FOOTNOTES:
[298] The scene, however, seems to be laid at Venice. The Rialto is mentioned in act i., and Venice is again spoken of in act iii. as where the transactions of the play are carried on.—Pegge.
[It may be added that there was never any Duke of Pisa, and that most of the names are Venetian.]
THE ANTIQUARY.[299]
[ACT I., SCENE I.]
Enter Lionel and Petrucio.
Lio. Now, sir, let me bid you welcome to your country and the longing expectation of those friends that have almost languished for the sight of you. [Aside.] I must flatter him, and stroke him too; he will give no milk else.
Pet. I have calculated by all the rules of reason and art that I shall be a great man; for what singular quality concurs to perfection and advancement that is defective in me? Take my feature and proportion; have they not a kind of sweetness and harmony, to attract the eyes of the beholders? the confirmation of which many authentical judgments of ladies have sealed and subscribed to.
Lio. How do you, sir? are you not well?
Pet. Next, my behaviour and discourse, according to the court-garb, ceremonious enough, more promising than substantial, able to keep pace with the best hunting wit of them all: besides, Nature has blessed me with boldness sufficient and fortune with means. What then should hinder me? Nothing but destiny, villanous destiny, that chains virtue to darkness and obscurity. Well, I will insinuate myself into the court and presence of the duke; and if he have not the grace to distinguish of worth, his ignorance upon him!
Lio. What, in a muse, sir?
Pet. Cannot a gentleman ruminate over his good parts, but you must be troubling of him?
Lio. Wise men and fools are alike ambitious: this travelling motion[300] has been abroad in quest of strange fashions, where his spongy brain has sucked the dregs of all the folly he could possibly meet with, and is indeed more ass than he went forth. Had I an interest in his disgrace, I'd rail at him, and perhaps beat him for it; but he is as strange to me as to himself, therefore let him continue in his beloved simplicity. [Aside.
Pet. Next, when he shall be instructed of my worth and eminent sufficiencies, he cannot dignify me with less employment than the dignity of an embassador. How bravely shall I behave myself in that service! and what an ornament unto my country may I arrive to be, and to my kindred! But I will play the gentleman, and neglect them; that's the first thing I'll study.
Lio. Shall I be bold to interrupt you, sir?
Pet. Presently I'll be at leisure to talk with you: 'tis no small point in state policy still to pretend only to be thought a man of action, and rather than want a colour, be busied with a man's own self.
Lio. Who does this ass speak to? surely to himself: and 'tis impossible he should ever be wise that has always such a foolish auditory. [Aside.
Pet. Then, with what emulous courtship will they strive to entertain me in foreign parts; and what a spectacle of admiration shall I be made amongst those who have formerly known me! How dost thou like my carriage?
Lio. Most exquisite, believe me.
Pet. But is it adorned with that even mixture of fluency and grace as are required both in a statist and a courtier?[301]
Lio. So far as the divine prospect of my understanding guides me, 'tis without parallel most excellent; but I am no professed critic in the mystery.
Pet. Well, thou hast Linceus' eyes for observation, or could'st ne'er have made such a cunning discovery of my practice. But will the ladies, think you, have that apprehension to discern and approve of me?
Lio. Without question; they cannot be so dull or stony-hearted as not to be infinitely taken with your worth. Why, in a while, you shall have them so enamoured that they'll watch every opportunity to purchase your acquaintance; then again revive it with often banqueting and visits; nay, and perhaps invite others, by their foolish example, to do the like; and some, that despair of so great happiness, will inquire out your haunts, and walk there two or three hours together, to get but a sight of you.
Pet. O infinite! I am transported with the thought on't! It draws near noon, and I appointed certain gallants to meet me at the five-crown ordinary: after, we are to wait upon the like beauties you talked of to the public theatre. I feel of late a strong and witty genius growing upon me, and I begin, I know not how, to be in love with this foolish sin of poetry.
Lio. Are you, sir? there's great hopes of you.
Pet. And the reason is, because they say 'tis both the cause and effect of a good wit, to which I can sufficiently pretend: for Nature has not played the stepdame with me.
Lio. In good time, sir.
Pet. And now you talk of time, what time of day is it by your watch?
Lio. I have none, sir.
Pet. How, ne'er a watch? O, monstrous! how do you consume your hours? Ne'er a watch! 'tis the greatest solecism in society that e'er I heard of: ne'er a watch!
Lio. How deeply you conceive of it!
Pet. You have not a gentleman, that's a true gentleman, without one; 'tis the main appendix to a plush lining: besides, it helps much to discourse; for while others confer notes together, we confer our watches, and spend good part of the day with talking of it.
Lio. Well, sir, because I'll be no longer destitute of such a necessary implement, I have a suit to you.
Pet. A suit to me? Let it alone till I am a great man, and then [Aside.] I shall answer you with the greater promise and less performance.
Lio. I hope, sir, you have that confidence I will ask nothing to your prejudice, but what shall some way recompense the deed.
Pet. What is't? Be brief: I am in that point a courtier.
Lio. Usurp, then, on the proffer'd means;
Show yourself forward in an action
May speak you noble, and make me your friend.
Pet. A friend! what's that? I know no such thing.
Lio. A faithful, not a ceremonious friend;
But one that will stick by you on occasions,
And vindicate your credit, were it sunk
Below all scorn, and interpose his life
Betwixt you and all dangers: such a friend
That, when he sees you carried by your passions
Headlong into destruction, will so follow you
That he will guide you from't, and with good counsel
Redeem you from ill courses; and, not flattering
Your idle humour to a vain expense,
Cares not to see you perish, so he may
Sustain himself awhile, and raise a fortune,
Though mean, out of your ruins, and then laugh at you.
Pet. Why, be there any such friends as these?
Lio. A world:
They walk like spirits, not to be discern'd;
Subtle and soft like air; have oily balm
Swimming o'er their words and actions;
But below it a flood of gall.
Pet. Well, to the purpose: speak to the purpose.
Lio. If I stand link'd unto you,
The Gordian knot was less dissoluble,
A rock less firm, or centre movable.
Pet. Speak your demand.
Lio. Do it, and do it freely, then; lend me a hundred ducats.
Pet. How is that? lend you a hundred ducats! Not a —— I'll never have a friend while I breathe first: no, I'll stand upon my guard; I give all the world leave to whet their wits against me, work like moles to undermine me, yet I'll spurn all their deceits like a hillock. I tell thee I'll not buy the small repentance of a friend or whore at the rate of a livre.
Lio. What's this? I dare not
Trust my own ears, silence choke up my anger.
A friend and whore! are they two parallels,
Or to be nam'd together? May he never
Have better friend that knows no better how
To value them. Well, I was ever jealous[302]
Of his baseness, and now my fears are ended.
Pox o' these travels! they do but corrupt
A good nature, and his was bad enough before.
Enter Angelia.
Pet. What pretty sparkle of humanity have we here? Whose attendant are you, my little knave?
Ang. I wait, sir, on Master Lionel.
Lio. 'Tis well you are come. What says the gentleman?
Ang. I delivered your letter to him. He is very sorry he can furnish you no better; he has sent you twenty crowns, he says, towards the large debt he owes you.
Pet. A fine child! and delivers his tale with good method. Where, in the name of Ganymede, had'st thou this epitome of a servitor?
Lio. You'd little think of what consequence and pregnancy this imp is: you may hereafter have both cause to know and love him. What gentlemen are these?
Enter Gasparo and Lorenzo.
Pet. One is my father.
Lor. I hear your son, sir, is return'd from travel,
Grown up a fine and stately gentleman,
Outstrips his compeers in each liberal science.
Gas. I thank my stars he has improv'd his time
To the best use, can render an account
Of all his journey; how he has arriv'd,
Through strange discoveries and compendious ways,
To a most perfect knowledge of himself;
Can give a model of each prince's court,
And is become their pheer.[303] He has a mind
Equally pois'd, and virtue without sadness;
Hunts not for fame through an ill path of life;
But is indeed, for all parts, so accomplish'd
As I could wish or frame him.
Lor. These are joys,
In their relation to you, so transcendant,
As than yourself I know no man more happy.
May I not see your son?
Gas. See where he stands,
Accompanied with young Lionel, the nephew
To Veterano the great antiquary.
Lor.[304] I'll be bold, by your favour, to endear
Myself in his acquaintance. Noble Petrucio,
Darling of Venus, minion of the Graces,
Let me adopt me heir unto your love:
That is, yours by descent, and which your father,
A grave wise man, and a magnifico,
Has not disdain'd.
Pet. I am much bound to you for it.
Lor. Is that all?
Pet. See the abundant ignorance of this age! he cites my father for a precedent. Alas! he is a good old man, and no more; there he stands, he has not been abroad, nor known the world; therefore, I hope, will not be so foolishly peremptory to compare with me for judgment, that have travelled, seen fashions, and been a man of intelligence.
Lor. Signior, your ear; pray, let's counsel you.
Pet. Counsel me! the like trespass again; sure, the old man doats! Who counselled me abroad, when I had none but mine own natural wisdom for my protection? Yet I dare say I met with more perils, more variety of allurements, more Circes, more Calypsos, and the like, than e'er were feigned[305] upon Ulysses.
Lor. It show'd great wisdom that you could avoid them.
Give o'er, and tempt your destiny no further;
'Tis time now to retire unto yourself:
Settle your mind upon some worthy beauty;
A wife will tame all wild affections.
I have a daughter who, for youth and beauty,
Might be desir'd, were she ignobly born;
And for her dowry, that shall no way part you.
If you accept her, here, before your friends,
I will betroth her to you.
Pet. I thank you, sir, you'd have me marry your daughter; is it so?
Lor. With your good liking, not otherwise.
Pet. You nourish too great an ambition. What do you see in me to make such a motion? No, be wise, and keep her; were I married to her, I should not like her above a month at most.
Lor. How! not above a month?
Pet. I'll tell you, sir, I have made an experience that way on my nature: when I have hired a creature for my pleasure, as 'tis the fashion in many places, for the like time that I told you of, I have been so tired with her before 'twas out, as no horse like me; I could not spur my affection to go a jot further.
Gas. Well said, boy! thou art e'en mine own son; when I was young, 'twas just my humour.
Lio. You give yourself a plausible commends.
Pet. I can make a shift to love: but, having enjoyed, fruition kills my appetite: no, I must have several objects of beauty to keep my thoughts always in action, or I am nobody.
Gas. Still mine own flesh and blood?
Pet. Therefore I have chose honour for my mistress, upon whose wings I will mount up to the heavens; where I will fix myself a constellation, for all this under-world of mortals to wonder at me.
Gas. Nay, he is a mad wag, I assure you, and knows how to put a price upon his desert.
Pet. I can no longer stay to dilate on these vanities; therefore, gallants, I leave you. [Exit.
Lor. What, is he gone? Is your son gone?
Gas. So it seems. Well, gallants, where shall I see you anon?
Lor. You shall not part with us.
Gas. You shall pardon me; I must wait upon my son. [Exit.
Lor. Do you hear, signior? A pretty preferment!
Lio. O sir, the lustre of good clothes or breeding,
Bestow'd upon a son, will make a rustic
Or a mechanic father to commit
Idolatry, and adore his own issue.
Ang. They are so well match'd, 'twere pity to part them.
Lor. Well said, little one,
I think thou art wiser than both of them.
But this same scorn I do not so well relish;
A whoreson humorous fantastic novice,
To contemn my daughter! He is not worthy
To bear up her train.
Lio. Or kiss under it.
Will you revenge this injury upon him?
Lor. Revenge! Of all the passions of my blood,
'Tis the most sweet. I should grow fat to think on't,
Could you but promise.
Lio. Will you have patience?
Be rul'd by me, and I will compass it
To your full wish. We'll set a bait afore him,
That he shall seize as sharply as Jove's eagle
Did snatch up Ganymede.
Lor. Do but cast the plot,
I'll prosecute it with as much disgrace
As hatred can suggest.
Lio. Do you see this page, then?
Lor. Ay, what of him?
Lio. That face of his shall do it.
Lor. What shall it do? Methinks he has a pretty innocent countenance.
Lio. O, but beware of a smooth look at all times.
Observe what I say: he is a syren above,
But below a very serpent. No female scorpion
Did ever carry such a sting, believe it.
Lor. What should I do with him?
Lio. Take him to your house,
There keep him privately, till I make all perfect.
If ever alchemist did more rejoice
In his projection, never credit me.
Lor. You shall prevail upon my faith beyond
My understanding: and, my dapper squire,
If you be such a precious wag, I'll cherish you.
Come, walk along with me. Farewell, sir.
Lio. Adieu. [Exeunt Lorenzo and Angelia.
Now I must travel on a new exploit
To an old antiquary; he is my uncle,
And I his heir. Would I could raise a fortune
Out of his ruins! He is grown obsolete,
And 'tis time he were out of date. They say he sits
All day in contemplation of a statue
With ne'er a nose, and doats on the decays
With greater love than the self-lov'd Narcissus
Did on his beauty. How shall I approach him?
Could I appear but like a Sibyl's son,
Or with a face rugged as father Nilus
Is pictured on the hangings, there were hope
He might look on me. How to win his love
I know not. If I wist he were not precise,
I'd lay to purchase some stale interludes,
And give him them; books that have not attain'd
To the Platonic year, but wait their course
And happy hour, to be reviv'd again:
Then would I induce him to believe they were
Some of Terence's hundred and fifty comedies,
That were lost in the Adriatic sea,
When he return'd from banishment. Some such
Gullery as this might be enforced upon him.
I'll first talk with his man, and then consider. [Exit.
Enter Lorenzo, Gasparo, Mocinigo, and Angelia.
Lor. How happ'd you did return again so soon, sir?
Gas. I'll tell you, sir. As I follow'd my son
From the Rialto, near unto the bridge,
We were encounter'd by a sort[306] of gallants,
Sons of clarissimos and procurators,
That knew him in his travels: whereupon
He did insinuate with his eyes unto me,
I should depart and leave them.
Lor. Seems he was asham'd of your company?
Gas. Like will to like, sir.
Lor. What grave and youthful gentleman's that with you?
Gas. Do you not know him?
Lor. No.
Gas. Not Signior Mocinigo?
Lor. You jest, I am sure.
Gas. Ay, and there hangs a jest:
For, going to a courtesan this morning
In his own proper colour, his grey beard,
He had the ill-luck to be refus'd; on which
He went and dy'd it, and came back again;
And was again with the same scorn rejected,
Telling him that she had newly deni'd his
father.
Lor. Was that her answer?
Gas. It has so troubled him,
That he intends to marry. What think you, sir,
Of his resolution?
Lor. By'r Lady, it shows
Great haughtiness of courage; a man of his years,
That dares to venture on a wife.
Moc. A man of my years! I feel
My limbs as able as the best of them;
And in all places else, except my hair,
As green as a bay-tree: and for the whiteness
Upon my head, although it now lie hid,
What does it signify, but like a tree that blossoms,
Before the fruit come forth? And, I hope, a tree
That blossoms is neither dry nor wither'd.
Lor. But pray, what piece of beauty's that you mean
To make the object of your love?
Moc. Ay, there
You pose me; for I have a curious eye,
And am as choice in that point to be pleased
As the most youthful. Here, one's beauty takes me;
And there, her parentage and good behaviour;
Another's wealth or wit; but I'd have one
Where all these graces meet, as in a centre.
Gas. You are too ambitious. You'll hardly find
Woman or beast that trots sound of all four:
There will be some defect.
Moc. Yet this I resolve on,
To have a maid tender of age and fair.
Old fish and young flesh, that's still my diet.[307]
Lor. What think you of a widow?
Moc. By no means:
They are too politic a generation;
Prov'd so by similes. Many voyages
Make an experienc'd seaman; many offices
A crafty knave; so many marriages
A subtle, cunning widow. No, I'll have one
That I may mould, like wax, unto my humour.
Lor. This doating ass is worth at least a million;
And, though he cannot propagate his stock,
Will be sure to multiply. I'll offer him my daughter.
By computation of age he cannot
Live past ten years; by that time she'll get strength
To break this rotten hedge of matrimony
And after have a fair green field to walk in,
And wanton, where she please. [Aside.] Signior, a word:
And by this guess my love. I have a daughter
Of beauty fresh, of her demeanour gentle,
And of a sober wisdom: you know my estate.
If you can fancy her, seek no further.
Moc. Thank you, signior: pray, of what age
Is your daughter?
Lor. But sixteen at the most.
Moc. But sixteen! Is she no more? She is too young, then.
Gas. You wish'd for a young one, did you not?
Moc. Not that I would have her in years.
Gas. I warrant you!
Moc. Well, mark what I say: when I come to her,
She'll ne'er be able to endure me.
Lor. I'll trust her.
Gas. I think your choice, sir, cannot be amended,
She is so virtuous and so amiable.
Moc. Is she so fair and amiable? I'll have her.
She may grow up to what she wants; and then
I shall enjoy such pleasure and delight,
Such infinite content in her embraces,
I may contend with love for happiness!
Yet one thing troubles me.
Gas. What's that?
Moc. I shall live so well on earth,
I ne'er shall think of any other joys.
Gas. I wish all joy to you; but 'tis in th' power
Of fate to work a miracle upon you.
You may obtain the grace, with other men,
To repent your bargain before you have well seal'd it.
Lor. Or she may prove his purgatory, and send him
To heaven the sooner.
Gas. Suchlike effects as these
Are not unheard of in nature.
Moc. For all these scruples,
I am resolv'd. Bring me, that I may see her;
Young handsome ladies are like prizes at a horse-race, where
Every well-breath'd gentleman may put in for his share. [Exeunt.
Enter Duke and Leonardo.
Leo. But are you resolved of this course, sir?
Duke. Yes; we'll be once mad in our days, and do an exploit for posterity to talk of. Will you join with me?
Leo. I am at your grace's disposing.
Duke. No grace, nor no respect, I beseech you, more than ordinary friendship allows of: 'tis the only bar to hinder our designs.
Leo. Then, sir, what fashion you are pleased to appoint me, I will be glad to put on.
Duke. 'Tis well. For my part, I am determined to lay by all ensigns of my royalty for awhile, and walk abroad under a mean coverture. Variety does well; and 'tis as great delight sometimes to shroud one's head under a coarse roof as a rich canopy of gold.
Leo. But what's your intent in this?
Duke. I have a longing desire to see the fashions of the vulgar, which, should I affect in mine own person, I might divert them from their humours. The face of greatness would affright them, as Cato did the Floralia[308] from the theatre.
Leo. Indeed familiarity begets boldness.
Duke. 'Tis true, indulgency and flattery take away the benefit of experience from princes, which ennobles the fortunes of private men.
Leo. But you are a duke, sir; and this descent from your honour will undervalue you.
Duke. Not a whit. I am so toiled out with grand affairs and despatching of embassages, that I am ready to sink under the burden. Why may not an Atlas of state, such as myself, that bears up the weight of a commonwealth, now and then, for recreation's sake, be glad to ease his shoulders? Has not Jupiter thrown away his rays and his thunder to walk among mortals? Does not Apollo suffer himself to be deprived of his quiver, that he may waken up his muse sometimes, and sing to his harp.
Leo. Nay, sir, to come to a more familiar example: I have heard of a nobleman that has been drunk with a tinker, and of a magnifico that has played at blow-point.[309]
Duke. Very good; then take our degrees alike, and the act's as pardonable.
Leo. In a humour, sir, a man may do much. But how will you prevent their discovery of you?
Duke. Very well; the alteration of our clothes will abolish suspicion.
Leo. And how for our faces?
Duke. They shall pass without any seal of disguise. Who ne'er were thought on, will ne'er be mistrusted.
Leo. Come what will, greatness can justify any action whatsoever, and make it thought wisdom; but if we do walk undiscerned, 'twill be the better. It tickles me to think what a mass of delight we shall possess in being, as 'twere, the invisible spectators of their strange behaviours. I heard, sir, of an antiquary who, if he be as good at wine as at history, he is sure an excellent companion: and of one Petrucio, who plays the eagle in the clouds: and indeed divers others, who verify the proverb, So many men, so many humours.
Duke. All these we'll visit in order: but how we shall comply with them, 'tis as occasion shall be offered; we will not now be so serious to consider.
Leo. Well, sir, I must trust to your wit to manage it. Lead on; I attend you. [Exeunt.