DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Men.

Women.

Scene, Sicily.

THE DUMB KNIGHT.[128]

ACTUS I, SCÆNA 1.[129]

Enter the King OF Cyprus, Philocles, Florio, and Attendants in arms. [Music.

Enough; these loud sounds deaf my passions:
How long shall love make me a slave to hope,
And mix my calm desires with tyranny?
O Philocles! this[130] heresy I hold,
Thought and affection cannot be controll'd.

Phil. Yet may't be bent and suppled with extremes,
Sith few foresee[131] the end of violence.
What makes the skilful leech[132] to use the fire,
Or war her engines, or states policy,
But to recover things most desperate?
Revolt is recreant, when pursuit is brave,
Never to faint doth purchase what we crave.

Cyp. True, my Philocles, yet my recreant soul,
Slav'd to her beauty, would renounce all war,
And yield her right to love, did not thy spirit,
Mix'd with my longing, fortify these arms.
But I am now resolv'd, and this sad hour
Shall give an end to my distemperature.
Summon a parley.

Enter aloft the Queen OF Sicily, Mariana,[133] the Duke OF Epire, Alphonso, and Attendants.

Queen. What says our tyrant suitor, our disease in love,
That makes our thoughts a slave unto his sword:
What says my lord?

Cyp. Madam, attend me, this is my latest summons:
The many suns my sorrows have beheld,
And my sad nights of longings, all through hope
T' enjoy the joy of earth (your own dear self),
Are grown so infinite in length and weight,
That like to wearied Atlas I enforce
These wars, as Hercules, to bear my load:
Briefly, I must enjoy you, or else lose
The breath of life which to prevent, behold
My sword must be my Cupid, and with feather'd steel
Force pity from your breast. Your city's walls,
Chidden with my cannons, have set ope a path,
And boldly bid me enter: all your men of war,
Feebled with famine and a weary siege,
Take danger from mine actions: only yourself,
Strong in your will, oppose even destiny,
And like the giants' war offend the heavens.
Which to prevent, do but descend and give
Peace to my love-suit, and as o'ercome thereby
I'll yield myself your prisoner, and be drawn
A thrall in your triumphant victory.
If otherwise, behold these fatal swords
Shall ne'er be sheath'd till we be conquerors:
And, not respecting innocence nor sex,
The cries of infants, nor the prayers of age,
All things shall perish, till within my arms
I fold yourself, my thrall and conqueror.

Queen. Thou may'st be master of my body's tomb;
But for my soul and mind they are as free
As their creation, and with angel's wings
Can soar beyond thy reach: trust me, King of Cyprus,
Those coals the Roman Portia did devour
Are not burnt out, nor have th' Egyptian worms[134]
Yet lost their stings; steel holds his temper still,
And these are ransoms from captivity.
But art thou noble? hast thou one royal thought?

Cyp. Approve me by your question.

Queen. Then briefly thus:
To shun the great effusion of their bloods,
Who feel no touch in mine affections,
Dare you to single combat, two to two,
Refer your right in love?

Cyp. Who are your combatants? we love equality.

Queen. This is the first, the Epire duke, a man
Sprung from the line of famous Scanderbeg.
The next Alphonso, sprung from noble blood;
Who, laden with rich Lusitanian prize,
Hath rode through Syracuse twice in pomp.

Cyp. Their likings to the motion?

Epire. They are like wrath,
Never unarm'd to beat weak injury.

Alph. Nay more, we are the sons of destiny:
Virtue's our guide, our aim is dignity.

Phil. 'Sfoot, king, shalt not forsake 'em: this I see,
Love, fight, and death are rul'd by destiny.

Cyp. My spirit speaks thy motion,
Madam, although advantage might evade,
And give my love more hope, yet my bent will,
Bow'd to your pleasure, doth embrace your law.
We do accept the combat, and ourself
Will with that duke try fortunes; this my friend,
The more[135] part of myself, my dearest Philocles,
One of an angel's temper, shall with that lord
Try best and worst. The place? the time? the sword?

Epire. They are your rights, we claim as challengers.

Cyp. And we would lose that 'vantage; but since fame
Makes virtue dullard,[136] we embrace our rights:
The place before these walls, the hour next sun,
The pole-axe and the hand-axe for the fight.

Queen. It is enough;
My hostage is my person and my love,

Cyp. And mine my hope, my faith, and royalty.

Epire. They are of poise sufficient, and one light
Shall at one instant give us day and night.

[Exeunt Queen, Mariana, Epire, Alphonso, &c.

Cyp. She's gone, my Philocles: and as she goes, even so
The sun forsakes the heavens to kiss the sea;
Day in her beauty leaves us, and me thinks
Her absence doth exile all happiness.
Tell me, my Philocles, nay, prythee,
Tell me true, even from that love
Which to us both should blend one sympathy,
Discharge an open breast: dost thou not think
She is the mirror of her beauteous sex,
Unparallel'd and uncompanioned?

Phil. Envy will say she's rare; then truth must vow
She is beyond compare, sith in her looks
Each motion hath a speaking majesty;
She is herself compared with herself:
For, but herself, she hath no companion.[137]
But when I think of beauty, wit and grace,
The elements of native[138] delicacy,
Those all-eye-pleasing harmonies of sight,
Which do enchant men's fancies, and stir up
The life-blood of dull earth—O, then methinks
Fair Mariana hath an equal place,
And if not outshine, shows[139] more beautiful.

Cyp. More than my queen?

Phil. More in the gloss of beauty; less in worth,
In wisdom and great thoughts: the one I find
Was made for wonder, the other for admire.

Cyp. Thine equal praises make my fancies rich:
And I am pleas'd with thy comparisons;
Things of like nature live in best concent,
Beauty with subjects, majesty with kings.
Then let those two ideas lively move
Spirit beyond all spirit in our breasts,
That in the end of our great victory
We may attain both love and majesty.

Phil. Although my first creation and my birth,
My thoughts and other tempers of my soul,
Took all their noble beings from the sword,
And made me only for the use of wars;
Yet in this combat, something (methinks) appears,
Greater than the greatest glory, and doth raise
My mind beyond herself:
'Sfoot, methinks Cæsar's Pharsalia,
Nor Scipio's Carthage, nor Emilius' acts,
Were worthy chairs of triumph: they o'er men's
Poor mangled bodies, and fire-wasted climes,
Made their triumphant passage; but we two
Must conquer thoughts and love more than the gods can do.

Cyp. True, and therein
Consists the glorious garland of our praise—
But we neglect th' affairs of preparation.
Florio, be it your charge
To see th' erection of the squared lists,
Fit ground for either army, and what else
Belongs unto such royal eminence.

Flo. How near will your majesty have[140] the lists extend
Unto the city walls?

Cyp. So as the dullest eye
May see the heedfull'st passage in the fight.

Flo. What square or circuit?

Cyp. Threescore pace each way.

Flo. Your majesty shall have your will perform'd.

Phil. Do, and you do us grace. And now, thou sun,
That art the eye of heaven, whose pure sight
Shall be our guide and Jove's great chronicler,
Look from thy sphere!
No guilt of pride, of malice, or of blood,
Puts on our armour; only pure naked love
Tutors our hopes, and doth our actions move.

Cyp. Enough, my Philocles, thine orisons are heard.
Come, let's away. [Exeunt.

Enter Lollia, the wife of Prate the Orator.[141]

Lol. Now fie upon't, who would be an orator's wife, and not a gentlewoman, if she could choose? A lady is the most sweet lascivious life, congies and kisses—the tire, O the tire, made castle upon castle, jewel upon jewel, knot upon knot; crowns, garlands, gardings,[142] and what not? the hood, the rebato,[143] the French fall,[144] the loose-bodied gown, the pin in the hair; no clawing the pate, then picking the teeth, and every day change; when we poor souls must come and go for every man's pleasure: and what's a lady more than another body? we have legs and hands, and rolling eyes, hanging lips, sleek brows, cherry cheeks, and other things as ladies have—but the fashion carries it away.

Enter Mistress Collaquintida.

Col. Why how now, Mistress Prate? i' th' old disease still? will it never be better? cannot a woman find one kind man amongst twenty? O the days that I have seen, when the law of a woman's wit could have put her husband's purse to execution!

Lol. O Mistress Collaquintida, mine is even the unnaturallest man to his wife——

Col. Faith, for the most part, all scholars are so, for they take so upon them to know all things, that indeed they know nothing; and besides, they are with study and ease grown so unwieldy, that a woman shall ne'er want a sore stomach that's troubled with them.

Lol. And yet they must have the government of all.

Col. True, and great reason they have for it: but a wise man will put it in a woman's hand: what! she'll save what he spends.

Lol. You have a pretty ruff, how deep is it?

Col. Nay this is but shallow; marry, I have a ruff is a quarter deep, measured by the yard?

Lol. Indeed! by the yard?

Col. By the standard, I assure you: you have a pretty set too! how big is the steel you set with?

Lol. As big as is[145] reasonable sufficient:—pity of my life, I have forgot myself; if my husband should rise from his study, and miss me, we should have such a coil.

Col. A coil, why what coil? if he were my husband, and did but thwart me, I would ring him so many alarums, sound him so many brass trumpets, beat him so many drums to his confusion, and thunder him such a peal of great-shot, that I would turn his brain in the pan, and make him mad with an eternal silence.

Lol. O Mistress Collaquintida, but my husband's anger is the worst-favouredst, without all conscience, of any man's in all Sicily; he is even as peevish as a sick monkey, and as waspish as an ill-pleas'd bride the second morning.

Col. Let your wrath be reciprocal, and pay him at his own weapon—but to the purpose for which I came. The party you wot of commends him to you in this diamond; he that met the party you know, and said the party's party was a party of a partly pretty understanding.

Lol. O, the Lord Alphonso.

Col. The very same, believe it: he loves you, and swears he so loves you, that if you do not credit him, you are worse than an infidel.

Lol. Indeed, Mistress Collaquintida, he hath the right garb for apparel, the true touch with the tongue in the kiss, and he dances well but falls heavily: but my husband, woman, my husband!—if we could put out his cat's eyes, there were something to be said; but they are ever peeping and prying, that they are able to pierce through a millstone: besides, I may say to you, he is a little jealous too; and see where he comes! We shall have a coil now.

Enter Prate the Orator.

Col. Begin you to pout first; for that's a woman's prevention.

Prate. What, Lollia, I say, where are you? my house looks you, my men lack you, I seek you, and a whole quest of inquiry cannot find you; fie, fie, fie! idleness is the whip of thrift: a good housewife should ever be occupied.

Lol. Indeed I have much joy to be occupied in anybody's company.

Prate. Why, what's the matter?

Lol. Why, orators' wives shortly will be known like images on water-stairs, ever in one weather-beaten suit, as if none wore hoods but monks and ladies: nor feathers, but fore-horses and waiting gentlewomen; nor chains, but prisoners and lords' officers; nor periwigs, but players and hot-brains—but the weakest must to the wall still.[146]

Prate. Go to, you shall have what you will.

Lol. Nay, nay, 'twas my hard fortune to be your wife; time was I might have done otherwise. But it matters not: you esteem me, as you do yourself, and think all things costly enough that cover shame, and that a pair of silken fore-sleeves to a satin breastplate is a garment good enough for a capitol; but is Master Wrangle, Master Tangle, or Master Trolbear, of that opinion? in faith, sir, no.

There's never a gallant in our state
That goes more rich in gaudy bravery:
And yet (I hope) for quality of speech,
Audacious words, or quirks or quiddities,
You are not held their much inferior.
Fie, fie! I am ashamed to see your baseness.

Col. Indeed, Master Prate, she tells you truly; I wonder that you, being a proper man and an orator, will not go brave,[147] according to the custom of the country.

Prate. Go to, neighbour; he that will rise to the top of a high ladder must go up, not leap up: but be patient, wench, and thou shalt shortly see me gallant it with the best, and for thyself, my Lollia—

Not Lollia Paulina, nor those blazing stars,
Which make the world the apes of Italy,
Shall match thyself in sun-bright splendency.

Lol. Nay, verily, for myself I care not, 'tis you that are my pride; if you would go like yourself, I were appeased.

Prate. Believe it, wench, so I will:—but to the purpose for which I came. The end of this great war is now brought to a combat, two to two, the Duke of Epire and Alphonso for our queen, against the king and Prince Philocles: now, wench, if thou wilt go see the fight, I will send and provide thee of a good standing.

Lol. Indeed, for you have ne'er a good one of your own. [Aside.

Prate. What! Precedent, I say!

Pre. [Within.] Anon, anon, sir.

Prate. Why, when, I say? the villain's belly is like a bottomless pit—ever filling, and yet empty; at your leisure, sir.

Enter Precedent, Prate's man, eating.

Pre. I can make no more haste than my teeth will give me leave.

Prate. Well, sir, get you without the town to the place of the combat, and provide me for my wife some good standing to see the conflict.

Pre. How, master, how! must I provide a good standing for you for my mistress? truly, master, I think a marrow-bone pie, candied eringoes, preserved dates, marmalade of cantharides, were much better harbingers; cock-sparrow stewed, doves' brains, or swans' pizzles, are very provocative; roasted potatoes[148] or boiled skirrets[149] are your only lofty dishes; methinks these should fit you better than I can do.

Prate. What's this, what's this? I say, provide me a standing for my wife upon a scaffold.

Pre. And truly, master, I think a private chamber were better.

Prate. I grant you—if there were a chamber convenient.

Pre. Willing minds will make shift in a simple hole; close windows, strong locks, hard bed, and sure posts, are your only ornaments.

Prate. I think the knave be mad; sirrah, you chop-logic blockhead, you that have your brain-pan made of dry leather, and your wit ever wetshod, pack about your business, or I'll pack your pen and inkhorn about your ears.

Pre. Well, sir, I may go or so, but would my mistress take a standing of my preferment, I would so mount her, she should love strange things the better all her life after. [Aside.

Prate. Why, when, sir? [Exit Precedent.
And come, sweet wife; and, neighbour,
Let us have your company too. [Exeunt.

Enter at one door a Herald, and Florio, marshal for the King, with officers bearing the lists; at the other door a Herald, and Cælio, marshal for the Queen.

Cae. Holla! what are you?

Flo. High marshal for the king. Your character?

Cae. I likewise for the queen; where lies your equal ground?

Flo. Here underneath these walls, and there and there
Ground for the battles.

Cae. Place there the queen's seat,
And there and there chairs for the combatants.

Flo. Place here the lists; fix every joint as strong,
As 'twere a wall; for on this foot of earth
This day shall stand two famous monuments;
The one a throne of glory bright as gold,
Burnish'd with angels' lustre, and with stars
Pluck'd from the crown of conquest, in which shall sit
Men made half-gods through famous victory:
The other a rich tomb of memorable fame,
Built by the curious thoughts of noble minds,
In which shall sleep these valiant souls in peace,
Whom fortune's hand shall only overthrow.
Heaven, in thy palm this day the balance hings,[150]
Which makes kings gods, or men more great than kings.

Cae. So, now let the heralds give the champions sign
Of ready preparations. [Exeunt Heralds.

The cornets sound; and enter at one end of the stage a Herald, two Pages, one with pole-axes, the other with hand-axes, the Duke OF Epire and Alphonso, like combatants; the Queen and Mariana; Prate, Lollia, Collaquintida, and Precedent aloft.

Flo. What are you that appear, and what devoir
Draws you within these lists?

Epire. I am the Duke of Epire, and the mine,[151]
Which doth attract my spirit to run this marshal[152] course
Is the fair guard of a distressed queen, would wed
To hate and inequality, and brutish force;
Which to withstand I boldly enter thus,
And will defail,[153] or else prove recreant.

Flo. And what are you, or your intendiments?

Alph. I am Alphonso, marshal of this realm,
Who of like-temper'd thoughts and like desires
Have grounded this my sanctimonious zeal,
And will approve the duke's assertions,
Or in this field lie slain and recreant.

Flo. Enter and prosper, as your cause deserves.

The cornets sound; and enter at the other end of the stage a Herald, two Pages with [hand-]axes and pole-axes; then the King OF Cyprus and Philocles, like combatants, and their array.[154]

Cae. What are you that appear, and what devoir
Draws you within these lists?

Cyp. I am the King of Cyprus who, led on
By the divine instinct of heavenly love,
Come with my sword to beg that royal maid,
And to approve by gift of heaven and fate
She is alone to me appropriate:
Which to maintain, I challenge entrance here,
Where I will live a king or recreant.

Cae. And what are you or your intendiments?

Phil. I am less than my thoughts, more than myself,
Yet nothing but the creature of my fate;
By name my nature only is obscur'd,
And yet the world baptiz'd me Philocles;
My entrance here is proof of holy zeal,
And to maintain that, no severe disdain,
False shape of chastity, nor woman's will,
Neglective petulance or uncertain hope,
Foul-visor'd coyness, nor seducing fame,
Should rob the royal temper of true love
From the desired aim of his desires,
Which my best blood shall witness, or this field
Entomb my body, made a recreant.

Cae. Enter and prosper, as your cause deserves.

[Draws two swords.

Flo. Princes, lay your hands on these swords' points.
Here you shall swear[155] by hope, by heaven, by Jove,
And by the right you challenge in true fame,
That here you stand not arm'd with any guile,
Malignant hate, or usurpation
Of philters, charms, or night-spells; characters,
Or other black infernal vantages;
But even with thoughts as pure
As your pure valours or the sun's pure beams,
T' approve the right of your[156] affection;
And howsoe'er your fortunes rise or fall,
To break no faith in your conditions.
So help you Jove!

All. We swear!

Queen. How often do my maiden thoughts correct
And chide my froward will for this extreme
Pursuit of blood! believe me, fain I would
Recall mine oath's vow, did not my shame
Hold fast my cruelty, by which is taught
Those gems are prized best are dearest bought,
Sleep, my love's softness then, waken my flame,
Which guards a vestal sanctity! Princes, behold,
Upon those weapons sits my god of love,
And in their powers my love's security[157].
If them you conquer, we are all your slaves:
If they triumph, we'll mourn upon your graves.

Mar. Now, by my maiden modesty, I wish
Good fortune to that Philocles: my mind
Presages virtue in his eaglet's eyes.
'Sfoot, he looks like a sparrow-hawk or a wanton fire,
A flash of lightning or a glimpse of day:
His eye steals to my heart, and lets it see
More than it would: peace! blab no secrecy;
He must have blows.

Flo. Sound cornets, princes, respect your guards.

[Here they fight, and Philocles overthrows
Alphonso, and Epire overthrows Cyprus.

Phil. I crave the queen's conditions, or this blow
Sends this afflicted soul to heaven or hell.
Speak, madam, will you yield, or shall he die?

Epire. Neither, bold prince; if thou but touch a hair,
The king's breath shall redeem it: madam, your love
Is safe in angels' guarding; let no fear
Shake hands with doubtfulness: you are as safe
As in a tower of diamonds.

Phil. O, 'tis but glass,
And cannot bear this axe's massiness.
Duke, thy brave words, that second thy brave deeds,
Fill me with emulation: only we two
Stand equal victors; then if thou hast that tie
And bond of well-knit valour, which unites
Virtue and fame together, let us restore
Our captives unto freedom, and we two
In single combat try out the mastery.
Where whoso falls, each other shall subscribe
To every clause in each condition.

Epire. Thou art the index of mine ample thought,
And I am pleas'd with thine election.
Speak, madam, if ever I deserved grace,
Grace me with your consent.

Queen. 'Tis all my will.
Thy noble hand erect and perfect me.

Phil. What says his majesty?
My stars are writ in heaven: nor death nor fate
Are slaves to fear, to hope, or human state.

Cyp. I neither fear thy fortune nor my ruin;
But hold them all beyond all prophecy.
Thou hast my free consent, and on thy power
Lies my life's date or my death's hour.

Epire. Then rise and live with safety.

Phil. Alphonso, here my hand,
Thy fortune lends thy peace no infamy.
And now, thou glorious issue of Jove's brain[158],
That burnt the Telamonian ravisher,
Look from thy sphere, and if my heart contain
An impure thought of lust, send thy monsters forth
And make me more than earthly miserable.

[Here the cornets sound, they fight, and Philocles
overcomes the Duke. The Queen
descends[159].

Phil. Yield, recreant[160], or die!

Epire. Thine axe hath not the power to wound my thought,
And yields a word my tongue could never sound.
I say thou'rt worthy, valiant, for my death:
Let the queen speak it—'tis an easy breath.

Queen. Not for the world's large circuit; hold, gentle prince,
Thus I do pay his ransom: low as the ground,
I tender my unspotted virgin love
To thy great will's commandment: let not my care,
My woman tyranny, or too strict guard,
In bloody purchase take away those sweets
Till now have govern'd your amaz'd desires;
For trust me, king, I will redeem my blame
With as much love as Philocles hath fame.

Cyp. Thus comes a calm unto a sea-wreck'd soul,
Ease to the pained, food unto the starv'd,
As you to me, my best creation.
Trust me, my queen; my love's large chronicle
Thou never shalt o'erread, because each day
It shall beget new matter of amaze,
And live to do thee grace eternally.
Next whom my Philocles, my bounteous friend,
Author of life, and sovereign of my love,
My heart shall be thy throne, thy breast the shrine,
Where I will sit to study gratefulness.
To you, and you, my lords, my best of thoughts,
Whose loves have show'd a duteous carefulness;
To all, free thanks and graces. This unity
Of love and kingdoms is a glorious sight.
Mount up the royal champion, music and cornets sound:
Let shouts and cries make heaven and earth rebound. [Exeunt.

Epire. How like the sun's great bastard o'er the world
Rides this man-mounted engine, this proud prince,
And with his breath singes our continents.
Sit fast, proud Phaeton, or[161] by heaven I'll kick
And plunge thee in the sea; if thou'lt needs ride,
Thou shouldst have made thy seat upon a slave,
And not upon mine honour's firmament.
Thou hast not heard the god of wisdom's tale,
Nor can thy youth curb greatness, till my hate
Confound thy life with villain policy.
I am resolv'd, since virtue hath disdain'd
To clothe me in her riches, henceforth to prove
A villain fatal, black and ominous.
Thy virtue is the ground of my dislike;
And my disgrace, the edge of envy's sword,
Which like a razor shall unplume thy crest,
And rob thee of thy native excellence.
When great thoughts give their homage to disgrace,
There's no respect of deeds, time, thoughts, or place.