[Sound drums within, and cry, ‘Stab! Stab!’]
Hark, hearken, thou shalt hear a noise
Shall fill the air with a shrilling sound,
And thunder music to the gods above:
Mars shall himself reach down
A peerless crown upon brave Envy’s head,
And raise his rival with a lasting fame.
In this brave music Envy takes delight,
Where I may see them wallow in their blood,
And spurn at arms and legs quite shivered off,
And hear the cries of many thousands slain.
How lik’st thou this, my trull? ’tis sport alone for me!
COMEDY.
Vaunt, bloody cur, nurs’d up with tiger’s sap,
That so dost seek to quail a woman’s mind!
Comedy’s mild, gentle, willing for to please,
And seeks to gain the love of all estates,
Delights in mirth, mix’d all with lovely tales,
And bringeth things with treble joy to pass.
Thou bloody, envious ’sdainer of men’s joys,
Whose name is fraught with bloody stratagems,
Delights in nothing but in spoil and death,
Where thou may’st trample in their lukewarm blood,
And grasp their hearts within thy cursed paws.
Yet veil thy mind; revenge thou not on me;
A silly woman begs it at thy hands.
Give me the leave to utter out my play;
Forbear this place; I humbly crave thee, hence!
And mix not death ’mongst pleasing comedies,
That treat nought else but pleasure and delight.
If any spark of human rests in thee,
Forbear; begone; tender the suit of me.
ENVY.
Why, so I will; forbearance shall be such,
As treble death shall cross thee with despite,
And make thee mourn, where most thou joy’st,
Turning thy mirth into a deadly dole,
Whirling thy measures with a peal of death,
And drench thy metres in a sea of blood.
This will I do; thus shall I bear with thee;
And more, to vex thee with a deeper spite,
I will with threats of blood begin thy play,
Favoring thee with envy and with hate.
COMEDY.
Then, ugly monster, do thy worst,
I will defend them in despite of thee:
And though thou think’st with tragic fumes
To brave my play unto my deep disgrace,
I force it not, I scorn what thou canst do;
I’ll grace it so, thyself shall it confess,
From tragic stuff to be a pleasant comedy.
ENVY.
Why then, Comedy, send thy actors forth,
And I will cross the first steps of their tread,
Making them fear the very dart of death.
COMEDY.
And I’ll defend them maugre all thy spite.
So, ugly fiend, farewell, till time shall serve,
That we may meet to parley for the best.
ENVY.
Content, Comedy, I’ll go spread my branch,
And scattered blossoms from mine envious tree
Shall prove to monsters, spoiling of their joys.
[Exeunt.]