SCENE II.
Enter Tyrant, with Attendants.
Tyr. In vain my spirit wrastles with my blood:
Affection will be mistress here on earth.
The house is hers: the soul is but a tenant.
I have task'd myself but with the abstinence
Of one poor hour, yet cannot conquer that.
I cannot keep from sight of her so long;
I starve mine eye too much: go, bring her forth,
As we have caus'd her body to be deck'd
In all the glorious riches of our palace;
Our mind has felt a famine for the time;
All comfort has been dear and scarce with us.
The times are alter'd since—strike on, sweet harmony!
Enter Soldiers, with the Lady.
[Music playing.
A braver world comes towards us.
[They bring the body in a chair, dressed up in
black velvet, which sets out the paleness of
the hands and face; and a fair chain of
pearl across the breast, and the crucifix
above it; he stands silent awhile, letting the
music play, beckoning the soldiers that
bring her in to make obeisance to her, and
he himself makes a low honour to the body,
and kisses the hand.
A Song.
O, what is beauty that's so much adored?
A flattering glass that cosens her beholders,
One night of death makes it look pale and horrid,
The dainty preservd flesh how soon it moulders,
To love it living it bewitcheth many,
But after life is seldom heard of any.
1st Sol. By this hand, mere idolatry; I make courtesy
To my damnation: I have learnt so much,
Though I could never know the meaning yet
Of all my Latin prayers, nor ne'er sought for't.
Tyr. How pleasing art thou to us even in death!
I love thee yet above all women living;
I can see nothing to be mended in thee,
But the too constant paleness of thy cheek.
I'd give the kingdom but to purchase there
The breadth of a red rose in natural colours,
And think it the best bargain that ever king made yet,
But fate's my hindrance;
And I must only rest content with art,
And that I'll have in spite on't. Is he come, sir?
2d Sol. Who, my lord?
Tyr. Dull! The fellow that we sent
For a picture-drawer;
A lady's forenoon tutor; is he come, sir?
1st Sol. Not yet return'd, my lord.
Tyr. The fool, belike,
Makes his choice carefully, for so we charg'd him,
To fit our close deeds with some private hand.
It is no shame for thee, most silent mistress,
To stand in need of art, when youth
And all thy warm friends have forsook thee!
Women alive are glad to seek her friendship,
To make up the fair number of their graces,
Or else the reckoning would fall short sometimes,
And servants would look out for better wages.
Enter 3d Soldier, with Govianus disguised.
2d Sol. He's come, my lord.
Tyr. Depart then: is that he?
3d Sol. The privatest I could get, my lord.
Gov. [Aside.] O heaven! marry patience to my spirit!
Give me a sober fury, I beseech thee:
A rage that may not overcharge my blood,
And do myself most hurt! 'tis strange to me
To see thee here at court, and gone from hence.
Didst thou make haste to leave the world for this?
O, who dares play with destiny but he
That wears security so thick upon him,
The thought of death and hell cannot pierce through?
Tyr. 'Twas circumspectly carried: leave us, go!
Be nearer, sir: thou'rt much commended to us.
Gov. It is the hand, my lord, commends the workman.
Tyr. Thou speak'st both modesty and truth in that:
We need that art that thou art master of.
Gov. My king is master both of that and me.
Tyr. Look on yon face, and tell me what it wants.
Gov. Which? that, sir?
Tyr. That! what wants it?
Gov. Troth, my lord,
Some thousand years' sleep and a marble pillow.
Tyr. What's that? observe it still: all the best arts
Have the most fools and drunkards to their master.
Thy apprehension has too gross a film
To be employed at court; what colour wants she?
Gov. By my troth, all, sir; T see none she has,
Nor none she cares for.
Tyr. I am overmatch'd here. [Aside.
Gov. A lower chamber, with less noise, were kindlier
For her, poor woman, whatsoe'er she was.
Tyr. But how, if we be pleas'd to have it thus,
And thou well-hired to do what we command?
Is not your work for money I
Gov. Yes, my lord:
I would not trust but few, an' I could choose.
Tyr. Let but thy art hide death upon her face,
That now looks fearfully on us, and strive
To give our eye delight in that pale part,
Which draws so many pities from these springs,
And thy reward for't shall outlast thy end,
And reach to thy friend's fortunes and his friend.
Gov. Say you so, my lord? I'll work out my heart then,
But I'll show art enough.
Tyr. About it, then:
I never wish'd so seriously for health
After long sickness.
Gov. [Aside.] A religious trembling shakes me by the hand,
And bids me put by such unhallow'd business,
But revenge calls for't, and it must go forward,
'Tis time the spirit of my love took rest;
Poor soul! 'tis weary, much abus'd and toil'd.
[Govianus paints the face of the body.
Tyr. Could I now send for one to renew heat
Within her bosom, that were a fine workman!
I should but too much love him; but, alas!
'Tis as impossible for living fire to take
Hold there, as for dead ashes to burn back again
Into those hard, tough bodies, whence they tell.
Life is removed from her now, as the warmth
Of the bright sun from us, when it makes winter,
And kills with unkind coldness; so is't yonder.
An everlasting frost hangs now upon her,
And in such a season men will force
A heat into their bloods with exercise,
In spite of extreme weather. So shall we
By art force beauty on yon lady's face,
Though death sit frowning on't a storm of hail,
To beat it off—our pleasure shall prevail.
Gov. My lord!
Tyr. Hast done so soon?
Gov. That's as your grace
Gives approbation.
Tyr. O, she lives again!
She'll presently speak to me, keep her up!
I'll have her swoon no more, there's treachery in't;
Does she not feel warmer to thee?
Gov. Very little, sir.
Tyr. The heat wants cherishing then: our arms and lips
Shall labour life into her. Wake, sweet mistress!
'Tis I that call thee at the door of life. [Kisses the body.] Ha!
I talk so long to death, I'm sick myself:
Methinks an evil scent still follows me.
Gov. Maybe, 'tis nothing but the colour, sir,
That I laid on.
Tyr. Is that so strong?
Gov. Yes, faith, sir,
'Twas the best poison I could get for money.
[Throws off his disguise.
Tyr. Govianus!
Gov. O thou sacrilegious villain!
Thou thief of rest, robber of monuments!
Cannot the body, after funeral,
Sleep in the grave for thee? must it be rais'd
Only to please the wickedness of thine eye?
Do all things end with death, and not thy lust?
Hast thou devis'd a new way to damnation,
More dreadful than the soul of any sin
Did ever pass yet between earth and hell?
Dost strive to be particularly plagu'd
Above all ghosts beside?
Thou scorn'st a partner in thy torments too!
Tyr. What fury gave thee boldness to attempt
This deed, for which I'll doom thee with a death
Beyond the extremest tortures?
Gov. I smile at thee.
Draw all the deaths that ever mankind suffer'd
Unto one head to help thine own invention,
And make my end as rare as this thy sin,
And full as fearful to the eyes of women,
My spirit shall fly singing to his lodging,
In midst of that rough weather. Doom me, tyrant!
Had I fear'd death, I'd never appear'd noble,
To seal this act upon me, which e'en honours me,
Unto my mistress' spirit: it loves me for't.
I told my heart 'twould prove destruction to't,
Who (hearing 'twas for her) charg'd me to do't.
Enter the Ghost, in the same form as the body in the chair.
Tyr. Thy glories shall be shorten'd, who's within there?
[He sees the Ghost.
I call'd not thee, thou enemy to firmness,
Mortality's earthquake!
Gov. Welcome to mine eyes,
As is the dayspring from the morning's womb
Unto that wretch, whose nights are tedious!
As liberty to captives, health to labourers,
And life still to old people never weary on't,
So welcome art thou to me! The deed's done,
Thou queen of spirits! he has his end upon him:
Thy body shall return to rise again,
For thy abuser falls, and has no power
To vex thee farther.
Ghost. My truest love!
Live ever-honoured here, and bless'd above,
Tyr. O, if there be a hell for flesh and spirit,
'Tis built within this bosom—
Enter Nobles.
My lords, treason!
Gov. Now, death, I'm for thee; welcome!
Mem. The King of heaven be prais'd for it!
Tyr. Lay hold on him—
On Govianus!
Mem. E'en with the best loves
And truest hearts that ever subjects owed.
Tyr. How's that? I charge you all, lay hands on him.
Mem. Look you, my lord, your will shall be obey'd:
Here comes another, we'll have his hand too.
Enter Helvetius.
Hel. You shall have both mine, if that work go forward,
Beside my voice and knee.
Tyr. Helvetius!
Then my destruction was confirm'd amongst 'em;
Premeditation wrought it. O my torments!
All. Live Govianus long our virtuous king! [Flourish.
Tyr. That thunder strikes me dead.
Gov. I cannot better
Reward my joys than with astonish'd silence;
For all the wealth of words is not of power
To make up thanks for you, my honoured lords:
I'm like a man pluck'd up from many waters,
That never look'd for help, and am here placed
Upon this cheerful mountain, where prosperity
Shoots forth her richest beam.
Mem. Long-injured lord!
The tyranny of his actions grew so weighty,
His life so vicious—
Hel. To which this is witness,
Monster in sin!—this, the disquieted body
Of my too resolute child in honour's war.
Mem. That he became as hateful to our minds—
Hel. As death's unwelcome to a house of riches,
Or what can more express it.
Gov. Well, he's gone,
And all the kingdom's evils perish with him!
And since the body of that virtuous lady
Is taken from her rest, in memory
Of her admired mistress, 'tis our will
It receive honour dead, as it took part
With us in all afflictions when it lived;
Here place her in this throne, crown her our queen,[475]
The first and last that ever we make ours.
Her constancy strikes so much firmness in us.
That honour done, let her be solemnly borne
Unto the house of peace, from whence she came,
As queen of silence.
[The spirit here enters again, and slays to go out with the body, as it were attending it.
O welcome, bless'd spirit!
Thou need'st not mistrust me, I have a care
As jealous as thine own: we'll see it done,
And not believe report; our zeal is such,
We cannot reverence chastity too much.
Lead on! I would those ladies that fill honour's rooms
Might all be borne so virtuous to their tombs!
[Solemn music plays them out.