Enter Love.
Duke. Jaques.
Jaq. Lie still, Sir, if you love your life, I'll whistle when he's gone,
Love. Oh Gentlemen, I charge you by the Love
Which you bear to women, take some pitty
On this distressed man, help to restore
That precious Jewel to him he hath lost.
Bew. Lady, what ever power doth lie in us
By Art, or Prayer, or danger, we are yours.
Love. A strange conceit hath wrought this malady,
Conceits again must bring him to himself,
My strict denial to his Will wrought this:
And if you could but draw his wilder thoughts
To know me, he would sure recover sense.
Long. That charge I'll undertake.
Duke. Look Jaques, look, for Gods sake let me rise,
This greatness is a jade, I cannot sit it.
Jaq. His sword is up, and yet he watcheth you.
Du. I'll down again, pray for thy Master, Jaques.
Shat. Now the King may see all the suggestions are not true,
He hath receiv'd against my loyalty;
When all men else refuse, I fight his battels,
And thrust my body into dangers mouth;
I am become his Champion, and this sword
Has taught his enemies to know themselves;
Oh that he would no more be jealous of me!
Long. Monsieur Shattillion, the King [ass[ign]s] you,
That for this valiant loyal act of yours,
He hath forgot all jealousies and fears,
And never more will tempt you into danger.
Shat. But how shall I believe this, what new token
Of reconcilement will he shew me?
Let him release my poor Love from her torment,
From her hard fare, and strict imprisonment.
Long. He hath done this to win your after-love,
And see your Lady sent you from the King
By these two Gentlemen: be thankful for her.
Shat. She lives, she lives, I know her by the power
Shoots from her eyes.
Love. Rise dear Shattillion.
Shat. I know my duty,
Next unto my King, I am to kneel to you.
Love. I'll have you rise, fetch me a chair, sit down Shat.
Shat. I am commanded, and faith tell me Mistriss,
What usage have you had? pray be plain!
Love. Oh my most lov'd Shattillion, pain enough,
But now I am free, thanks to my God and King.
Long. His eyes grow very heavy, not a word,
That his weak senses may come sweetly home.
Shat. The King is honourable.
Duke. When do you whistle Jaques?
Jaq. By and by.
Long. Come hither Monsieur, canst thou laugh a little?
Serv. Yes Sir.
Long. So thou shalt then. Bewford, how dost thou?
Bew. Why well.
Long. I'm glad on't, and how does thy wife?
Bew. Why, you may see her, Sir, she stands behind you.
Long. By the mass she's there indeed, but where's her belly?
Bew. Belly?
Long. Her great belly, man; what hast thou sent thee?
Serv. A Boy, I'll lay my life, it tumbled so.
Bew. Catcht by this light.
Long. I'll be a Gossip Bewford.
Serv. And I.
Long. I have an odd Apostle spoon.
Bew. S'foot, catcht.
Duc. Why, what's the matter, Gentlemen?
Long. He's married to your woman.
Duc. And I not know it?
Serv. 'Twas a venial sin.
Bew. Gall, gall, gall.
Duc. Forgive her, Monsieur Bewford, 'twas her love.
Bew. You may rise if you please, I must endure it.
Long. See how my great Lord lies upon the ground
And dare not stir yet!
Jaques whistles?
Duke. Jaques, Jaques, is the Kings Champion gon yet?
Jaq. No, but he's asleep.
Duke. Is he asleep art sure?
Jaq. I am sure he is, I hear him snore.
Duke. Then by your favours Gentlemen I rise,
And know I am a Duke still.
Jaq. And I am his Champion.
Duc. Hold thee there, and all France cannot mend thee.
Duke. I am a Prince as great within my thoughts
As when the whole state did adorn my person;
What trial can be made to try a Prince?
I will [o]ppose] this noble corps of mine
To any danger that may end the doubt.
Duc. Great Duke, and Husband, there is but one way
To satisfie the world of our true right,
And it is dangerous.
Duke. What may it be?
Were it to bring the great Turk bound in chains
Through France in triumph: or to couple up
The Sophie, and great Prestor John together,
I would attempt it Duchess, tell the course.
Duc. There is a strong opinion through the world,
And no doubt, grounded on experience,
That Lions will not touch a lawful Prince,
If you be confident then of your right,
Amongst the Lions bear your naked body,
And if you come off clear, and never winch,
The world will say you are a perfect Prince.
Duke. I thank you Duchess, for your kind advice,
But now we do not affect those ravenous beasts.
Long. A Lion is a beast to try a King;
But for the trial of such a state like this
Pliny reports a mastive dog will serve.
Duke. We will not deal with dogs at all, but men.
Serv. You shall not need to deal with them at all,
Hark you Sir, the King doth know you are a Duke:
Duke. No, does he?
Serv. Yes, and is content you shall be, but with this caution,
That none know it but your self:
For if ye do, he'll take it away by Act of Parliament.
Duke. Here's my hand, and whilst I live or breath,
No living wight shall know I am a Duke.
Serv. Mark me directly, Sir, your wife may know it.
Duke. May not Jaques.
Serv. Yes, he may.
Duke. May not my Countrey Cosin?
Serv. By no means, Sir, if you love your life and state.
Duke. Well then, know all, I am no Duke.
Serv. No, I'll swear it.
Long. See, he wakes.
Shat. Where am I, or where have I been all this while?
Sleep hath not sate so sound upon mine eyes
But I remember well that face;
Oh thou too cruel, leave at length to scorn
Him that but looking on thy beauty, dies,
Either receive me, or put out my eyes.
Love. Dearest Shattillion, see upon my knees,
I offer up my love, forget my wrongs.
Shat. Art thou mine own?
Love. By heaven I am.
Shat. Then all the world is mine.
Love. I have stranger things to tell thee, my dearest love.
Shat. Tell nothing, but that thou art mine own:
I do not care to know where I have been,
Or how I have liv'd, or any thing,
But that thou art my own.
Bew. Well wife, though 'twere a trick that made us wed,
We'll make our selves merry soon in bed.
Duke. Know all, I am no Duke.
Wife. What [saye]?]
Duke. Jaques?
Jaq. Sir.
Duke. I am a Duke.
Both. Are ye?
Duke. Yes faith, yes faith.
But it must only run among our selves,
And Jaques, thou shalt be my Secretary still.
Wife. Kind Gentlemen, lead in Shattillion,
For he must needs be weak and sickly yet.
Now all my labours have a perfect end, as I could wish,
Let all young sprightly wives that have
Dull foolish coxcombs to their Husbands,
Learn by me their duties, what to do,
Which is, to make 'em fools, and please 'em too. [Exeunt.
EPILOGUE.
The Monuments of virtue, and desert,
Appear more goodly, when the gloss of Art
Is eaten off by time, than when at first
They were set up, not censur'd at the worst.
We'ave done our best, for your contents to fit,
With new pains, this old monument of wit.