Hic exeat PARMENO et intret MELIBAEA.
MEL. I pray you, came this woman here never sin'?[58]
In faith, to enter here I am half adrad;
And yet why so? I may boldly come in:
I am sure from you all I shall not be had.
But, Jesus, Jesus, be these men so mad
On women, as they say? how should it be?
It is but fables and lies, ye may trust me.
Intret CELESTINA.
CEL. God be here!
MEL. Who is there?
CEL. Will ye buy any thread?
MEL. Yea, marry, good mother, I pray you come in.
CEL. Christ save you, fair mistress, and God be your speed;
And health be to you and your kin;
And Mary, God's mother, that blessed virgin,
Preserve and prosper your womanly personage,
And well to enjoy your youth and pucellage!
For that time pleasures are most escheved;[59]
And age is the hospital of all manner sickness,
The resting-place of all thought unrelieved;
The sport of time, past the end of all quickness:
Neighbour to death; a dry stock without sweetness:
Discomfort, disease all age alloweth;
A tree without sap, that small charge boweth.
MEL. I marvel, mother, ye speak so much ill
Of age, that all folk desire effectuously.
CEL. They desire hurt for themselves as all of will;
And the cause why they desire to come thereby,
Is for to live; for death is so loathly.
He that is sorrowful would live to be sorrier,
And he that is old would live to be older.
Fair damsel, who can show all the hurts of age?
His weariness, feebleness, his discontenting;
His childishness, frowardness of his rage;
Wrinkling in the face, lack of sight and hearing;
Hollowness of mouth, fall of teeth, faint of going;
And, worst of all, possessed with poverty,
And the limbs arrested with debility.
MEL. Mother, ye have taken great pain for age,
Would ye not return to the beginning?
CEL. Fools are they that are past their passage,
To begin again, which be at the ending;
For better is possession than the desiring.
MEL. I desire to live longer; do I well, or no?
CEL. That ye desire well, I think not so;
For as soon goeth to market the lamb's fell
As the sheep's;[60] none so old but may live a year;
And there is none so young but, ye wot well,
May die in a day. Then no advantage is here
Between youth and age; the matter is clear.
MEL. With thy fabling and thy reasoning, i-wis,
I am beguiled; but I have known thee ere this:
Art not Celestine, that dwelleth by the river side?
CEL. Yea, forsooth.
MEL. Indeed, age hath arrayed[61] thee!
That thou art she, now can scant be espied.
Me thinketh by thy favour thou shouldest be she:
Thou art sore changed, thou mayest believe me.
CEL. Fair maiden, keep thou well this time of youth;
But beauty shall pass at the last, this is truth:
Yet I am not so old as ye judge me.
MEL. Good mother, I joy much of thine accointenance,[62]
And thy motherly reasons right well please me.
And now I thank thee here for thy pastance.
Farewell, till another time, that hap may chance,
Again that we two may meet together.
Mayhap ye have business, I know not whither.
CEL. O angelic image! O heart so precious!
Oh, how thou speakest, it rejoiceth me to hear.
Knowest thou not by the divine mouth gracious,
That against the infernal fiend Lucifer
We should not only live by bread here,
But by our good works, wherein I take some pain:
If ye know not my mind now, all is in vain.
MEL. Show me, mother, hardily all thy necessity,
And, if I can, I shall provide the remedy.
CEL. My necessity! nay, God wot, it is not for me:
As for mine, I left it at home surely.
To eat when I will, and drink when I am dry;
And I thank God ever one penny hath been mine,
To buy bread when I list, and to have four for wine.
Before I was widow, I cared never for it,
For I had wine enough of mine own to sell;
And with a toast in wine by the fire I could sit,
With two dozen sops the colic to quell;
But now with me it is not so well,
For I have nothing but that is brought me
In a pitcher-pot of quarts scant three.
Thus I pray God help them that be needy;
For I speak not for myself alone,
But as well for other, however speed I.
The infirmity is not mine, though that I groan,
It is for another that I make moan,
And not for myself: it is another way,
But what I must moan, where I dare not say.
MEL. Say what thou wilt, and for whom thou lest.[63]
CEL. Now, gracious damsel, I thank you then,
That to give audience ye be so prest,
With liberal readiness to me old woman,
Which giveth me boldness to show what I can
Of one that lieth in danger by sickness
Remitting his languor to your gentleness.
MEL. What meanest thou, I pray thee, gentle mother?
Go forth with thy demand, as thou hast done.
On the one part thou provokest me to anger,
And on the other side to compassion:
I know not how thy answer to fashion.
The words which thou speakest in my presence
Be so misty, I perceive not thy sentence.
CEL. I said I left one in danger of sickness,
Drawing to death for ought that I can see:
Now choose you or no to be murderess,
Or revive him with a word to come from thee?
MEL. I am happy, if my word be of such necessity,
To help any Christian man, or else gods forbid:
To do a good deed is liking to God,
For good deeds to good men be allowable,
And specially to needy above all other;
And ever to good deeds ye shall find me agreeable,
Trusting ye will exhort me to none other.
Therefore, fear not, speak your petition, good mother,
For they that may heal sick folk, and do refuse them,
Surely of their death they cannot excuse them.
CEL. Full well and graciously the case ye consider,
For I never believed that God in vain
Would give you such countenance and beauty together,
But charity therewith to relieve folk in pain;
And as God hath given you, so give him again.
For folks be not made for themselves only,
For then they should live like beasts all rudely,
Among which beasts yet some be pitiful,[64]
The unicorn humbleth himself to a maid;[65]
And a dog in all his power ireful,
Let a man fall to ground, his anger is delayed:[66]
Thus by nature pity is conveyed.
The cock, when he scrapeth, and happeth meat to find,
Calleth for his hens: lo! see the gentle kind!
Should human creatures then be of cruelness?
Should not they to their neighbours show charity,
And specially to them wrapped in sickness,
When[67] they that may heal them cause the infirmity?
MEL. Mother, without delay, for God's sake show me,
I pray thee heartily, without more praying,
Where is the patient that so is paining.[68]
CEL. Fair damsel, thou mayest well have knowledge hereto:
That in this city is a young knight,
And of clear lineage, called Calisto,
Whose life and body is all in thee, I plight.
The pelican, to show nature's right,
Feedeth his birds,—methinketh I should not preach thee!
Thou wotest what I mean, as nature should teach thee.
MEL. Ha, ha, is this the intent of thy conclusion?
Tell me no more of this matter, I charge thee.
Is this the dolent[69] for whom thou makest petition?
Art thou come hither thus to deceive me?
Thou bearded dame, shameless thou seemest to be!
Is this he that hath the passion of foolishness?
Thinkest, thou ribald, I am such an one of lewdness?
It is not said, I see well, in vain:
The tongue of man and woman worst members be;
Thou brute bawd, thou great enemy to honesty, certain;
Cause of secret errors: Jesu, Jesu, benedicite
Some good body take this old thief from me,
That thus would me deceive with her false sleight!
Go out of my sight now! get thee hence straight!
CEL. In an evil hour came I hither, I may say;
I would I had broken my legs twain.
MEL. Go hence, thou brothel, go hence, in the devil way!
Bidest thou yet to increase my pain?
Wilt thou make me of this fool to be fain?
To give him life, to make him merry,
And to myself death, to make me sorry?
Wilt thou bear away profit for my perdition,
And make me lese the house of my father,
To win the house of such an old matron
As thou art, shamefullest of all other?
Thinkest thou that I understand not, thou false mother,
Thy hurtful message, thy false subtle ways?
Make amends to God, thou livest too long days!
Answer, thou traitress, how darest be so bold?
CEL. The fear of thee maketh me so dismayed,
That the blood of my body is almost cold.
Alas! fair maiden, what hast thou said
To me poor widow? why am I denied?
Hear my conclusion, which is of honesty;
Without cause ye blame this gentleman and me.
MEL. I say I will hear no more of that fool:
Was he not here with me even now?
Thou old witch, thou bringest me in great dole:
Ask him what answer he had of me, and how
I took his demand, as now know mayest thou,
More showing is but lost, where no mercy can be.
Thus I answered him, and thus I answer thee.
CEL. The more strange she maketh, the gladder am I:
There is no tempest, that ever doth endure. [Aside.
MEL. What say'st thou, what say'st, thou shameful enemy?
Speak out.
CEL. So 'feard I am of your displeasure;
Your anger is so great, I perceive it sure,
And your patience is in so great an heat,
That for woe and fear I both weep and sweat.
MEL. Little is the heat in comparison to say
To the great boldness of thy demeaning.
CEL. Fair maiden, yet one word, now I you pray:
Appease with patience, and bear my saying.
It is for a prayer, mistress, my demanding,
That is said ye have of Saint Appoline,
For the toothache, whereof this man is in pain.
And the girdle there thou wearest about thee,
And so many holy relics it hath touched,
That this knight thinketh his boot thou may'st be.
Therefore let thy pity now be avouched;
For my heart for fear like a dog is couched.
The delight of vengeance whoso doth use,
Pity at their need shall them refuse.
MEL. If this be true, that thou say'st to me now,
Mine heart is lightened, perceiving the case:
I would be content well, if I wist how,
To bring this sick knight unto some solace.
CEL. Fair damsel, to thee be health and grace:
For if this knight and ye were acquainted both two,
Ye would not judge him the man that ye do.
By God and by my soul, in him is no melancholy:
With grace endued in freedom as Alexander,
In strength as Hector, in countenance merry:
Gracious, envy in him reigned never.
Of noble blood, as thou knowest, and if ye ever
Saw him armed, he seemeth a Saint George.
Rather than to be made in nature's forge,
An angel thou would'st judge him, I make a vow.
The gentle Narcissus was never so fair,
That was enamoured on his own shadow;
Wherefore, fair maid, let thy pity repair:
Let mercy be thy mother, and thou her heir.
This knight, whom I come for, never ceaseth.
But crieth out of pain, that still increaseth.
MEL. How long time, I pray thee, hath it holden him?
CEL. I think he be twenty-four years of age;
I saw him born, and holp for to fold him.
MEL. I demand thee not thereof: thine answer assuage;
I ask thee how long in this painful rage
He hath lain?
CEL. Of truth, fair maiden, as he says,
He hath be in this agony this eight days.
But he seemeth, [as] he had lain this seven year.
MEL. Oh, how it grieveth me the ill of my patient,
Knowing his agony and thy innocency here.
Unto mine anger thou hast made resistance,
Wherefore thy demand I grant in recompense.
Have here my girdle: the prayer is not ready;
To-morrow it shall be: come again secretly.
And, mother, of these words passed between us
Show nothing thereof unto this knight,
Lest he would report me cruel and furious.
I trust thee now be true, for thoughts be light.
CEL. I marvel greatly thou dost me so atwite
Of the doubt, that thou hast of my secretness:
As secret as thyself I shall be doubtless.
And to Calisto with this girdle Celestina
Shall go, and his leady heart make whole and light.
For Gabriel to our lady with Ave Maria
Came never gladder than I shall to this knight.
Calisto, how wilt thou now sit upright?
I have showed thy water to thy physician:
Comfort thyself: the field is half-won. [Aside.
MEL. Mother, he is much beholden unto thee.
CEL. Fair maiden, for the mercy thou hast done to us
This knight and I both thy beadfolks shall be.
MEL. Mother, if need be, I will do more than thus.
CEL. It shall be needful to do so and righteous;
For this thus begun must needs have an end,
Which never can be without ye condescend.
MEL. Well, mother, to-morrow is a new day:[70]
I shall perform that I have you promised.
Show to this sick knight in all that I may.
Bid him be bold in all things honest,
And though he to me as yet be but a guest,
If my word or deed his health may support,
I shall not fail; and thus bid him take comfort.
[Exit Melibaea.
CEL. Now, Christ comfort thee, and keep thee in thy need!
Now say you, now is not this matter carried clear?
Cannot old Celestina her matter speed?
A thing not well handled is not worth a bean.
Now know ye by the half tale what the whole doth mean:
These women at the first be angry and furious:
Fair weather cometh after storms tempestuous.
And now to Calisto I will me dress,
Which lieth now languishing in great pain,
And show him that he is not remediless;
And bear him this to make him glad and fain;
And handle him, so that ye shall see plain,
That I am well worthy to bear the name,
For to be called a noble arch dame. [Exit.
Intrat DANIO pater MELIBAEAE.
O marvellous God, what a dream had I to-night!
Most terrible vision to report and hear!
I had never none such, nor none yearthly wight.
Alas! when I think thereon, I quake for fear;
It was of Melibaea, my daughter dear.
God send me good tidings of her shortly,
For, till I hear from her, I cannot be merry.
Intrat MELIBAEA.
MEL. O dear father, nothing may me more displease,
Nothing may do me more annoyance,
Nothing may do me greater disease,
Than to see you, father, in any perturbance,
For me chiefly, or for any other chance.
But for me I pray you not to be sad,
For I have no cause but to be merry and glad.
DAN. O sweet Melibaea, my daughter dear,
I am replete with joy and felicity,
For that ye be now in my presence here,
As I perceive, in joy and prosperity;
From death to life me thinketh it reviveth me;
For the fearful dream that I had lately.
MEL. What dream, sir, was that, I pray you heartily?
DAN. Doubtless, me thought that I was walking
In a fair orchard, where were places two:
The one was a hot bath, wholesome and pleasing
To all people that did repair thereto,
To wash them and clean them from sickness also;
The other a pit of foul stinking water;
Shortly they died, all that therein did enter.
And unto this wholesome bath methought that ye
In the right path were coming apace,
But before that methought that I did see
A foul, rough bitch—a prick-eared cur it was—
Which straking her body along on the grass,
And with her tail licked her so, that she
Made herself a fair spaniel to be.
This bitch then (methought) met you in the way,
Leaping and fawning upon you apace,
And round about you did run and play,
Which made you then disport and solace;
Which liked you so well, that in short space
The way to the hot bath anon ye left it,
And took the straight way to the foul pit.
And ever ye looked continually
Upon that same bitch, and so much her eyed,
That ye came to the foul pit-brink suddenly,
Like to have fallen in, and to have been destroyed,
Which when I saw, anon then I cried,
Starting in my sleep, and therewith did awake;
That yet for fear, methink, my body doth quake.
Was not this a fearful dream and marvellous?
I pray you, daughter, what think ye now to this?
Hic MELIBAEA certo tempore non loquitur, sed vultu lamentabili respicit.
Why speak ye not? why be ye now so studious?
Is there anything that hath chanced you amiss?
I am your father: tell me what it is.
MEL. Alas, now your dream, which ye have expressed,
Hath made me all pensive and sore abashed.
DAN. I pray you, dear daughter, now tell me why?
MEL. Sir, I know the cause of your vision,
And what your dreadful dream doth signify.
DAN. Thereof would I fain now have knowlition.
MEL. Alas, dear father, alas, what have I done?
Offended God as a wretch unworthy!
DAN. Wherein? despair not; God is full of mercy.