SCENE II.
Enter L. Anselmus, the deposed King's brother, with his friend Votarius.
Vot. Pray, sir, confine your thoughts and excuse me,
Methinks the depos'd king your brother's sorrow,
Should find you business enough.
Ans. How, Votarius!
Sorrow for him? weak ignorance talks not like thee.
Why, he was never happier.
Vot. Pray, prove that, sir.
Ans. He's lost the kingdom, but his mind's restor'd;
Which is the larger empire? prythee, tell me:
Dominions have their limits; the whole earth
Is but a prisoner, as[455] the sea her jailor,
That with a silver hoop locks in her body.
They're fellow-prisoners, though the sea looks bigger,
Because it is in office; and pride swells him.
But the unbounded kingdom of the mind
Is as unlimitable as heav'n, that glorious court of spirits.
Sir, if thou lov'st me, turn thine eye to me,
And look not after him that needs thee not:
My brother's well-attended; peace and pleasure
Are never from his sight; he has his mistress.
She brought those servants, and bestow'd them on him;
But who brings mine?
Vot. Had you not both long since
By a kind worthy lady, your chaste wife?
Ans. That's it that I take pains with thee to be sure of.
What true report can I send to my soul
Of that I know not? We must only think
Our ladies are good people, and so live with 'em:
A fine security for them! our own thoughts
Make the best fools of us: next to them, our wives.
But say she's all chaste, yet is that her goodness?
What labour is't for woman to keep constant,
That's never tried or tempted? Where's her fight?
The war's within her breast, her honest anger
Against the impudence of flesh and hell:
So let me know the lady of my rest,
Or I shall never sleep well; give not me
The thing that is thought good, but what's approv'd so.
So wise men choose. O, what a lazy virtue
Is chastity in a woman, if no sin
Should lay temptation to't! prythee, set to her,
And bring my peace along with thee.
Vot. You put to me
A business that will do my words more shame,
Than ever they got honour among women.
Lascivious courtings among sinful mistresses
Come ever seasonable, please best.
But let the boldest ruffian touch the ear
Of modest ladies with adulterous sounds,
Their very looks confound him, and force grace
Into that cheek, where impudence sets her seal;
That work is never undertook with courage,
That makes his master blush. However, sir,
What profit can return to you by knowing
That which you do already with more toil?
Must a man needs, in having a rich diamond.
Put it between a hammer and an anvil,
And not believing the true worth and value,
Break it in pieces to find out the goodness,
And in the finding lose it? Good sir, think on't—
Nor does it taste of wit to try their strengths
That are created sickly, nor of manhood.
We ought not to put blocks in women's ways,
For some too often fall upon plain ground.
Let me dissuade you, sir!
Ans. Have I a friend,
And has my love so little interest in him,
That I must trust some stranger with my heart,
And go to seek him out!
Vot. Nay, hark you, sir!
I am so jealous of your weaknesses,
That rather than you should lie prostituted
Before a stranger's triumph, I would venture
A whole hour's shaming for you.
Ans. Be worth thy word then.
Enter Wife.
Yonder she comes. I'll have an ear to you both;
I love to have such things at the first hand.
[Aside and Exit.
Vot. I'll put him off with somewhat; guile in this
Falls in with honest dealing. O, who would move
Adultery to yon face! so rude a sin
May not come near the meekness of her eye;
My client's cause looks so dishonestly,
I'll ne'er be seen to plead in't. [Aside.
Wife. What, Votarius!
Vot. Good morrow, virtuous madam.
Wife. Was my Lord
Seen lately here?
Vot. He's newly walked forth, lady.
Wife. How was he attended.
Vot. Faith, I think with none, madam.
Wife. That sorrow for the king his brother's fortune
Prevails too much with him, and leads him strangely
From company and delight.
Vot. How she's beguiled in him!
There's no such natural touch, search all his bosom. [Aside.
That griefs too bold with him, indeed, sweet madam,
And draws him from the pleasure of his time,
But 'tis a business of affection,
That must be done. We owe a pity, madam,
To all men's misery, but especially
To those afflictions that claim kindred of us;
We're forc'd to feel 'em; all compassion else
Is but a work of charity: this of nature,
And ties our pity in a bond of blood.
Wife. Yet there is a date set to all sorrows;
Nothing is everlasting in this world.
Your counsel will prevail: persuade him, good sir,
To fall into life's happiness again,
And leave the desolate path. I want his company.
He walks at midnight in thick shady woods,
Where scarce the moon is starlight; I have watch'd him
In silent nights, when all the earth was dress'd
Up like a virgin, in white innocent beams:
Stood in my window, cold and thinly clad,
T' observe him through the bounty of the moon,
That liberally bestow'd her graces on me,
And when the morning dew began to fall,
Then was my time to weep; h' has lost his kindness,
Forgot the way of wedlock, and become
A stranger to the joys and rites of love.
He's not so good as a lord ought to be.
Pray tell him so from me, sir. [Exit Wife.
Vot. That will I, madam.
Now must I dress a strange dish for his honour.
Ans. Call you this courting? 'life! not one word near it.
There was no syllable but was twelve score off.
My faith, [a] hot temptation! woman's chastity
In such a conflict had great need of one
To keep the bridge; 'twas dangerous for the time.
Why, what fantastic faiths are in these days
Made without substance; whom should a man trust
In matters about love?
Vot. Mass! here he comes too.
Enter Anselmus.
Ans. How now, Votarius! what's the news for us?
Vot. You set me to a task, sir, that will find
Ten ages work enough, and then unfinish'd.
Bring sin before her! why, it stands more quaking,
Than if a judge should frown on't; three such fits
Would shake it into goodness, and quite beggar
The under kingdom. Not the art of man,
Woman, or devil—
Ans. O, peace, man! prythee, peace!—
Vot. Can make her fit for lust.
Ans. Yet again, sir?
Where lives that mistress of thine, Votarius?
That taught thee to dissemble: I'd fain learn.
She makes good scholars.
Vox. How, my lord!
Ans. Thou art the son of falsehood: prythee, leave me.
How truly constant, charitable and helpful
Is woman unto woman in affairs,
That touch affection and the peace of spirit!
But man to man how crooked and unkind!
I thank my jealousy, I heard thee all,
For I heard nothing: now thou'rt sure I did.
Vot. Now, by this light, then, wipe but off this score,
Since you're so bent, and if I ever run
In debt again to falsehood and dissemblance,
For want of better means, tear the remembrance of me
From your best thoughts.
Ans. For thy vows' sake, I pardon thee.
Thy oath is now sufficient watch itself
Over thy actions: I discharge my jealousy:
I've no more use for't now; to give thee way,
I'll have an absence made purposely for thee,
And presently take horse. I'll leave behind me
An opportunity, that shall fear no starting,
Let but thy pains deserve it.
Vot. I am bound to't.
Ans. For a small time farewell, then. Hark thee!
[Anselmus whispers to him; and Exit.
Vot. O good sir!
It will do wondrous well. What a wild seed
Suspicion sows in him, and takes small ground for't!
How happy were this lord, if he would leave
To tempt his fate, and be resolved he were so!
He would be but too rich.
Man has some enemy still, that keeps him back
In all his fortunes, and his mind it is;[456]
And that's a mighty adversary. I had rather
Have twenty kings my enemies than that part,
For let me be at war with earth and hell,
So that be friends with me. I've sworn to make
A trial of her faith; I must put on
A brazen face, and do't—
Enter Wife.
Mine own will shame me.
Wife. This is most strange of all! how one distraction
Seconds another!
Vot. What's the news, sweet madam?
Wife. He's took his horse, but left his leave untaken.
What should I think on't, sir? did ever lord
Depart so rudely from his lady's presence!
Vot. Did he forget your lip?
Wife. He forgot all,
That nobleness remembers.
Vot. I'm asham'd of him.
Let me help, madam, to repair his manners,
And mend that unkind fault.
Wife, Sir! pray, forbear!
You forget worse than he.
Vot. So virtue save me,
I have enough already. [Aside.
Wife. 'Tis himself
Must make amends, good sir, for his own faults.
Vot. I would he'd do't then, and ne'er trouble me in't; [Aside.
But, madam, you perceive he takes the course
To be far off from that, he's rode from home;
But his unkindness stays, and keeps with you;
Let who will please his wife, he rides his horse:
That's all the care he takes. I pity you, madam,
You've an unpleasing lord; would 'twere not so;
I should rejoice with you.
You're young; the very spring's upon you now.
The roses on your cheeks are but new-blown.
Take you together, you're a pleasant garden,
Where all the sweetness of man's comfort breathes.
But what is it to be a work of beauty,
And want the part, that should delight in you.
You still retain your goodness in yourself,
But then you lose your glory, which is all.
The grace of every benefit is the use,
And is't not pity you should want your grace?
Look you like one, whose lord should walk in groves
About the place[457] of midnight? Alas! madam,
'Tis to me wondrous, how you should spare the day
From amorous clips, much less the general season,
When all the world's a gamester!
That face deserves a friend of heart and spirit,
Discourse and motion, indeed such a one
That should observe you, madam, without ceasing,
And not a weary lord.
Wife. Sure, I was married, sir,
In a dear year of love; when scarcity
And famine of affection vex'd poor ladies,
Which makes my heart so needy, it ne'er knew
Plenty of comfort yet.
Vot. Why, that's your folly,
To keep your mind so miserably, madam:
Change into better times, I'll lead you to 'em.
What bounty shall your friend expect for this?
O you, that can be hard to your own heart,
How would you use your friend's? If I thought, kindly,
I'd be the man myself should serve your pleasure.
Wife. How, sir!
Vot. Nay, and ne'er miss you too. I'd not come sneaking
Like a retainer once a week or so,
To show myself before you for my livery;
I'd follow business like a household servant,
Carry my work before me, and despatch
Before my lord be up, and make no words on't—
The sign of a good servant.
Wife. 'Tis not friendly done, sir,
To take a lady at advantage thus;
Set all her wrongs before her, and then tempt her.
Vot. Heart! I grow fond myself! 'twas well she wak'd me,
Before the dead sleep of adultery took me;
'Twas stealing on me; up, you honest thoughts,
And keep watch for your master! I must hence;
I do not like my health, 't has a strange relish:
Pray heav'n I pluck'd mine eyes back time enough.
I'll never see her more: I prais'd the garden,
But little thought a bed of snakes lay hid in't.
[Aside, as he is retiring.
Wife. I know not how I am! I'll call my woman—
Stay! for I fear thou art too far gone already.
Vot. I'll see her but once more; do thy worst, love!
Thou art too young, fond boy, to master me.
[Aside.
Votarius returns.
I come to tell you, madam, and that plainly,
I'll see your face no more, take't how you please.
Wife. You will not offer violence to me, sir,
In my lord's absence? what, does that touch you,
If I want comfort?
Vot. Will you take your answer?
Wife. It is not honest in you to tempt woman;
When her distresses take away her strength.
How is she able to withstand her enemy?
Vot. I would fain leave your sight, an' I could possibly.
Wife. What is't to you, good sir, if I be pleased
To weep myself away; and run thus violently
Into the arms of death, and kiss destruction:
Does this concern you now?
Vot. Ay, marry, does it.
What serve these arms for, but to pluck you back?
These lips but to prevent all other tasters,
And keep that cup of nectar for themselves?
I'm[458] beguil'd again, forgive me, heaven?
My lips have been naught with her,
I will be master once, and whip the boy
Home to his mother's lap. [Aside.] Fare, fare thee well!
[Exit Votarius.
Wife. Votarius! Sir! my friend!—thank heaven, he's gone.
And he shall never come so near again,
I'll have my frailty watch'd ever; henceforward
I'll no more trust it single; it betrays me
Into the hands of folly. Where's my woman?
Enter Leonella.
My trusty Leonella!
Leo. Call you, madam?
Wife. Call I? I want attendance, where are you?
Leo. Never far from you, madam.
Wife. Pray be nearer,
Or there is some that will, and thank you too,
Nay, perhaps bribe you to be absent from me.
Leo. How, madam?
Wife. Is that strange to a lady's woman,
There are such things i' the world, many such buyers
And sellers of a woman's name and honour,
Though you be young in bribes, and never came
To the flesh market yet. Beshrew your heart
For keeping so long from me!
Leo. What ail you, madam?
Wife. Somewhat commands me, and takes all the power
Of myself from me.
Leo. What should that be, lady?
Wife. When did you see Votarius?
Leo. Is that next?
Nay, then I have your ladyship in the wind.
[Aside.
I saw him lately, madam.
Wife. Whom didst see?
Wife. What have I to do with him
More than another man? Say he be fair,
And has parts proper both of mind and body,
You praise him but in vain in telling me so.
Leo. Yes, madam; are you prattling in your sleep?
'Tis well my lord and you lie in two beds. [Aside.
Wife. I was ne'er so ill, I thank you, Leonella,
My negligent woman, here you show'd your service!
Leo. Have I power or means to stop a sluice
At a high water? what would sh' have me do in't?
[Aside.
Wife. I charge thee, while thou liv'st with me henceforward,
Use not an hour's absence from my sight. [Exit Lady.
Leo. By my faith, madam, you shall pardon me;
I have a love of mine own to look to,
And he must have his breakfast.
Enter Bellarius, muffled in his cloak.
Bel. Leonella?
Leo. Come forth, and show yourself a gentleman,
Although most commonly they hide their heads,
As you do there, methinks! And why a taffaty muffler?
Show your face, man! I'm not asham'd on you.
Bel. I fear the servants.
Leo. And they fear their mistress, and ne'er think on you,
Their thoughts are upon dinner and great dishes.
If one thing hap—impossible to fail too
(I can see so far in't)—you shall walk boldly, sir,
And openly in view through every room
About the house; and let the proudest meet thee,
I charge you give no way to 'em.
Bel. How thou talk'st!
Leo. I can avoid the fool, and give you reason for't.
Bel. 'Tis more than I should do, if I asked more
On thee. I prythee, tell me how?
Leo. With ease, i' faith, sir,
My lady's heart is wondrous busy, sir!
About the entertainment of a friend too,
And she and I must bear with one another,
Or we shall make but a mad-house betwixt us.
Bel. I'm bold to throw my cloak off at this news,
Which I ne'er durst before, and kiss thee freelier.
What is he, sirrah?
Leo. Faith, an indifferent fellow
With good long legs, a near friend of my lord's.
Bel. A near friend of my lady's, you would say;
His name, I prythee?
Leo. One Votarius, sir.
Bel. What say'st thou?
Leo. He walks under the same title.
Bel. The only enemy that my life can show me.
Leo. Your enemy? Let my spleen then alone with him.
Stay you your anger: I'll confound him for you.
Bel. As how, I prythee?
Leo. I'll prevent his venery;
He shall ne'er lie with my lady.
Bel. Troth, I thank you.
Life! that's the way to save him; art thou mad?
Whereas the other way he confounds himself,
And lies more naked to revenge and mischief.
Leo. Then let him lie with her, and the devil go with him,
He shall have all my furtherance.
Bel. Why, now you pray heartily and speak to purpose.
[Exeunt.