SCENE III.
Enter the Tyrant [and Soldiers] at a farther door, which opened, brings them to the tomb, where the lady lies buried. The tomb here discovered, richly set forth.
Tyr. Softly, softly!
Let's give this place the peace that it requires;
The vaults e'en chide our steps with murmuring sounds,
For making bold so late: it must be done.
1st Sol. I fear nothing but the whorish ghost of a quean I kept once; she swore she would so haunt me, I should never pray in quiet for her, and I have kept myself from church these fifteen years to prevent her.
Tyr. The monument woos me: I must run and kiss it.
Now trust me, if the tears do not e'en stand
Upon the marble: what slow springs have I!
'Twas weeping to itself before I came;
How pity strikes e'en through insensible things,
And makes them shame our dulness.
Thou house of silence and the calms of rest,
After tempestuous life, I claim of thee
A mistress, one of the most beauteous sleepers
That ever lay so cold, not yet due to thee
By natural death, but cruelly forc'd hither,
Many a year before the world could spare her!
We miss her amongst the glories of our court,
When they be number'd up. All thy still strength,
Thou grey-ey'd monument, shall not keep her from us!
Strike, villain! though the echo rail us all
Into ridiculous deafness; pierce the jaws
Of this cold ponderous creature.
2d Sol. Sir!
2d Sol. I shall not hold the axe fast, I'm afraid, sir.
Tyr. O shame of men, a soldier and so fearful?
2d Sol. 'Tis out of my element to be in a church, sir.
Give me the open field, and turn me loose, sir.
Tyr. True, thou then hast room enough to run away!
Take thou the axe from him.
1st Sol. I beseech your grace,
'Twill come to a worse hand. You'll find us all
Of one mind for the church, I can assure you, sir.
Tyr. Nor thou?
3d Sol. I love not to disquiet ghosts
Of any people living.
Tyr. O slaves of one opinion: give me't from thee,
Thou man made out of fear.
2d Sol. By my faith, I'm glad I'm rid on't—
I that was ne'er before in [a] cathedral,
And have the battering of a lady's tomb,
Lies hard upon my conscience at first coming;
I should get much by that; it shall be a warning to me,
I'll ne'er come here again.
Tyr. No? wilt not yield? [Strikes at the tomb.
Art thou so loth to part from her?
1st Sol. What means he? Has he no feeling with him? By this light, if I be not afraid to stay any longer! very fear will go nigh to turn me of some religion or other, and so make me forfeit my lieutenantship.
Tyr. O, have we got the mastery? Help, you vassals!
Freeze you in idleness, and can see us sweat?
2d Sol. We sweat with fear, as much as work can make us.
Tyr. Remove the stone, that I may see my mistress!
Set to your hands, you villains, and that nimbly,
Or the same axe shall make you all fly open!
All. O good my lord!
Tyr. I must not be delay'd.
1st Sol. This is ten thousand times worse than entering on a breach:
'Tis the first stone that ever I took off
From any lady; marry, I have brought 'em many:
Fair diamonds, sapphires, rubies. [They raise the stone.
Tyr. O bless'd object!
I never shall be weary to behold thee;
I could eternally stand thus and see thee.
Why, 'tis not possible, death should look so fair.
Life is not more illustrious[470], when health smiles on't;
She's only pale, the colour of the court,
And most attractive; mistresses most strive for't;
And their lascivious servants most affect it.
Lay to your hands again!
All. My lord?
Tyr. Take up her body!
1st Sol. How, my lord?
Tyr. Her body.
1st Sol. She's dead, my lord.
Tyr. True, if she were alive,
Such slaves as you should not come near to touch her:
Do't, and with all best reverence place her here.
1st Sol. Not only, sir, with reverence, but with fear;
You shall have more than your own asking once.
I am afraid of nothing, but she'll rise
At the first jog, and save us all a labour.
2d Sol. Then we were best take her up, and never touch her.
1st Sol. How can that be? does fear make thee mad?
I've took up many a woman in my days,
But never with less pleasure, I protest.
Tyr. O, the moon rises! what reflection
Is thrown about this sanctified building,
E'en in a twinkling! How the monuments glister,
As if death's palaces were all massy silver,
And scorn'd the name of marble! Art thou cold?
I have no faith in't yet: I believe none.
Madam! 'tis I, sweet lady: prythee, speak,
'Tis thy love calls on thee—thy king, thy servant.
No! not a word? all prisoners to pale silence!
I'll prove a kiss.
2d Sol. Here's fine chill venery;
'Twould make a pander's heels ache, I'll be sworn;
All my teeth chatter in my head to see't. [Aside.
Tyr. Thou'rt cold indeed, beshrew thee for't.
Unkind to thine own blood, hard-hearted lady!
What injury hast thou offer'd to the youth
And pleasure of thy days? refuse the court,
And steal to this hard lodging! was that wisdom?
O, I could chide thee with mine eye brimful,
And weep out my forgiveness, when I've done!
Nothing hurt thee but want of woman's counsel;
Hadst thou but ask'd th' opinion of most ladies,
Thou'dst never come to this! they would have told thee,
How dear a treasure life and youth had been;
'Tis that they fear to lose: the very name
Can make more gaudy tremblers in a minute,
Than heaven, or sin, or hell—these are last thought on.
And where gott'st thou such boldness from the rest
Of all thy timorous sex, to do a deed here
Upon thyself would plunge the world's best soldier
And make him twice bethink him and again.
And yet give over? Since thy life has left me,
I'll clasp the body for the spirit that dwelt in it,
And love the house still for the mistress' sake.
Thou art mine now, spite of destruction
And Govianus; and I will possess thee.
I once read of a Herod, whose affection
Pursued a virgin's love, as I did thine:
Who, for the hate she owed him, kill'd herself,
As thou too rashly didst without all pity,
Yet he preserv'd her body dead in honey,
And kept her long after her funeral;
But I'll unlock the treasure-house of art
With keys of gold, and bestow all on thee.
Here, slaves! receive her humbly from our arms.
Upon your knees, you villains! all's too little,
If you should sweep the pavement with your lips.
1st Sol. What strange brooms he invents!
[Aside.
Tyr. So! reverently!
Bear her before us gently to the palace.
Place you the stone again, where first we found it.
[Exeunt. Manet 1st Soldier.
1st Sol. Must this on now to deceive all comers,
And cover emptiness? 'tis, for all the world,
Like a great city-pie brought to a table,
Where there be many hands that lay about.
The lid's shut close, when all the meat's pick'd out,
Yet stands to make a show, and cosen people. [Exit.