthy father i' the kind regard
Of a most loving uncle? Soldier, saw'st
No apparition of a man?
Sol. You dream,
Sir. I saw nothing.
Charl. Tush! these idle dreams
Are fabulous. Our boyling fantasies
Like troubled waters falsify the shapes
Of things retained in them, and make 'em seem
Confounded when they are distinguished. So,
My actions daily conversant with war,
The argument of blood and death had left
Perhaps the imaginary presence of
Some bloody accident upon my mind,
Which, mixed confusedly with other thoughts,
Whereof the remembrance of my father might
Be one presented, all together seem
Incorporate, as if his body were
The owner of that blood, the subject of
That death, when he's at Paris and that blood
Shed here. It may be thus. I would not leave
The war, for reputation's sake, upon
An idle apprehension, a vain dream.
Enter the Ghost.
Sol. Stand! Stand, I say! No? Why then have at thee,
Sir. If you will not stand, I'll make you fall. [Fires.
Nor stand nor fall? Nay then, the devil's dam
Has broke her husband's head, for sure it is
A spirit.
I shot it through, and yet it will not fall. [Exit.
[The Ghost approaches Charlemont who fearfully avoids it.
Charl. O pardon me, my doubtful heart was slow
To credit that which I did fear to know. [Exeunt.