A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 3

by Unknown

[SCENE 3.]

Enter Peter standing sentronell.

Pet. This is my wayting night: tis for no good
That I stand sentronell. Well, good or ill,
I care not greatly, so I get the gold:
Therefore, to avoyd prolixity, here walke I.
Here comes the men that must reward my paine.

Enter Burbon and Rodoricke.

Bur. Have you the poyson?

Rod. And a strong one too.
Heere's a preservative to save your hand:
When Rodoricke fayles your Lordship, heaven shall fayle
To illuminate the world with cheereful light.

Bur. Then here about should Peter wayt for me, For this is the Pavilion of the Princesse.

Pet. My Lord.

Bur. Peter.

Pet. Here is the key that opens to the Tent:
I stole it from my sweet heart Thomasin.
Enter without prolixity, woo and winne the Lady;
But give me gold (my Lord) and Ile to Dice.

Bur. Hold, take thy fill.

Pet. And it shall goe as fast.

Bur. Now, gentle Peter, get thee unto rest.
My businesse craves the absence of the world:
None but my selfe and Rodoricke shall behold
The secret complot that I doe intend.

Pet. I goe, my Lord. [Exit.

Bur. Now, blessed key, open unto my love,
Doe more then loving lynes or words can doe.
My letters have bin answerd with disdayne:
Her father I have mov'd to gayne my love,
But he is frosty in my fervent suite;
And now perforce I will obtayne her love
Or ease her puling hatred by revenge.

Rod. You stay too long: Ile help to turne the key.

Discover her sitting in a chayre asleepe.

Bur. What do I see? the majesty of heaven
Sit in a mayden slumber on the earth?
What, is my Bellamira turnd a goddesse?
Within the table of her glorious face
Methinks the pure extraction of all beauty
Flowes in abundance to my love-sick eye.
O, Rodoricke, she is admirably fayre;
And sleeping if her beauty be so rare
How will her eyes inchaunt me if she wake.
Here, take the poyson; Ile not stayne her face
For all the treasure of the Westerne Island.

Rod. I see no such admired perfection.
Waken her, Burbon, and this loving charme,
Which now hath led your sences prisoner,
Will vanish, and her speach, full of reproofe,
Beget a new phantasma all of hate.
Thou wilt detest her when she shall deny thee.

Bur. Waken her Roderick, for I want the power.

Rod. I hope I am disguisde sufficiently That Bellamira cannot know my face.— Madam, fayre Bellamira!

Bel. Here I am: Who calls on Bellamira?

Bur. I, fayre love; The Duke of Burbon that doth honor thee.

Bel. The Duke of Burbon in my Tent so late! Where is my Gard? what, Peter, Thomasin!

Rod. Step to her and restrayne her lest she call: Ile be a looker on and be unknowne.

Bur. What needs your Highnesse call for any Gard
Since you are garded with a faythfull frend?
Behold me, Madam, humbly on my knee
Come to renew my suite: vouchsafe me love
Or with this weapon take away my life.
Much better 'twere a thousand times to dye
Then live in torment of your scorching eye.
You have inflam'd my hearte; oh quench that flame
Or into cinders turne my haplesse truncke,
Haplesse in being unbelov'd by you.

Bel. My Lord of Burbon, you presume too much
On th' extremity of passion.
Have I not answerd many an idle letter
With full assurance that I cannot love?
Have I not often viva voce checkt
Your courtly kindnes, frownd upon your smiles,
Usde you unkindly, all to weane your love?
And doe you still persever in your suite?
I tell thee, Burbon, this bold part of thine,
To breake into my Tent at dead of night,
Deserves severe correction, and the more
Because it brings mine honour into question.
I charge thee, as thou art a Gentleman,
Betake thee to thine own Pavilion,
And let this answere satisfie for all:
Burbon, I cannot nor I will not love thee.

Bur. Cannot nor will not? Zounds, Madam, but you must.

Bel. Must I?

Bur. And shall.

Bel You will not force me to it?

Bur. Or force that sparkling beauty from your face.
Looke not so fiercely nor cry out for helpe,
For if you doe this makes you cry your last.
Seing neyther words, kind letters, hearty sighes.
Humble intreaty nor a world of payne
Can move you to take pitty of my love,
But Tyrant-like your beauty seeks my life;
I will blot out that beauty with this juice.
Thus, thus I wipe away my passions,
Thus doe I heale the torments of my love,
Thus doe I ransome my inthralled eye,
And by depriving of the cause of life
Kill th' effect, which was a world of sorrow.
Farewell, foule Bellamira; I am pleasde
In this revenge that no way could be easde. [Exit.

Rod.—Zounds, he has don't: now, Roderick, joy thy fill.
Burbon is thine, the Dukedome is thine owne,
For only he in the Inheritance
Stood as an obstacle to let my clayme.
This deed of his will take away his life:
And then let me alone to enjoy his land.
Ile steale away unseene, cause unsuspected;
I would not for the world be once detected. [Exit.

Bel. Poyson my face! oh most inhuman wretche!
Revenge more vile then to abbridge my life.
What, Thomasin! What, brother Ferdinand!
My kingly father! is there none that heares?
Then Treason, treason! let that waken you,
For capitall is this offence to me.

Enter Navar, Pembrooke, Ferdinand and Thomasin.

Tho. O Jesu! mistris, what ayles your face?

Nav. Her face!

Ferd. Tis spotted like a Panthers skin.

Pem. O were those spots as kindly beautiful Then were fayre Bellamira undeform'd.

Nav. O what divine power hath sent this Leprosy?

Ferd. Say, beautious Sister.

Pem. Speake, fayre Bellamira.

Nav. My sweet daughter, speake.

Pem. Her silence argues a tormented spirit.

Ferd.—Thy countenance argues a deceitfull soule.

Enter Lewes, Philip, Rodoricke and Flaunders.

Lew. Where is Navar?

Phil. Where is fayre Bellamira?

Bel. My Philip! oh give leave to fly his sight.

Nav. Stay, gentle daughter; heele not injure thee.

Lew. Heere are the Articles concluded on.
I could not rest till I had signed them
And brought them to your Highnesse. A moneth hence
The mariage shall be fully solemnized,
So please your Majesty and your fayre daughter.
Are you content?

Nav. To live in discontent.

Phil. Methinks this royall presence hath dim lookes.
Is it because they are in the armes of night,
Which sets a leaden lustre in the eye?
Or hath some accident occoasted [sic] them
That troubles their aspect with melancholy?
Is Navar well? is Ferdinando well?
Is Pembrooke well? is Bellamira well?
0 where is Bellamira? tell me, Princes,
For now my tongue hath strooke upon her name
I feele a kind of killing extasie.
Where is she? in her Tent?

Bel.—Deny me father. I would not see Prince Philip with this face.

Phil. Why speak you not? what, have I toucht the string
Whereon the burden of your sorrow lyes?
Father, look round about: see you my love?
Rodoricke, look round about: see you my love?

Lew. I see her not.

Rod. Nor I.

Phil. I say not so:
The garments that she weares mine eye should know.
What Lady's this that hides her heavenly face?
Here are no Basilisks with killing eyes:
You need not hide your beauty: sweet, look up,
Me thinks I have an interest in these lookes.
What's here? a Leper amongst Noble men?
What creatures thys? why stayes she in this place?
Oh, tis no marvell though she hide her face,
For tis infectious: let her leave the presence,
Or Leprosie will cleave unto us all.

Bel. O let me leave the presence, gentle father, When Philip bids his Bellamira goe.

Phil. My Bellamira!

Lew. How? my sonnes belov'd!

Phil. Is this my love? was this your beauteous child?

Nav. My child.

Ferd. My sister.

Pem. Beauteous Bellamira.

Nav. Spotted.

Ferd. Disfigured.

Pem. Made a loathsome Leper.

Rod. How came this sudden alteration? For she was comely, lovely, beautiful, When the day left his Charriot to the night.

Nav. That heaven doth know, and onely Bellamira. Daughter, I charge thee, tell me how it came.

Bell. Burbon, oh Burbon,—

Lew. Did he doe the deed?

Bell. He came into my Tent at dead of night
And rubd my face with an infectuous herbe
Because I would not graunt unto his love.
I cry'd for helpe, but none did succour me.

Rod.—I know he did and laugh to thinke on t.

Lew. And he shall rue his treason.

Phil. Threaten not;
Leave the revenge to me whom it concernes.
Tis I am robd of a delicious looke,
A heavenly sparkling brow, a starry eye,
A countenance fayrer than Auroraes lookes
When all the East is guilded with her blush.
Tis I will be reveng'd, but not before
I have espoused my lovely Bellamira.

Lew. Espoused her!

Nav. How? marry a face deform'd!

Ferd. A leprous creature!

Pem. An infectuous mayd!

Rod. One whose sores are perchance incureable!

Phil. Be they incureable, it is my Love,
And for my sake she hath indur'd this wrong;
And should I now forsake her thus distrest
I could not merit a true Lovers name.
To shew I love her I will marry her
Before the moneth expire, nay in the morne:
Delayes, perchance, may make her think I scorne.

Bel. Marry with me? fetch me a looking glasse
That I may see how sweet a bride I am.
Oh I detest my selfe. Deare, hate me, too:
I am not to be maryed but to death.
Though I were Empresse of the spacious world
Ide lay my selfe and kingdome at thy feet.
Live, noble Philip, joy some happy match;
Tis my unworthinesse makes me deny thee.

Phil. Thinkst thou, because thy face is spotted, so
Thou art not worthy of thy Philips love?
Thy face to me was but a Mar[e]s[c]hall
To lodge thy sacred person in my mind,
Which long agoe is surely chambred there.
And now what needs an outward Harbinger?
I doe affect, not superficially:
My love extendeth further than the skin.
The inward Bellamira tis I seeke,
And unto her will Philip be espousde.

Nav. Oh admirable love!

Lew. O my deare sonne, Thou makest me famous by thy loyalty.

Rod. I never heard the like.

Pem. Pen never writ A worthyer Story to posterity.

Ferd.—Pen never writ of a more treacherous friend Then, Pembrooke, thou hast prov'd to Ferdinand.

Phil. Sweet Love, prepare thee to be Philips Bryde; For heere I sweare, as I am royall borne, Ile marry thee before the mornings Sunne Hath runne the third part of his glorious course. Father, good night; deare friends, deare Love, good night: Mariage, I hope, will make my spirits more light. [Exit.

Nav. Good night, sweet son. King Lewes, stay with me; Be thou my comforter, Ile comfort thee.

[Exeunt kings.

Ferd. Pembrook, remember that thou faile me not. [Exit.

Pem. O God, what may these moody lookes intend? Me thinks, I should have better from my friend. [Exit.

Bel. Now, Bellamira, thou hast time to thinke
Upon these troublous matters. Should I suffer
So brave a Gentleman as Philip is
To wed himselfe to my unworthy selfe,
It would be counted vertue in the Prince
But I were worthy of a world of blame.
No, Philip, no; thou shalt not wrong thine honour
Nor be impeacht by Bellamiraes spots.
In some disguise Ile steale away to-night
And ne're appeare more in my Philips sight.

[Exit.

Actus Tertius.

[SCENE 1.]

Enter Dicke Bowyer.

Bow. There is no toyle to this walkinge of the Round. S'hart, I have been stumbling up and downe all this night like a Brewers horse that has ne're a good eye in his head. Tis as darke as Pitch: I can resemble our Campe to nothing better then hell, save that in hell they are always waking and heere the villaynes are as drowsie as swyne. Lieutenant Nod! why you might have shot a double Cannon in his eare and never have wakt him. I jogd and I jogd, I showted and I showted, and yet the mungrel snorted, you might heare him to Dover: at last I dragd him by the heeles into a ditch of water and there left the Lobster crawling. A the tother side, Core being appoynted to stand sentynell upon the Wallounes quarter, s'hart the Loach gets me into a Sutlers bath and there sits mee drinking for Joanes best cap: but by this hand, and as Dicke Bowyer is a Soldier and a Cavaliero, he shall sit in the boults for it to morrow. My comfort is in these extremities that I brought Thomasin to her Ladies Tent, leaving her new-come Lover to picke strawes. But, soft: qui vou la?[130]

Enter Ferdinand.

Ferd. My name is Ferdinand.

Bow. Stand!

Ferd. Why, Captayne, thou dost knowe me well inough.

Bow. Know or not know, without the word you passe not.

Ferd. Soliman.

Bow. So, allie, allie, Monseur.

Ferd. First, tell me, sawest thou Pembrooke come this way?

Bow. I saw him not.

Ferd. Farewell. [Exit.

Bow. As much to you. Zounds, these French think to outface us with a card of ten[131]: but, and his beard were made of brasse, Dicke Bowyer will make him know the discipline of war. Here comes another.

Enter Pembrooke.

Pem. Who's there? Dick Bowyer?

Bow. Some call me so: what then?

Pem. Pembrooke salutes thee.

Bow. O good morrow, my Lord, good morrow.

Pem. I prythee, Captayne, sawst thou Ferdinand, Sonne to Navar, as thou didst walke the round.

Bow. Even now, my Lord, he past along this way.

Pem. Himselfe alone? or had he company?

Bow. Nay, questionlesse, he was alone, my Lord.

Pem. Couldst thou discerne his face? how did he looke?

Bow. Faith, scurvily, my Lord, like a greene cheese or the inside of a rotten Pumpian.[132]

Pem. There is Crownes for thee to drinke. [Exit Pem.

Bow. I thanke your Lordship. To see the difference betweene these French Curres and our English Cavaliers! There's as much bounty in them as there's Marchpane in a dish of Almond butter. I might have stood heere till my teeth chatter in my head e're the tother Launcepresado[133] would have sayd, Here, Captayn Bowyer, there's a Cardicue[134] to wash downe melancholy. But, had I knowne as much, I would have basted him till his bones had rattled in his skin.

Enter Core and other Souldiers bringing in the Clowne.

All. Come, sir, you shall answere your walking before our Captayne.

Clow. Well, sirs, take heed what you doe: I am a Princes man; if you stay me upon the kings hye way I can lay fellowship to your charge.

Core. But, sirra, we can lay Treason to thine for being without the word.

Clow. Without the word! O pernicious Frenchman! without the word! why, I have call'd thee Villayne, him Rascall, this Slave, that Rogue; and am I still without the word.

Core. I, sir, the word that must serve your turne, the Watch-word.

Clow. Fayth, y'are like to watch this twelve moneth ere you have any other words at my hands.

Bow. How now, masters? what calfe are you dragging to the slaughter-house there, ha?

Core. A stragler and a spy, Captayne, I pray examine him.

Bow. So, Lieutenant Core, you are crept from your cups at last: Ile talke with you anon. But, sirra, to you: From whence come you?

Clow. I came, Sir, from the king of Fraunces campe.

Bow. So, what's your name?

Clow. My name, sir, is Bow wow.

Bow. S'hart, what a name's that! the Hedge-hog mocks us. Bow wow, quotha? what kin art thou to the generation of Dogges?

Clow. No dog, sir: would you should know it, though I be encompast with curres.

Bow. Zounds, he calls us curres! hang the hotch-potch up in a fathom or two of match.

Clow. Not you, sir; I call not you so. I know you to be a very insufficient ill-spoken Gentleman.

Bow. Well, sirra, whom do you serve?

Clow. My master, sir, is the Lady Catherine, the French king's daughter. I have bin abroad about some businesse of hers, and am now going backe againe.

Bow. An honorable Lady, sir. Let him goe; tis against the law of armes to stay him.

Clow. Stand of. But, soft; I doe not know your name, sir, that my Lady may give you thanks.

Bow. My name's Dick Bowyer.

Clow. Then, master Dicke Bowyer, after my heartie commendations, adue! but as for the rest I shall, I say no more, I shall. [Exit.

Bow. How now, Core? how can you answer your being a tippling when you should stand Sentinel?

Core. Beleeve me, Captayne, I had but a whiffe or two; for I was passing dry.

Bow. Thou art alwayes dry: the whorson Maultworm has a throat like the burning Clyme or a Glassemakers Furnace. But your remove from thence has sav'd you from the boults. How now? what Water-Spanyell have we heere?

Enter Nod.

Core. Tis Lieutenant Nod.

Nod. Captayne, deride me not. I protest I came by this mischaunce by good service, by following a spy that came to discover our army.

Bow. O notable Rogue! did not I find thee asleepe and threw thee into a ditch?

Nod. Was't you? by this light, I took you for a spy.

Bow. Yet saw me not no more then a Molewarp. This is an egregious Rogue.

Nod. Yes, I saw you well ynough and I did but try how you would use me.

Bow. By this flesh and bloud many one that lyes in his grave was not halfe so sencelesse. But the Watch breakes up: every one to his quarter, away!

[Exeunt.