ACTUS II., SCÆNA 1.
Enter Prate, Lollia, Collaquintida, and Precedent.
Prate. Come, wife, methought our party stood stifly to it.
Pre. Indeed they were stiff, whilst they stood; but when they were down, they were like men of a low world. A man might have wound their worst anger about his finger.
Lol. Go to, sirrah, you must have your fool's bolt in everybody's quiver.
Pre. Indeed, mistress, if my master should break his arrow with foul shooting or so, I would be glad if mine might supply the hole[162].
Prate. I find you kind, sir.
Pre. True, sir, according to my kind, and to pleasure my kind mistress.
Prate. Go to, sirrah, I will not have your kindness to intermeddle with her kind; she is meat for your master.
Pre. And your man, sir, may lick your foul trencher.
Col. Ay, but not eat of his mutton.
Pre. Yet I may dip my bread in the wool, Mistress Collaquintida.
Prate. Go to, sirrah, you will be obscene, and then I shall knock you. But to the combat. Methought our side were the most proper men.
Lol. True, and therefore they had the worse fortune: but see, here's the Lord Florio.
Enter Florio.
Flo. Master Orator, it is the king and queen's majesties' pleasure that you presently repair unto the court, touching the drawing out of certain articles for the benefit of both the kingdoms.
Prate. My lord, I will instantly attend their majesties.
Flo. Do, for they expect you seriously. [Exit Florio.
Prate. Wife, you can have my service no longer. Sirrah Precedent, attend you upon your mistress home; and, wife, I would have you to hold your journey directly homeward, and not to imitate princes in their progress; step not out of your way to visit a new gossip, to see a new garden-house, to smell the perfumes of court jerkins, or to handle other tools than may be fit for your modesty. I would not have you to step into the suburbs, and acquaint yourself either with monsters or motions[163], but holding your way directly homeward, show yourself still to be a rare housewife.
Lol. I' faith, i' faith, your black outside will have a yellow lining[164].
Prate. Content thee, wife, it is but my love that gives thee good counsel. But here comes one of my clients.
Enter Drap, a country gentleman.
Drap. Sir, master orator, I am bold to trouble you about my suit.
Prate. Sir, master country gentleman, I am now for present business of the king's.
Drap. You may the better remember me.
Prate. Heyday! I shall mix your business with the king's?
Drap. No, but you may let his majesty know my necessity.
Prate. Sir, sir, you must not confine me to your seasons. I tell you, I will select[165] mine own leisures.
Enter Velours, a citizen.
Vel. Master orator, is it your pleasure I attend you about my despatches?
Prate. Sir, it is my pleasure you despatch yourself from mine encumbrance; I tell you, I am for instant business of the king's.
Vel. Sir, I have borne my attendance long.
Prate. Bear it till your bones ache, I tell you; I cannot bear it now, I am for new business.
Drap and Vel. Yet the old should be despatched; it was first paid for.
Prate. If you be gentlemen, do not make me mad.
Drap and Vel. Sir, our suits are of great weight.
Prate. If you be Christians, do not make me an atheist. I shall profane if you vex me thus.
Enter the Lord Mechant.
What, more vexation? My lord, my lord, save your breath for your broth; I am not now at leisure to attend you.
Mech. A word, good master orator.
Prate. Not a word, I beseech your lordship. I am for the king's business; you must attend me at my chamber. [Exit Prate.
Mech., Drap, and Vel. And everywhere else: we will not leave you. [Exeunt.
Pre. Now (methinks) my master is like a horse-leech, and these suitors so many sick of the gout, that come to have him suck their blood. O, 'tis a mad world!
Lol. Go to, sirrah, you will never leave your crabtree similes; but, pity of me, whom have we here?
Enter Alphonso.
O, 'tis the Lord Alphonso.
Alph. Mistress, God save: nay, your lip, am I[166] a stranger, and how doth Mistress Collaquintida? O, you are an excellent seasoner of city stomachs.
Col. Faith, my lord, I have done my best to make somebody relish your sweetmeats. But harkee you, my lord, I have struck the stroke, I have done the deed; there wants nothing but time, place, and her consent.
Alph. Call you that nothing?
Col. A trifle, a trifle; upon her, my lord; she may seem a little rough at the first, but if you stand stiffly to her, she'll fall. A word with you, Master Precedent. [They whisper.
Alph. Mistress Prate, I am a soldier, and can better act my love than speak it. My suit you know by your neighbour, my love you shall prove by my merit; to both which my tokens have been petty witnesses; and my body shall seal and deliver upon thee such a brave confirmation, that not all the orators in Sicily shall be able to cancel the deed.
Lol. Truly, my lord, methinks you, being witty, should be honest.
Alph. Nay, wench, if I were a fool, there's no question but I would be honest; but to the purpose; say, wench, shall I enjoy, shall I possess?
Lol. To enjoy my love, is not to possess my body.
Alph. Tut, wench, they be words of one signification, and cannot be separated.
Lol. Nay, then, I should wrong my husband.
Alph. 'Sfoot, thou shouldst but do for him as he does for the whole world. Why, an orator were a needless name, if it were not to defend wrong; then, wench, do as he doth, write by a precedent.
Lol. O, my lord, I have a husband,
A man whose waking jealousy survives,
And like a lion, sleeps with open eyes;
That not a minute of mine hours are free
From the intelligence of his secret spies.
I am a very covert[167] Danae,
Thorough whose roof suspicion will not let
Gold showers have passage, nor can I deceive
His Argus eyes with any policy:
And yet I swear I love you.
Alph. Dearest[168] affection! if thou lov'st me, as thou say'st thou dost,
Thou canst invent some means for our delight.
The rather sith it ever hath been said
That walls of brass withstand not willing minds:
And women, when they're prone, make love admir'd
For quaint endeavours: come, instruct thy wit,
And find some scale to our high height of bliss.
Lol. Then briefly thus, my lord.
To-morrow doth the senate sit to judge
Causes both criminal and of the state;
Where of necessity my husband's place
Must be fill'd by himself, because his tongue
Must gild his clients' causes. Now if you please
All that self-hour, when he is turmoiled
About those serious trifles, to vouchsafe
To visit me, his absence and my care
Shall give us liberty of more delight.
You know my meaning, and I am asham'd
My love should thus betray my modesty;
But make the use according to your fancy.
Alph. What hour assures his absence?
Lol. Eight is the latest time.
Alph. This kiss [shall] leave[169] my faith with thee: farewell.
Thou hast given me double glory from thy breath,
Nothing shall lose me time but certain death.
[Exit Alphonso.
Pre. Truly, Mistress Collaquintida, you are an excellent piece of sweet gall.
Lol. Well, sir, will you lead the way homeward?
Pre. To your bed-chamber, mistress, or your privy lodging? [Exeunt.
Enter Philocles alone.
Phil. Night clad in black mourns for the loss of day,
And hides the silver spangles of the air,
That not a spark is left to light the world;
Whilst quiet sleep, the nourisher of life,
Takes full possession of mortality.
All creatures take their rest in soft repose,
Save malcontents and we accursed lovers,
Whose thoughts perturbed make us passion's slaves,
And rob us of the juice of happiness.
Dear Mariana, shap'd in an angel's mould,
Thou thrall'st my senses, and inflam'st my blood:
Love's power by wisdom cannot be withstood.
But see, the morning-star breaks from the east,
To tell the world her great eye[170] is awak'd,
To take his journey to the western vales:
And now the court begins to rise with him.
[Here pass over the stage a physician, a gentleman-usher, and a waiting-maid.
There goes the physician, the waiting-maid,
And a fine, straight-legg'd gentleman-usher.
The preface to a kirtle all puff-paste;
One that writes sonnets in his lady's praise,
And hides her crimes with flattering poesy.
Enter Mariana.
But peace! amazement! see the day of life,
Nature's best work, the world's chief paragon!
Madam, one word.
Mar. Ay; so now, farewell.
Phil. You do mistake me.
Mar. That yourself can tell.
You ask'd me one word, which I gave, said ay;
A word of least use in a virgin's breath,[171]
Urge not my patience then with fond reply.
Phil. Dear lady, lend an ear unto my voice,
Since each were made for other's happiness:
My tongue's not oil'd with courtly flatterings,
Nor can I paint my passions to the life;
But by that power which shap'd this heavenly form,
I am your bondslave forc'd by love's command;
Then let soft pity with such beauty dwell,
Madam, I love you.
Mar. As I am a virgin, so do I.
Phil. But, madam, whom?
Mar. Myself no lady better.
Phil. But will you love me?
Mar. No, by my chastity.
Phil. I hope you do but jest.
Mar. Nay, I'll keep mine oath,
Men shall abandon pride and jealousy
Ere I'll be bound to their captivity:
They shall live continent, and leave to range,
But men (like to the moon) each month must change;
Yet we must seek that nought their sight displeases,
And mix our wedlock sweets with loath'd diseases;
When we consume ourselves and our best beauty,
All our reward is—why, 'twas but our duty.
Phil. Judge not so hard of all for some offenders;
For you are subject to the selfsame crimes,
Of men and women always have been had
Some good of each——
Mar. But for the most part bad:
Therefore I'll have none at all, but die a perfect maid.
Phil. That humour like a flower soon will fade;
Once did mine own thoughts sing to that delight,
Till love and you reform'd my barbarousness:
Therefore, dear lady, pity my wounded heart.
Mar. A surgeon here for this love-wounded man!
How deep's your ulcer'd orifice, I pray you tell?
Phil. Quite thorough my heart.
Mar. 'Tis strange, and look so well!
Yet ladies' eyes have power to murder men,
And with one smile to make them whole again.
Achilles' lance to a hair; but do you love me, prince?
Phil. Dearer than my soul.
Mar. Would I could love you!
Phil. Madam, so you may.
Mar. As yet I cannot: therefore let me go.
Phil. O, do not leave me, grant me but one request,
And here I vow by that divinest power,
The salt-sea's glorious issue, whose bright sphere
Rules my sick heart, and knows my chaste intent,
That if you please to impose on me that task
Which neither man nor monster can achieve,
Which even angels have a dread to touch,
Deeds which outstretch all possibility,
'Sfoot, more than can be thought—and I'll effect,
Or else I'll perish in th' accomplishment.
Mar. Let your request fit virgin-modesty,
And you obey your vow, I am content
To give your thoughts contented happiness.
Phil. 'Tis but a kiss I ask, a minute's joy.
Mar. Now Cupid help thee; is thy grief for this?
Keep thy strong vow, and freely take a kiss. [He kisses her.
Phil. I have obtain'd my heaven, and in this touch
I feel the breath of all deliciousness:
Then freely give the sentence of my work,
Muster up all the engines of your wit,
Teach Juno rules beyond maliciousness;
Whate'er it be, I'll die but I'll perform it.
Mar. Thou shalt not kill thyself, nor fight with monsters,
Nor bring the great Turk's beard[172] to show thy zeal:
Thy life thou shalt not hazard for my love,
Nor will I tie thee to an endless task:
But even with ease and gentle-tangled knots,
Thou shalt entwine thy clue of miseries.
Phil. Let it have passage, madam: give me my doom.
Mar. Then, Philocles, knit silence to my words,
And mark thy doom; for thus my stricter will
Loads grief upon thy vainer levity.
Hence, for the space and compass of one year,
Thou shalt abjure the liberty of speech;
Thou shalt not speak for fully twelvemonth's space,
For friend nor foe, for danger nor for death;
But live, like air, with silent emptiness.
Break thou this vow, I'll hold thee for a villain:
And all the world shall know thy perjury.
Phil. Be heaven and earth a witness of my vow
And mine eternal silence!—I am dumb.
Mar. Why so, now shall I not be troubled with vain chat
Or idle prate of idle wantonness:
For love I cannot, therefore 'tis in vain;
Would all my suitors' tongues I thus could rein!
Then should I live free from feign'd sighs and groans,
With, O, take pity, 'tis your servant moans,
And such harsh stuff, that frets me to the heart;
And sonnets made of Cupid's burning dart,
Of Venus' lip, and Juno's majesty;
Then were I freed from fools and foolery.
In May the cuckoo sings: then she'll come hither.
Her voice and yours will rarely tune together.
[Exit Mariana.
Enter Florio.
Flo. Prince Philocles, the king would speak with you.
[Speaks louder and louder.
Prince Philocles, the king would speak with you.
Prince Philocles, the king would speak with you.
[Philocles strikes Florio, and fells him.
Flo. The pox rot off your fingers for this blow!
It is coronation-day thorough all my skull,
There's such a fatal ringing in my brain:
H' has won the set, has laid five fingers on:
But 'twas a knavish part of him to play so.
Hear me, ye gods: for this my open wrong,
Make short his fingers, as you have his tongue.
[Exit Florio.
Enter Mechant alone.
Mech. 'Tis not man's fortune, envy, or neglect,
Which makes him miserable; but 'tis mean fate,
Even sole predestination, a firm gift
Fix'd to his birth, before the world was made.
For were it otherwise, then within our lives
We should find some distractions, various[173] change.
And other toys of much uncertainty:
But my mishaps are fix'd so to my blood,
They have no sire but my creation:
The queen, out of suspicion that my love
First set an edge upon the king's desires,
And made him woo her with a victor's sword.
Cast me from favour, seizes all my lands,
And turns my naked fortunes to the cold.
The king, made proud with purchase of his wish,
Neglects my sufferance for him, and o'erlooks
The low tide of my fortunes; lest my woes
Should speak my wrongs to his ingratitude:
The whilst those lords, whose supple hams have bow'd
To do me formal reverence, now despise
And slight me in their meanest compliments.
O, 'tis a torment more than hell yet knows,
To be an honest flatterer, or to live
A saint in limbo, which that I may prevent,
I'll be nor best nor worst, but all indifferent,
But here comes a nobleman; I must turn petitioner.
Enter Florio.
My lord, may I not see the king?
Flo. You may not.
His majesty is now down-press'd with seriousness:
As for your suit, it is with Prate the orator,
I heard his highness give him a special charge
For your despatch with favour.
Mech. O, but he doth neglect,
And slights me like his weak orations:
And by your lordship's leave I do not think
His wisdom worthy of the conference.
Flo. Nay, if you will correct the king's coin, you are not for my conference, farewell.
[Exit Florio.
Mech. Why, and fare you well! sfoot, this is more than strange,
That, being griev'd, I may not say I'm pain'd.
Enter Alphonso.
But here comes another: mine honourable lord,
May I not have some conference with the king?
Alph. You may not; business of greater weight
Imports both him and us: nay, pray you cease;
As for your suit, 'tis with the orator.
Mech. Yet, methinks, 'twere meet———
Alph. That you would rather trouble him than me.
Mech. It's strange.
Alph. It's strange, indeed, to see you wrong your ease.
I am not now for idle conferences. Adieu.
[Exit Alphonso.
Mech. Why this is court-grace[174] to men in misery,
And thus these tail-less lions with their roar
Affright the simple herd: O, I could now
Turn rebel 'gainst their pride.
Enter Epire.
But here comes the duke:
My gracious lord, vouchsafe to hear my griefs.
Epire. For God's love, cease your trouble, we are all
Troubled with griefs of stranger qualities.
Mech. Words are no heavy burthen.
Epire. No, had I no other weight;
But we are all press'd down with other poise:
As for your suit, it is referr'd to Prate:
And he must give you fair despatch with favour;
Which if he slight for envy or for bribe,
Repair to me, and I will not forget
To give you ease, and chide his negligence;
Mean space, I pray you leave me, for we all
Are troubled now with greatest miracles.[175]
Mech. Your grace doth do me comfort, and I will
Study with service to deserve your favours,
And so I take my leave. [Exit Mechant.
Enter two Doctors.
Epire. Your own contentments follow you.
Now, gentlemen,
What news within? can this dumb wonder speak?
Have you cut off those lets that tied his speech,
And made your fames to sound through Sicily?
1st Doc. All hopeful means that man or art can find
Have we made trial of, but 'tis in vain:
For still, my lord, the cure's invincible.
2d Doc. Those organs nature gave to move the tongue,
He fully doth possess as well as we:
Which makes us think his sudden apoplexy
Is either will, vow, or a miracle.
Epire. I should think strangely, had we not stranger things
On earth; but wonders[176] now are most familiar:
But here comes his majesty. Now we shall see
If this dumb beast can speak before the king.
Cornets, and enter Cyprus, Queen, Philocles, Mariana, and attendants.
Cyp. My best of friends, my dearest Philocles,
Thy griefs run in my spirit, make me sad,
And dull my sense with thine affliction.
My soul with thine doth sympathise in woe,
And passion governs him that should rule all,
[Philocles does not reply.
What say you, doctors, is there no hope of help?
1st Doc. No hope, my lord; the cure is desperate.
Cyp. Then I am king of grief; for in his words
Found I more music than in choirs of angels.
It was as silver, as the chime of spheres,
The breath of lutes, or love's deliciousness:
Next to my queen, he is my joy on earth:
Nor shall the world contain that happy good,
Which with my tears I will not woo for him.
My Lord of Epire, let it be straight proclaim'd
Through all the cities in our kingdom's verge,
That whoso will avow to cure this prince,
And bring his work to wish'd effectualness,
Shall have ten thousand crowns and our best love;
But if he fail in his great enterprise,
His daring is the loss of present life.
Since no man hitherto could do him good,
The next shall help him, or else lose his blood.
Epire. Your majesty shall have your will perform'd.
Mar. Not all so soon, dear brother; what, if a woman
Now should turn Æsculapius, and restore
This dumb Hippolitus? Nay, do not look strange,
I dare avow and undertake the cure.
Epire. You, sister! are you in your wits?
Mar. Faith, of the outside of them, brother; yet a woman's tongue,
Whose burthen still is superfluity,
May lend a man an age's complement.
Cyp. Madam, I would not have you, with the lark,
Play yourself into dare-net;[177] this great cure,
I fear, is far beyond your physic's help.
Mar. My lord, you know not how Apollo loves me;
I have been thought as fair as Oenon was,
And dare be bold to claim this miracle.
Cyp. Mariana, attend;
Glory and ruin compass thee about.
This hand shall raise thee to a golden throne,
And grace thee with all styles of dignity:
This cast thee down
Lower than life's misfortune, and overwhelm
Thy beauties with thy grave. Perform—be great:
Fail, and be worse than worst calamity.
Queen. Stay, gentle friend, my love doth bid thee stay;
Attempt not, and be safe from misery.
Epire. Sister, you shall not grasp with mischief thus;
My blood doth challenge interest in your ill,
And I conjure you from this desperateness.
Mar. Brother, content yourself, words but augment our strife;
I will perform, or else my pawn's my life.
Cyp. Proceed, fair virgin.
Mar. Vouchsafe me privacy: now Venus bespeed.
[She walks aside with Philocles.
Speak, gentle Philocles, thine oath's bond I untie,
And give thy vows a free enfranchisement;
Thy well-kept league hath show'd thy strength of truth,
And doth confirm me in thy[178] virtuousness:
Thy martyrdom and sufferance is too long,
And I restore it to new liberty.
Then speak, my Philocles, speak, gentle prince,
To her whose love respects and honours thee.
Cyp. How now, what virtue from thy charms?
Mar. No hope is left!
Dear Philocles, regard my miseries,
Untie that wilful let which holds in speech,
And make me happy through thy noble pity.
I see the face of mine ill-shaped contempt,
Where like with like hath quit most injury:
Then speak, my lord: utter one angel breath
To give me joy, and save me from strange death.
What, not a word! hath this small silence brought
An utter detestation to thy speech?
Wilt thou not hear, nor speak, nor pity me?
The gentle gods move thee to more remorse.
Cyp. What, wilt not be?
Fond maid, thou hast drawn affliction on thy head,
And thrall'd thyself to worse calamity:
Till morrow's sun thy incantations use,
But, then effectless, all hope's desperate:
Wert thou my bosom-love, thou di'st the death;
Best ease for madness is the loss of breath.
[Exeunt all but Philocles and Mariana.
Mar. O Philocles, I am no court's disgrace,
No city's prostitution, country's shame,
Nor one shall bring Troy's fire unto thy house:
Turn not away, hard-hearted myrmidon.
See, on my knees I'll follow thee in court,
And make the world condemn thy cruelty.
Yet if my tears may mollify thy heart,
Receive them as the flood of strangest tides;
Turn not thy face from her that doats on thee.
Love now hath made me subject to thy will,
And pale disdain hath ta'en revenge on me.
Behold, my knees[179] I'll wear upon this earth,
And fill this roof with lamentations.
What! dost thou smile I hath fury so much sway
As even to banish poor civility?
Then be thyself, and break thine itching spleen;
For I disdain thy ransom's victory.
Life, thou art weary brought: welcome my death,
Sweet, because wish'd-for, good, because my choice:]
Yet when I am dead, this of me shall be said,
A cruel prince murder'd a loving maid;
And after-ages to th' unborn shall tell
Thy hate, my love: thy envy and my hell.
Nay, do not speak, I charge thee: go, let nothing move thee,
Death is my glory, since thou wilt not love me. [Exeunt.