2nd Judge. Judgment, my lord, in what?
D'Am. Your judgment must resolve me in a case.
Bring in the bodies. Nay, I'll ha' it tried.
This is the case, my lord. By providence,
Even in a moment, by the only hurt
Of one, or two, or three at most, and those
Put quickly out o' pain, too, mark me, I
Had wisely raised a competent estate
To my posterity. And is there not
More wisdom and more charity in that
Than for your lordship, or your father, or
Your grandsire to prolong the torment and
The rack of rent from age to age upon
Your poor penurious tenants, yet perhaps
Without a penny profit to your heir?
Is't not more wise? more charitable? Speak.
1st Judge. He is distracted.
D'Am. How? distracted? Then
You ha' no judgment. I can give you sense
And solid reason for the very least
Distinguishable syllable I speak.
Since my thrift
Was more judicious than your grandsires', why
I would fain know why your lordship lives to make
A second generation from your father,
And the whole fry of my posterity
Extinguished in a moment. Not a brat
Left to succeed me.—I would fain know that.
2nd Judge. Grief for his children's death distempers him.
1st Judge. My lord, we will resolve you of your question.[176]
In the meantime vouchsafe your place with us.
D'Am. I am contented, so you will resolve me.
[Ascends.
Enter Charlemont and Castabella.
2nd Judge. Now, Monsieur Charlemont, you are accused
Of having murdered one Borachio, that
Was servant to my Lord D'Amville. How can
You clear yourself? Guilty or not guilty?
Charl. Guilty of killing him, but not of murder.
My lords, I have no purpose to desire
Remission for myself.—
[D'Amville descends to Charlemont.
D'Am. Uncivil boy!
Thou want'st humanity to smile at grief.
Why dost thou cast a cheerful eye upon
The object of my sorrow—my dead sons?
1st Judge. O good my lord, let charity forbear
To vex the spirit of a dying man.
A cheerful eye upon the face of death
Is the true countenance of a noble mind.
For honour's sake, my lord, molest it not.
D'Am. Y'are all uncivil. O! is't not enough
That he unjustly hath conspired with Fate
To cut off my posterity, for him
To be the heir to my possessions, but
He must pursue me with his presence.
And, in the ostentation of his joy,
Laugh in my face and glory in my grief?
Charl. D'Amville, to show thee with what light respect
I value death and thy insulting pride,
Thus, like a warlike navy on the sea,
Bound for the conquest of some wealthy land,
Passed through the stormy troubles of this life,
And now arrived upon the armèd coast
In expectation of the victory
Whose honour lies beyond this exigent,[177]
Through mortal danger, with an active spirit
Thus I aspire to undergo my death.
[Leaps up the scaffold. Castabella leaps after him.
Cast. And thus I second thy brave enterprise.
Be cheerful, Charlemont. Our lives cut off
In our young prime of years are like green herbs
Wherewith we strew the hearses of our friends.
For, as their virtue, gathered when they are green,
Before they wither or corrupt, is best;
So we in virtue are the best for death
While yet we have not lived to such an age
That the increasing canker of our sins
Hath spread too far upon us.—
D'Am. A boon, my lords,
I beg a boon.
1st Judge. What's that, my lord?
D'Am. His body when 'tis dead
For an anatomy.[178]
2nd Judge. For what, my lord?
D'Am. Your understanding still comes short o' mine.
I would find out by his anatomy
What thing there is in Nature more exact
Than in the constitution of myself.
Methinks my parts and my dimensions are
As many, as large, as well composed as his;
And yet in me the resolution wants
To die with that assurance as he does.
The cause of that in his anatomy
I would find out.
1st Judge. Be patient and you shall.
D'Am. I have bethought me of a better way.
—Nephew, we must confer.—Sir, I am grown
A wondrous student now o' late. My wit
Has reached beyond the scope of Nature, yet
For all my learning I am still to seek
From whence the peace of conscience should proceed.
Charl. The peace of conscience rises in itself.
D'Am. Whether it be thy art or nature, I
Admire thee, Charlemont. Why, thou hast taught
A woman to be valiant. I will beg
Thy life.—My lords, I beg my nephew's life.
I'll make thee my physician. Thou shalt read
Philosophy to me. I will find out
The efficient cause of a contented mind.
But if I cannot profit in't, then 'tis
No more good being my physician,
But infuse
A little poison in a potion when
Thou giv'st me physic, unawares to me.
So I shall steal into my grave without
The understanding or the fear of death.
And that's the end I aim at. For the thought
Of death is a most fearful torment; is it not?
2nd Judge. Your lordship interrupts the course of law.
1st Judge. Prepare to die.
Charl. My resolution's made.
But ere I die, before this honoured bench,
With the free voice of a departing soul,
I here protest this gentlewoman clear
Of all offence the law condemns her for.
Cast. I have accused myself. The law wants power
To clear me. My dear Charlemont, with thee
I will partake of all thy punishments.
Charl. Uncle, for all the wealthy benefits
My death advances you, grant me but this:
Your mediation for the guiltless life
Of Castabella, whom your conscience knows
As justly clear as harmless innocence.
D'Am. Freely. My mediation for her life
And all my interest in the world to boot;
Let her but in exchange possess me of
The resolution that she dies withal.
—The price of things is best known in their want.
Had I her courage, so I value it:
The Indies should not buy't out o' my hands.
Charl. Give me a glass of water.
D'Am. Me of wine.—
This argument of death congeals my blood.
Cold fear, with apprehension of thy end,
Hath frozen up the rivers of my veins.—
[Servant brings him a glass of wine.
I must drink wine to warm me and dissolve
The obstruction; or an apoplexy will
Possess me.—Why, thou uncharitable knave,
Dost thou bring me blood to drink? The very glass
Looks pale and trembles at it.
Ser. 'Tis your hand, my lord.
D'Am. Canst blame me to be fearful, bearing still
The presence of a murderer about me?
[Servant gives Charlemont a glass of water.
Charl. Is this water?
Ser. Water, sir.
Charl. Come, thou clear emblem of cool temperance,
Be thou my witness that I use no art
To force my courage nor have need of helps
To raise my spirits, like those of weaker men
Who mix their blood with wine, and out of that
Adulterate conjunction do beget
A bastard valour. Native courage, thanks.
Thou lead'st me soberly to undertake
This great hard work of magnanimity.
D'Am. Brave Charlemont, at the reflexion of
Thy courage my cold fearful blood takes fire,
And I begin to emulate thy death.
[Executioner comes forward.
—Is that thy executioner? My lords,
You wrong the honour of so high a blood
To let him suffer by so base a hand.
Judges. He suffers by the form of law, my lord.
D'Am. I will reform it. Down, you shag-haired cur.[179]
The instrument that strikes my nephew's blood
Shall be as noble as his blood. I'll be
Thy executioner myself.
1st Judge. Restrain his fury. Good my lord, forbear.
D'Am. I'll butcher out the passage of his soul
That dares attempt to interrupt the blow.
2nd Judge. My lord, the office will impress a mark
Of scandal and dishonour on your name.
Charl. The office fits him: hinder not his hand,
But let him crown my resolution with
An unexampled dignity of death.
Strike home. Thus I submit me.
[Is made ready for execution.
Cast. So do I.
In scorn of death thus hand in hand we die.
D'Am. I ha' the trick on't, nephew. You shall see
How easily I can put you out of pain.—Oh!
[As he raises up the axe he strikes out his own brains, and staggers off the scaffold.
Exe. In lifting up the axe
I think he's knocked his brains out.
D'Am. What murderer was he that lifted up
My hand against my head?
1st Judge. None but yourself, my lord.
D'Am. I thought he was a murderer that did it.
1st Judge. God forbid!
D'Am. Forbid? You lie, judge. He commanded it.
To tell thee that man's wisdom is a fool.
I came to thee for judgment, and thou think'st
Thyself a wise man, I outreached thy wit
And made thy justice murder's instrument,
In Castabella's death and in Charlemont's,
To crown my murder of Montferrers with
A safe possession of his wealthy state.
Charl. I claim the just advantage of his words.
2nd Judge. Descend the scaffold and attend the rest.
D'Am. There was the strength of natural understanding.
But Nature is a fool. There is a power
Above her that hath overthrown the pride
Of all my projects and posterity,
For whose surviving blood
I had erected a proud monument,
And struck 'em dead before me, for whose deaths
I called to thee for judgment. Thou didst want
Discretion for the sentence. But yon power
That struck me knew the judgment I deserved,
And gave it.—O! the lust of death commits
A rape upon me as I would ha' done
On Castabella. [Dies.
1st Judge. Strange is his death and judgment.
With the hands
Of joy and justice I thus set you free.
The power of that eternal providence
Which overthrew his projects in their pride
Hath made your griefs the instruments to raise
Your blessings to a higher height than ever.
Charl. Only to Heaven I attribute the work,
Whose gracious motives made me still forbear
To be mine own revenger. Now I see
That patience is the honest man's revenge.
1st Judge. Instead of Charlemont that but e'en now
Stood ready to be dispossessed of all,
I now salute you with more titles both
Of wealth and dignity, than you were born to.
And you, sweet madam, Lady of Belforest,
You have the title by your father's death.
Cast. With all the titles due to me, increase
The wealth and honour of my Charlemont,
Lord of Montferrers, Lord D'Amville Belforest,—
And for a close to make up all the rest—
[Embraces Charlemont.
The Lord of Castabella. Now at last
Enjoy the full possession of my love,
As clear and pure as my first chastity.
Charl. The crown of all my blessings!—I will tempt
My stars no longer, nor protract my time
Of marriage. When those nuptial rites are done,
I will perform my kinsmen's funeral.
1st Judge. The drums and trumpets! Interchange the sounds
Of death and triumph. For these honoured lives,
Succeeding their deservèd tragedies.
Charl. Thus, by the work of heaven, the men that thought
To follow our dead bodies without tears
Are dead themselves, and now we follow theirs.
[Exeunt.
[THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY.]
This play was entered on the stationers' books in 1607, and was sometimes called The Loyal Brother. There are two quarto editions of it, one dated 1607 and one 1608, and from the care with which the text is printed it is probable that the author revised the proofs. The play has several times been reprinted. Tourneur's plots have no known source.