ACT THE THIRD
SCENE I.—A Seaport in Judea.
Enter Jonas.
Jonas. From forth the depth of my imprison'd soul
Steal you, my sighs, [to] testify my pain;
Convey on wings of mine immortal tone,
My zealous prayers unto the starry throne.
Ah, merciful and just, thou dreadful God!
Where is thine arm to lay revengeful strokes
Upon the heads of our rebellious race?
Lo, Israel, once that flourish'd like the vine,
Is barren laid; the beautiful increase
Is wholly blent, and irreligious zeal
Encampeth there where virtue was enthron'd:
Alas, the while the widow wants relief,
The fatherless is wrong'd by naked need,
Devotion sleeps in cinders of contempt,
Hypocrisy infects the holy priest!
Ah me, for this! woe me, for these misdeeds!
Alone I walk to think upon the world,
And sigh to see thy prophets so contemn'd,
Alas, contemn'd by cursèd Israel!
Yet, Jonas, rest content, 'tis Israel's sin
That causeth this; then muse no more thereon,
But pray amends, and mend thy own amiss.
An Angel appears to Jonas.
Angel. Amittai's son, I charge thee muse no more:
I AM hath power to pardon and correct;
To thee pertains to do the Lord's command.
Go girt thy loins, and haste thee quickly hence;
To Nineveh, that mighty city, wend,
And say this message from the Lord of hosts,
Preach unto them these tidings from thy God;—
"Behold, thy wickedness hath tempted me,
And piercèd through the nine-fold orbs of heaven:
Repent, or else thy judgment is at hand."
[This said, the Angel vanishes.
Jonas. Prostrate I lie before the Lord of hosts,
With humble ears intending[87] his behest:
Ah, honour'd be Jehovah's great command!
Then Jonas must to Nineveh repair,
Commanded as the prophet of the Lord.
Great dangers on this journey do await,
But dangers none where heavens direct the course.
What should I deem? I see, yea, sighing see,
How Israel sins, yet knows the way of truth,
And thereby grows the bye-word of the world.
How, then, should God in judgment be so strict
'Gainst those who never heard or knew his power.
To threaten utter ruin of them all?
Should I report this judgment of my God,
I should incite them more to follow sin,
And publish to the world my country's blame.
It may not be, my conscience tells me—no.
Ah, Jonas, wilt thou prove rebellious then?
Consider, ere thou fall, what error is.
My mind misgives: to Joppa will I fly,
And for a while to Tharsus shape my course,
Until the Lord unfret his angry brows.
Enter certain Merchants of Tharsus, a Master, and some Sailors.
Master. Come on, brave merchants; now the wind doth serve,
And sweetly blows a gale at west-south-west,
Our yards across; our anchor's on the pike;
What, shall we hence, and take this merry gale?
First Mer. Sailors, convey our budgets straight aboard,
And we will recompense your pains at last:
If once in safety we may Tharsus see,
Master, we'll feast these merry mates and thee.
Master. Meanwhile content yourselves with silly cates;
Our beds are boards, our feasts are full of mirth:
We use no pomp, we are the lords of sea;
When princes sweat in care, we swink[88] of glee.
Orion's shoulders and the Pointers serve
To be our loadstars in the lingering night;
The beauties of Arcturus we behold;
And though the sailor is no bookman held,
He knows more art than ever bookmen read.
First Sai. By heavens, well said in honour of our trade!
Let's see the proudest scholar steer his course,
Or shift his tides, as silly sailors do;
Then will we yield them praise, else never none.
First Mer. Well spoken, fellow, in thine own behalf.
But let us hence: wind tarries none, you wot,
And tide and time let slip is hardly got.
Master. March to the haven, merchants; I follow you.
[Exeunt Merchants.
Jonas [aside]. Now doth occasion further my desires;
I find companions fit to aid my flight.—
Stay, sir, I pray, and hear a word or two.
Master. Say on, good friend, but briefly, if you please;
My passengers by this time are aboard.
Jonas. Whither pretend[89] you to embark yourselves?
Master. To Tharsus, sir, and here in Joppa-haven
Our ship is prest[90] and ready to depart.
Jonas. May I have passage for my money, then?
Master. What not for money? pay ten silverlings,[91]
You are a welcome guest, if so you please.
Jonas [giving money]. Hold, take thine hire; I follow thee, my friend.
Master. Where is your budget? let me bear it, sir.
Jonas. Go on in peace; who sail as I do now[92]
Put trust in him who succoureth every want.
[Exeunt.
Oseas. When prophets, new-inspir'd, presume to force
And tie the power of heaven to their conceits;
When fear, promotion, pride, or simony,
Ambition, subtle craft, their thoughts disguise,
Woe to the flock whereas the shepherd's foul!
For, lo, the Lord at unawares shall plague
The careless guide, because his flocks do stray.
The axe already to the tree is set:
Beware to tempt the Lord, ye men of art.
SCENE II.—A Public Place in Nineveh.
Enter Alcon, Thrasybulus, Samia, and Clesiphon.
Cles. Mother, some meat, or else I die for want.
Samia. Ah little boy, how glad thy mother would
Supply thy wants, but naked need denies!
Thy father's slender portion in this world
By usury and false deceit is lost:
No charity within this city bides;
All for themselves, and none to help the poor.
Cles. Father, shall Clesiphon have no relief?
Alc. Faith, my boy, I must be flat with thee, we must feed upon proverbs now; as "Necessity hath no law," "A churl's feast is better than none at all;" for other remedies have we none, except thy brother Radagon help us.
Samia. Is this thy slender care to help our child?
Hath nature arm'd thee to no more remorse?[93]
Ah, cruel man, unkind and pitiless!—
Come, Clesiphon, my boy, I'll beg for thee.
Cles. O, how my mother's mourning moveth me!
Alc. Nay, you shall pay me interest for getting the boy, wife, before you carry him hence: alas, woman, what can Alcon do more? I'll pluck the belly out of my heart for thee, sweet Samia; be not so waspish.
Samia. Ah silly man, I know thy want is great,
And foolish I to crave where nothing is.
Haste, Alcon, haste, make haste unto our son;
Who, since he is in favour of the king,
May help this hapless gentleman and us
For to regain our goods from tyrant's hands.
Thras. Have patience, Samia, wait your weal from heaven:
The gods have rais'd your son, I hope, for this,
To succour innocents in their distress.
Lo, where he comes from the imperial court;
Go, let us prostrate us before his feet.
Alc. Nay, by my troth, I'll never ask my son's blessing; che trow, cha[94] taught him his lesson to know his father.
Enter Radagon attended.[95]
What, son Radagon! i'faith, boy, how dost thee?
Radag. Villain, disturb me not; I cannot stay.
Alc. Tut, son, I'll help you of that disease quickly, for I can hold thee: ask thy mother, knave, what cunning I have to ease a woman when a qualm of kindness comes too near her stomach; let me but clasp mine arms about her body, and say my prayers in her bosom, and she shall be healed presently.
Radag. Traitor unto my princely majesty,
How dar'st thou lay thy hands upon a king?
Samia. No traitor, Radagon, but true is he:
What, hath promotion blearèd thus thine eye,
To scorn thy father when he visits thee?
Alas, my son, behold with ruthful eyes
Thy parents robb'd of all their worldly weal
By subtle means of usury and guile:
The judge's ears are deaf and shut up close;
All mercy sleeps: then be thou in these plunges[96]
A patron to thy mother in her pains:
Behold thy brother almost dead for food:
O, succour us, that first did succour thee!
Radag. What, succour me! false callet,[97] hence, avaunt!
Old dotard, pack! move not my patience:
I know you not; kings never look so low.
Samia. You know us not! O Radagon, you know
That, knowing us, you know your parents then;
Thou know'st this womb first brought thee forth to light:
I know these paps did foster thee, my son.
Alc. And I know he hath had many a piece of bread and cheese at my hands, as proud as he is; that know I.
Thras. I wait no hope of succour in this place,
Where children hold their fathers in disgrace.
Radag. Dare you enforce the furrows of revenge
Within the brows of royal Radagon?
Villain, avaunt! hence, beggars, with your brats!—
Marshal, why whip you not these rogues away,
That thus disturb our royal majesty?
Cles. Mother, I see it is a wondrous thing,
From base estate for to become a king;
For why, methink, my brother in these fits
Hath got a kingdom, and hath lost his wits.
Radag. Yet more contempt before my royalty?
Slaves, fetch out tortures worse than Tityus' plagues,
And tear their tongues from their blasphémous heads.
Thras. I'll get me gone, though wo-begone with grief:
No hope remains:—come, Alcon, let us wend.
Radag. 'Twere best you did, for fear you catch your bane.
[Exit Thrasybulus.
Samia. Nay, traitor, I will haunt thee to the death:
Ungracious son, untoward, and perverse,
I'll fill the heavens with echoes of thy pride,
And ring in every ear thy small regard,
That dost despise thy parents in their wants;
And breathing forth my soul before thy feet,
My curses still shall haunt thy hateful head,
And being dead, my ghost shall thee pursue.
Enter Rasni, attended on by his Magi and Kings.
Rasni. How now! what mean these outcries in our court,
Where naught should sound but harmonies of heaven?
What maketh Radagon so passionate?
Samia. Justice, O king, justice against my son!
Rasni. Thy son! what son?
Samia. This cursèd Radagon.
Radag. Dread monarch, this is but a lunacy,
Which grief and want hath brought the woman to.—
What, doth this passion hold you every moon?
Samia. O, politic in sin and wickedness,
Too impudent for to delude thy prince!—
O Rasni, this same womb first brought him forth:
This is his father, worn with care and age,
This is his brother, poor unhappy lad,
And I his mother, though contemn'd by him.
With tedious toil we got our little good,
And brought him up to school with mickle charge:
Lord, how we joy'd to see his towardness!
And to ourselves we oft in silence said,
This youth when we are old may succour us.
But now preferr'd, and lifted up by thee,
We quite destroy'd by cursèd usury,
He scorneth me, his father, and this child.
Cles. He plays the serpent right, describ'd in Æsop's tale,
That sought the foster's death, that lately gave him life.
Alc. Nay, an please your majesty-ship, for proof he was my child, search the parish-book: the clerk will swear it, his godfathers and godmothers can witness it: it cost me forty pence in ale and cakes on the wives at his christening.—Hence, proud king! thou shalt never more have my blessing!
Rasni [taking Radagon apart].
Say sooth in secret, Radagon,
Is this thy father?
Radag. Mighty king, he is;
I blushing tell it to your majesty.
Rasni. Why dost thou, then, contemn him and his friends?
Radag. Because he is a base and abject swain,
My mother and her brat both beggarly,
Unmeet to be allied unto a king.
Should I, that look on Rasni's countenance,
And march amidst his royal equipage,
Embase myself to speak to such as they?
'Twere impious so to impair the love
That mighty Rasni bears to Radagon.
I would your grace would quit them from your sight,
That dare presume to look on Jove's compare.
Rasni. I like thy pride, I praise thy policy;
Such should they be that wait upon my court:
Let me alone to answer, Radagon.—
Villains, seditious traitors, as you be,
That scandalise the honour of a king,
Depart my court, you stales of impudence,
Unless you would be parted from your limbs!
Too base for to entitle fatherhood
To Rasni's friend, to Rasni's favourite.
Radag. Hence, begging scold! hence, caitiff clogg'd with years!
On pain of death, revisit not the court.
Was I conceiv'd by such a scurvy trull,
Or brought to light by such a lump of dirt?
Go, losel, trot it to the cart and spade!
Thou art unmeet to look upon a king.
Much less to be the father of a king.
Alc. You may see, wife, what a goodly piece of work you have made: have I taught you arsmetry, as additiori multiplicarum, the rule of three, and all for the begetting of a boy, and to be banished for my labour? O pitiful hearing!—Come, Clesiphon, follow me.
Cles. Brother, beware: I oft have heard it told,
That sons who do their fathers scorn, shall beg when they be old.
Radag. Hence, bastard boy, for fear you taste the whip!
[Exeunt Alcon and Clesiphon.
Samia. O all you heavens, and you eternal powers,
That sway the sword of justice in your hands
(If mother's curses for her son's contempt
May fill the balance of your fury full),
Pour down the tempest of your direful plagues
Upon the head of cursèd Radagon!
[A flame of fire appears from beneath; and Radagon is swallowed.
So you are just: now triumph, Samia! [Exit.
Rasni. What exorcising charm, or hateful hag,
Hath ravishèd the pride of my delight?
What tortuous planets, or malevolent
Conspiring power, repining destiny,
Hath made the concave of the earth unclose,
And shut in ruptures lovely Radagon?
If I be lord commander of the clouds,
King of the earth, and sovereign of the seas,
What daring Saturn, from his fiery den,
Doth dart these furious flames amidst my court?
I am not chief, there is more great then I:
What, greater than th' Assyrian Satrapes?[98]
It may not be, and yet I fear there is,
That hath bereft me of my Radagon.
First Magus. Monarch, and potentate of all our provinces.
Muse not so much upon this accident,
Which is indeed nothing miraculous.
The hill of Sicily, dread sovereign,
Sometime on sudden doth evacuate
Whole flakes of fire, and spews out from below
The smoky brands that Vulcan's bellows drive:
Whether by winds enclosèd in the earth,
Or fracture of the earth by river's force,
Such chances as was this are often seen;
Whole cities sunk, whole countries drownèd quite.
Then muse not at the loss of Radagon,
But frolic with the dalliance of your love.
Let cloths of purple, set with studs of gold,
Embellishèd with all the pride of earth,
Be spread for Alvida to sit upon:
Then thou, like Mars courting the queen of love,
Mayst drive away this melancholy fit.
Rasni. The proof is good and philosophical;
And more, thy counsel plausible and sweet.—
Come, lords, though Rasni wants his Radagon,
Earth will repay him many Radagons,
And Alvida with pleasant looks revive
The heart that droops for want of Radagon. [Exeunt.
Oseas. When disobedience reigneth in the child,
And princes' ears by flattery be beguil'd;
When laws do pass by favour, not by truth;
When falsehood swarmeth both in old and youth;
When gold is made a god to wrong the poor,
And charity exil'd from rich men's door;
When men by wit do labour to disprove
The plagues for sin sent down by God above;
When great men's ears are stopt to good advice,
And apt to hear those tales that feed their vice;
Woe to the land! for from the East shall rise
A Lamb of peace, the scourge of vanities,
The judge of truth, the patron of the just,
Who soon will lay presumption in the dust,
And give the humble poor their hearts' desire,
And doom the worldlings to eternal fire:
Repent, all you that hear, for fear of plagues.
O London, this and more doth swarm in thee!
Repent, repent, for why the Lord doth see:
With trembling pray, and mend what is amiss;
The sword of justice drawn already is.
SCENE III.—Within the Smith's House.
Enter Adam and the Smith's Wife.
Adam. Why, but hear you, mistress: you know a woman's eyes are like a pair of pattens, fit to save shoe-leather in summer, and to keep away the cold in winter; so you may like your husband with the one eye, because you are married, and me with the other, because I am your man. Alas, alas! think, mistress, what a thing love is: why, it is like to an ostry-faggot,[99] that, once set on fire, is as hardly quenched as the bird[100] crocodile driven out of her nest.
S. Wife. Why, Adam, cannot a woman wink but she must sleep? and can she not love but she must cry it out at the cross? Know, Adam, I love thee as myself, now that we are together in secret.
Adam. Mistress, these words of yours are like to a fox-tail placed in a gentlewoman's fan, which, as it is light, so it giveth life: O, these words are as sweet as a lily! whereupon, offering a borachio[101] of kisses to your unseemly personage, I entertain you upon further acquaintance.
S. Wife. Alas, my husband comes!
Adam. Strike up the drum
And say no words but mum.
Enter the Smith.
Smith. Sirrah you, and you, huswife, well taken together! I have long suspected you, and now I am glad I have found you together.
Adam. Truly, sir, and I am glad that I may do you any way pleasure, either in helping you or my mistress.
Smith. Boy here, and knave, you shall know it straight; I will have you both before the magistrate, and there have you surely punished.
Adam. Why, then, master, you are jealous?
Smith. Jealous, knave! how can I be but jealous, to see you ever so familiar together? Thou art not only content to drink away my goods, but to abuse my wife.
Adam. Two good qualities, drunkenness and lechery: but, master, are you jealous?
Smith. Ay, knave, and thou shalt know it ere I pass, for I will beswinge thee while this rope will hold.
S. Wife. My good husband, abuse him not, for he never proffered you any wrong.
Smith. Nay, whore, thy part shall not be behind.
Adam. Why, suppose, master, I have offended you, is it lawful for the master to beat the servant for all offences?
Smith. Ay, marry, is it, knave.
Adam. Then, master, will I prove by logic, that seeing all sins are to receive correction, the master is to be corrected of the man. And, sir, I pray you, what greater sin is than jealousy? 'tis like a mad dog that for anger bites himself: therefore that I may do my duty to you, good master, and to make a white[102] son of you, I will so beswinge jealousy out of you, as you shall love me the better while you live.
Smith. What, beat thy master, knave?
Adam. What, beat thy man, knave? and, ay, master, and double beat you, because you are a man of credit; and therefore have at you the fairest for forty pence. [Beats the Smith.
Smith. Alas, wife, help, help! my man kills me.
S. Wife. Nay, even as you have baked, so brew: jealousy must be driven out by extremities.
Adam. And that will I do, mistress.
Smith. Hold thy hand, Adam; and not only I forgive and forget all, but I will give thee a good farm to live on.
Adam. Begone, peasant, out of the compass of my further wrath, for I am a corrector of vice; and at night I will bring home my mistress.
Smith. Even when you please, good Adam.
Adam. When I please,—mark the words—'tis a lease-parol,[103] to have and to hold. Thou shalt be mine for ever: and so let's go to the ale-house. [Exeunt.
Oseas. Where servants against masters do rebel,
The commonweal may be accounted hell;
For if the feet the head shall hold in scorn,
The city's state will fall and be forlorn.
This error, London, waiteth on thy state:
Servants, amend, and, masters, leave to hate;
Let love abound, and virtue reign in all;
So God will hold his hand, that threateneth thrall.