[160] Sir J. Hawkins.
Garrick Plays.
No. XV.
[From the “City Night-Cap,” a Tragi-Comedy, by Robert Davenport, 1651.]
Lorenzo Medico suborns three Slaves to swear falsely to an adultery between his virtuous Wife Abstemia, and his Friend Philippo. They give their testimony before the Duke of Verona, and the Senators.
Phil.—how soon
Two souls, more precious than a pair of worlds,
Are levell’d below death!
Abst. Oh hark! did you not hear it?
Sen. What, Lady?
Abst. This hour a pair of glorious towers is fallen
Two goodly buildings beaten with a breath
Beneath the grave: you all have seen this day
A pair of souls both cast and kiss’d away.
Sen. What censure gives your Grace?
Duke. In that I am kinsman
To the accuser, that I might not appear
Partial in judgment, let it seem no wonder,
If unto your Gravities I leave
The following sentence: but as Lorenzo stands
A kinsman to Verona, so forget not,
Abstemia still is sister unto Venice.
Phil. Misery of goodness!
Abst. Oh Lorenzo Medico,
Abstemia’s Lover once, when he did vow,
And when I did believe; then when Abstemia
Denied so many princes for Lorenzo,
Then when you swore:—Oh maids, how men can weep,
Print protestations on their breasts, and sigh,
And look so truly, and then weep again,
And then protest again, and again dissemble!—
When once enjoy’d, like strange sights, we grow stale;
And find our comforts, like their wonder, fail.
Phil. Oh Lorenzo!
Look upon tears, each one of which well-valued
Is worth the pity of a king; but thou
Art harder far than rocks, and canst not prize
The precious waters of truth’s injured eyes.
Lor. Please your Grace, proceed to censure.
Duke. Thus ’tis decreed, as these Lords have set down,
Against all contradiction: Signor Philippo,
In that you have thus grossly, Sir, dishonour’d
Even our blood itself in this rude injury
Lights on our kinsman, his prerogative
Implies death on your trespass; but, (your merit
Of more antiquity than is your trespass),
That death is blotted out; perpetual banishment,
On pain of death if you return, for ever
From Verona and her signories.
Phil. Verona is kind.
Sen. Unto you, Madam,
This censure is allotted: your high blood
Takes off the danger of the law; nay from
Even banishment itself: this Lord, your husband,
Sues only for a legal fair divorce,
Which we think good to grant, the church allowing:
And in that the injury
Chiefly reflects on him, he hath free licence
To marry when and whom he pleases.
Abst. I thank ye,
That you are favorable unto my Love,
Whom yet I love and weep for.
Phil. Farewell, Lorenzo,
This breast did never yet harbour a thought
Of thee, but man was in it, honest man:
There’s all the words that thou art worth. Of your Grace
I humbly thus take leave. Farewell, my Lords;—
And lastly farewell Thou, fairest of many,
Yet by far more unfortunate!—look up,
And see a crown held for thee; win it, and die
Love’s martyr, the sad map of injury.—
And so remember, Sir, your injured Lady
Has a brother yet in Venice.
Philippo, at an after-trial, challenges Lorenzo.