A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 2
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Title: A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 2
Editor: A. H. Bullen
Release date: January 1, 2004 [eBook #10656]
Most recently updated: October 28, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOLUME 2 ***
A COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. II
In Four Volumes
Edited by
A.H. BULLEN
1882-89.
CONTENTS:
Preface
Dick of Devonshire
The Lady Mother
The Tragedy of Sir John Van Olden Barnavelt
Captain Underwit
Appendix I.
Appendix II.
Footnotes.
PREFACE.
The plays in this volume are printed for the first time. All are
anonymous; but it is absolutely certain that _Sir John Van Olden
Barnavelt_ is a masterpiece by Fletcher and Massinger; that _Captain
Underwit_ is a comedy of Shirley's; and that the _Lady Mother_ (a piece
of no particular merit) is by Glapthorne. I am not at all sure that I am
right in ascribing _Dick of Devonshire_ to Heywood. But, whoever may
have been the author, I am confident that this well-written play will be
welcomed by all. In _Appendix I_ I give an account of the folio volume
(Eg. MS. 1,994) from which the two last pieces are taken.
To Mr. ROBERT BOYLE, of St. Petersburg, I offer my sincere thanks for
the very interesting note (_Appendix II_) which he sent me after reading
the proof-sheets of _Barnavelt_. Elsewhere I have expressed my gratitude
to Mr. F.G. FLEAY for his valuable help.
The preparation of this volume has been a work of great labour, for
everything has been transcribed by my own hand; but the tedious delay in
publication has been due in great part to circumstances beyond my
control.
_January_ 27, 1883.
INTRODUCTION TO DICK OF DEVONSHIRE.
The play of _Dick of Devonshire_, now first printed (from Eg. MS.,
1994[1]), is distinctly a well-written piece, the work of a practised
hand. There is nothing amateurish in the workmanship; the reader is not
doomed to soar into extravagances at one moment, and sink into
flatnesses at another. Ample opportunities were offered for displays of
boisterous riot, but the playwright's even-balanced mind was not to be
disturbed. Everywhere there are traces of studious care; and we may be
sure that a style at once so equable and strong was not attained without
a long apprenticeship. Nor will the reader fail to note the lesson of
charitableness and Christian forbearance constantly, yet unobtrusively,
inculcated.
The hero of the play, Richard Pike, published, under the title of _Three
to One_, a pamphlet (reprinted in vol. i. of Mr. Arber's valuable
_English Garner_) describing his exploits. There is no date to the
pamphlet; but it was no doubt issued very shortly after Pike's return,
which took place on April 20, 1626. At the outset the writer apologises
for the rudeness of his style, "I know not," he says, "what the court of
a king means, nor what the fine phrases of silken courtiers are. A good
ship I know, and a poor cabin; and the language of a cannon: and
therefore as my breeding has been rough, scorning delicacy; and my
present being consisteth altogether upon the soldier (blunt, plain and
unpolished), so must my writings be, proceeding from fingers fitter for
the pike than the pen." In those days a soldier was never at a loss to
express himself, and honest Dick Pike was no exception to the rule. He
goes straight to the point, and relates his adventures very vividly in
the homeliest language. Returning from an expedition against Algiers
"somewhat more acquainted with the world, but little amended in estate,"
he could not long rest inactive; and soon, "the drum beating up for a
new expedition," set out to try his fortunes again. The design was
against Cadiz; the fleet, under the command of the Earl of Essex,
numbered some 110 sail. There is no need to continue the story, for I
have nothing to add to the facts set forth in the pamphlet and the play.
If _Britannia's Pastorals_ had been written a few years later, we may be
sure that William Browne would have paid a fitting compliment to his
fellow-townsman's bravery. But Pike's famous deeds were not forgotten by
his countymen; for in a broadside of the late seventeenth century,
bearing the title of _A Panegyric Poem; or, Tavestock's Encomium_,[2] he
is thus enthusiastically praised:--
"Search whether can be found again the like
For noble prowess for our Tav'stock Pike,
In whose renowned never-dying name
Live England's honour and the Spaniard's shame."
There is a curious notice of our hero in a private letter, dated May 19,
1626, of Dr. Meddus to the Rev. Joseph Mead:[3]--"Yesterday being Holy
Thursday, one Pyke, a common soldier, left behind the fleet at Cadiz,
delivered a challenge to the Duke of Buckingham from the Marquis of ----,
brother-in-law to the Conde d'Olivares, in defence of the honour of his
sister; affirming, moreover, that he had wronged Olivares, the King of
Spain, and the King of England, and therefore he would fight with him in
any part of France. This Pike, a Devonshire man, being presented
prisoner to the Duke of Medina, he would needs have him fight at rapier
or dagger with a Spaniard, supposing he would not stand him two thrusts:
but Pyke, by a dexterous sleight, presently disarmed the Spaniard of his
rapier without hurting him, and presented it to the Duke," &c.
As to the authorship of the play, though I should be loth to speak with
positiveness, I feel bound to put forward a claim for Thomas Heywood.
Through all Heywood's writings there runs a vein of generous kindliness:
everywhere we see a gentle, benign countenance, radiant with love and
sympathy. On laying down one of his plays, the reader is inclined to
apply to him Tacitus' judgment of Agricola, "bonum virum facile
crederes, magnum libenter." Now, when we open _Dick of Devonshire_, the
naturalness and simplicity of the first scene at once suggest Heywood's
hand. In the second scene, the spirited eulogy on Drake--
"That glory of his country and Spayne's terror,
That wonder of the land and the seas minyon,
_Drake_, of eternall memory--"
and the fine lines descriptive of the Armada are just such as we might
expect from the author of the closing scenes of the second part of _If
you know not me, you know nobody_. Heywood was fond of stirring
adventures: he is quite at home on the sea, and delights in nothing more
than in describing a sea-fight; witness his _Fortunes by Land and Sea_,
and the two parts of the _Fair Maid of the West_. But the underplot
bears even clearer traces of Heywood's manner. Manuel is one of those
characters he loved to draw--a perfect Christian gentleman, incapable of
baseness in word or deed. Few situations could be found more touching
than the scene (iii. 3), where Manuel defends with passionate
earnestness the honour of his absent brother, Henrico, and tries to
comfort his heart-broken father. Heywood dealt in extremes: his
characters are, as a rule, either faultless gentlemen or abandoned
scoundrels. Hence we need not be surprised that Henrico exceeds other
villains in ruffianism as much as his brother, the gentle Manuel,
surpasses ordinary heroes in virtue. The characters of Henrico's
contracted bride, Eleonora, and Catalina, the good wife of a vicious
husband, are drawn tenderly and skilfully. Heywood's eyes were oftener
dim with tears than radiant with laughter; yet, with all his sympathy
for the afflicted and the fallen, he never took a distorted view of
society, but preserved untainted to the end a perennial spring of
cheerfulness.
I now leave the reader to the enjoyment of this old play, which, whether
it be Heywood's or not, certainly deserves the attention of all faithful
students of our inexhaustible dramatic literature.
NOTE.--I gratefully acknowledge the assistance that I have received from
F.G. Fleay, Esq., in preparing this volume for the press. To ensure as
much accuracy as possible, Mr. Fleay has read the proof-sheets
throughout.[4] By the same gentleman's kindness I am able to correct the
following misprints in the first volume:--
p. 37, l. 23, for "Yet can give," read, "Yet can I give."
p. 71, l. 18, del. comma after "live."
p. 103, l. 9, del. "we."
p. 119, 7 from bottom, for "she doth preferd doth see," read "she thus
preferd," &c.
p. 142, 9 from bottom, for "vouchsafed," read "vouchsafe."
p. 154, l. 19, for "There they are," read "I, here they are."
p. 190, l. 24, for "woman" read "women."
p. 194, l. 12, for "unwist," read "unjust."
p. 228, last line, for "Equire," read "Squire."
p, 258, l. 29, for "1639," read "1612."
p. 274, l. 16, for "whore," read "whore's;" and in the next line, for
"sunnes," read "sinnes."
p. 276, l. 4, after "Do not my Dons know," add "me."
p. 281, 4 from bottom, for "wo," read "two."
p. 311, l. 12, for "sol-Re-fa-mi," read "sol-Re-me-fa-mi." In l. 19, for
"Ra." read "Re."
p. 317, l. 21, for "goon," read "good."
p. 331, l. i, for "Med,," read "King."
THE PLAY OF DICKE OF DEVONSHIRE.
_A Tragi-Comedy_.
Hector adest secumque Deos in praelia ducit.
Drammatis Personae.
_The Duke of Macada_, |
_The Duke of Girona_, |
_The Duke of Medina_, | Four Grandies.
_The Marquesse d'Alquevezzes_, |
_Don Pedro Gusman_, An ancient Lord.
_Manuell_, | His Sons.
_Henrico_, |
_Don Fernando_, Governor of Cadiz Towne.
_Teniente_, A Justicier.
_Bustamente_, Captaine of Cadiz Castle.
_Dicke Pike_, The Devonshire Soldier.
_Don John_, A Colonel.
_Buzzano_, Servant to Pedro Guzman.
_Eleonora_, Daughter to Fernando.
_Catelina_, Wife to Don John.
_A Gentlewoman_.
_An English Captaine_.
_Mr. Jewell_.
_Mr. Hill_.
_Secretary_.
_Mr. Woodrow_.
_A Jaylor_.
_Two Fryers_.
_A Guard_.
_English Soldiers_.
_Spanish Soldiers_.
The Play of Dick of Devonshire.
_Actus Primus_.
(SCENE 1.)
_Enter Don Pedro Gusman, Henrico and Manuell, his sons;
Don Fernando and Eleanora, his daughter, and Teniente_.
_Pedr_. Gentlemen, y'have much honourd me to take
Such entertainement, but y'are welcome all.
'Twas my desire to have your company
At parting: heaven knowes when we shall meete againe.
_Ten_. You are for _France_ then too?
_Man_. I wayte on my father.
_Pedr_. _Henrico_.
_Ferd_. _Eleonora_.
_Ten_. But how chance, _Manuell_, your younger brother
Is at the Goale before you? What, no Lady
To please your eye?
_Man_. I am not
Yet weary of my freedome. May _Henrico_
Meete Joy in his Election: yet I know not
One I would sooner chuse to call a sister
Than _Eleonora_.
_Pedr_. At my returne from France all things shall bee
Consummate; in meane time let your owne hearts,
Knitt with the strongest tye of love, be merry
In mutuall embraces, and let your prayers
Fill our departing sayles. Our stay will not
Bee long, and the necessity of my affaires
Unwillingly doth take me from you.
_Hen_. Though I could wish your stay, my duty bidds me
Expect the enjoying of my happines
Till your returne from _France_.--Your blessing.
_Eleo_. How ever heaven dispose of _Eleonora_,
Pray write me in your thoughts your humblest daughter,
That shall make it a part of her devotions
To pray for you.
_Fer_. Well, sir, since your designe
Pulls you away, may your good Angell guard you.
_Ten_. The like wish I, _Don Pedro_.
_Fer_. _Manuell_, I hope
You will not long breath out of _Spanish_ ayre.
Farewell!
_Pedr_. My thanks to all.--Stay!
[_Peeces dischargd_.
_Fer_. The Captaine of the Castle come to interpret
That language to us? What newes?
_Enter Bustamente_.
_Bust_. Such as will make all _Spaine_ dance in Canary.
The _Brasile_ fleete--
_Pedr_. Arriv'd?
_Bust_. Is putting into harbour, and aloud
Calls for a Midwife: she is great with gold
And longs to be delivered.
_Pedr_. No he _Spanyard_
Is not a true reioycer at the newes:
Be't a good omen to our Journey.
_Ten_. So we wish all.
_Pedr_. May we at our returne meet no worse newes
Then now at parting. My noble _Don Fernando_
And _Teniente_, once more farewell, (my daughter, I hope)
_Eleonora, Henrico_,--Nay, your good newes deserves a farewell.
_Bust_. A soldier's farewell, a fast hand and heart;
Good fate to both.
[_Ex. Pedr. and Man_.
_Hen_. Come, _Elinor_, let them discourse their Joyes
For the safe fleete: in thee all my delights
Embarke themselves.
_Bust_. Tush, lett 'em come; our shippes have brought with them
The newes of warre.
_Per_. What is that, Gentlemen?
_Ten_. I am speaking of a fleete of Enemyes.
_Per_. From whence?
_Ten_. From _England_.
_Fer_. A castle in the ayre.
_Ten_. Doe you not believe it?
_Fer_. I heard such a report,
But had no faith in't: a mere Potgun![5]
_Bust_. Nay, sir,
'Tis certaine there hath bene great preparation,
If our Intelligence be true to us;
And a mighty Navy threatens the sea.
_Fer_. What's that to us?
How long hath it bene a voyce they were at sea!
I have ventured to discharge the soldiers
Which to keepe here in pay upon the rumour
Of a great fleete a comming, would both pester
The Towne and be unnecessary charge
To the King our Master.
_Ten_. But how if they intend us?
_Fer_. 'Tis not probable:
The time of yeare is past, sir, now; more then
The middle of October. Had they meant us
We should have heard their message in loud Cannon
Before this time.
_Bust_. I am of that opinion.
_Ten_. But _Don Fernando_ and _Bustamente_, call to mind
The time hath bene, when we supposed too
The season past, they have saluted us
With more then friendly Bulletts; tore the ribbs
Of our Towne up, made every house too hott
For the Inhabitants; had a spoyle of all,
Spight of our hearts.
_Fer_. One Swallow makes not Summer: because once
Our City was their prize, is't of necessity
It must be so againe?
_Bust_. Or were the Navy
Greater, as fame gives out it is the fayrest
That ever danced upon these Seas, why yet
Should we suspect for this Citty?
_Fer_. Because we dreame soe.
_Ten_. If you did dreame it may be as neare truth:
I wish the contrary, but know them daring Enemyes.
_Fer_. The world, we doe acknowledge, cannot boast
More resolution then the _English_ hearts
Seasond for action.
_Ten_. _Francisco Bustamente_, how is the Castle? what strength?
_Bust_. A fort impregnable, wanting neyther soldiers nor munition.
_Ten_. Well, looke to't.
_Fer_. How ere
That wilbe necessary; the fort lyes in
The mouth of danger, and it will become
You to discharge that duty, _Bustamente_.
_Bust_. With my best care.
_Ten_. I wish all well, and that you had not yet
Discharg'd your Companyes, _Don Fernando_.
_Fer_. Come, come; putt of your Jelousy,
Drinke downe the remembrance. We forget
Our fleetes arrivall; send your feares away;
Nothing but wine and mirth should crowne this day.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE 2.
_Enter two Devonshire Merchants, as being in Sherryes_[6]
1. Heare you the newes?
2. Yes, that an English fleete
Is making up to Cales.[7]
1. Our _Sherryes_ merchants,
Though few of us be heere, shall soundly pay
To the furnishing of this Navy.
2. Nay, I assure you
Our shipps wilbe fast bound by _Spanish_ charmes
Not to get hence in hast.
1. The Divell allready
Is furling up the sayles; would all the sackes
Which we have bought for _England_ were in _Devonshire_
Turnd to small Beere, so we were but in _Tavistocke_
To see it drawne out; were it nere so thin
I'de drink a health to all the Dons in _Sherryes_
And cry a pox upon 'em.
2. That word heard
By any lowsy _Spanish_ Picardo[8]
Were worth our two neckes. Ile not curse my Diegoes
But wish with all my heart that a faire wind
May with great Bellyes blesse our _English_ sayles
Both out and in; and that the whole fleete may
Be at home delivered of no worse a conquest
Then the last noble voyage made to this Citty,
Though all the wines and merchandize I have here
Were ith' Seas bottome.
1. Troth, so would I mine.
2. I nere could tell yet from what roote this huge
Large spreading Tree of hate from _Spayne_ to us,
From us agayne to _Spayne_, took the first growth.
1. No? then lie tell you: let us season our sorrow
With this discourse.
2. With all my heart I long for't.
1. You shall not loose your longing: then, sir, know
The hate a _Spanyard_ beares an _Englishman_
Nor naturall is, nor ancient; but as sparkes,
Flying from a flint by beating, beget flames,
Matter being neere to feed and nurse the fire,
So from a tinder at the first kindled[9]
Grew this heartburning twixt these two great Nations.
2. As how, pray?
1. Heare me: any _Englishman_
That can but read our Chronicles can tell
That many of our Kings and noblest Princes
Have fetcht their best and royallest wives from _Spayne_,
The very last of all binding both kingdomes
Within one golden ring of love and peace
By the marriage of Queene _Mary_ with that little man
(But mighty monarch) _Phillip_, son and heire
To _Charles_ the Emperour.
2. You say right.
1. Religion
Having but one face then both here and there,
Both Nations seemd as one: Concord, Commerce
And sweete Community were Chaynes of Pearle
About the neckes of eyther. But when _England_
Threw of the Yoake of _Rome, Spayne_ flew from her;
_Spayne_ was no more a sister nor a neighbour,
But a sworne Enemy. All this did but bring
Dry stickes to kindle fire: now see it burne.
2. And warme my knowledge and experience by't.
1. Spaines anger never blew hott coales indeed
Till in Queene _Elizabeths_ Raigne when (may I call him so)
That glory of his Country and _Spaynes_ terror,
That wonder of the land and the Seas minyon,
_Drake_, of eternall memory, harrowed th'_Indyes_.
2. The King of _Spaynes_ west _Indyes_?
1. Yes, when his Hands
_Nombre de Dios, Cartagena, Hispaniola_,
With _Cuba_ and the rest of those faire Sisters,
The mermaydes of those Seas, whose golden strings
Give him his sweetest musicke, when they by _Drake_
And his brave Ginges[10] were ravishd; when these red apples
Were gather'd and brought hither to be payrd--
Then the _Castilian_ Lyon began to roare.
2. Had he not cause, being vexd soe?
1. When our shipps
Carrying such firedrakes in them that the huge
_Spanish_ Galleasses, Galleons, Hulkes and Carrackes[11]
Being great with gold, in labour with some fright,
Were all delivered of fine redcheekt Children
At _Plymouth, Portsmouth_ and other _English_ havens
And onely by men midwives: had not _Spayne_ reason
To cry out, oh Diables _Ingleses_!
2. It had not spoke such _Spanish_ else.
1. When we did sett our feete even on their Mynes
And brought their golden fagotts thence, their Ingotts
And silver wedges; when each ship of ours
Was able to spread sayles of silke; the tacklings
Of twisted gold; when every marryner
At his arrivall here had his deepe pockets
Crammd full of Pistoletts; when the poorest ship-boy
Might on the _Thames_ make duckes and drakes with pieces
Of eight fetchd out of _Spayne_: These were the Bellowes
Which blew the _Spanish_ bonfires of revenge;
These were the times in which they calld our Nation
Borachos,[12] Lutherans and Furias del Inferno.
2. Would we might now give them the selfe same cause
To call us soe.
1. The very name of _Drake_
Was a Bugbear to fright Children; Nurses still'd
Their little _Spanish_ Nynnyes when they cryde
"Hush! the _Drake_ comes."
2. All this must needs beget
Their mortall hate to us.
1. It did; yet then
We lovd them beyond measure.
2. Why?
1. Why, did not
_Spaine_ fetch gold from the _West Indies_ for us
To spend here merrily? She planted vines,
We eate the Grapes; she playd the _Spanish_ Pavine[13]
Under our windowes, we in our bedds lay laughing
To heare such Mynstrelsy.
2. How then turnd the windes?
Why did this beauteous face of love in us
Put on so blacke a Visour of hate to them?
1. Oh, sir, doe but looke backe to Eighty Eight,
That _Spanish_ glasse shall tell you, shew each wrinckle.
_England_ that yeare was but a bit pickd out
To be layd on their Kinges Trencher. Who were their Cookes?
Marry, sir, his Grandees and great Dons of _Spaine_,
A Navy was provided, a royall fleete,
Infinite for the bravery of Admiralls,
Viceadmirall [sic], Generalls, Colonells and Commanders,
Soldiers, and all the warlike furniture
Cost or experience or mans witt could muster
For such a mayne designe.
2. Stay; Eighty Eight,--
Thirty eight yeares agoe: much about then
Came I into the world.--Well, sir, this fleete?
1. Which made the Sea fish wonder what new kingdome
Was building over theirs, beate downe the Billowes
Before them to gett thither. 'Twas such a Monster
In body, such a wonder in the eyes,
And such a[14] thunder in the eares of Christendome
That the Popes Holynes would needes be Godfather
To this most mighty big limbd Child, and call it
Th'Invincible Armado.
2. Thats to say
A Fleete of Shipps not to be overcome
By any power of man.
1. These were the Whales,
These were the huge Levyathans of the Sea
Which roaring came with wide and dreadfull Jawes
To swallow up our Kingdom, Shipps & Nation.
The fame of this Armado flew with Terrour
Riding on Envyes wing; the preparation
Was wayted on with wonder, and the approach
Shewd the grim face of horrour: yet gainst all these
Our Country and our Courages were armd.
2. _St. George_ for _England_!
1. And _St. George_ we cryde,
Albeit, we heard, the _Spanish_ Inquisition
Was aboord every ship with torture, torments,
Whipps strung with wyre, and knives to cutt our throates.
But from the armed winds an hoast brake forth
Which tare their shipps and sav'd ours.--Thus I have read
Two storyes to you; one, why _Spayne_ hates us,
T'other why we love not them.
2. Oh, sir, I thank you.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE 3.
_Ent. Teniente, Don John, Henrico_.
_Ten_. I ever feard some ill fate pointed at
This Citty.
_Jo_. Makes the fleete this way?
_Hen_. _Buzzano_!
_Ten_. I did dreame every night of't, and the Ravens
With their unlucky throates never leave croaking
Some danger to us all.
_Hen_. Where's _Buzzano_? Villaine!
_Jo_. Be not discomforted.
_Ten_. Don _Fernando_, too,
Hath cut our strength off, taken away our swords
Should save our throates. I did preiudicate
Too rashly of the _English_; now we may
Yield up the Towne.--Sirra, get you up to th'highest _Enter Buzzano_.
Turret, that lookes three leagues into the Sea,
And tell us what you can discover there.
_Buz_. Why, I can tell you ere I goe.
_Hen_. What?
_Buz_. Why there are fishes and shipps too in the sea; they were made
for that purpose.
_Ten_. The fellow doates? climbe quickly, sirra, and tell us
Whither any bend to this place: there's a fleete
Abroad; skud, rascall.
_Hen_. Villayne, away; and cast your eyes into the Sea.
_Buz_. Ile be hangd first; some wiser then some: mine Eyes into the Sea?
I see no reason for't.
_Ten_. Why stayest thou?--this slave is without sence.
Get up and see, and report the truth.
_Buz_. Thats another matter: I will orelooke you all presently.
[_Exit_.
_Jo_. What were I best to doe? I doe not like these Navyes.
_Hen_. 'Tis past question,
If they were kenn'd this way, that they intend
To make another meale of this Citty.
_Ten_. The first was but a Breakfast: they have shrewd stomakes.
Oh for a lusty storme to bury all
Their hopes in the waves now! one good swelling Gust
Would breake their ribbs in pieces.
_Jo_. No witches abroad?
_Buz_. I see, I see, I see!
_Enter Buzzano above_.
_All_. What?
_Buz_. Nay, I cannot tell what yet:
Something it is; I thinke it be a Towne.
_Hen_. Some Iland in the Sea!
_Buz_. It swims on the water.
_Jo_. 'Tis the fleete: come they this way?
_Buz_. Yes, th'are ships; I know 'em by their foule linen; now I see
them plainely; they come, they come, they come!
_Hen_. How far off?
_Ten_. Speake, sirra.
_Buz_. If you would peace I might heare what they say; the wind serves
to bring every word they speake: they make towards, yes, towards this
Citty. A great fleete! stay, stay, look to your selves, Don: they spitt
fire allready, and have hung up a thousand flaggs of defyance. They are
at the fort, the castle, at the castle: would I were pelted to death
with Oranges and Lymons.
_Ten_. Here comes _Don Fernando_. What newes?
_Enter Fernando with Eleonora_.
_Fer_. Assured danger, gentlemen, for all our men
Already are in a palsye and doe flye
They know not whither. They are _English_:
The Citty's allmost desperate.
_Ten_. _Don John_, come with me
And helpe to encourage the remayning soldiers.
_Fer_. New supply shall quickly cheare you hearts.--
_Henrico_!
_Hen_. Sir?
_Fer_. In this confusion, when a thousand feares
Present themselves & danger with full face
Lookes on the generall Towne, let me locke up
This Treasure in your armes; &, for you have
At least an equall interest with mee
In _Eleonora_, in your fathers house
She may hope more security, being of strength;
For this storme cannot last. But in your love
She hath a stronger guard.
_Hen_. This act of confidence
Binds me for ever to _Fernando_: come,
Halfe of my soule, for we two must not bee
In life devided. Though the Citty lye
At mercy of the Enemy, yet from
_Don Pedro Gusman's_ house not all mankind
Shall take thee from me.
_Enter Buzzano and Spanyards flying_.
_Buz_. They come, they come, they come!
_Fer_. Committing this my Jewell to your trust
I must unto my charge: my blessing!
_Ele_. Oh doe not leave me, sir; for without you
What safety can I have? you are my father:
Pray, stay you with me.
_Fer_. Oh, my Girle, I cannot,
Dare not be so unfaithfull to the trust
His maiesty put me in, though I would stay.
_Ele_. I feare if you goe hence all will not long be well.
_Hen_. Distrust you me, Eleonora?
_Ele_. No, indeed:
You ever had with me th'opinion
Of a most noble gentleman.
_Fer_. What then?
_Ele_. I know not what besides my feare; and that
Beggs I may share your fortune, since you may not
Take up such safety here as I have.
_Fer_. Come,
You are to blame: this heaven that now lookes on us
With rugged brow may quickly smile againe
And then I shall revisite my _Eleonora_.
So, farewell. [_Exit_.
_Hen_. Till then with greater care then were the Dragons
Supposd to watch the Golden Apples growing
In the _Hesperides_, shall _Henrico_ wayte
On his best loved. Oh, my _Eleonora_,
I would to heaven there were no war but here
To shoote love darts! each smile from this fayre Eye
May take an Army prisoners: let me give
My life up here unto these lipps, and yet
I shall, by the sweetnes of a kisse, take back
The same againe. Oh thou in whom alone
Vertue hath perfect figure, hide not day
In such a Cloud: what feare hath enterd here?
My life is twisted in a Thread with thine;
Were't not defenced, there could nothing come
To make this cheeke looke pale, which at your Eye
Will not fall dead before you.--
_Enter Buzzano_.
Sirra, let all your care and duty bee
Employed to cheere this Lady: pray, be merry.
_Buz_. Oh, sir, yonders such doings.
_Hen_. Hell on your bawling! not a sillable to affright her,
or I shall tune your instrument there.
_Buz_. Hele breake the head of my instrument!
Why, sir, weomen are not affraid to heare of doings.
_Hen_. Still jarring?
_Buz_. When the whole towne is altogether by th'eares you might give
me leave to jar a little my selfe:--I have done, sir.
_Hen_. Putt on thy merryest face, _Buzzano_.
_Buz_. I have but one face, but I can make a great many.
_Hen_. My best _Eleonora_, I shall soone returne:
In the meane time be owner of this house,
The possesour. All danger, sweet, shall dwell
Far off: Ile but enquire the state of things
In the Citty, and fly back to thee with loves wings.
[_Exit_.
_Ele_. I prithee call him backe.
_Buz_. Signior _Henrico_,
She has something more to say to you. [_Redit_.
_Hen_. To me, sweetest?
_Ele_. _Henrico_, doe you love me?
_Hen_. By this faire hand.
_Ele_. And will you leave me, too?
_Hen_. Not for the wealth of _Spaine_.
_Ele_. Since I must be your prisoner let me have
My keepers company, for I am afraid
Some enemy in your absence, like a woolfe
May ceize on me. I know not whither now
I ere shall see my father: doe not you
Ravish yourselfe from me, for at the worst
We may dye here, _Henrico_; and I had rather
Fall in your eye than in your absence be
Dishonord; if the destinyes have not
Spun out a longer thread, lets dye together.
_Hen_. Oh doe not racke my soule with these sad accents.
Am I _Henrico_? there is not any place
Can promise such security as this
To _Eleonora_. Doe not talke of dying,
Our best dayes are to come: putt on thy quiet,
And be above the reach of a misfortune.
Ile presently wayte on thee, by this kisse.
_Buz_. Would I might keepe your oath: so please you, lady,
_Buzzano_ will sweare too.
_Hen_. What?
_Buz_. That you'le be there and here agen presently.
_Hen_. Attend here, sirra.
_Buz_. If you must needes goe, pray, sir, keepe yourselfe out of
Gun-shott.
_Hen_. Mind you your charge.
_Buz_. You shall heare a good report of my piece, I warrant you.
Take heed you be not sent to heaven with a powder: a company of hott
shotts[15] are abroad, I can tell you.
_Ele_. If you will goe may your successe be faire.
_Hen_. Farewell; heaven cannot chuse but heare your prayer.
[_Exit_.
_Buz_. Now what please you, madam? that I shall amble, trott, or walke?
_Ele_. Any pace.
_Buz_. Yet, if you would referre it to me, I'de use none of them.
_Ele_. What wouldst doe?
_Buz_. Why I would gallop or run, for I think long till I be at home in
our Castle of comfort. If it please you Ile lead you a hand gallop in
the plaine ground, trott up hill with you & racke[16] downewards.
_Ele_. Talke not of rackes, prithee; the times present too many.
_Buz_. Ride me as you will, then; I am used both to curbe and snaffle.
_Ele_. I prithee tell me, _Buzzano_,--so, I heare thy master call thee--
_Buz_. He may call me at his pleasure, forsooth.
_Ele_. Dost thou know the nature of the _English_?
_Buz_. Both men and women: I travelled thither with an Embassadour. For
the men Ile not misse you a haire of their condition; and for the women
I know 'em as well as if I had bene in their bellyes.
_Ele_. Are they not cruell?
_Buz_. As Tygers, when they set on't: no mercy unlesse we aske them
forgiveness.
_Ele_. That's somewhat yet.
_Buz_. But not to you; that's onely to men; for lett the women fall
downe afore 'em never so often they'le rather fall upon them. Nay, some
of them are so spitefull they'le breake their owne backes before they
let 'em rise againe.
_Ele_. Foole, I meane not your way.
_Buz_. Keepe your owne way, madam; I meane the playne way.
_Ele_. Are they not unmercifull in their natures to such as are in their
power, their Enemyes as we may be?
_Buz_. Their enemyes as we may be in their power! I had rather be
cramm'd into a cannon and shott against their ships then you should
prove a witch & tell true now. The _Tartar_ is not halfe so grim; not
a _Turke_ would use us so like _Jewes_ as they will.
If it come to that once that they take the Towne
You will see _Spanish_ Dons heads cryed up and downe:
as they doe our Orenges and Lymons; and the woemens heads shall off,
too,--not a maydenhead of gold shall scape 'em.
_Ele_. It is no valour to use Tyranny
Upon the conquerd: they have been reported
A noble nation; and when last the pride
Of this Citty adornd their victory, by command
Or their brave Generall, no outrage ever
The soldiers durst committ upon our persons:
Though all our wealth ran in full streames upon them
Our honours were preserved, or fame belys them.
_Buz_. No matter what fame sayes, perhaps I know more than she does;
& yet, now you talk of valour, they are not comparable to us.
_Ele_. How?
_Buz_. Why, valour is but the courage of a man; courage is, as they say,
the spirit of a man; and the spirit of a man is the greatnes, as we call
it, of his stomake. Now 'tis well knowen to the whole world they feed
better and eate more then we: ergo, we have better stomackes then they.
But, see! we have talk't our selves at home already, and the point
(port?) is open. Will't please you enter, or shall I enter before you?
I am your man, madam.
_Ele_. You know the way best:--whilst abroad they are
At fight, twixt hope and feare at home I warre.
[_Exeunt_.
_Actus Secundus_.
(SCENE 1.)
_Alarum; as the soft musicke begins a peale of ordnance
goes off; then Cornetts sound a Battaile; which ended
enter Captaine, Master of a ship, Dick Pike, with musketts_.
_Cap_. Fought bravely, countrymen! Honour all this while
Sate in a Throne of smoake with sparckling eyes
Looking upon your courages & admiring
Your resolutions, and now rewards your sweat
With victory. The castle groanes at heart;
Her strongest ribbs are bruizd with battering Cannons,
And she hath tane into her bowells fire
Enough to melt her.
_Ma_. My Lord came bravely up to her & shewd a spirit
That commands danger; his honorable example
Gave us new hearts.
_Sol_. Faith, give the _Spanyards_ their due; they entertaind us
handsomely with hott meat; 'twas no cold welcome.
_Pike_. But I would not willingly swallow their plums; they would rise
shrewdly in a man's stomacke.
_Cap_. At the first shott, when the _Convertine_ came in, 3 men were
killd.
_Ma_. At the second 4, was't not?
_Cap_. At the third two more: one salutation
Came so close that, with the very wind,
My hands have almost lost the sense of feeling.
_Jewell_, thou mad'st thy muskett spitt fire bravely.
_Ma_. And my _Devonshire_ blade, honest _Dick Pike_,
Spard not his Sugar pellets among my _Spanyards_.
_Cap_. He did like a soldier, as he that chargd his muskett told me:
in this service he hath dischargd 70 bulletts.
_Pike_. I did my part, sir, and wish I had bene able to have layd 'em
on thicker; but I have lynd somebodyes gutts, much good doe 'em with it;
some of them have wishd well to me.
_Cap_. Art hurt?
_Ma_. Where?
_Pike_. Nowhere; one of my flanckes itches a little; if a piece of lead
have crept in to hide it selfe cowardly I am not much in debt for't.
_Cap_. Let my Surgeons search it.
_Pike_. Search a pudding for plums; let my flesh alone; perhaps it wants
souldering. Shall we to't agen: I have halfe a score pills for my
_Spanyards_--better then purging comfitts.
_Enter a Soldier_.
_Cap_. What newes?
_Sol_. The fort is yielded.
_Pike_. They have bene speechlesse a good while; I thought they'de yield
up the ghost shortly.
_Sol_. But on condition to march away with flying colours, which was
granted.
_Cap_. What's become of the Captaine of the fort?
_Sol_. _Don Francisco Bustament_ is carryed aboord our Generalls ship,
where he had a soldier like welcome; but he & all his company are put
over to _Port Reall_ upon the maine land because they should not succour
the Citty.
_Cap_. Unles he will swim to th'Iland.--And how fares the _Convertine_?
_Sol_. Her shroudes are torne to pieces & her tacklings to raggs.
_Cap_. No matter; she carryes the more honour.
_Sol_. 5 hundred Bulletts sticke in her sides.
_Pike_. 'Tis well they scaped her heart, lying all the fight little more
than pistoll shott from 'em; her Starboard still to the fort & at least
200 Musketts playing upon her. I wish'd heartily some of our London
roaring Boyes[17] had bene in the heate of't.
_Sol_. Wouldst have 'em twice burnt.
_Pike_. They should have found a difference betwixt the smoake of
Tobacco and of a muskett; another manner of noise than _dam me & refuse
me_[18], which they vomitt dayly. It might have done some of 'em good,
for by that meanes they might have prayd heartily once in their lives.
_Cap_. The _Whitehall_[19] men did good service.
_Ma_. Who? the Collyers?
_Sol_. 4000 Bulletts their ordnance & the _Hollanders_ dischargd upon
the Castle.
_Cap_. 'Twas well done of all sides, Bullyes[20]: but, since our forces
are landed, let it be your care to looke well to the Ships: and honest
_Dick_ of _Devonshire_ be not too carelesse of your hurts; he meanes to
fight againe that provides for his recovery soonest. Hold thee, here is
something to pay the Surgeon and to wash your wound withall.
_Pike_. My noble Captaine, I'le have care of my owne and drinke your
health with it.
_Ma_. Thou deservest more than common encouragement: prithee, remember
me too.
[_Exeunt Capt. & Mast_.
_Pike_. Why, now am I sorry I have no more hurt, gentlemen; but I tooke
it as earnest to receive more if occasion bee. I have but a barrell to
bestow among my Dons; while that lasts let 'em come & welcome,--the
drinke shalbe spicd to their hands. Their complexions are blacke, they
shall want no Balls to wash their faces; if any doe light in their
bodies they may chance be scourd all over.
_Sol_. 2. We may hap to be in the suddes ourselves.
_Pike_. There will be charges savd then; for my part I am but one, and
there are shotts enough.
_Sol_. 2. More by a score then I hope wilbe payd these two dayes.
_Pike_. Talke not of paying: here's more then a month comes to. Well,
if our service be done, & there be any other liquor to be gott, wele
drinke no salt water as long as this lasts.
_Sol_. 2. Come, let's have a dish to our countrymen & let's remember
_Tavestock_.
_Pike_. Godamercy for that, boy. A match, a match!
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 2.)
_Enter Henrico Gusman, his sword drawne, & Eleonora_.
_Hen_. Yet the Citty is safe enough; feare not, _Eleonora_;
The Bullets make no noyse here: if the Towne
Should yield her strength up to th'invader, thou
Art lockd up like a spirit in a Christall:
Not an enchanted Castle, held up by
Strong charme, is halfe so safe. This house, though now
It carry not the figure & faire shape
Which the first workeman gave it, eating Time
Having devourd the face of't, is within
A Sanctuary, & hath so much cunning
Couchd in the body not a Laborinth
Is so full of Meanders.
_Ele_. Sir, your presence
Confirmes me in opinion of my safety;
Not of my life so much, for that's a thing
I owe to nature & should one day be
A-weary of it; like to Innes we take
Our houses up, having but here a place
Of _Lodging_ not of _dwelling_:--but of _honour_
You give me my assurance, for in such
A time of thicke confusions I much feare
That might be hazarded. And who knowes what
The soldier that hath no lawe but that
Of cruelty and rapine, when like a Bird
Of prey his Tallents are possessd of one
So weake as I am--
_Hen_. He that durst offend
Thee with a sillable or but fright that bloud
Out of thy Cheekes to seeke another place,
Not daring to be seene there where it now
Is of itselfe sufficient to ravish
A mortall that with just eyes can looke on it,
Had better be a divell. But a haire,
The poorest part of thee & in this excellent
Because 'tis thine, should any dare to ravish
From these his soft companions, which the wind
Would be for ever proud to play withall,
H'had better dig his mothers coffin up
And with his teeth eate what the wormes have left.
_Ele_. I know you will defend me.
_Hen_. Will defend thee!
Have I a life, a soule that in thy service
I would not wish expird! I doe but borrow
My selfe from thee.
_Ele_. Rather you put to Interest
And, for that principall you have credited
To _Eleonora_ her heart is paid backe
As the iust Usury.
_Hen_. You undoe me, sweet,
With too much love; if ere I marry thee
I feare thou'lt kill me.
_Ele_. How?
_Hen_. With tendring me too much, my _Eleonora_;
For in my conscience thou'lt extreamely love me,
And extreames often kill.
_Ele_. There can be no extreme of love[21], sir.
_Hen_. Yes, but there may; and some say Jealousy
Runs from the Sea, a rivolet but deducted
From the mayne Channell.
_Ele_. This is a new language.
_Hen_. Have you not heard men have been killd with Joy?
Our griefe doth but contract the heart, & gladnesse
Dilate the same; and soo too much of eyther
Is hott i'th' fourth degree.
_Ele_. Sir, your discourse
Is stuff of severall pieces and knitts not
With that you usd but now: if we can practize
A vertuous love there's no hurt to exceed in't.
--What doe you, Sir?
_Hen_. Looke on thee.
_Ele_. Why doe you eye me soe? this is not usuall.
Are you well?
_Hen_. Well, never better.
_Ele_. Pray heaven it bode me no unhappinesse!
How doth my father?
_Hen_. He's very well, too; feare not.
_Ele_. Still I read in your eyes--
_Hen_. What Babyes[22], prety one? Thy owne face, naught else;
I receive that way all this beauty into
My heart, and 'tis perhaps come backe to looke
Out at the window. Come, Ile winke againe,
It shall not trouble you:--hence my trayterous thoughts.
_Ele_. Indeed you are not well.
_Hen_. Indeed I am not; all's not well within me.
Why should I be a villaine? _Eleonora_
Doe not looke on me; turne those eyes away,
They would betray thee to thy sorrow; or
Lett me by parting carry along with me
That which to know undoes thee.
_Ele_. Are you not hurt?
_Hen_. Yes.
_Ele_. Good heaven defend! I have a soveraigne Balme.
[_Exit_.
_Hen_. Vanish, you ugly shapes, & with her presence
Quitt your sharp stings! into what monstrous creature
Feele I myself a-growing! yet I cannot
Force backe the streame, it comes so fast upon me;
I cannot.
_Enter Eleonora_.
_Ele_. Here, good _Henrico_, let me see your wound.
_Hen_. No, I am well againe; thankes, my best love.
Come, let us walke and talke; I had a fancy,
But 'tis no matter:--_Buzzano_!
_Enter Buzzano_.
_Buz_. Did you call?
_Hen_. Yes, the Balme here--
_Buz_. What shall I doe with it?
_Hen_. Lay it up safe; 'tis good for a greene wound
But mines a blacke one:--and d'you heare, sirra,
Draw up the bridge, give entrance unto none.
_Buz_. All my fellowes are abroad, sir; there's nobody at home but I.
_Hen_. No matter, let none enter; were my father
Brought with a whirlwind backe, he finds all shutt
Till I have done.
_Buz_. Well, sir;--madam, all this is that you should not b' afraid:
you now see what a kind man he is,--he will suffer none to enter but
himselfe. [_Exit_.
_Ele_. If all this proceed out of your care of me, how much am I bound
to acknowledge you. Sir, methinkes you minde me not.
_Hen_. Yes, I doe nothing else but thinke of thee, & of my father, too,
_Don Pedro_.
_Ele_. Ha! I hope he's well.
_Hen_. I wish he were returned, my _Eleonora_, for both our sakes.
_Ele_. The same wish I, sir.
_Hen_. That then our Joys, which now like flowers nippd
With frost, hang downe the head as if the stalkes
Could not sustaine the toppes, they droope to much;--
At his returne th'art mine.
_Ele_. I am yours now
In holyest Contract.
_Hen_. That's the ground we build on:
Faith, since allready the foundation's layd,
Let's work upon't. Y'are mine, you say, allready--
Mine by all tearmes of Law, & nothing wanting
But the possession: let's not then expect
Th'uncertainety of a returne from France,
But be all one ymediately.
_Ele_. I understand you not.
_Hen_. Since y'are a Tree reservd for me what now
Should hinder me from climbing? All your apples
I know are ripe allready; 'tis not stealth,
I shall rob nobody.
_Ele_. You'le not be a divell?
_Hen_. No, I will but play the man with you: why, you know 'tis nothing.
_Ele_. Will you enforce mine honour? oh, _Henrico_,
Where have you left your goodnesse? sure you cannot
Be so ignoble, if you thinke me worthy
To be your wife at least, to turne _Eleonora_
Into a whore.
_Hen_. Pish! some hungry Landlords would have rent before
The Quarter day,--I doe no more: by faire meanes
Yield up your fort; the Tenement is mine owne
And I must dwell in't.
_Ele_. My feares pointed wrong:
You are no enemy, no wolfe; it was
A villaine I disturbed: oh, make me not
Find in your presence that destruction
My thoughts were so affrighted with.
_Hen_. We shall have such adoe now!
_Ele_. Your fathers house will prove no castle to mee
If you at home doe wound mee. 'Twas an Angell
Spoke in you lately not my Cheeke should bee
Made pale with feare. Lay not a lasting blush
On my white name:--No haire should perish here
Was vowed even now:--Oh let not a blacke deed,
And by my sworne preserver, be my death
My ever living death. _Henrico_, call
To mind your holy vowes; thinke on our parents,
Ourselves, our honest names; doe not kill all
With such a murthering piece. You are not long
T'expect, with the consent of men and angells,
That which to take now from me will be losse
A losse of heaven to thee. Oh, do not pawne it
For a poore minutes sin.
_Hen_. If't be a worke, madam, of so short time,
Pray let me beg a minutes privacy;
'Twill be soone done.
_Ele_. Yes, but the horrour of
So foule a deed shall never: there's layd up
Eternity of wrath in hell for lust:
Oh, 'tis the devill's exercise! _Henrico_,
You are a man, a man whom I have layd up
Nearest my heart: in you 'twill be a sin
To threaten heaven & dare that Justice throw
Downe Thunder at you. Come, I know you doe
But try my vertue, whether I be proofe
Against anothers Battery: for these teares--
_Hen_. Nay, then I see you needs will try my strength:
My bloud's on fire, I boyle with expectation
To meete the pleasure and I will.
[_He forces her in_.
_Ele_. Helpe, helpe!
_Enter Buzzano_.
_Buz_. Helpe? what nightingale was that? did one cry out for helpe?
there's no Christian soule in the house but they two & my selfe; and
'twas not mine, I know by the smallnes of the voice; twas some woman
cryde out, & therefore can be none but my young Lady,--it was she as
sure as I am hungry; he's with her. But why, having one man did she cry
out for more? oh, our _Spanish_ ovens are not heated with one Bavyn.[23]
Well, I must say nothing; my young Cocke has bene treading. Ile tread
softly & see what they doe:--but, see!
_Enter Henrico & Eleonora, loose haired and weeping_.
_Hen_. What doe you looke after?
_Buz_. Why, sir, I looke after a voyce that appeard to me even now,
crying "helpe,"--a very small one.
_Hen_. If what thou seest or heard'st be ever muttered by thee
Though in thy sleep, villaine, Ile pistol thee.
_Buz_. Hum, it will not be safe to dreame of a knave shortly. Are you so
good at a gun? if you use this too often your birding piece will scarce
carry a yard levell.
_Hen_. Come, dresse your hayre up & be wise at last:
No more, I have done.
_Buz_. So I thinke in my conscience,--he hath done with her.
_Hen_. If you can be so simple to proclaime it,
I can be impudent.
_Ele_. Yet dar'st thou live? & doe I live to see
Myselfe the shame of weomen? have I not
Wept teares enough to drowne me? then let fire
Enthrone it selfe within me & beget
Prodigious Cometts, that with flaming haires
May threaten danger to thee!
_Hen_. Nay, nay, nay, if you be so hott Ile brave you: like wine that's
burnt you must be set light by, & then you'le come to a temper.
[_Exit_.
_Ele_. Oh, helpe me out of hell!
_Buz_. Sh'has bene at Barleybreake.[24]--Madam I must say nothing:
--there is a Pistol and so forth:--but if you have occasion to use me,
try mee; if I doe not prove an honester man to you then my Master,
would my Cod piece point were broake. I know what I know, and yet Ile
tell no tales;--but if ever I come to speake once--I say nothing.
_Ele_. Oh that I could not breath! how can I have
A Joy in life whose honour's in the Grave!
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 3.)
_Enter Pike with his sword in his hand, a Cloake in his Arme_.
_Pike_. The freshnes of this Ayre does well after the saltnes of the
Sea. A pleasant Country, too, to looke upon, & would serve well to live
upon if a man had it & knew how to place it out of this hott Clymate! I
would I had a matter, or a Mannour, indeede, of a 1,000 acres of these
woodlands & roome to sett it in _Devonshire_; I would compare with any
prince betweene _Tavistoke_ & _Parradice_ for an Orchard. But I could
wish I were not alone here in this Conceit, dreaming of Golden Apples,
least they prove bitter fruite. Whether are our land soldiers straggeld,
troe? I would faine sett eye on some of them; Ile venture a little
farther; _Devonshire Dick_ was never afraid yet.--How now, my hearts?
upon a retreat so soone?
_Enter Three Soldiers_.
1. I, to the shipps; we have our loades here of the best merchandise we
can find in this Quarter.
2. Will you taste a Lymon? excellent good to coole you.
_Pike_. They are goodly ones; where gott you them?
3. A little above here in an Orchard, where we left some of our Company.
_Pike_. But may one goe safe, without danger?
1. As safely as ever you gatherd nutts in _England_; the _Spaniards_
are all fled.
2. Not soe much as the leg of a _Spanyard_ left to squayle at their
owne appletrees.
[_Exeunt Soldiers_.
_Pike_. Ile have a pull at these pomcitrons for my noble Captaine;
& if I had a Porters basket full of 'em I would count them no burthen
in requitall of some part of the love he hath shewen me.
[_Exit_.
(SCENE 4.)
_Enter 3 other Soldiers_.
1. They cannot be far before us, I am sure.
2. But for the hedge we might descry them within two muskett shott.
3. Pray God the enemy be not within one musket shott of us behind their
hedges; for I am sure I saw an Harquebuse whip ore the way before us but
even now. Oh, oh!
[_Three or 4 shott dischargd, 2 soldiers slaine,
the other falls on his belly_.
_Enter Pike_.
_Pike_. Are you bouncing? Ile no further. Sure these can be no
Crowkeepers nor birdscarers from the fruite! what rascalls were my
Countrymen to tell me there was no danger!--alas, what's here? 3 of
our soldiers slaine! dead, shott through the very bowells! so, is this
quite dead too? poore wretches, you have payd for your Capon sauce.
3. Oh, oh!
_Pike_. Here's some life in yt yet: what cheare? how is't, my heart of
gold? speake, man, if thou canst; looke this way; I promise thee 'tis an
honest man & a true _Englishman_ that speakes to thee. Thou look'st away
as if thou didst not trust me: I prithee speake to me any thing, Ile
take thy word & thanke the, too. Alas, I feare he's past it; he strives
and cannot speake.--'Tis good to shift this ground; they may be charging
more hidden villany while I stand prating heere.--He breathes still;
come, thou shalt not stay behind for want of leggs or shoulders to beare
thee. If there be surgery in our ships to recover the use of thy tongue,
thou mayst one day acknowledge a man & a Christian in honest _Dicke of
Devonshire_. Come along;--nay now I feare my honesty is betrayd;--a
horseman proudly mounted makes towards me, and 'tis a Don that thinkes
himselfe as brave as _St. Jaques_. What shall I doe? there is no
starting; I must stand th'encounter.--Lye still a while & pray if thou
canst, while I doe my best to save my owne & the litle breath thou hast
left. But I am in that prevented too: his breath's quite gone allready,
and all the Christian duty I have now left for thee is to close thy eyes
with a short prayer: mayst thou be in heaven, Amen.--Now _Don Diego, &
Don Thunderbolt_, or _Don Divell_, I defye thee.
_Enter Don John arm'd. Pike drawes & wrapps
his Cloake about his arme_.
_Jo_. Oh viliaco, diable, _Anglese_!
[_They fight_.
_Pike_. A pox upon thee, _Hispaniola_! Nay, if you be no better in the
Reare then in the Van I shall make no doubt to vanquish, & vanquash you,
too, before we part, my doughty _Don Diego_.
[_He hath him downe, & disarmes him_.
_Jo_. Mercy, _Englishman_, oh spare my life! pardonne moye je vous pre.
_Pike_. And take your goods? is that your meaning, _Don_, it shall be
so; your horse and weapons I will take, but no pilferage. I am no
pocketeer, no diver into slopps: yet you may please to empty them your
selfe, good _Don_, in recompense of the sweet life I give you; you
understand me well. This coyne may passe in _England_: what is your
Donship calld, I pray.
_Jo_. _Don John_, a knight of _Spaine_.
_Pike_. A knight of _Spaine_! and I a Squire of _Tavestock_: well, _Don
John_, I am a little in hast & am unmannerly constreynd to leave your
_Castilian_ on foote, while my _Devonshire_ worship shall teach your
_Spanish_ Jennett an _English_ gallop. A dios, signior.--
_Enter_ 12 _musketiers_.
Oh what a tyde of fortunes spight am I
Now to swim through! beare up yet, Jovyall heart,
And while thou knowest heavenly mercy doe not start.
Once more let me embrace you, signior.
1. I say he is an _Englishman_: lett's shoote him.
2. I say the other is a _Spanyard_ & _Don John_; & we dare not shoote
the one for feare of killing th'other.
_Jo_. Oh hold and spare us both, for we are frends.
1. But by your leave we will part your embraces: so disarme, disarme.
_Jo_. I thanke you, Countrymen; I hope you'le trust my honour with my
armes.
1. Yes, take them signior; but you will yeild the _Englishman_ our
prisoner?
_Jo_. Yes, with a Villaines marke. [_He woundes him_.
1. A villaines mark, indeed! wound a disarmed souldier!
_Jo_. He triumphd in the odds he had of me,
And he shall know that from the _Spanish_ race
Revenge, though nere so bloudy, is not base.
Away with him
A prisoner into th'Citty!
_Pike_. Where you please,
Although your Law's more merciles then Seas.
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 5.)
_Enter Don Ferdinando, the Teniente, with
attendants; Bustamente brought in with a Guard_.
_Fer_. _Francisco Bustamente_, late Captaine of the Castle,
Stand forth accusd of Treason gainst his Maiesty.
_Bust_. It is a language I not understand
And but that by the rule of loyalty
Unto my king and country I am made
Attendant to the Law, & in this honourd
Presence, the Governour & _Teniente_,
Under whose jurisdiction I hold place,
I would not beare nor heare it.
_Fer_. I'de be glad
You could as easily acquitt your selfe
Of guilt as stand up in your owne defence;
But, _Bustamente_, when it doth appeare
To law & reason, on which law is grounded,
Your great offence in daring to betray
The Spanish honour unto Infamy,
In yeilding up the fort on such slight cause,
You can no lesse then yeild yourselfe most guilty.
_Bust_. Farre be it from your thought, my honourd Lord,
To wrest the hazardous fortune of the warre
Into the bloudyer censure of the Law.
Was it my fault that in the first assault
The Canoniers were slayne, whereby our strength,
Our mayne offensive strength, was quite defeated
And our defensive part so much enfeebled
That possibility to subsist was lost,
Or by resistance to preserve one life?
While there was sparke of hope I did maintayne
The fight with fiery resolution
And (give me leave to speake it) like a Sodier.
_Ten_. To my seeming your resolution
Was forwardest to yeild then to repell;
You had else stood longer out.
_Bust_. We stood the losse of most of our best men,
And of our musketiers no lesse then fifty
Fell by the adverse shott; whose bodyes with their armes
Were cast by my directions downe a well
Because their armes should neyther arme our foes
Nor of our losse the sight give them encouragement.
_Fer_. That pollicy pleades no excuse; you yet
Had men enough, had they bene soldiers,
Fit for a Leaders Justification.
And doe not we know that 6 score at least
Of those base Picaros with which you stuff'd
The fort, to feed, not fight,--unworthy of
The name of _Spanyards_, much lesse of soldiers--
At once ran all away like sheep together,
Having but ore the walls descryde th'approach
Of th'Enemy? Some of the feare-spurrd villaines
Were overturnd by slaughter in their flight,
Others were taken & are sure to find
Our lawes as sharpe as either Sword or Bullet.
For your part, _Bustamente_, for that you have
Done heretofore more for your Countryes love,
You shall not doubt of honourable tryall,
Which in the Court of warre shalbe determind,
At _Sherris_, whitherward you instantly
Shall with a guard be sent.--See't done: away.
_Bust_. The best of my desire is to obey.
[_Exit with a Guard_.
_Enter Don John, Pike (with his face wounded}, a Guard of musketts_.
_Fer_. Whence is that soldier?
1. Of _England_.
_Jo_. Or of hell.
1. It was our chance to come unto the rescue
Of this renowned knight, _Don John_,
Who was his prisoner as he now is ours.
Some few more of his mates we shott & slew
That were (out of their _English_ liquorishness)
Bold to robb orchards of forbidden fruite.
2. It was a fine ambition; they would have thought
Themselves as famous as their Countryman
That putt a girdle[25] round about the world,
Could they have said, at their returne to _England_,
Unto their Sons, "Looke Boyes; this fruite your father
With his adventurous hands in _Spayne_ did gather."
_Fer_. 'Tis a goodly fellow.
1. Had you not better have gone home without Lymons to eate Capons with
your frends then to stay here without Capons to taste Lymons with us
that you call Enemyes?
_Pike_. I could better fast with a noble Enemy then feast with unworthy
frends.
_Fer_. How came he by these woundes?
_Pike_. Not by noble Enemyes: this on my face
By this proud man, yet not more proud then base;
For, when my hands were in a manner bound,
I having given him life, he gave this wound.
_Fer_. 'Twas unadvisd.
_Ten_. The more unmanly done:
And though, _Don John_, by law y'are not accusd,
He being a common Enemy, yet being a man
You in humanity are not excusd.
_Jo_. It was my fury & thirst of revenge.
_Fer_. Reason & manhood had become you better;
Your honour's wounded deeper then his flesh.
Yet we must quitt your person & committ
The _Englishman_ to prison.
_Ten_. To prison with him; but let best care be taken
For the best surgeons, that his wounds be look'd to.
_Pike_. Your care is noble, and I yeild best thankes;
And 'tis but need, I tell your Seignioryes,
For I have one hurt more then you have seene,
As basely given & by a baser person:
A _Flemming_ seeing me led a prisoner
Cryde, "Whither doe you lead that _English_ dog,
Kill, kill him!" cryde hee, "he's no Christian;"
And ran me in the bodie with his halbert
At least four inches deepe.
_Fer_. Poore man, I pitty thee.--But to the prison with him.
_Ten_. And let him be carefully lookt to.
[_Exeunt omnes_.
_Actus Tertius_.
(SCENE 1.)
_Enter Captaine, Hill, Secretary, Jewell_.
_Cap_. Our Generall yet shewd himselfe right noble in offering ransome
for poore Captive _Pike_.
_Sec_. So largely, too, as he did, Captaine.
_Cap_. If any reasonable price would have bene accepted it had bene
given Mr. Secretary, I assure you.
_Jew_. I can testify that at our returne, in our Generalls name & my
owne, I made the large offer to the _Teniente_, who will by no meanes
render him. Sure they hold him for some great noble purchace.
_Sec_. A Barronet at least, one of the lusty blood, Captaine.
_Cap_. Or perhaps, Mr. Secretary, some remarkable Commonwealths man, a
pollitician in Government.
_Sec_. 'Twere a weake state-body that could not spare such members.
Alas, poore _Pike_, I thinke thy pate holds no more pollicy than a
Pollax.
_Hill_. Who is more expert in any quality then he that hath it at his
fingers ends; & if he have more pollicy in his braines then dirt under
his nayles Ile nere give 2 groates for a Calves head. But without all
question he hath done some excellent piece of villany among the Diegoes,
or else they take him for a fatter sheep to kill then he is.
_Cap_. Well, gentlemen, we all can but condole the losse of him; and
though all that we all come hither for be not worth him, yet we must be
content to leave him. The fleete is ready, the wind faire, and we must
expect him no longer.
_Hill_. He was a true _Devonshire_ blade.
_Sec_. My Countryman, sir: therefore would I have given the price of a
hundred of the best Toledoes rather then heare the misse of him at home
complayned by his Wife and Children.
_Jew_. Your tendernes becomes you, sir, but not the time, which wafts us
hence to shun a greater danger.
_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 2.)
_Enter Pike in shackles, nightcap, playsters on his face; a Jaylor_.
_Pike_. The fleete is gone & I have now no hope of liberty; yet I am
well refreshd in the care hath bene taken for my cure. But was ever
_English_ horse thus _Spanish_ bitted & bossd![26]
_Jay_. Sir, the care of your keeper, by whom this ease hath been
procured, requires remuneration.
_Pike_. Here's for you, my frend.
_Jay_. I assure you, the best Surgeons this part of _Spaine_ affoords,
through my care taken of you; & you may thanke me.
_Pike_. What an arrogant rascall's this!--Sir, I thought my thankes
herein had chiefly appertaind to the humanity of the Governour, & that
your especiall care had bene in providing these necessary shackles to
keepe me from running into further danger: these I tooke to be the
strong bonds of your frendship.
_Jay_. Sir, I hope they fitt you as well as if they had bene made for
you. Oh, I am so much your servant that I doe wish 'em stronger for your
sake.
_Pike_. 'Tis overwell as it is, sir.
_Jay_. You are most curteous. [_Exit_.
_Pike_. A precious rogue! If the Jaylors be so pregnant what is the
hangman, troe? By the time my misery hath brought me to climbe to his
acquaintance I shall find a frend to the last gaspe. What's here? a
Lady? are the weomen so cruell here to insult ore Captive wretches.
_Enter Catelyna & Jaylor_.
_Cat_. Is this the English prisoner?
_Jay_. Yes, madam.
_Cat_. Trust me, a goodly person.
_Pike_. She eyes me wistly; sure she comes not to instruct her selfe in
the art of painting by the patternes of my face!
_Cat_. Sir, shall I speake with you?
_Pike_. Yes, Lady, so you will not mock mee.
_Cat_. Indeed I cannot, but must needs acknowledge
Myselfe beholding to you.
_Pike_. This I must beare; I will doe soe & call't my sweet affliction.
_Cat_. Will you heare me, sir? I am the Lady--
_Pike_. Yes, I doe heare you say you are the Lady; but let me tell you,
madam, that Ladyes, though they should have tenderest sence of honour &
all vertuous goodnesse, & so resemble Goddesses as well in soule as
feature, doe often prove dissemblers & in their seemely breasts beare
cruelty & mischiefe. If you be one of those, oh, be converted; returne
from whence you came & know 'tis irreligious, nay divelish to tread &
triumph over misery.
_Cat_. How well he speakes, yet in the sence bewraying
A sence distracted: sure his captivity,
His wounds, & hard entreaty make him franticke!
Pray heare me, sir, & in two words Ile tell you
Enough to win beleeife: I am the Lady
Of the Knight vanquished by you, _Don John_.
_Pike_. Y'have said enough, indeed: pitty of heaven,
What new invented cruelty is this!
Was't not enough that by his ruthlesse basenes
I had these wounds inflicted, but I must
Be tortured with his wifes uniust reioycings!
'Twas well his politicke feare, which durst not come
To glory in his handy worke himselfe,
Could send your priviledg'd Ladyship.
_Cat_. Indeed, you much mistake me; as I live,
As I hope mercy & for after life,
I come for nothing but to offer thankes
Unto your goodnes, by whose manly temper
My lord and husband reassum'd his life;
And aske your Christian pardon for the wrong
Which by your suffering now pleads him guilty.
Good sir, let no mistrust of my iust purpose
Crosse your affection: did you know my love
To honour and to honest actions,
You would not then reiect my gratulations.
And since that deeds doe best declare our meaning,
I pray accept of this,
This money and these clothes and my request
Unto your keeper for best meats and wines
That are agreable to your health and taste.
And, honest frend, thou knowst and darest, I hope,
Believe me I will see thee payd for all.
_Jay_. Yes, my good Lady.--Loe you, sir, you see
Still how my care provides your good: you may
Suppose the Governours humanity
Takes care for you in this, too.
_Pike_. Excellent Ladye I doe now beleive
Virtue and weomen are growne frends againe.
_Enter Don John_.
_Jo_. What magicall Illusion's this? 'tis she!
Confusion seize your charitable blindnesse!
Are you a prison visiter for this,
To cherish my dishonour for your merit?
_Cat_. My lord, I hope my Charity workes for your honour,
Releiving him whose mercy spard your life.
_Jo_. But that I'me subiect to the law & know
My blowes are mortall, I would strike thee dead.
Ignoble & degenerate from Spanish bloud,
Darst thou maintaine this to be charity?
Thy strumpett itch & treason to my bed
Thou seekst to act in cherishing this villaine.
_Cat_. Saints be my witnesses you doe me wrong!
_Jo_. Thou robbst my honour.
_Pike_. You wound her honour and you robb yourselfe,
And me and all good Christians, by this outrage.
_Jo_. Doe you prate, sir?
_Pike_. Sir, I may speake; my tongue's unshackled yet,
And, were my hands and feete so, on free ground
I would mayntayne the honour of this Lady
Against an Hoast of such ignoble husbands.
_Jo_. You are condemnd allready by the Law
I make no doubt; and therefore speake your pleasure.
--And here come those fore whom my rage is silent.
_Enter Ferdinando, Teniente, Guard_.
_Fer_. Deliver up your prisoner to the _Teniente_.
I need not, sir, instruct you in your place
To beare him with a guard as is appointed
Unto the publicke tryall held at _Sherrys_.
_Ten_. It shalbe done.
_Fer_. How long hath he bene your prisoner?
_Jay_. 18 days.
_Fer_. You & the Surgeons out of the Kings pay
Ile see dischargd.--You have, according to the Order,
Conveyd already _Bustamente_ thither
To yeild account for yeilding up the Castle?
_Ten_. 'Tis done, my Lord.
_Fer_. _Don John_, you likewise in his Maiesties name
Stand chargd to make your personall appearance
To give in evidence against this prisoner.
_Jo_. I shall be ready there, my Lord.
_Pike_. To _Sherrys_? they say the best sackes there.
I meane to take one draught of dying comfort.
_Cat_. I hope you'le not deny my company
To waite on you to _Sherris_?
_Jo_. No, you shall goe to see your frend there totter.[27]
_Pike_. I have a suite, my Lord; to see an _Englishman_,
A merchant, prisoner here, before I goe.
_Fer_. Call him; that done, you know your charge.
[_Exit Jaylor_.
_Ten_. And shall performe it.
[_Ex. Fer., John, Catalina_.
_Enter Jaylor & Woodrow_.
_Pike_. Oh, Mr. _Woodrow_, I must now take leave
Of prison fellowship with you. Your fortunes
May call you into _England_, after payment
Of some few money debts; but I am calld
Unto a further tryall: my debt is life,
Which if they take not by extortion,
I meane by tortures, I shall gladly pay it.
_Wo_. I have heard, & thought you by what I had heard
Free from feares passion: still continue soe,
Depending on heavens mercy.
_Pike_. You doe instruct me well; but, worthy Countryman,
Once more let me give you this to remember,
And tis my last request:--that when your better stars
Shall guide you into _England_, youle be pleasd
To take my Country _Devonshire_ in your way;
Wheir you may find in _Taverstoke_ (whom I left)
My wife & children, wretched in my misfortunes.
Commend me to them, tell them & my frends
That if I be, as I suspect I shalbe,
At _Sherris_ putt to death, I dyed a Christian soldier,
No way, I hope, offending my iust King
Nor my religion, but the _Spanish_ lawes.
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 3.)
_Enter Don Pedro, reading a Letter, & Manuell_.
_Man_. Dear sir, let me have power to recall
Your graver thoughts out of this violent storme
Of passion that thus oerwhelmes your mind.
Remember what you are, and with what strength,
What more then manly strength, you have outworne
Dangers of Battaile, when your warlike lookes
Have outfac'd horrour.
_Pedro_. Oh, my son, my son,
Horrour it selfe upon the wings of Death,
Stretcht to the uttermost expansion
Over the wounded body of an Army,
Could never carry an aspect like this,
This murthering spectacle, this field of paper
Stucke all with Basiliskes eyes. Read but this word,
'The ravisht _Eleonora_!'--does't not seeme
Like a full cloud of bloud ready to burst
And fall upon our heads?
_Man_. Indeed you take too deepe a sence of it.
_Pedro_. What? when I see this meteor hanging ore it?
This prodigy in figure of a man,
Clad all in flames, with an Inscription
Blazing on's head, 'Henrico the Ravisher!'
_Man_. Good sir, avoid this passion.
_Pedro_. In battailes I have lost, and seene the falls
Of many a right good soldier; but they fell
Like blessed grayne that shott up into honour.
But in this leud exploit I lose a son
And thou a brother, my _Emanuell_,
And our whole house the glory of her name:
Her beauteous name that never was distayned,
Is by this beastly fact made odious.
_Man_. I pray, sir, be your selfe and let your Judgement
Entertaine reason: From whom came this Letter?
_Pedro_. From the sad plaintiffe, _Eleonora_.
_Man_. Good;
And by the common poast: you every weeke
Receiving letters from your noble frendes
Yet none of their papers can tell any such tidings.
_Pedro_. All this may be too, sir.
_Man_. Why is her father silent? has she no kindred,
No frend, no gentleman of note, no servant
Whom she may trust to bring by word of mouth
Her dismall story.
_Pedro_. No, perhaps she would not
Text up his name in proclamations.
_Man_. Some villaine hath filld up a Cup of poyson
T'infect the whole house of the _Guzman_ family;
And you are greedyest first to take it downe.
_Pedro_. That villaine is thy brother.
_Man_. Were you a stranger
Armd in the middle of a great Battalion
And thus should dare to taxe him, I would wave
My weapon ore my head to waft you forth
To single combatt: if you would not come,
Had I as many lives as I have hayres,[28]
I'de shoot 'em all away to force my passage
Through such an hoast untill I met the Traytour
To my dear brother.--Pray, doe not thinke so, sir.
_Pedro_. Not? when it shall be said one of our name
(Oh heaven could I but say he were not my son!)
Was so dishonorable,
So sacrilegious to defile a Temple
Of such a beauty & goodnes as she was!
_Man_. As beauteous is my brother in his soule
As she can be.
_Pedro_. Why dost thou take his part so?
_Man_. Because no dropp of honour falls from him
But I bleed with it. Why doe I take his part?
My sight is not so precious as my brother:
If there be any goodnes in one man
He's Lord of that; his vertues are full seas
Which cast up to the shoares of the base world
All bodyes throwne into them: he's no drunkard;
I thinke he nere swore oath; to him a woman
Was worse than any scorpion, till he cast
His eye on _Eleonora_: and therefore, sir,
I hope it is not so.
_Pedro_. Was not she so?
_Man_. I doe not say, sir, that she was not so,
Yet women are strange creatures; but my hope
Is that my brother was not so ignoble.
Good sir, be not too credulous on a Letter:
Who knowes but it was forgd, sent by some foe,
As the most vertuous ever have the most?
I know my Brother lov'd her honour so
As wealth of kingdoms could not him entice
To violate it or his faith to her.
Perhapps it is some queint devise of theirs
To hast your journey homeward out of _France_,
To terminate their long-desired marriage.
_Pedro_. The language of her letter speakes no such comfort,
But I will hasten home; &, for you are
So confident as not to thinke his honour
Any way toucht, your good hopes be your guide
Auspiciously to find it to your wish.
Therefore my counsaile is you post before,
And, if you find that such a wrong be done,
Let such provision instantly be
Betwixt you made to hide it from the world
By giving her due nuptiall satisfaction,
That I may heare no noise of't at my comming.
Oh, to preserve the Reputation
Of noble ancestry that nere bore stayne,
Who would not passe through fire or dive the mayne?
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 4.)
_Enter Fernando & Eleonora_.
_Fer_. Cease, Eleonora, cease these needles plaints,
Less usefull than thy helpe of hands was at
The deed of darkness,--oh, the blackest deed
That ever overclouded[29] my felicity!
To speake, or weepe thy sorrow, but allayes
And quenches anger, which we must now cherish
To further iust revenge. How I could wish
But to call backe the strength of Twenty yeares!
_Ele_. That I might be in that unborne againe, sir.
_Fer_. No, _Eleonora_, that I were so ennabled
With my owne hands to worke out thy wronge
Upon that wretch, that villaine, oh, that Ravisher!
But, though my hands are palsyed with rage,
The Law yet weares a sword in our defence.
_Enter Henrico_.
_Ele_. Away, my Lord & Father! see the monster
Approaching towards you! who knowes but now
He purposeth an assassinate on your life,
As he did lately on my Virgin honour?
_Fer_. Fury, keepe off me!
_Hen_. What life, what honour meane you? _Eleonora_,
What is the matter? Who hath lost anything?
_Ele_. Thou impudent as impious, I have lost--
_Hen_. Doe you call me names?
_Ele_. The solace of my life, for which--
_Hen_. A fine new name for a maydenhead!
_Ele_. May all the curses of all iniured weomen
Fall on thy head!
_Hen_. Would not the curses of all good ones serve?
So many might perhaps be borne: but, pray,
Tell me what moves you thus? Why stand you soe
Aloofe, my Lord? I doe not love to bee
Usd like a stranger: welcome's all I looke for.
_Fer_. What boldnesse beyond madnesse gives him languadge!
Nothing but well-bred stuffe! canst see my daughter
And not be strooke with horrour of thy shame
To th' very heart? Is't not enough, thou Traytour,
To my poore Girles dishonour to abuse her,
But thou canst yett putt on a divells visour
To face thy fact & glory in her woe?
_Hen_. I would I were acquainted with your honours meaning all
this while.
_Fer_. The forreine Enemy which came to the Citty
And twice dancd on the Sea before it, waving
Flaggs of defyance & of fury to it,
Were nor before nor now this second time
So cruell as thou. For when they first were here
Now well nigh 40 yeares since, & marched through
The very heart of this place, trampled on
The bosomes of our stoutest soldiers,
The weomen yet were safe, Ladyes were free
And that by the especial command
Of the then noble Generall: & now being safe
From common danger of our enemyes,
Thou lyon-like hast broake in on a Lambe
And preyd upon her.
_Hen_. How have I preyd?
_Fer_. Dost thou delight
To heare it named, villaine, th'hast ravisht her.
_Hen_. I am enough abusd, & now 'tis time
To speake a litle for my selfe, my Lord.
By all the vowes, the oathes & imprecations
That ere were made, studied, or practised,
As I have a soule, as she & you have soules,
I doe not know, nor can, nor will confesse
Any such thing, for all your Circumventions:
Ile answer all by Law.
_Ele_. Oh, my Lord, heare me!
By all that's good--
_Fer_. Peace, _Eleonora_; I have thought the Course.
If you dare justify the accusation
You shall to _Sherrys_, and then before the Judges
Plead your owne cause.
_Hen_. And there Ile answer it.
_Fer_. There, if you prove the Rape, he shalbe forcd
Eyther to satisfy you by marriage
Or else to loose his periurd head.
_Hen_. I am content.
And instantly I will away to _Sherrys_,
There to appeale to the high Court of Justice:
'Tis time, I thinke, such slanderous accusations
Assayling me; but there I shalbe righted.
_Fer_. You shall not need to doubt it:--come, _Eleonora_.
[_Exeunt_.[30]
_Hen_. What will become of me in this, I know not:
I have a shrewd guese though of the worst.
Would one have thought the foolish ape would putt
The finger in the eye & tell it daddy!
'Tis a rare guift 'mong many maides of these dayes;
If she speed well she'le bring it to a Custome,
Make her example followed to the spoyle
Of much good sport: but I meane to looke to't.
Now, sir, your newes?
_Enter Buzzano_.
_Buz_. The most delicious, rare, absolute newes that ere came out
of _France_, sir!
_Hen_. What's done there? have they forsaken the Divell & all his
fashions? banishd their Taylors & Tyrewomen?
_Buz_. You had a father & a Brother there; & can you first thinke upon
the Divell & his Limetwiggs.
_Hen_. Had, _Buzzano_? had a father & a Brother there? have I not so,
still, _Buzzano_?
_Buz_. No, sir, your Elder Brother is--
_Hen_. What? speake, _Buzzano_: I imagine, dead.
_Buz_. Nay, you shall give me something by your leave; you shall pay the
poast:--good newes for nothing?
_Hen_. Here, here, _Buzzano_; speake quickly, crowne me with the
felicity of a younger brother: is he dead, man?
_Buz_. No, he's come home very well, sir; doe you thinke I goe on dead
men's errands.
_Hen_. Pox on the Buzzard! how he startled my bloud!
_Buz_. But he is very weary & very pensive, sir; talkes not at all,
but calls for his bed;--pray God your Father be not dead!--and desires
when you come in to have you his Bedfellow, for he hath private speech
with ye.
_Hen_, Well, sir, you that are so apt to take money for newes, beware
how you reflect one word, sillable or thought concerning _Eleonora_:
you knowe what I meane?
_Bus_. Yes, & meane what you know, sir.
_Hen_. What's that?
_Buz_. Ile keepe your Counsaile
_Hen_. My life goes for it else.
{_Exeunt_.
_Actus Quartus_.
(SCENE 1.)
_Enter Henrico (as newly risen)_.
_Hen_. _Buzzano_! slave! _Buzzano_!
_Enter Buzzano with Cloake & Rapier_.
_Buz_. Signior, what a buzzing you make, as if you were a fly at
Bartholomew-tyde at a Butchers stall: doe you think I am deafe?
_Hen_. No, but blind; do'st sleepe as thou goest?
_Buz_. No, but I goe as I sleepe, & that's scurvily.
_Hen_. Call my brother Manuell.
_Buz_. Brother _Manuell_!
_Hen_. How? pray (goodman rascall) how long have he & you bene Brothers?
_Buz_. I know not; may be ever since we were borne, for your father used
to come home to my mother, & why may not I be a chipp of the same blocke
out of which you two were cutt? Mothers are sure of their children, but
no man is able to sweare who was his father.
_Hen_. You are very lusty.
_Buz_. I eate eringoes[31] and potchd eggs last night.
_Hen_. Goe & call him.
_Buz_. What?
_Hen_. You hound, is he up?
_Buz_. No, he's in Bed, and yet he may be up too; Ile goe see.
_Hen_. Stay, and speake low.--How now?
[_Buz. falls downe_.
_Buz_. I can speake no lower unlesse I creepe into the Cellar.
_Hen_. I'me glad you are so merry, sir.
_Buz_. So am I; my heart is a fiddle; the strings are rozend with ioy
that my other young Mr. is come home, & my tongue the sticke that makes
the fiddle squeake.
_Hen_. Come hither, leave your fooling & tell me truely: didst sleepe
to night or no?
_Buz_. Sleepe? Not that I remember: Ile sweare (& my eyes should come
out as 2 witnesses) that I nere slept worse; for what with ycur
_Spanish_ flyes (the pocky, stinging musquitoes) & what with your skip
Jacke fleas, the nap of my sleepe was worne off.
_Hen_. Didst heare nothing?
_Buz_. Not in my sleepe.
_Hen_. Collect thy sences; when thou wert awake didst thou heare
nothing?
_Buz_. Nothing.
_Hen_. Twixt 12 & one?
_Buz_. 12 & one? Then was I in my dead sleepe, cursing the fleas.
_Hen_. Or about one & two.
_Buz_. That's Three:--Now the Beetle[32] of my head beates it into my
memory that as you & your brother _Manuell_ lay in the high Bed, & I
trondling[33] underneath, I heard one of you talke most stigmatically in
his sleepe--most horriferously.
_Hen_. Right, now thou com'st to me,--so did I.
_Buz_. And then once or twice the sleepy voice cryde out, "Oh it was I
that murthered him! this hand killd him!"
_Hen_. Art sure thou heardst this?
_Buz_. Am I sure these are my eares?
_Hen_. And dar'st thou sweare thou heardst it?
_Buz_. Lay downe 20 oathes, and see if Ile not take them.
_Hen_. And whose voice was it did appeare to thee?
_Buz_. Whose voice was it? Well said, yong Master! make an asse of your
fathers man!
_Hen_. Come, come, be serious: whose voice?
_Buz_. Whose voice? why then, if your windpipe were slitt now and opend,
there should the voice be found. I durst at midnight be sworne that the
Ghost of your voice appeard before me.
_Hen_. No; me it frighted too; up stood my haire stiffe & on end.
_Buz_. As a Catts does at sight of a dog.
_Hen_. A cold sweat pearld in dropps all ore my body;
For 'twas my Brothers voice, & were I calld
Before a thousand Judges I must sweare
It could be no mans els.
_Buz_. Why, then, I must sweare so, too.
_Hen_. "Oh it was I that murthered him! this hand killed him!"
[_Within, Man_] _Buzzano_!
_Hen_. He's up.
[_Man_.] _Buzzano_!
_Buz_. I come.
_Hen_. Helpe to make him ready,[34] but not a word on thy life.
_Buz_. Mum. [_Exit_.
_Hen_. So let it worke; thus far my wheeles goe true.
Because a Captaine, leading up his men
In the proud van, has honour above them,
And they his vassailes; must my elder brother
Leave me a slave to the world? & why, forsooth?
Because he gott the start in my mother's belly,
To be before me there. All younger brothers
Must sitt beneath the salt[35] & take what dishes
The elder shoves downe to them. I doe not like
This kind of service: could I, by this tricke,
Of a voice counterfeited & confessing
The murther of my father, trusse up this yonker
And so make my selfe heire & a yonger brother
Of him, 'twere a good dayes worke. Wer't not fine angling?
Hold line and hook: Ile puzzle him.
_Enter Manuell & Buzzano_.
_Man_. Morrow, brother.
_Hen_. Oh, good morrow: you have slept soundly.
_Man_. Travellers that are weary have sleepe led in a string.
_Buz_. So doe those that are hangd: all that travell & are weary doe
not sleepe.
_Man_. Why, Mr. _Buzzano_, why?
_Buz_. Midwives travell at night & are weary with eating groaning
pyes[36], & yet sleepe not: shall I hooke you?
_Man_. Hooke me? what meanst?
_Buz_. These Taylors are the wittyest knaves that live by bread.
_Hen_. And why witty, out of your wisdome?
_Buz_. In old time gentlemen would call to their men & cry, "Come,
trusse me": now the word is "Come, hooke me"; for every body now lookes
so narrowly to Taylors bills (some for very anger never paying them)
that the needle lance knights, in revenge of those prying eyes, put so
many hookes & eyes to every hose & dubblet.
_Man_. Well, sir, Ile not be hookd then now.
_Buz_. Tis well if you be not. [_Exit_.
_Hen_. _France_ is an excellent country.
_Man_. Oh, a brave one.
_Hen_. Your Monsieurs gallant sparkes.
_Man_. Sparkes? oh, sir, all fire,
The soule of complement, courtship & fine language;
Witty & active; lovers of faire Ladyes,
Short naggs & _English_ mastives; proud, fantasticke,
Yet such a pride & such fantasticknes,
It so becomes them, other Nations
(Especially the English) hold themselves
No perfect gentlemen till frenchifyed.
_Hen_. Tush, _England_ breeds more apes than _Barbary_.--
How chance my father came not home with you?
_Man_. He was too hard tyed by the leg with busines.
_Hen_. What busines?
_Man_. Tis but stepping into _France_.
And he perhaps will tell you.
_Hen_. Perhaps? tis well:
What part of _France_ did you leave him in?
_Man_. What part? why I left him at _Nancy_ in _Lorraine_. No, no,
I lye, now I remember me twas at _Chaalons_ in _Burgundy_.
_Hen_. Hoyda, a most loving child
That knowes not where he left his father, & yet
Comes but now from him! had you left in _France_
Your whore behind you, in your Table bookes
You would have sett downe the streets very name,
Yes, and the baudy signe, too.
_Man_. Hum, you say well, sir.
Now you are up to th'eares in Baudery,
Pray tell me one thing, Brother; (I am sorry
To putt forth such a question) but speake truly;
Have you not in my fathers absence done
A piece of worke (not your best masterpiece)
But such an one as on the house of _Guzman_
Will plucke a vengeance, & on the good old man
(Our noble father) heape such hills of sorrow
To beate him into his grave?
_Hen_. What's this your foolery?
_Man_. Pray heaven it prove soe: have not you defac'd
That sweet & matchles goodnes, _Eleonora_,
_Fernando's_ daughter?
_Hen_. How defacd her?
_Man_. Hearke, sir: playd _Tarquin's_ part and ravisht her.
_Hen_. 'Tis a lye.
_Man_. I hope so too.
_Hen_. What villaine speakes it?
_Man_. One with so wide a throat, that uttering it
'Twas heard in _France_; a letter, sir, informed
My father so.
_Hen_. Letter? from whom?
_Man_. A woman.
_Hen_. She's a whore.
_Man_. Twas _Eleonora_.
_Hen_. She's, then, a villanous strumpet so to write,
And you an asse, a coxcomb to beleeve it.
_Man_. Nettled? then let me tell you that I feare
I shall for ever blush when in my hearing
Any names _Henrico Guzman_ for my brother.
In right of vertue & a womans honour
(This deare wrongd Ladies) I dare call thee Villaine.
_Hen_. Villaine!
_They fight: Enter Ferdinand and attendants_.
_Fer_. Part them, part them!
_Hen_. Let me see his heart
Panting upon my weapons point; then part us.
Oh, pray, forbeare the roome.
_Fer_. Fy, Fy! two Brothers.
Two Eaglets of one noble Aery,
Pecke out each others eyes!--Welcome from _France_!
How does your honourd father?
_Man_. Well, my Lord:
I left him late in Paris.
_Hen_. So, so; in _Paris_!
Hath he 3 bodyes? _Lorraine, Burgundy, & Paris_!
My Lord, his Highnes putts into your hand
A sword of Justice: draw it forth, I charge you
By the oath made to your king, to smite this Traytour,
The murtherer of my father!
_Man_. I?
_Hen_. Yes, thou:
Thou, slave, hast bene his Executioner.
_Man_. Where? when?
_Hen_. There, there; in _France_.
_Man_. Oh heavenly powers!
_Hen_. Oh, intollerable villaine! parricide!
Monster of mankind! _Spaniards_ shame!
_Fer_. Pray, heare me:
Are you in earnest?
_Hen_. Earnest?
_Fer_. Be advisd.
_Hen_. Lay hold on him, the murtherer of my father:
I have armd proofes against him.
_Man_. An armd devill,
And that's thy selfe! Produce thy proofes.
_Hen_. I will, sir;
But I will doe't by law.
_Fer_. You are up allready
Too deepe, I feare, in Law.
_Hen_. If you can, sett then
Your foote upon my head & drowne me, your worst:
Let me have Justice here.
_Fer_. Well, sir, you shall.
_Manuell_, I can no lesse than lay upon you
The hand of my authority. In my Caroach[37]
You shall with mee to _Sherris_, 3 leagues off,
Where the Lords sitt to-morrow: there you must answer
This most unbrotherly accusation.
_Man_. And prove him a false caytiffe.
_Fer_. I will be both your guard, sir, and your bayle
And make no doubt to free you from this Viper.
_Hen_. Viper!
_Fer_. Y'are bound to appeare at _Sherris_, sir;
And you were best not fayle.
I have a certaine Daughter there shall meete you. Come.
[_Exit Fer., Man., &_[38]
_Hen_. Thither I dare you both, all three.--_Buzzano_!
_Buz_. Sir?
_Hen_. Saddle my Jennet? Ile to _Sherris_ presently.
_Buz_. And I?
_Hen_. And you; but I must schoole you, sirra.
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 2.)
_Enter Pike, shackled, & his Jaylour_.
_Jay_. Boon Coragio, man! how is't?
_Pike_. Not very well & yet well enough, considering how the cheating
dice of the world run.
_Jay_. I dare not, though I have a care of you, ease you of one Iron
unles I desire such Gyves my selfe.
_Pike_. Las, if they were all knockt off I'me loaden with Gyves,
Shackles, and fetters enough for the arrantest theefe that ever lay in
my owne country in Newgate.
_Jay_. Shackles, gyves, and fetters enough! I see none but these at your
heeles, which come on without a shoeing horne.
_Pike_. Yes, at my heart I weare them--a wife & children (my poore
Lambes at home); there's a chaine of sighes and sobbes and sorrow,
harder then any Iron; and this chaine is so long it reaches from
_Sherrys_ to _Tavestock_ in _Devonshire_.
_Jay_. That's farre enough in Conscience.
_Pike_. Could I shake those Chaines off I would cutt Capers: poore
_Dick Pike_ would dance though Death pip'd to him; yes, and spitt in
your Hangman's face.
_Jay_. Not too much of that nayther: some 2 dayes hence he will give you
a choake peare[39] will spoyle your spitting.
_Pike_. Pheu!
_Jay_. For, let me see, to-day is Sunday; to-morrow the Lords sitt, and
then I must have a care--a cruell care--to have your leggs handsome and
a new cleane ruff band about your necke, of old rusty iron; 'twill purge
your choller.
_Pike_. I, I, let it, let it: Collers, halters, & hangmen are to me
bracelets and frendly companions.
[_Knocking-within_.
_Jay_. So hasty? stay my leasure.--(_Enter 2 fryers_)
Two fryers come to prepare you. [_Exit_.
I. Hayle, Countryman! for we, though fryers in _Spaine_,
Were born in _Ireland_.
_Pike_. Reverend sir, y'are welcome:
Too few such visitants, nay none at all,
Have I seen in this damnable Limbo.
2. Brother, take heed; doe not misuse that word
Of Limbo.[40]
1. Brother _Pike_, for so we heare,
Men call you, we are come in pure devotion
And charity to your soule, being thereto bound
By holy orders of our mother Church.
_Pike_. What to doe, pray, with me?[41]
1. To point with our fingers
Out all such rockes, shelves, quicksands, gulfes, & shallowes
Lying in the sea through which you are to passe
In the most dangerous voyage you ere made:
Eyther by our care to sett you safe on land,
Or, if you fly from us your heavenly pilotts,
Sure to be wrackt for ever.
_Pike_. What must I doe?
2. Confesse to one of us what rancke and foule impostumes
Have bred about your soule.
1. What Leprosies
Have run ore all your Conscience.
2. What hott feavers
Now shake your peace of mind.
1. For we are come
To cure your old Corruptions.
2. We are come
To be your true and free Physitians.
1. Without the hope of gold, to give you health.
2. To sett you on your feete on the right way.
1. To _Palestine_, the _New Jerusalem_.
2. Say;
Will you unlocke the closet of your heart
To one of us? chuse which, & be absolvd
For all your blacke Crimes on a free confession?
1. To him or me, for you must dye to morrow.
_Pike_. Welcome!
To morrow shall I be in another country,
Where are no Examiners, nor Jayles,
Nor bolts, nor barres, nor irons. I beseech you
Give me a little respite to retire
Into the next roome, & I will instantly
Returne to give you satisfaction.
[_Exit_.
_Ambo_. Goe, brother.
1. A goodly man!
2. Well limbd & strong of heart.
1. Now I well view his face did not we two
At our last being in _Plymouth_ in disguise,
When there the King of _England_ rode about
To see the soldiers in their musterings
And what their armes were, just before this fleet
Sett out, did we not see him there?
2. May be we did; I know not; if he were there 'tis now out of my
memory.
_Enter Pike_.
1. Are you resolvd?
_Pike_. Yes.
2. To confesse?
_Pike_. I ha' don't already.
1. To whom?
_Pike_. To one who is in better place
And greater power then you to cure my sicke
Infected part, though maladies as infinite
As the sea sands, the grassy spears on earth,
Or as the dropps of raine & stars in the firmament
Stucke on me he can cleare all, cleanse me throughly.
2. You will not then confesse?
_Pike_. No, I confesse I will not.
1. We are sorry for you;
For Countryes sake this Counsaile do I give you:
When y'are before the Lords rule well your tongue,
Be wary how you answer, least they tripp you;
For they know the whole number of your shipps,
Burthen, men & munition, as well
As you in _England_.
_Pike_. I thanke you both.
2. Prepare to dye.
[_Exeunt Fryers_.
_Pike_. I will so.--Prepare to dye! An excellent bell & it sounds
sweetly. He that prepares to dye rigges a goodly ship; he that is well
prepard is ready to launch forth; he that prepares well & dyes well,
arrives at a happy haven. Prepare to dye! preparation is the sauce,
death the meate, my soule & body the guests; & to this feast will I goe,
boldly as a man, humbly as a Christian, & bravely as an _Englishman_. Oh
my Children, my Children! my poore Wife & Children!
_Enter Jaylour, & 3 Spanish Picaroes chayned_.
_Jay_. Here's a chearefull morning towards, my brave blouds!
1. Yes, Jaylor, if thou wert to be hangd in one of our roomes.
_Jay_. On, on; the Lords will sitt presently.
2. What's hee?
_Jay_. An _Englishman_.
3. A dog!
1. A divell!
2. Let's beate out his braines with our Irons.
_Jay_. On, on; leave rayling, cursing & lying: had you not run from the
Castle the hangman & you had bene "hayle fellow! well met:" On!
_All_. Crowes pecke thy eyes out, _English_ dog, curre, toad, hell
hound!
[_Exeunt_.
_Pike_. Patience is a good armour, humility a strong headpiece, would
I had you all three, I know where.
_Enter Bustamente shackled, & Jaylor_.
_Bust_. Whither dost lead me?
_Jay_. To a roome by your selfe: 'tis my office to have a care of my
nurse children.
_Bust_. I have worne better _Spanish_ gaiters: thus rewarded for my
service!
_Jay_. See, Capt. _Bustamente_; doe you know this fellow?
_Bust_. No.
_Jay_. The Englishman brought prisoner into the Citty, & from thence
hither.
_Pike_. Oh, Captaine, I saw you at the fort performe the part of a man.
_Bust_. And now thou seest me acting the part of a slave. Farewell,
soldier. I did not hate thee at the first, though there we mett enemyes;
and if thou & I take our leaves at the Gallowes, prithee letts part
friends.
[_A Table out, sword & papers[42]
_Jay_. Come along, you two.
_Pike_. Hand in hand, if the Captaine please: noble _Bustamente_,
at the winning of the fort we had a brave breakfast.
_Bust_. True, but I doubt not we shall have worse cheare at dinner.
_Jay_. When was ever any meat well dressd in the hangmans kitchen!
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 3.)
_Enter Fernando, bareheaded, talking with the Duke of
Macada; Duke Gyron, Medyna, Marquesse d'Alquevezzas;
2 Gen., one with Pikes sword, which is laid on a table;
Jaylour, Teniente; Clarke with papers_.
_Mac_. Where's the _Teniente_?
_Clarke_. The Duke calls for you.
_Ten_. Here, my Lord.
_Mac_. 'Tis the King's pleasure that those fugitives
Which basely left the fort should not be honourd
With a judiciall tryall, but presently
(Both those you have at home & these in _Sherrys_)
To dye by martiall law.
_Ten_. My Lord, Ile see it done.
_Mac_. Dispatch the rest here.
_Jay_. Yes, my Lord; Ile bring them carefully together to end
the busines.
_Gyr_. Bring _Bustamente_ in.
[_Exit Jaylour_.
_Mac_. My Lords, here's _Don Fernando_ relates to me
Two stories full of wonder; one of his daughter,
Fam'd for her vertues, faire _Eleonora_,
Accusing _Don Henrico_, youngest sonne
To noble _Pedro Guzman_, of a rape;
Another of the same _Henrico's_, charging
His elder brother _Manuell_ with the murther
Of _Pedro Guzman_, who went late to _France_.
_Gyr_. Are all the parties here?
_Fer_. Yes.
[_Exit Fernan_.
_Enter Jaylour, Bustamente, Guard_.
_Gyr_. Bring them in.
_Mac_. _Bustamente_,
The King, our master, looking with sharpe eyes,
Upon your trayterous yeilding up the fort,
Putts off your Tryall here; you must abide
Longer imprisonment.
_Bust_. I have allready quitted
My selfe, my lord, of that which you call Treason,
Which had in any here (he doing the like)
Bene a high point of honour.
_Alq_. These braves[43] cannot serve you.
_Gyr_. You must not be your owne Judge.
_Mac_. You gave the _English_
More glory by your base ignoble rendring
That fort up then our Nation gott from them
In all our undertakings.
_Bust_. Heare me, my Lords,
_Mac_. Sir, sir, w'have other anviles; _Bustamente_,
Prepare your selfe for death.
_Bust_. For all my service!
_All_. Take him away!
_Bust_. You are Lyons & I your prey.
[_Exit with Jaylour_.
_Mac_. Which are _Don Pedro's_ sons?
_Enter Fernando, Henrico, Manuell_.
_Fer_. These two.
_Mac_. Which youngest?
_Hen_. I, my Lord.
_Enter Jaylour_.
_Mac_. You charge this Gentleman, your elder brother,
With murther of your father.
_Hen_. Which I can prove.
_Mac_. And hither flyes a ravisht Ladyes voice
To charge you with a Rape; the wronged Daughter
Of this most noble Gentleman.
_Hen_. Let them prove that
_Mac_. These accusations & the proofes shall meete
Here face to face, in th' afternoone. Meantime
Pray, _Don Fernando_, let it be your care
To see these gentlemen attended on
By a strong guard.
_Fer_. The wrongs done to my selfe
Work me, my lord, to that.
_Man_. I would your Grace would heare me speake a little.
_All_. You shall have time.
_Med_. Take them away,
And at their Tryall have the Lady here.
[_Ex. Fer., Hen., Man., & Jaylour_.
_Gyr_. Where is the _Englishman_?
_Clarke_. The _Englishman_!
_Alq_. What do you call him? _Dick of Devonshire_?
_Med_. Because he is a soldier let him have
A soldier's honour; bring him from his prison
Full in the face of the whole Towne of _Sherrys_,
With drums and musketts.
_Mac_. How many soldiers are in the Towne?
_Clarke_. 5000.
_Med_. Let 200 march hither along with him as his guard: where's
the _Teniente_?
_Ten_. Here, my Lord.
_Med_. Pray, see this done & in good order.
_Ten_. I shall. [_Exit_.
_Enter Don John below_.
_Gyr_. What makes _Don John_ here? Oh, now I remember:
You come against the _Englishman_.
_Jo_. Yes, my Lord.
_Enter his Lady and a Gentlewoman above_.
_Mac_. Give me the Note there of the _English_ advertisements.
[_They all conferre_.
_Lady_. Here may we see & heare: poore _Englishman_!
Sadnes! I cast on thee a noble pitty,
A pitty mixt with sorrow that my Husband
Has drawne him to this misery, to whom
The soldier gave life being at his mercy.
_Gent_. Twas bravely done, no doubt he'le speed the better
For his mind.
_Lady_. I visited him in prison,
And did with much adoe win from _Don John_
This journey, for I vowd to see th'event
How they will deale with him.
_Gent_. I hope most fairely.
_Enter 2 drums, Teniente, divers musketts, Fernando
with Pike (without band, an Iron about his necke, 2
Chaines manackling his wrists, a great chaine at his
heeles); Jaylour, 3 or 4 halberts. A Barre sett out_.
_Clarke_. Silence!
_Mac_. You see how much our _Spanish_ soldiers love you
To give this brave attendance; though your Nation
Fought us & came to hunt us to our deathes.
_Pike_. My Lords, this, which in shew is brave attendance
And love to me, is the worldes posture right,
Where one man's falling downe setts up another.
My sorrowes are their triumphes; so in kings courts,
When officers are thrust out of their roomes,
Others leape laughing in while they doe mourne.
I am at your mercy.
_Mac_. Sirra _Englishman_,
Know you that weapon?--reach it him.
_Pike_. Yes, it
Was once mine; and drawes teares from me to think
How 'twas forced from me.
_Mac_. How many _Spanyards_
Killd you with that sword?
_Pike_. Had I killd one
This Barre had nere bene guilty of my pleading
Before such Princely Judges: there stands the man.
_Gyr_. _Don John_, sett he on you or you on him?
_Jo_. He upon me first.
_Pike_. Let me then be torne
Into a thousand pieces.
_Lady_. My Husband speaks untruth.
_Alq_. Sett he on you first? more coward you to suffer an enemy be
aforehand.
_Pike_. Indeed in _England_ my countrymen are good at bidding stand; but
I was not now upon a robbery but a defence, sett round with a thousand
dangers. He sett upon me; I had him at my feete, sav'd him, and for my
labour was after basely hurt by him.
_Fer_. This was examined by me, my Lords;
And _Don John_, thus accusd, was much ashamd
Of his unmanly dealing.
_Gyr_. He may be now soe.
_Lady_. I blush for him my selfe.
_Alq_. Disgrace to _Spanyards_!
_Mac_. Sirra, you _English_, what was the ship you came in?
_Pike_. The _Convertine_.
_Mac_. What Ordnance did she carry?
_Pike_. 40 peeces.
_Gyr_. No, sir, but 38; see here, my Lord.
_Alq_. Right, no more then 38.
_Mac_. Your fort at _Plymouth_ strong?
_Pike_. Yes, very strong.
_Mac_. What Ordnance in't?
_Pike_. 50 Peeces.
_Gyr_. Oh fye, doe not belye your country; there's not so many.
_Alq_. How many soldiers keepe you in that fort?
_Pike_. 200.
_Mac_. Much about such a number.--There is a little iland before
_Plymouth_: What strength is that of?
_Pike_. I doe not know.
_Gyr_. We doe, then.
_Alq_. Is _Plymouth_ a walld Towne?
_Pike_. Yes, it is walld.
_Mac_. And a good wall?
_Pike_. A very good strong wall.
_Gyr_. True tis a good strong wall, and built so high
One with a leape staffe may leape over it.
_Mac_. Why did not your good navy, being in such bravery,
As it tooke _Puntall_ seize _Cales_?
_Pike_. Our Generall
Might easily have tane it, for he had
Almost a thousand scaling ladders to sett up;
And without mayme to's army he might loose
A thousand men: but he was loath to robb
An almes-house when he had a richer market
To buy a conquest in.
_Mac_. What was that market?
_Pike_. _Genoa or Lisbon_: wherefore should we venture
Our lives to catch the wind, or to gett knockes
And nothing else.
[_They consult_.
_Mac_. A poast with speed, to _Lisbon_,
And see't well mand.
_Ten_. One shalbe sent, my Lord.
[_Exit. The soldiers laugh_.
_Alq_. How now, why is this laughter?
_Fer_. One of the soldiers, being merry among themselves, is somewhat
bold with th'_English_, and sayes th'are dainty Hennes.
_All_. [_Alq_.?] Hens! ha, ha, ha!
_Mac_. Sirra, view well these soldiers,
And freely telle us, thinke you these will prove
Such hens as are your _English_, when next yeare
They land in your owne Country.
_Pike_. I thinke they will not,
My lord, prove hens, but somewhat neere to hens.
_Mac_. How mean'st thou?
_Pike_. Let my speech breed no offence:
I thinke they would prove pulletts.
_Gyr_. Dar'st thou fight
With any one of these our _Spanish_ pulletts?
_Pike_. What heart have I to fight when tis beaten flatt
To earth with sad afflictions? can a prisoner
Glory in playing the Fencer? my life's at stake
Allready; can I putt it in for more?
Our army was some 14000 men
Of which more than 12000 had spirits so high
Mine never shall come neere them: would some of them
Were here to feed your expectations!
Yet, silly as I am, having faire pardon
From all your Graces and your Greatnesses,
Ile try if I have strength in this chayned arme
To breake a rapier.
_Mac_. Knock off all his gyves;
And he that has a stomacke for _Spaines_ honour
To combate with this _Englishman_, appeare.
_Pike_. May he be never calld an _Englishman_
That dares not looke a divell in the face, [_One stepps forth_.
Come he in face of man, come how he can.
_Mac_. Your name?
_Tia_. _Tiago_.
_All_. Well done _Tiago_.
_Mac_. Let drums beate all the time they fight.
_Lady_. I pray for thee.
_Gent_. And I.
[_They fight: Pike disarmes & tripps him downe_.
_Pike_. Onely a _Devonshire_ hugg, sir:--at your feete
I lay my winnings.
_Tia_. Diable!
[_Exit, biting his thumb[44]; the soldiers stampe_.
_Gyr_. Wilt venter on oanother?
_Pike_. I beseech you
To pardon me, and taske me to no more.
_Alq_. Come, come, one more; looke you, here's a young Cockerell[45]
Comes crowing into the pitt.
[_Another steps in_.
_All_. Prithee, fight with him.
_Pike_. I'me in the Lyon's gripe & to gett from him
There's but one way; that's death.
_Mac_. _English_, What say you? will you fight or no?
_Pike_. Ile fight.
_All_. Give 'em roome! make way there!
_Pike_. Ile fight till every Joynt be cutt in pieces
To please such brave spectators; yes Ile fight
While I can stand, be you but pleasd, my Lords,
The noble Dukes here, to allow me choice
Of my owne Country weapon.
_All_. What?
_Pike_. A Quarter staffe,--this, were the head off.
_Mac_. Off with the head, and roome!
How dost thou like this _Spaniard_?
_Pike_. Well: he's welcome.
Here's my old trusty frend: are there no more?
One! what, but one? why, I shall make no play,
No sport before my princely Judges with one.
More sackes to the Mill! come, another! what, no more?
_Mac_. How many wouldst thou have?
_Pike_. Any number under six.
_All_. Ha, ha, sure he's mad!
_Mac_. Dar'st coape with Three?
_Pike_. Where are they? let 'em shew their faces: so; welcome!
_Mac_. How dost thou like these chickens?
_Pike_. When I have drest them
With sorrell sopps Ile tell you.
_Lady_. Now guard him heaven!
[_Drums. They fight, one is killd, the other 2 disarmed_.
1. Hell take thy Quarter staffe!
2. Pox on thy quarters!
_Mac_. The matter? why this noyse?
[_A noyse within of Diable Englese_.
_Jay_. The soldiers rayle, stampe & stare, and sweare to cutt
His throat for all the Jaylors care of him.
_Mac_. Make proclamation, my lord _Fernando_,
That who soever dares but touch his finger
To hurt him, dyes.
_Fer_. I will, sir. [_Exit_.
_Lady_. This is done nobly.
_Mac_. Here, give him this gold.
_Ten_. The Duke _Macada_ gives you this gold.
_All_. And this.
_Ten_. The Duke of _Medina_ this; Duke _Gyron_ this;
&, looke you, the Marquesse _Alqueveza_ as much as all the rest.
_Alq_. Where's any of my men? give him your Cloake, sirra;
Fetch him cleane Band and Cuffs. I embrace thee, _Pike_;
And hugg thee in my armes: scorne not to weare
A _Spanish_ livery.
_Pike_. Oh, my Lord, I am proud of't.
_Mac_. He shalbe with a Convoy sent to the King.
_Alq_. 4 of my gentlemen shall along with him:
Ile beare thy charges, soldier, to _Madrid_,
5 peeces of 8 a day in travell, &
Lying still thou shalt have halfe that.
_Pike_. On my knees
Your vassaile thankes heaven, you, and these Princes.
_Mac_. Breake up the Court till afternoon: then the 2 _Guzmans_ tryall.
_All_. Come, _Englishman_.
_Med_. How we honour valour thus our loves epresse:
Thou hast a guard of Dukes and Marquesses.
[_Exeunt all_.
_Actus Quintus_.
(SCENE 1.)
_Enter Teniente & Henrico_.
_Ten_. The Lords are not yett risen: let us walke & talke.
Were not you better yeild to marry her
Then yeild to suffer death? know you the law?
_Hen_. Law! yes; the spiders Cobweb[46], out of which great flyes breake
and in which the little are hangd: the Tarriers snaphance[47],
limetwiggs, weavers shuttle & blankets in which fooles & wrangling
coxcombes are tossd. Doe I know't now or not?
_Ten_. If of the rape she accuse you 'tis in her choise
To have you marry her or to have you hangd[48].
_Hen_. Hangd, hangd by any meanes! marry her? had I
The King of _Spaines_ 7 Kingdomes,
_Gallicia, Navarre_, the 2 _Castiles,
Leon, Arragon, Valentia, Granada_,
And _Portugall_ to make up 8, Ide lose them
All to be rid of such a piece of flesh.
_Ten_. How? such a piece of flesh? Why, she has limbes
Mad out of wax.[49]
_Hen_. Then have her to some faire
And shew her for money.
_Ten_. Is she not sweet complexiond?
_Hen_. As most Ladyes are that studye painting.
_Ten_. What meate will downe your throat, when you scorne pheasant,
partridge, woodcocke & coney? Would I had such a dish.
_Hen_. Woodcocke and coney take to you, my _Don Teniente_; Ile none; and
because you keepe such a wondering why my stomach goes against the wench
(albeit I might find better talke, considering what ladder I stand upon)
Ile tell you, signior, what kind of wife I must have or none.
_Ten_. Pray let me see her picture.
_Hen_. Draw then this curtaine:
Give me a wife that's sound of wind and limbe;
Whose teeth can tell her age; whose hand nere felt
A touch lascivious; whose eyes are balls
Not tossd by her to any but to me;
Whose breath stinkes not of sweatmeates; whose lippes kisse
Onely themselves and mine; whose tongue nere lay
At the signe of the _Bell_. She must not be a scold,
No, nor a foole to be in love with Bables[50];
No, nor too wise to think I nere saile true
But when she steares the rudder. I'de not have
Her belly a drum, such as they weave points on,
Unles they be taggd with vertue; nor would I have
Her white round breasts 2 sucking bottles to nurse
Any Bastards at them.
_Ten_. I believe you would not.
_Hen_. I would not have her tall, because I love not
To dance about a May pole; nor too lowe
(Litle clocks goe seldome true); nor, sir, too fatt
(Slug[51] shipps can keepe no pace); no, nor too leane,
To read Anatomy lectures ore her Carcas.
Nor would I have my wife exceeding faire,
For then she's liquorish meate; & it would mad me
To see whoremasters teeth water at her,
Red haird by no meanes, though she would yeild money
To sell her to some Jew for poyson. No,
My wife shall be a globe terrestriall,
Moving upon no axeltree but mine;
Which globe when I turne round, what land soever
I touch, my wife is with me, still Ime at home.
_Ten_. But where will you find such a wife on earth?
_Hen_. No, such a wife in the Moone for me doth tarry:
If none such shine here I with none will marry.
_Ten_. The Lordes are come.
_Hen_. I care neyther for Lords nor Ladies.
_Enter the Nobles as before; Fernando, Manuell, Clarke, Jaylor_.
_Mac_. Where are these gentlemen? sett 'em both to a Barre
And opposite, face to face: a Confrontation
May perhaps daunt th'offender & draw from him
More then he'de utter. You accuse your Brother
As murtherer of your father: where's the proofe?
_Hen_. First call my fathers man in.
_Clark_. What's his name?
_Hen_. _Buzzano_.
_Clark_. Call _Buzzano_ in!
_Enter Buzzano_.
_Buz_. Here I am, here.
_Clark_. Stand out: whither goe you?
_Buz_. To stand out.
_Clark_. Stand there.
_Mac_. Now what can he say?
_Hen_. First, my Lord, heare mee:
My brother & I lying in one bed together,
And he just under us--
_Buz_. In my fleabitten Trundle bed.[52]
_Clark_. Peace, sirra.
_Hen_. About midnight I awaking,
And this _Buzzano_ too, my brother in his sleepe
Thus cryde out, "Oh, twas I that murtherd him,
This hand that killd him"!
_Gyr_. Heard you this, sirra?
_Buz_. As sure as I heare you now.
_Alq_. And you'le be sworne 'twas he that so cryde out?
_Buz_. If I were going to be hangd Ide sweare.
_Clark_. Forbeare the Court.
[_Exit Buzzano_.
_Mac_. All this is but presumption: if this be all
The shott you make against him your bullets stick
In a mud wall, or if they meete resistance
They backe rebound & fly in your owne face.
_Med_. Bring your best forces up, for these are weak ones.
_Hen_. Then here I throw my glove & challenge him
To make this good upon him: that at comming home
He first told me my father dyed in France,
Then some hours after that he was not dead
But that he left him in _Lorraine_ at _Nancy_,
Then at _Chaalons_ in _Burgundy_, & lastly
He said to _Don Fernando_ he was in _Paris_.
_Fer_. He did indeed.
_Mac_. What then?
_Hen_. Then, when in's chamber we were going to bed,
He suddenly lookd wild, catchd me by the hand
And, falling on his knees, with a pale face
And troubled conscience he confessed he killd him,
Nay, swore he basely murtherd him.
_Mac_. What say you to this?
_Alq_. Now he comes close up to you.
_Man_. He is my murtherer
For I am none, so lett my Innocence guard me.
I never spake with a distracted voice;
Nere fell to him on my knees; spake of no father,
No murtherd father. He's alive as I am,
And some foule divell stands at the fellowes elbow,
Jogging him to this mischefe. The Villaine belyes me,
And on my knees, my lord, I beg that I
And my white Innocence may tread the path
Beaten out before us by that man, my brother.
Command a case of rapiers to be sent for,
And lett me meete his daring. I know him valiant;
But I am doubly armd, both with a Courage
Fiery as his can be, and with a cause
That spitts his accusation full in the face.
_Mac_. The combate in this case cannot be granted,
And here's the reason: when a man accuses
A frend, much more a brother, for a fact
So foule as murther (murther of a father),
The Law leapes straight way to the Challenger
To take his part. Say he that doth accuse
Should be decrepitt, lame and weake, or sickly,
The other strong and lusty; thinke you a kingdome
Will hazard so a subject, when the quarrell
Is for a kingdomes right? If y'are so valiant
You then must call the law into the field
But not the man.
_Man_. I have done; let law proceed.
_Mac_. This cannot serve your turne, say he does belye you;
He stakes against your body his owne soule.
Say there is no such murther, yet the Law
Fastens on you; for any man accusd
For killing of his father may be rackd
To draw confession from him. Will you confesse?
_Man_. I cannot, must not, will not.
_Mac_. Jaylour, take & prepare him for the racke:
Wele see it done here.
_Hen_. You are righteous Judges.
_Man_. Oh villaine, villaine, villaine!
[_Exit with the Jaylour_.
_Med_. Where's the wrongd Lady?
_Alq_. Stand you still at the Barre.
You are now another man, sir; your scale turnes.
_Fernando fetches in Eleonora_.
_Mac_. Looke on the prisoner: doe you know him, Lady?
_Ele_. Would I had nere had cause to say I know him.
_Mac_. Of what doe you accuse him?
_Ele_. As the murtherer
Both of my name and honour. In the hurry,
When the Citty (they said) was ready to be taken,
I being betrothed to this young gentleman,
My father brought me to his father's house,
Telling me their dwelt safety.--There dwelt villany,
Treason, lust, basenes! for this godlesse man
(The storme being ore) came in & forcd from me
The Jewell of my virgin honour.
_Hen_. False!
_Fer_. I would not have thee thinke (thou graceles wretch)
She, being contracted to thee, loving thee,
Loving thee far more dearly then her selfe,
Would wound her vertue soe, so blott her fame
And bring a scandall on my house & me,
Were not the fact most true.
_Hen_. Most false by all that ever man can sweare by.
We falling out, I told her once I nere
Would marry her; & soe she workes this mischiefe.
_Gyr_. You here stand chargd for ravishing her, & you
Must marry her or she may have your life.
_Mac_. Lady, what say you? which had you rather have,
His life or him?
_Ele_. I am not cruell; pay me my first Bond
Of marriage, which you seald to, & I free you
And shall with Joy run flying to your armes.
_All_. Law you?[53]
_Mac_. That's easy enough.
_Hen_. Rackes, Gibbetts, wheeles make sausages of my flesh first!
Ile be ty'd to no man's Strumpet.
_Alq_. Then you muste look to dye.
_Mac_. Lady, withdraw.
_Hen_. Well, if I doe, somebody shall packe.
_Ele_. Oh me, unfortunate Creature! [_Exit_.
_Enter Manuell to be rackt; Jaylour & Officers_.
_Med_. _Don Manuell Guzman_ ere you taste the tortures,
Which you are sure to feele, will you confesse
This murther of your father?
_Man_. Pray, give me privacy a little with my brother.
_All_. [_Alq_.?] Take it.
_Man_. O brother your owne Conscience knowes you wrong me:
Ile rather suffer on the Gallow Tree
Then thus be torne in pieces. Canst thou see mee
Thus worryed amongst hangmen? deare _Henrico_,
For heavens sake, for thine owne sake pitty mee.
_All_. [_Alq_.?] What sayes he?
_Hen_. Cunning, cunning, cunning Traytour!
In my eare he confesses all again and prayes me
To speake to you.
_Mac_. Will you openly confesse?
_Man_. No, no, I cannot. Caytiffe, I spake not soe:
I must not wound my Conscience to lay on it
A guilt it knowes not. Ile not so dishonour
My father, nor my ancestours before me,
Nor my posterity with such an earthquake
To shake our noble house.
_Mac_. Give him the Law then.
_Man_. Ile meete a thousand deaths first.
_Hen_. Plucke, & plucke home, for he's a murtherous Villaine.
_Man_. Thou worse, a divell.
_Mac_. Racke him!
_Man_. Oh stay! for heavens sake spread your mercy!
I doe confesse the murther; I killd my father.
_All_. Take him off!
_Man_. This hand stabbd him.
_Mac_. Where?
_Man_. Neere _St. Germains_
In _Paris_, in a darke night, & then I fled.
_Mac_. Thy owne tongue is thy Judge; take him away:
To-morrow looke to dye: send him a Confessour.
_Jay_. Ile have a holy care of him.
[_Exit Manuell, led by the Jaylour_.
_Hen_. Who's now, my lords, the Villaine?
_Enter Eleonora & Buzzano_.
_Ele_. Oh Justice, here's a witnesse of my Rape.
_Mac_. Did you see't, sirra?
_Buz_. See't! no, sir, would I had; but when she was in labour I heard
her cry out "helpe! helpe!" & the Gamboll being ended she came in like
a mad woman, ruffled & crumpled, her haire about her eares; & he all
unbrac'd, sweating as if he had bene thrashing; & afterwards he told me,
my lords, that he had downe diddled her.
_Hen_. I now am lost indeed, & on my knee
Beg pardon of that goodnes, that pure Temple
Which my base lust prophand, & will make good
My wrongs to her by marriage.
_Mac_. What say you, Lady?
_Ele_. He spurnd my mercy when it flew to him
And courted him to kisse it; therefore now
Ile have his life.
_Fer_. That life, so had, redeemes
Thine & thy fathers infamy. Justice! my Lords.
_Hen_. Cruell Creature!
_Mac_. Take him away & lead him to his brother;
You both must die next morning.
_Hen_. I deserve it;
And so that Slave, too, that betrayed his Master.
_Buz_. Why should I not betray my Master, when he betrayed his Mistris.
_Ele_. Get you gone, sirra.
[_Exeunt Henrico & Buzzano_.
_Mac_. You are dismissd: Faire Lady,
You shall have Law, your Ravisher shall dye.
_Ele_. Oh that my life from death could sett him free!
[_Exit_.
_Mac_. Pray, _Don Fernando_, follow her & soften
Her heart to pitty the poore gentleman:
The Crime is not so Capitall.
_Fer_. Ile doe my best.
[_Exit_.
_Mac_. That such a noble _Spanyard_ as _Don Pedro_
Should be so cursed in's Children!
_Enter Buzzano, Don Pedro, Fernando & Eleonora_.
_Buz_. Hee's come, hee's come, my Lord! _Don Pedro Gusman_ is still
alive,--see, see!
_Mac_. Let us descend to meet a happinesse
Crownes all our expectations.
_Pedro_. Whilst I meet
A Thunder strikes me dead. Oh, poore, wrongd Lady,
The poyson which the villaine poures on thy honour
Runs more into my veines then all the Venome
He spitts at me or my deare Boy, his brother.
My Lords, your pardon that I am transported
With shame & sorrow thus beyond my selfe,
Not paying to you my duty.
_All_. Your love, _Don Pedro_.
_Mac_. Conceale your selfe a while; your sons wele send for,
And shew them deaths face presently.
_Pedro_. Ile play a part in't. [_Exit_.
_Mac_. Let them be fetcht, & speake not of a father.
_Ten_. This shall be done. [_Exit_.
_Mac_. Is your Compassion, Lady, yet awake?
Remember that the scaffold, hangman, sword,
And all the Instruments death playes upon,
Are hither calld by you; 'tis you may stay them.
When at the Barre there stood your Ravisher
You would have savd him, then you made your choyce
To marry him: will you then kill your husband?
_Ele_. Why did that husband then rather chuse death
Then me to be his bride? is his life mine?
Why, then, because the Law makes me his Judge,
Ile be, like you, not cruell, but reprieve him;
My prisoner shall kisse mercy.
_Mac_. Y'are a good Lady.
_Med_. Lady, untill they come, repose your selfe.
[_Exit Eleonora_.
_Mac_. How now? so soone come back? why thus returned?
_Enter Pike & a Gentleman, with Letters_.
_Gen_. Our Journey to _Madrid_ the Kinge himselfe
Cutts off, by these his royall letters sent
Upon the wings of speed to all your Graces.
He lay one night since at your house, my Lord
Where, by your noble Wife, he had a wellcome
Fitting his greatnes & your will.
_Alq_. I'me glad of't.
_Mac_. The King, our Master, writes heere, _Englishman_,
He has lost a subiect by you; yet referres
Himselfe to us about you.
_Pike_. Againe, I stand heere
To lay my own life downe, please his high Maiesty
To take it: for what's lost his fate to fall
Was _fortune de la guerre_, & at the feete
Of his most royal Maiesty & at yours
(My Princely Lords & Judges) low as th'earth
I throw my wretched selfe & begg his mercy.
_Mac_. Stand up; that mercy which you aske is signd
By our most royall master.
_Pike_. My thankes to heaven, him & your Graces.
_Mac_. The King further writes heere,
That though your Nation came in Thunder hither
Yet he holds out to you his Enemy
2 friendly proffers: serve him in his dominions
Eyther by land or sea, & thou shalt live
Upon a golden pension, such a harvest
As thou nere reapst in _England_.
_Pike_. His kingly favours
Swell up in such high heapes above my merit,
Could I reare up a thousand lives, they cannot
Reach halfe the way. Ime his, to be his Vassaile,
His Gally Slave, please you to chaine me to the oare;
But, with his highnes pardon & your allowance,
I beg one Boone.
_All_. What is't?
_Pike_. That I may once more
See my owne Country Chimneys cast out smoake.
I owe my life and service to the King,
(The king of _England_) let me pay that Bond
Of my allegeance; &, that being payd,
There is another obligation,
One to a woefull Wife & wretched Children
Made wretched by my misery. I therefore beg,
Intreat, emplore, submissively hold up my hands
To have his Kingly pitty & yours to lett me goe.
_All_. [_Alq_.?] Let him ene goe.
_Mac_. Well, since we cannot win you to our service,
We will not weane you from your Countryes love.
The king, our lord, commands us here to give you
A hundred pistoletts to beare you home.
_Pike_. A royall bounty, which my memory
Shall never loose; no, nor these noble favours
Which from the _Lady Marquesse Alquevezze_
Raynd plenteously on me.
_Alq_. What did she to thee?
_Gyr_. How did she entertaine thee?
_Pike_. Rarely; it is a brave, bounteous, munificent, magnificent
Marquezza! the great Turke cannot tast better meat then I have eaten
at this ladies Table.
_Alq_. So, so.
_Pike_. And for a lodging, if the curtaines about my bed had bene cutt
of Sunbeames, I could not lye in a more glorious Chamber.
_Mac_. You have something, then, to speake of our weomen when y'are in
_England_.
_Pike_. This Box, with a gold chaine in't for my Wife & some pretty
things for my Children, given me by your honourd Lady would else cry
out on me. There's a _Spanish_ shirt, richly lacd & seemd, her guift
too; & whosoever layes a foul hand upon her linnen in scorne of her
bounty, were as good flea[54] the Divells skin over his eares.
_Mac_. Well said: in _England_ thou wilt drinke her health?
_Pike_. Were it a glasse as deepe to the bottome as a _Spanish_ pike is
long, an _Englishman_ shall doe't. Her health, & _Don Johns_ wives too.
_Enter Jaylor_.
_Jay_. The Prisoners are upon comming.
_Mac_. Stand by, _Englishman_.
_Enter Teniente, Henrico, Manuell, Pedro (as a fryer);
at another dore Eleonora_.
_Mac_. Give the Lady roome there!
_Clark_. Peace!
_Mac_. Your facts are both so foule your hated lives
Cannot be too soone shortned; therefore these Lords
Hold it not fitt to lend you breath till morning,
But now to cutt you off.
_Both_. The stroke is welcome.
_Pedro_. Shall I prepare you?
_Hen_. Save your paynes, good father.
_Man_. We have allready cast up our accounts
And sent, we hope, our debts up into heaven.
_Fer_. Our sorrowes & our sighes fly after them.
_Ped_. Then your confession of the murther stands
As you your selfe did sett it downe?
_Man_. It does;
But on my knees I beg this marginall note
May sticke upon the paper; that no guilt,
But feare of Tortures frighted me to take
That horrid sin upon me. I am as innocent
And free as are the starres from plotting treason
Gainst their first mover.
_Pedro_. I was then in _France_
When of your fathers murther the report
Did fill all _Paris_.
_Man_. Such a reverend habit
Should not give harbour to so blacke a falshood.
_Hen_. Tis blacke, & of my dying; for 'twas I
To cheate my brother of my fathers lands,
Layd this most hellish plott.
_Fer_. 3[55] hellish sins, Robbery, Rape & Murther.
_Hen_. I'me guilty of all Three; his soul's as white
And cleare from murther as this holy man
From killing mee.
_Pedro_. No [know], there's a thing about me
Shall strike thee into dust & make thy tongue
With trembling to proclayme thyselfe a Villaine
More then thou yet hast done:--See, tis my Eye.
_Hen_. Oh, I am confounded! [_Falls_.
_Man_. But I comforted
With the most heavenly apparition
Of my deare honourd father.
_Fer_. Take thou comfort
By two more apparitions, of a father
And a lost daughter, yet heere found for thee.
_Man_. Oh, noble sir, I pray forgive my brother.
_Ele_. See, sir, I doe; & with my hand reach to him
My heart to give him new life.
_Fer_. Rise, my _Henrico_!
_Mac_. Rise & receive a noble minded wife
Worth troupes of other weomen.
_Hen_. Shame leaves me speechles.
_Pedro_. Gett thee a tongue againe, & pray, & mend.
_Mac_. Letters shall forthwith fly into _Madrid_
To tell the King the storyes of Two Brothers,
Worthy the Courtiers reading. Lovers, take hands:
_Hymen_ & gentle faeryes strew your way:
Our Sessions turnes into a Bridall day.
_All_. Fare thee well, _Englishman_.
_Pike_. I will ring peales of prayers of you all,
My Lords & noble Dons.
_Mac_. Doe soe, if thou hast iust cause: howsoever,
When thy swift ship cutts through the curled mayne,
Dance to see _England_, yet speake well of _Spayne_.
_Pike_. I shall.--Where must I leave my pistoletts?
_Gent_. Follow mee.
[_Exeunt Omnes_.
FINIS.
INTRODUCTION TO _THE LADY MOTHER_.
The authorship of this anonymous play, now printed for the first time
(from Eg. MS. 1994), is not difficult to discover. Any one who has had
the patience to read the Plays of Henry Glapthorne cannot fail to be
amused by the bland persistence with which certain passages are
reproduced in one play after another. Glapthorne's stock of fancies was
not very extensive, but he puts himself to considerable pains to make
the most of them. In _The Lady Mother_ we find the same ornaments spread
out before us, many of them very tawdry at their best. Glapthorne's
editor has striven to show that the weak-kneed playwright was a
fellow-pupil of John Milton's at St. Paul's. One cannot think of the two
names together without calling to mind the "lean and flashy songs" and
"scrannel pipes of wretched straw" in _Lycidas_.
Yet Glapthorne was a man of some parts. He had little enough dramatic
power, but he writes occasionally with tenderness and feeling. In his
poetical garden rank weeds choke up the flower-beds; but still, if we
have patience to pursue the quest, we may pick here and there a
musk-rose or a violet that retains its fragrance. He seems to have taken
Shirley as his master; but desire in the pupil's case outran
performance. It is, indeed, a pitiful fall from the _Grateful Servant_,
a honey-sweet old play, fresh as an idyl of Theocritus, to the paltry
faded graces of the _Lady's Privilege_.
A note at the end of _The Lady Mother_ in the hand-writing of William
Blagrave, acting for the Master of the Revels, shows that the play was
licensed in October, 1635. From a passage in II., 1, it would seem to
have been produced at the Salisbury Court Theatre in Whitefriars. In the
same year Glapthorne's comedy of the _Hollander_, according to the
title-page, was being acted at the Cockpit, Drury Lane. His other pieces
were produced rather later. I am inclined to think that _The Lady
Mother_, in spite of the wild improbability of the plot and the poorness
of much of the comic parts, is our author's best work. In such lines as
the following (IV., 1) there is a little flickering of pathos:--
"Enough, good friend; no more.
Had a rude _Scythian_, ignorant of tears,
Unless the wind enforced them from his eyes,
Heard this relation, sure he would have wept;
And yet I cannot. I have lost all sense
Of pitty with my womanhood, and now
That once essentiall Mistress of my soule,
Warme charity, no more inflames my brest
Then does the glowewormes uneffectuall fire
The ha[n]d that touches it. Good sir, desist
The agravation of your sad report; [_Weepe_.
Ive to much griefe already."
The "glowewormes uneffectuall fire" is of course pilfered from Hamlet,
but it is happily introduced. There is some humour in the scene (I., 2)
where the old buck, Sir Geoffrey, who is studying a compliment to his
mistress while his hair is being trimmed by his servant before the glass,
puts by the importunity of his scatter-brain'd nephew and the blustering
captain, who vainly endeavour to bring him to the point and make him
disburse. On the whole I am confident that _The Lady Mother_ will be
found less tedious than any other of Glapthorne's pieces.
THE LADY MOTHER: A COMEDY.
BY HENRY GLAPTHORNE.
_Written in 1635, and now printed for the first time_.
The Play of The Lady Mother.
_Actus Primus_.
(SCENE 1.)
_Enter Thorowgood, Bonvill & Grimes_.
_Bon_. What? will it be a match man?
Shall I kneele to thee and aske thee blessing, ha?
_Tho_. Pish! I begin to feare her, she does
Dally with her affection: I admire itt.
_Bon_. Shee and her daughters
Created were for admiration only,
And did my Mistress and her sister not
Obscure their mothers luster fancy could not
Admitt a fuller bewty.
_Tho_. Tis easier to expresse
Where nimble winds lodge, ore investigate
An eagles passage through the agill ayre
Then to invent a paraphrase to expresse
How much true virtue is indebted to their
Unparaleld perfections.
_Bon_. Nay[56], but shall I not be acquainted with your designe? when we
must marry, faith to save charges of two wedding dinners, lets cast so
that one day may yeild us bridegroome,--I to the daughter and thou to
the mother.
_Tho_. She falls off
With such a soddaine ambiguitie,
From the strong heate of her profesd[57] love
That I conceive she intends a regular proofe
Of my untainted Faith.
_Grimes_. Soe I thinke, too: when I was young the plaine downe-right way
serv'd to woe and win a wench; but now woing is gotten, as all things
else are, into the fashion; gallantts now court their Mistress with
mumps & mows as apes and monke[y]s doe.
_Bon_. But cannot all your fluent witt interpret
Why she procastinatts your promisd match?
By this light, her daughter would be married tomorrow
If her mother and I had concluded on the Joynture.
_Tho_. The most evident reason she will give me of this unwellcome
protraccon is she has some new employment to put on me, which performd
she has ingaged her selfe to certainty of her designing me an answerare
[_sic_].
_Enter Lovell_.
_Grimes_. Here comes your Rivall, Mr. _Thorowgood_,--_Alexander_ the
_Great_, her Ladishipps loving Steward.
_Bon_. But does he affect the lady; what's his character?
_Grimes_. He was by trade a taylor, sir, and is the tenth part of the
bumbast that goes to the setting forth of a man: his dealing consists
not much in weight but in the weight of his pressing Iron, under whose
tyranny you shall perceave no small shrinking.
_Tho_. Well said, _Grimes_. On!
_Grimes_. He has alterd himselfe out of his owne cutt since he was
steward; yet, if you saw him in my ladyes Chamber you would take him
for some usher of a dancing schoole, as being aptest in sight for a
crosse cap.
_Tho_. Excellent _Grimes_ still!
_Grimes_. By his cloathes you might deeme him a knight; but yet if you
uncase him, you will find his sattin dublett naught but fore sleaves &
brest, the back part buckram; his cloake and cape of two sorts; his
roses and garters of my ladyes old Cypres: to conclude, sir, he is an
ambodexter or a Jack-of-all-sides & will needs mend that which Nature
made: he takes much upon him since the old Knight dyed, and does fully
intend to run to hell[58] for the lady: he hates all wines and strong
drinks--mary, tis but in publique, for in private he will be drunke, no
tinker like him.
_Bon_. Peace, sirrah; observe.
_Lov_. So, let me see the _summa totalis_ of my sweet ladies
perfections.
_Grimes_. Good, he has her in whole already.
_Tho_. Peace, _Grimes_.
_Lov_. _Imprimis, her faire haire; no silken sleave
Can be so soft the gentle worm does weave.
It[em], noe Plush or satten sleeke, I vow,
May be compard unto her velvet brow.
It[em], her eyes--two buttons made of iett;
Her lipps gumd taffety that will not frett;
Her cheeks are changeable, as I suppose,--
Carnation and white, lyllie and rose_.
_Grimes_. I, there it goes.
_Bon_. I protest I comend him; he goes through stitch with her like
the Master of his trade.
_Lov_. _It[em] her brests two bottomes[59] be of thred,
By which love to his laborinth is led.
Her belly_--
_Grimes_. I, marry, sir, now he comes to the purpose.
_Lov_. _Her Belly a soft Cushion where no sinner
But her true love must dare stick a pin in her_.
_Grimes_. That line has got the prick and prayse from all the rest.
_Lov_. _Butt to that stuff of stuffs, that without scoff
Is Camills haire or else stand further off_.
_Grimes_. How many shreads has he stoale here to patch up this lady?
_Lov_. _The totall some of my blest deity
Is the magazine of Natures treasury_.--
Soe, this made up, will I take an occasion to dropp where she may find
it. But, stay; here's company.
_Bon_. Mr. _Lovell_.
_Lov_. And see, I shall divulge myselfe.
_Grimes_. A foole, I doubt not.
_Bon_. Is your lady stirring?
_Lov_. She is risen, sir, and early occupied in her occasions spiritual,
and domesticke busines.
_Enter Lady & Magdalen_.
_Lady_. Sweet Mr. _Bonvil_.
The simple entertain[m]ent you receave here
I feare will scare you from us: you're so early
Up, you do not sleepe well.
_Tho_. I cannot looke on her
But Ime as violent as a high-wrought sea
In my desires; a fury through my eyes
At every glance of hers invades my heart.
_Lady_. What ayles you, servant? are you not well?
_Bon_. 'Tis his humour, Madam; he is accustomed, though it be in
company, to hold a dialogue with his thoughts. Please you, lady, to
give his fever libertie; the fit will soon be overpasd.
_Tho_. She bears her age well, or she is not sped
Far into th'vale of yeares: she has an eye
Piercing as is an Eglets when her damme,
Training[60] her out into the serene air,
Teaches her face the Sunbeames.
_Bon_. Madam, I fear my friend
Hath falne againe in love; he practises
To himself new speeches; you and he are not
Broke off, I hope.
_Lady_. O, sir, I value my servant at a higher rate:
We two must not easily disagree.
Sir _Alexander_, attend in Mr. _Bonvill_.
My daughter's up by this time, and I would have him give her the first
salute. You had best be wary, _Bonvill_; the young cittizen or the
souldier will rob you of her.
_Bon_. O, we feare not them: shall we goe, sir?
_Lady_. Nay, Ile detaine my servant.
_Bon_. Harke you, sir, strike home; doe you heare?
[_Exeunt Bonvill, Grimes, Lovell & Mag_.
_Lady_. Servant, have you leasure
To hear what I inioyne you?
_Tho_. Your good pleasure.
_Lady_. What shall I doe? I can no longer beare
This flame so mortall; I have wearid heaven
With my entreaties and shed teares enough
To extinguish _Aetna_, but, like water cast
On coales, they ad unto my former heate
A more outragious fervor. I have tried
All modest meanes to give him notice of
My violent love, but he, more dull then earth,
Either conceives them not or else, possessd
With full affection of my daughter, scornes me.
_Tho_. Madam, wilt please you to deliver your pleasure?
_Lady_. _Thorowgood_,
Not clouds of lightning, or the raging bolt
Heavens anger darts at the offending world,
Can with such horrid rigor peirce the earth
As these sad words I must demonstrate to you
Doe my afflicted brest.--Ime lost; my tongue
When I would speake, like to an Isicle
Disturbd by motion of unruly winds
Shakes to pronounce't, yet freezes to my roofe
Faster by th'agitation.
_Tho_. Your full Judgment
Could not have found an apter instrument
For the performance of what you designe,
Then I experience how much any man
May become passive in obedience
To the intent of woman, in my truth.
Set the abstrusest comment on my faith
Imagination can resolve, my study
Shall mak't as easie as the plainest lines
Which hearty lovers write.
_Enter Timothy_.
_Tim_. Madam, this letter and his humble vowes
From your deserving sonn.
_Lady_. He writes me here he will be here tomorrow.
Where left you him?
_Tim_. At your right worthy Cosens.
_Lady_. What manner of man is this Mr. _Thurston_
He brings with him?
_Tim_. A most accomplishd gentleman.
_Lady_. 'Tis well: Mr. _Thoroegood_,
Weele walke into the Gallery, and there
Discourse the rest.
_Tho_. I long till I receive the audience of it.
_Tim_. Your ladiship will vouchsafe to meete
The Gent[lemen] in your Coach some two miles hence?
_Lady_. Ile thinke of it.
[_Exeunt omnes_.
(SCENE 2.)
_Enter Sucket and Crackby[61].
Suc_. Come, deport your selfe with a more elated countenance: a
personage of your rare endowments so dejected! 'tis fitt for groomes,
not men magnanimous, to be so bashfull: speake boldly to them, that like
cannon shott your breath may batter; you would hardly dare to take in
townes and expugne fortresses, that cannot demolish a paltry woman.
_Crac_. Pox of this Country, it has metamorphisd me. Would I were in my
native Citty ayre agen, within the wholesome smell of seacole: the
vapor[s] rising from the lands new dunged are more infectious to me then
the common sewer ith sicknes time. Ime certaine of my selfe Ime impudent
enough and can dissemble as well as ere my Father did to gett his
wealth, but this country has tane my edge of quite; but I begin to sound
the reason of it.
_Suc_. What may it be imagind.
_Crac_. Why, here are no Taverns where for my crowne I can have food
provocative, besides the gaining of many precious phrase[s] for (from?)
divers gallants new frenchefied. Theirs nothing to excite desire but
creame and eggs, and they are so common every clowne devoures them. Were
each egge at twelve pence, or as deare as lobsters, I could afford to
eate them, but I hate all that is vulgar; 'tis most base.
_Suc_. Pish, tis dificience in your resolution:
Suppose your mistress were an enemy
You were to encounter in sterne duell.
_Crac_. 'Tis well my Enemie is a woman; I should feare else to suppose
the meeting. Resolution! how can a man have resolution that drinkes
nought but ale able to kill a Dutchman? Conduit water is nector to it,
_Suc_. Nay, but I say, suppose--
_Crac_. Suppose! Why here are no wenches halfe so amorous as Citty
tripennies[62]: those that are bewtifull the dew is not so cold. I did
but begg a curtesie of a chambermaide, and she laughd at me! Ile to the
Citty againe, that's certaine; where for my angell I can imbrace
pl[enty]. If I stay here a little longer, for want of exercise I shall
forget whether a woman be fish or flesh: I have almost don't already.
_Suc_. O, heeres your uncle, move him; you conceive me;
He must disburse.
_Crac_. And 'tis as hard to wrest a penny from him as from a bawd.
_Enter Sir Gefferie and Bunche_.
_Sir Geff_. Erect that locke a little; theres a hayre
Which, like a foreman of a shop, does strive
To be above his fellowes. Pish! this glasse
Is falsly silverd, maks me look as gray
As if I were 4 score.
_Bun_. What does he want of it?
_Sir Geff_. Combe with more circumspection, knave; these perfumes
Have a dull odor; there is meale among them,
My Mrs. will not scent them.
_Crac_. Uncle, my friend,
My martiall fellow is deficient
In this ubiquitarie mettall, silver:
You must impart.
_Sir Geff_. This garter is not well tide, fellow: where
Wert thou brought up? thou knowest not to tie
A rose yet, knave: a little straiter: so,
Now, tis indifferent. Who can say that I
Am old now?
_Bun_. Marry, that can I or any one which sees you.
_Suc_. Death to my reputation!
Sir, we are gent[lemen] and deserve regard:
Will you not be responsible?
_Sir Geff_. Alas, good Captaine, I was meditating how to salute my lady
this morning. You have bin a traviler: had I best do it in the _Italian_
garbe or with a _Spanish_ gravity? your _French_ mode is grown so common
every vintners boy has it as perfect as his _anon, anon, sir_. Hum, I
must consider on it.
_Crac_. Nay, but uncle, uncle, shall we have answeare concerning this
mony, uncle? You must disburse; that is the souldiers phrase. You see
this man; regard him.
_Suc_. Death of vallor! I can hold no longer; I shall rise in wroth
against him.
_Crac_. Dee heare, Uncle? you must furnish him; he wilbe irefull
presently, and then a whole bagg will not satisfie him; heele eate your
gold in anger and drinke silver in great sack glasses.
_Sir Geff_. Pox o'this Congee; 't shalbe thus, no thus;
That writhing of my body does become me
Infinitly. Now to begett an active
Complement that, like a matins sung
By virgins, may enchant her amorous ear.
The _Spanish Basolas[63] manos_ sounds, methinks,
As harsh as a Morisco kettledrum;
The _French boniour_ is ordinary as their
Disease: hees not a gent that cannot parlee.
I must invent some new and polite phrases.
_Crac_. Shall I have answeare yet, sir.
_Sir Geff_. Pish, you disturbe me.--Gratulate her rest,
Force an encomium on her huswifry
For being up so early.--_Bunch_, where is my nephew?
_Crac_. I have bin here this halfe hower and could not get answere.
_Sir Geff_, To what, good nephew?--I was meditating a little seriously.
_Crac_. Concerning this white earth.
_Sir Geff_. Youde know the nature of it? If it be marle 'tis good to
manure land; if clay, to make tobacco pipes.
_Crac_. I meane mony.
_Sir Geff_. O mony, Nephew: Ide thought youde learnd ith Citty
How to use mony: here we do imploy it
To purchase land and other necessaries.
_Suc_. Infamy to fame and noble reputation!
Old man, dost thou disdaine valour? I tell thee, Catterpillar,
I must have mony.
_Sir Geff_. 'Tis reason good you should; it is fitting to cherish men
of armes. There is a treasurer in the county, Captaine, pays souldiers
pensions: if any be due to you Ile write my letter, you shall receive
it.
_Bun_. Faith, there he mett with you.
_Crac_. I see a storme a coming. Uncle, I wilbe answerable upon account:
my souldier must have mettall.
_Sir Geff_. Iron and Steele is most convenient for Souldiers; but, since
you say it, Nephew, he shall have it: how much must it be?
_Suc_. A score of Angells shall satisfie for the confrontment you have
offred me in being dilatory.
_Sir Geff_. _Bunch_, deliver him ten pounds;--but, dee heare.
_Bunch_, let be in light gold; 'twill serve his turn as well as heavier:
it may be he is one of those projectors transports it beyond sea.
_Enter Magdalen_.
_Mag_. Sir, I come to give you notice my ladyes walkd into the garden.
_Sir Geff_. Life! is she upp so early?
_Mag_. An hower since, beleeve it.
_Crac_. Is my Mistress stirring?
_Mag_. In truth, I know not.
_Sir Geff_. Nephew, demeane your selfe with[64] all respect
Toward the gentlewoman you affect.
You must learne with here since the citty
Could spare you none.--Ile to the lady.
[_Exeunt Bunch, Sir Geff. and Mag_.
_Crac_. Captaine, shalls into th'Celler, Captaine?
_Suc_. I like the Motion.
_Crac_. Come away, then: there is indifferent liquor in this house,
but that ith towne is most abominable. Weele drinke our owne healths,
Captaine.
_Suc_. Well considered; 'tis for our reputation.
[_Exeunt omnes_.
(SCENE 3.)
_Enter Bonvill, Clarinna, Belizea and Grimes_.
_Bon_. Come, you are wantons both: If I were absent,
You would with as much willingness traduce
My manners to them. What Idiots are wee men
To tender our services to women
Who deride us for our paines!
_Cla_. Why can you great wise men who esteeme us women
But equall with our parrets or at best
But a degree above them, prating creatures
Devoid of reason, thinke that when we see
A man whose teeth will scarce permitt his tongue
To say,--(he is soe like December come
A woing to the Spring, with all the ensignes
Of youth and bravery as if he meant
To dare his land-lord Death to single rapier)--
We have not so much spleene as will engender
A modest laughter at him?
_Bel_. Nay, theres his Nephew, _Crackby_, your sweet servant.
_Clar_. My Servant! I do admire that man's impudence,
How he dare speake to any woman.
_Bon_. Why, is he not flesh and blood?
_Clar_. Yes, but I question whether it be mans or no.
They talk of changlings: if there be such things
I doubt not but hees one of them.
_Bel_. Fie,[65] Sister; 'tis a prettye gent, I know you love him.
_Clar_. You hitt it there, I faith,[66]--You know the man?
_Bon_. Yes, very well.
_Clar_. Have you then ever seene such another monster?
He was begott surely in the wane of the moone,
When Natures tooles were at laime Vulcans forge
A sharpning, that she was forced to shake this lumpe together.
_Bon_. What man for heavens sake could your nicenes fancy?
_Clar_. Not you of all that ever I beheld.
_Bel_. And why, good wisdome?
_Clar_. Nay, do not scratch me because he is your choyse, forsooth.
_Bel_. Well, we shall see the goodly youth your curiositie has elected,
when my brother returnes, I hope.
_Clar_. I hope soe, too; I marvill where this Cub is,
He is not roaring here yet.
_Enter Thorogood_.
_Bon_. Frend, thou hast lost
The absolu[t]st characters deliverd by this lady:
Would thou hadst come a little sooner.
_Tho_. Ladies,
I must desire your pardon for my friend:
I have some busines will a while deprive him
Your sweet companies.
_Clar_. Take him away; we are weary of him.
_Bel_. Sister, lets leave the gentlemen alone,
And to our chambers.
[_Exeunt Bel. and Clar.
_Bon_. _Grimes_, put to the doore and leave us.--
Whats the matter?
[_Exit Grimes_.
_Tho_. Freind,
Ere I begin my story I would wish you
Collect yourselfe, awake your sleeping Spiritts,
Invoake your patience, all thats man about you
To ayd your resolution; for I feare
The newes I bring will like a palsie shake
Your soules indifferenst temper.
_Bon_. Prethee, what is't which on the soddaine can
Be thus disastrous? 'tis beyond my thoughts.
_Tho_. Nay, slight it not: the dismall ravens noate
Or mandrakes screches, to a long-sick man
Is not so ominous as the heareing of it
Will be to you; 'twill like a frost congeale
Your lively heate,--yet it must out, our frendship
Forbids concealment.
_Bon_. Do not torture me;
Ime resolute to heare it.
_Tho_. Your soe admired Mistress
Who parted from you now, _Belisea_,--
_Bon_. You have don well before
Your sad relation to repeat that sound;
That holy name whose fervor does excite
A fire within mee sacred as the flame
The vestalls offer: see how it ascends
As if it meant to combat with the sunn
For heats priority! Ime arm'd gainst death,
Could thy words blow it on me.
_Tho_. Here me, then:
Your Mistress--
_Bon_. The Epitome of virtues,
Who like the pretious reliques of a Saint
Ought only to be seene, not touchd.
_Tho_. Yet heare me;
Cease your immoderate prayses: I must tell you
You doe adore an Idoll; her black Soule
Is tainted as an Apple which the Sunn
Has kist to putrifaction; she is
(Her proper appelation sounds so foule
I quake to speake it) a corrupted peice,
A most lascivious prostitute.
_Bon_. Howes this?
Speake it agen, that if the sacrilege
Thou'st made gainst vertue be but yet sufficient
To yeild thee dead, the iteration of it
May damne thee past the reach of mearcye. Speake it,
While thou hast utterance left; but I conceit
A lie soe monstrous cannot chuse but choake
The vocall powers, or like a canker rott
Thy tung in the delivery.
_Tho_. Sir, your rage
Cannot inforce a recantacion from me:
I doe pronounce her light as is a leafe
In withered Autumne shaken from the trees
By the rude winds: noe specld serpent weares
More spotts than her pide honor.
_Bon_. So, no more:
Thy former words incenst me but to rage;
These to a fury which noe sea of teares,
Though shed by queenes or Orphants, shall extinguish;
Nay, should my mother rise from her cold urne
And weepe herself to death againe to save
Thee from perdition, 't should not; were there placd
Twixt thee and mee a host of blasing starrs,
Thus I would through them to thee! [_Draw.
Tho_. Had I knowne
Your passion would have vanquishd reason thus,
You should have met your ruine unadvisd;
Hugd your destruction; taken what the lust
Of other men had left you. But the name
And soule of friendship twixt us I had thought
Would have retain'd this most unmanly rage
Gainst me, for declaration of a truth
By which you might be ransomed from the armes
Of her adulterate honor.
_Bon_. Yes, kind foole;
Perswade an _Indian_ who has newly div'd
Into the ocean and obtaind a pearle,
To cast it back againe; labour t'induce
_Turkes_ to contemne their _Alcoron_ ere you strive
To make me creditt my _Belissia_ false. [_Kneele_.
Forgive me, holy love, that I delay
So long to scourge the more than heathnish wrongs
Of this iniurious villaine, whome me thinks--
Blow him hence to hell
With his contagious slander! yet before
Thou doest fall by me as, if heaven have not
Lost all its care of Innocence, thou must doe,
Tell me what Divell urgd thee to detract
From virtue thus, for of thy selfe thou couldst not
(Unlesse with thee shee hath bin vicious) know it
Without some information: whoes the Author
Of this prodigious calumnie?
_Tho_. Her mother.
_Bon_. Ha! her mother?
_Tho_. Yes, she; that certaine Oracle of truth,
That pretious mine of honor, which before
She would exhaust, or yeild your innocence
A spoyle to vice, chose rather to declare
Her daughter's folly; and with powerfull teares
Besought me, by the love I bore to goodnes,
Which in her estimation had a roome
Higher than Nature, to reveale it to you
And disingage you from her.
Bon. Soe, rest there, [_Put up_.
Ere thou beest drawne were the whole sex reduced
To one, left only to preserve earths store,
In the defence of women; who,[67] but that
The mothers virtues stands betweene heavens Justice
Would for the daughters unexampled sinne
Be by some soddaine Judgment swept from earth
As creatures too infectious. Gentle freind,
An humor, heavy as my soule was steep'd
In _Lethe_, seases on me and I feare
My passion will inforce me to transgresse
Manhood; I would not have thee see me weepe;
I prethee leave mee, solitude will suite
Best with my anguish. [_Sitt downe.
Tho_. Your good Genius keepe you. [_Exit_.
[_Enter Belisea_.]
_Bel_. Why have you staid thus long?
Young _Crackby_ and his friend are newly up
And have bin with us. My sister has had
The modest bout with them: 'tis such a wench.
Are you a sleepe? why doe you not looke up?
What muse you on?
_Bon_. Faith, I was thinking where
In the whole world to find an honest woman.
_Bel_. An excellent meditation! What doe you take me for, my Mother
and my Sister?
_Bon_. You alway excepted; tis but melancholly;
Prethee bestow a kisse upon me, love;
Perchance that will expell it.
_Bel_. If your cure be wrought soe easily, pittie you should perish
for want of physick. [_Kiss him_.
_Bon_. She kisses as sheed wont; were she unchast,
Surely her breath would like a _Stigian_ mist
Or some contagious vapor blast me; but
'Tis sweet as _Indian_ balme, and from her lips
Distills[68] a moisture pretious as the Dew
The amorous bounty of the wholesome morne
Throwes on rose buds; her cheeks are fresh and pure
As the chast ayre that circumscribes them, yet
Theres that within her renders her as foule
As the deformed'st _Ethiope_.
_Bel_. Whats the matter?
Why do you staire so on me?
_Bon_. To admire
That such a goodly building as this same
Should have such vild stuff in itt.
_Bel_. What meanes this language?
_Bon_. Nothing, but only to informe you what
You know to well alreadie: _Belisia_, you are
--(I cannot call her whore)--a perjurd woman.
_Bel_. Defend me innocence! I scarce remember
That ever I made oath and therefore wonder
How I should breake on.
_Bon_. Have you not with imprecations beg'd
Heavens vengeance if you ere lovd man but me?
_Bel_. And those same heavens are vouchers[69]
I've kept my vowes with that strict purity
That I have done my honor.
_Bon_. I believe thee;
The divell sometimes speaks truth. Intemperate woman,
Thoust made that name a terme convertible
With fury, otherwise I should call thee soe,
How durst thou with this impudence abuse
My honest faith? did I appeare a guest
So infinitly worthles that you thought
The fragments of thy honour good enough
To sate my appetite, what other men
Had with unhallowd hands prophaind? O woman,
Once I had lockd in thy deceiving brest
A treasure wealthier then the _Indies_ both
Can in their glory boast, my faithfull heart,
Which I do justly ravish back from it
Since thou art turnd a strumpet.
_Bel_. Doe you thinke
I am what you have term'd me?
_Bon_. Doe I thinke
When I behold the wanton Sparrows change
Their chirps to billing, they are chast? or see
The Reeking Goate over the mountaine top
Pursue his Female, yet conceit him free
From wild concupiscence? I prithee tell me,
Does not the genius of thy honor dead
Haunt thee with apparitions like a goast
Of one thou'dst murdrd? dost not often come
To thy bed-side and like a fairy pinch
Thy prostituted limbs, then laughing tell thee
'Tis in revenge for myriads of black tortures
Thy lust inflicted on it?
_Bel_. Have you don?
Give me a little leave then ere my greife
Surround my reason. Witnes, gratious heaven,
Who, were you not offended at some sinn
I have unwittingly comitted, would
Send sacred innocence it selfe to pleade
How much 'tis iniurd in me, that with zeale
Above the love of mothers I have tendred
This misinformd man. Ile not aske the authors
Of this report, I doe forgive them; may
A happier fate direct you to some other
May love you better; and my fate conferr
On me with speed some sudden sepulcher. [_Exit_.
_Bon_. I shall grow childish, too; my passions strive
For my dead love to keepe my greife alive.
[_Exit_.
_Actus Secundus_.
(SCENE 1.)[70]
_Enter Sucket, Crackbie, Grimes_.
_Gr_. Gentlemen, the rarest scene of mirth towards!
_Suc_. Where? how, good _Grimes_?
_Gr_. Oh, the steward, the steward, my fine Temperat steward, did soe
lecture us before my ladie for drinking ... at midnight, has gott the
key of the wine C[ellar from] _Timothie_ the Butler and is gon downe
to make [himself] drunke in pryvate.
_Enter Timothie_.
_Tim_. Gent[lemen], _Grimes_, away, away! I watcht him into t[he Cellar]
when I saw him chose forthe one of the b[ottles] of sacke, and hether is
retyringe with all exp[edition]. Close, close, and be not seene.
_Crac_. Oh, my fine steward!
[_Exeunt_.
_Enter Alexander Lovell with a Bottle of Sacke and a Cup_.
_Lov_. Soe here I may be private, and privacie is best. I am the Steward
and to be druncke in publicke, I say and I sayt, were to give ill
examples. Goe to, I, and goe to; tis good to be merry and wise; an inch
in quietness is better than an ell of sorrow. Goe to and goe to agen,
for I say and I sayt, there is no reason but that the parson may forget
that ere he was clerke[71]. My lady has got a cast of her eye since she
tooke a survey of my good parts. Goe to and goe to, for I say and I
sayt, they are signes of a rising; flesh is frayle and women are but
women, more then men but men. I am puft up like a bladder, sweld with
the wind[72] of love; for go to and go to, I say and I sayt, this love
is a greife, and greife a sorrowe, and sorrows dry. Therefore come
forth, thou bottle of affection[73]; I create thee my companion, and
thou, cup, shalt be my freind. Why, so now,--goe to and goe to: lets
have a health to our Mrss, and first to myne; sweet companion, fill to
my kind freind; by thy leave, freind, Ile begin to my companion: health
to my Mrs! Soe, now my hands in: companion, fill, and heres a health to
my freinds Mrs. Very good, and now I will conclude with yours, my deare
companion: stay, you shall pledge me presently, tis yet in a good hand;
I will pledge both your Mrss first. Goe to and go to,[74] freind; thou
alwayes lookst on me like a dry rascall; give him his liquor; and soe
with my Mrs I conclude. What say you, Companion? ha, do you compare
your Mrs with myne? howes that? such another word and thou darst,
Sirrah! off with your Capp and doe her Reverence! wilt tell me soe? goe
to, I say and I sayt; Ile make better languadge come out of that mouth
of thine, thou wicked Carkasse. Freind, heres to thee:[75] Ile shake
thee, thou empty Rascall, to peeces, and as _Hector_ drew _Achilles_
bout the walls of Troy at his horse tayle, so shalt thou at a doggs
tayle be dragd in vild disgrace throughout the towne. Goe to and goe to,
I say and I sayt; Ile have the dragd, sirr, ah I[le] have the dragd;
perswade me not, good friend; let him yeild me a reason[76] if he can.
I, I, he had need to be squeezd; why tis true, this is one, but not to
purpose. Oh, would you whisper with me? umh, umh, umh, away, Ile heare
no more: why, how now frend? ha, ha, ha, you have got a Cup to much;
umh, goe to and goe to, you can hold no more, I see that, at this time;
let me ene bring you to your chambers.
[_Flings away the bottle and sleeps_.
_Enter Timothy, Grimes, Sucket, Crackby, with flaggons of wine.
Suc_. 'Tis well don, cherish valour.
_Crac_. Creditt me, my Captaine carries fortitude enough for a whole
legion; twas his advice tooke in[77] the _Busse_[?], and at _Mastricht_
his courage did conclude _Papenhams_ overthrow.[78]
_Suc_. Pish, you to farr exemply[fy]. I have bin at some few skermishes,
kild halfe a score or soe; but what of yt? men are but men.
_Tim_. What wines that, fellow _Grimes_?
_Grimes_. Sack by this light, the Emperor of liquors! Captaine, here tis
well keepe of push of pike yet peirce like shott of Cannon: a Cup of
this upon an onslaught, Captain?
_Suc_. Is beveredge for a Generall: I doe use to drinke it when I am
engagd against a squadron or a whole company.
_Grimes_. He meanes of drunkards.
[_Lovell grunts_.
_Suc_. Ha! Cinielaro[?] an ambuscado! see, whos that lyes there
pardue[79]? fort of Mars! my wroth shall eate him up.
_Grimes_. Soe, soe, now softely letts to him: ha, alreadie[80] dead
drunke, as I am vertuous. Assist me gent[lemen]; _Timothy_, hast thou
thy Salvatorie about thee.
_Tim_. Yes, heere, here.[81]
_Grimes_. Quick, quick; make some plasters and clapp em on his face:
here, bind this napkin about his hand; who has a garter, lets see, to
bind it up?
_Suc_. Some blood, my sonn of _Mercury_, were neceseary for consummation
of the jest.
_Crac_. And here, _Grimes_, ty this cloath about his head: oh, for some
blood!
_Grimes_. Here, I have prickt my finger.
_Tim_. Let you and I, Mr. _Crackby_, goe to buffitts for a bloody nose.
_Crac_. No, no, you shall pardon me for that, _Tim_[82]; no, no; no
boyes play.
_Suc_. So, so; now set him in the chaires. Hart of valour! he looks like
a Mapp oth world. Death, what are these?[83]
_Enter Musike_.
_Grimes_. The Town Waites whome I appointed to come and visitt us.
_Suc_. 'Twas well donn: have you ere a good song?
_Tim_. Yes, they have many.
_Suc_. But are they bawdy? come, sir, I see by your simpring it is you
that sings, but do not squeake like a _French_ Organ-pipe nor make faces
as if you were to sing a Dirge. Your fellowes may goe behind the arras:
I love to see Musitions in their postures imitate those ayrey soules
that grace our Cittie Theaters, though in their noats they come as short
of them as _Pan_ did of _Apollo_.
[_Musike_.
_Grimes_. Well, sir, this is indifferent Musicke, trust my judgment.
Sing, boy.
[_A song_.
_Crac_. Now on my life this boy does sing as like the boy[84] at the
_Whitefryers_ as ever I heard: how say you Captain?
_Suc_. I, and the Musicks like theires: come, Sirra, whoes your Poett?
_Crac_. Some mad wag, I warrant him: is this a new song?
_Mus_. Tis the first edition, sir: none else but we had ever coppie
of it.
_Suc_. But you wilbe intreated to let a gent have it?
_Mus_. By no meanes; the author has sworne to the contrary, least it
should grow so wonderous old and turne a Ballad.
_Crac_. Well said, Captain; the tother health, Captain: heres good wine,
good Tobackoe, good everything: had we but a good wench or two twere
excellent.
_Suc_. Great _Alexander_, does not dreame of this, I warrant yee.
_Grimes_. Oh, hees fast enough; heele be ready to cast up his accounts
the easier when my lady calls him.
_Crac_. Come, come; who payes the Musicke? Captain, you have my purse.
_Suc_. Truths a truth from Infidell or Pagan: I am in trust, and that's
beleife, and so it shalbe saved. Pay the Musick? umh, where are they?
let me see, how many's of you, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6: good, can any of you
daunce?
_Mus_. Daunce? Yes, sir, we can shake our legs or soe.
_Suc_. So said so don, brave ladd; come, letts have a daunce, some
daunce and some play.
_Mus_. Anything to please you, noble Captaine.
_Suc_. Lively then, my hearts; some country Jigg or soe. Oh those playes
that I have seene of youre, with their Jiggs[85] ith tayles of them[86]
like your French forces! Death, I am a rorging (roaring?) boy; but,
come, stir your shanks nimbly or Ile hough ye. Strike up there!
[_Daunce_.
_Grimes_. Well don, my hearts; drinke, drinke.
_Suc_. Goe you in, Ile follow you.
_Om[nes]_. Come, Captaine.
_Suc_. Farewell, Steward.
_Mus_. Dee heare, Captaine?
_Suc_. With me, my fine treble knave? umh, thou dost tickle minikin
as nimbly--
_Mus_. We hope your worship will consider our paines?
_Suc_. How, my fine knave? letts see, who were the dauncers?
_Mus_. Come forward there! nay, I told you he was ever bountifull: oh,
good Captaine!
_Suc_. Let me see: I, thou art hart of vallor: thou didst daunce well,
thou deservest--, I say no more: and who played?
_Mus_. Wee.
_Suc_. You? well sayd; you plaid and you daunc'd, you say good; let me
see, halfe a peece or--
_Mus_. Blesse your Captaineship.
_Suc_. You plaid, you say, and you dauncd: umh, well, why then you that
dauncd must pay those that plaid.
_Mus_. How, sir, how?
_Suc_. Ever, ever, whilst you live, _Jarvice_;[87] the dauncers alwayes
payes the musike. Wilt breake custome? No, or there a pawne for you.
--Mr. Steward. Farewell. [_Exit_.
_Mus_. This is your bountifull Captaine! a rope of his bounsing! But
stay, lets play to the steward; it may be when he wakes we may worke
him to't.
_Omnes_. Content, content. [_Musike softe_.
_Lov_. Umh[88], play a healthe: soe; say, it shall goe rounde: goe to,
I say and I sayt, it shall goe round. Umh, where is this fidle? in the
ayre? I can perceave nothing. Where is my kinde friend and my fine
companion? come, we will be friends again; goe to, we will. Umh,
plaistered and bound up? bloody? how comes this? goe too and goe to; if
I have done any mischiefe or bene over valiant in my drinke to kill a
man or soe, why 'twas in my drinke, not I, and let my drinke be hangd
for't; or, I say and I sayt, let um stay till I am drunke againe and
then hange me; I care not, I shall not be sensible of it. Oh this sack!
it makes a coward a _Hector_: the _Greekes_ and _Troians_ drinke no
other; and that and a wench (for theres the divell out) made um cuffe
ten yeares together, till at length when they had bled more than they
coulde drinke they grew sober, the contented Cuckold tooke his wife home
againe and all were good frends[89]. [_Sease Musicke_] But stay, the
musikes husht; I hope theyle appeare; I doe feale no such paine in my
wounds that I had need of musicke to bring me to sleepe. Blesse me whose
this? ha[90]!
_Enter Grimes disguised_.
_Grimes_. How does your worshipp? Mr. Steward, dee feele your selfe at
ease? I am hartely sorry for your misfortune?
_Lov_. Misfortune? ha, what misfortune? now heaven and't be thy will--
_Grimes_. Pray heaven they be alive.
_Lov_. Ha, alive? in the name of drinke what have I don? where did you
find me, ha?
_Grimes_. Why, sir, comming out--umh, umh--
_Lov_. Out with't, man.
_Grimes_. Out of a bad-house, sir.
_Lov_. A Bawdie house, I warrant.
_Grimes_. Yes sir.
_Lov_. Why, now its out.
_Grimes_. I, and tis well your worships out.
_Lov_. Noe, noe, it had bin better had I never gon in; but on, on.
_Grimes_. You were, sir,--as they say, sir--you had gotten a Cup to
much.
_Lov_. Hang Cupps, my friend excepted; goe to; speake plaine; I was
drunke was I?
_Grimes_. Yes, sir; you were not able to stand when you came out, sir?
_Lov_. Out of the Bawdy-house? I beleave thee; nay, I am a right
_Lovell_ I, I look like a shotten herring now for't. _Jone's_ as good
as my lady in the darke wee me. I have no more Roe than a goose in me;
but on to the mischiefe, on.
_Grimes_. You beate the Bawd downe with the Chamber dore and bade her
keepe that for the Reckoning.
_Lov_. Umh, there was witt in my drinke, I perceive; on.
_Grimes_. Then, sir, you tooke up a Spitt.
_Lov_. A Spitt?
_Grimes_. Yes, sir, and broacht one of the wenches out.
_Lov_. How?
_Grimes_. Oh, sir, you made such a hole in her bakside[91] you might
have turnd--
[_Blows his nose_.
_Lov_. What? thy nose int?
_Grimes_. Had I been there it had been at your service.
_Lov_. Thanke thee; thou shouldst have lost nothing by it.
_Grimes_. Then went Tobackoe pipes to wrack, and oh the black potts
sufferd without measure; nay, you swore (and for it paid your twelve
pence) that if you were maior youd come disguisd on purpose to
confou[nd] 'um.
_Lov_. Ist possible I could doe this?
_Grimes_. This, sir? Why you kickd one flat-nosd wench that snuffled,
and swore she was a puritan.
_Lov_. Did not I pay for that oath too?
_Grimes_. No, sir; you bid the Constable keepe reckoning till it came to
a some and you would pay him in totall. So, sir, with the spit in your
hand away you runn, and we after yee, where you met with a roaring
Captain.
_Lov_. Ha, now, now comes the misfortune.
_Grimes_. Then you stopt and stood a while waving to and froe, as in
suspense; at length you fell, with a forward thrust, quite through his
heart.
_Lov_. Ha, through his heart? the Captaines dead then?
_Grimes_. No sir, twas through a silver heart he weares in memory of
his Mrs.
_Lov_. Ime glad of that: thou strukst me through the heart with thy
newes.
_Grimes_. You being downe, on fell the Captain like a tyrannicall
_Dutch_ man of war that shewes no mercy to the yeelding enemy, and ere
we could bring succor gave you these wounds, which being dark we brought
you home as privately as possible, sett you to sleepe and here stayd
till your waking.
_Lov_. Yare honest fellowes; goe to and go to, I say and I sait agen,
yare honest fellowes and shall not be unrewarded: looke you, theres for
you--and be but sylent in't.
_Grimes_. As is my instrument, Sir. Coods me! what, have they torne away
the back of your satteen Doublet? the Canvas is seene.
_Lov_. Umh, no, but they have stolne my velvet Jerkin.
_Grimes_. I, and dam'd your Dublet.
_Lov_. Tis well; goe; thanks; goe, Ile see you shortly; you and your
Companie shall play at my ladyes wedding. I say no more, goe to; I love
you and I thanke you,
_Grimes_. I thanke you, good Mr. Steward. [_Discovers_
_Lov_. Whoes this? _Grimes_?
_Grimes_. Even he that has thus begrimd yee, my fine drunken Steward. I
can cure you, toe; come, let me be your Surgion.
_Lov_. Thou shalt be my hangman first, Rascall.
_Grimes_. You wonnot murder? helpe Captain, Mr. _Crackby, Tim_!
_Enter Omnes_.
_Omnes_. How now! how now! what's the matter?
_Lov_. Whoop! hell broke loose! tis good to shun the Divell.
[_Exit_.
_Grimes_. Not if you meet him in the likenes of a bottle of Sack, good
Steward.[92]
_Tim_. Why this is excellent.
_Suc_. Grimes, let me hugg thee, thou sonn of witt.
_Grimes_. Nay, letts not leave him thus.
_Crac_. Leade on, weele follow.
[_Exeunt Omnes_.
_Finis Actus Secundi_.
_Actus Tertius_.
(SCENE 1.)
_Enter Sir Geffry and Lady_.
_Sir Geff_. But I beseech you, Madam; what greater accession[93] can you
wish then me for husband? I have it here thats sattisfaction for the
lustiest widdow twixt this and London. Say, will you love me? Ime in
hast and hate demurrs; if you refuse I must seeke out: I have a little
moysture and would be loth to hav't dride for want of exercise.--What
say you, lady?
_Lady_. Sir, for your love I thanke you; for your wealth
I want it not; but yet I doe not find
A disposicon in my selfe to marriage.
_Sir Geff_. That will not serve my turne; I am no knight
Who weares the spurr of honour without Rowells
To prick a woman forwards: I ride post
To Marriage and resolve at the next stage
To take my Inn up. You have here
Two beautifull young gallants to your daughters:
Since youle not be my wife yet be my mother;
Ile marry any of them, which you please,
And hood her with the bagg [badge?] of honor. Lady,
What say you to this motion.
_Lady_. My daughters wills are not in my command:
If you can purchase either of their hearts,
My free consent shall follow.
_Sir Geff_. Nay, then, they will fall out for me, Madam,
I am most fortunate in atcheiving virgins.
_Enter Bonville_.
Save you, sweet youth, the bewties of your Mrs.
Crowne your desires. Are you a suiter?
_Bon_. Madam, I have occasions of importance
Wishes a little privacy with you.
_Lady_. With me, sweet Mr. _Bonvill? Sir Geffrey_,
Pray you vouchsafe your absence; at more leasure
We shall discourse.
_Sir Geff_. With all my heart: Ile to the wenches.
[_Exit_.
_Bon_. Madam we are alone?
_Lady_. You did desire we should.
_Bon_. But are you sure none can oreheare us.
_Lady_. Unles we be to loud:
What mooves you to require this secresie?
_Bon_. I come to aske a question, which the winds;
If I could deafe them, should not heare for feare
Their repercussive Eccho should declare it
To all our infamies.
_Lady_. What ist, I pray you?
_Bon_. Your daughter whom I was a servant to,
--I must deliver it in the homeliest phrase--
Is she dishonest?
_Lady_. You urge a repetition, gentle sir,
Of a sad truth: she is.
_Bon_. It cannot be
In reason comprehensible a mother
Should for a stranger blurr her daughters fame,
Were it untruth. I am confirmd; this favor
Transcends requitall: if a man misled
By error gainst the diety, gross enough
For his damnation, owe a gratitude
To his converter, I am engag'd to you
For my delivery from her.
_Lady_. 'Twas no more
Then what my honor obligd me
And my respect to vertue, which in you
I should have murdred by my silence; but
I have not greife enough left to lament
The memory of her folly: I am growne
Barren of teares by weeping; but the spring
Is not yet quite exhausted. [_Weeps_.
_Bon_. Keepe your teares
Lest the full clouds, ambitious that their drops
Should mix with yours, unteeme their big wombd laps
And rayse a suddeine deluge. Gratious madam,
The oftner you reherse her losse the more
You intimate the gaine I have acquird
By your free bounty, which to me appeares
So farr transcending possibility
Of satisfaction that, unles you take
My selfe for payment, I can nere discharge
A debt so waytie.
_Lady_. Ist come to this?
You speake misteriously; explaine your meaning.
_Bon_. To consecrate, with that devotion
That holy Hermits immolate[94] theire prayers,
My selfe the adorer of your vertues.
_Lady_. Are you serious?
_Bon_. No scrupulous penitent, timerous that each thought
Should be a sinn, does to the priest lay ope
With halfe that verity his troubled soule
That I doe mine. I love you: in that word
Include all ceremony. No sooner had
Your information disingagd my heart
Of honoring your daughter, but amazd
At the immensnesse of the benefit
Your goodness had cast on me, I resolvd
This way to show my gratitude.
_Lady_. But dare you,
Knowing the daughter vicious, entertaine
Affection to the mother?
_Bon_. Dare I when
I have bin long opresd with a disease,
Wish pleasing health? theres vertue enough here
To excite beleife in _Moores_ that only women
Have heavenly soules.
_Lady_. This is admirable:
Did my intention tend to love, as soone
I should embrace your motion in that kind
As any others, wert but to afford
Some small lustracon for the wrong my daughter
Intended you; nay, to confesse my thought,
I feele a strong propension in my selfe
To yeild to you; but I am loath,[95]--your youth
Will quickly loath me.
_Enter Y[oung] Marlowe and Thurston_.
_Mar_. Madam, this Gent[leman]
Desires to have you know him for your son:
Tis he my sister _Clariana_, with your licence,
Wishes for husband.
_Lady_. A proper Gent[leman]; Ime happy she has made
So iuditious an election.[96]
You are very welcome, sir: conduct him in, Sonn.
[_Exeunt Young Marlowe and Thurston_.
_Bon_. Persuade me I can hate
Sleepe after tedious watching, or reiect
The wholesome ayre when I've bin long choakd up
With sicklie foggs: sooner shall--
_Lady_. Desist from protestations, or employ them
Mong those who have no more discretion
Then to beleive them.
_Bon_. How, Lady?
_Lady_. You can in Justice now no more appeach
Our mutabillities, since you have provd
So manifestly [in]constant.
_Bon_. These are arts
Orewhelme my dull capacity with horror:
Inconstant!
_Lady_. Are the light faines erected on the tops
Of lofty structures stedfast, which each wind
Rules with its motion? credulous man, I thought
My daughters reall vertues had inspired thee
With so much confidence as not to loose
The estimation of her honor for
My bare assertion, without questioning
The time or any the least circumstance
That might confirm't. I did but this to try
Your constancy: farewell. [_Exit_.
_Bon_. What witch had duld my sense
That such a stuped Lethurgie should sease
My intellectuall faculties they could not
Perceive this drift! If she be virtuous,
As no man but an heretick to truth
Would have imagind, how shall I excuse
My slanderous malice? my old fire renewes
And in an instant with its scortching flames
Burnes all suspicon up.
_Enter Belisea_.
_Bel_. Peace attend you.
_Bon_. What Cherubim has left the quire in heaven
And warbles peacefull Anthems to the earth?
It is her voyce, that to all eares speakes health,
Only to mine. Come charitable mist
Hide me, or freindly wherlewind rap me hence,
Or her next accent, like the thunderers, will
Strike me to dust.
_Bel_. Sir, I come not
With resolution (though my innocence
May justly arme [me]) to declare my truth;
For I am going where your slander cannot
(Had it bin greater) blast me. I desire
This for my past love, that youle retaine
Your wrong opinion to yourselfe, not labour
To possesse others with it, to disgrace
Our yet unspotted family.
_Bon_. If you want
A partner in your greife, take me along
That can teach you and all the world true Sorrow.
_Bel_. Twas not don well to brand my spotles name
With Infamy; but to deride me is
Inhumaine, when I only come to tell you
Ile send my prayers on charities white wings
To heaven for your prosperity.--You greive
For what? for your deliverance from a strumpet?
_Bon_. No, but that my raving fancy should direct
My trecherous tongue with that detested name
To afflict thy unblemishd purity, _Belisea_.
I do confes my error was an act
Soe grosse and heathnish that its very sight
Would have inforcd a Crocodile to weepe
Drops as sincere as does the timorous heart
When he ore heares the featherd arrow sing
His funerall Dirge.
_Bel_. Can this be possible?
_Bon_. No sismatick, reduc'd to the true faith,
Can more abhorre the Error he has left
Than I do mine. I do beleive thee chast
As the straight palme; as absolute from spots
As the immaculate Ermine, who does choose,
When he is hunted by the frozen _Russe_,
To meete the toyle ere he defile the white
Of his rich skin. What seas of teares will serve
To expiatt the scandall I have throwne
On holy Innocence?
_Bel_. Well, I forgive you;
But ere I seale your pardon I in[j]oyne
This as a pennance: you shall now declare
The author of your wrong report.
_Bon_. Your mother.
_Bel_. How! my mother?
_Bon_. No creature else
Could have inducd me to such a madnes.
_Bel_. Defend me gracious virtue! is this man
Not desperate of remission, that without
Sense of compu[n]ction dares imagine lies
Soe horrible and godlesse? My disgrace
Was wrong sufficient to tempt mercie, yet
Cause twas my owne I pardond it; but this
Inferd toth piety of my guiltless mother
Stops all indulgence.
_Bon_. Will you not heare me out?
_Bel_. Your words will deafe me;
I doe renounce my affection to you; when
You can speake truth, protest you love agen.
[_Exit_.
_Bon_. Contempt repaid with scorne; tis my desert;
Poyson soone murders a love wounded heart.
[_Exit_.
(SCENE 2.)
_Enter Belisea, Clariana and Thorowgood_.
_Bel_. You may declare your will[97] here are no eares
But those I will not banish, were your busines
More secret.
_Tho_. Lady, I come to free
My worthy freind and your owne servant, _Bonvill_,
From an uniust suspition your conceite
Retaines of him. Your mother did employ me
In the unlucky message that pronouncd you
Empty of honor.
_Bel_. Has your worthles freind
Hird you to sweare this?
_Tho_. I'me none that live
By selling oathes.
_Bel_. Ile scarce believ't; he shall not
With all his cunning policie regaine
My good opinion of him. Sir, you cannot
Doe a more pleasing office then to leave me:
I do not love to heare of him.
_Tho_. Your pleasure rules me. [_Exit_.
_Cla_. _Belisea_, you did ill
Not to heare out the Gent[leman].
_Bel_. Prethe why?
His owne confession does appeach him one
In the conspiracy against my honor.
He sayes my mother was the originall
Of _Bonviles_ slaunder; and how impious
Twere for a child to thinke so, filiall duty
Instructs my knowlidge.
_Cla_. Be not confident;
Your piety may misleade you. Though your mother,
Shees passion like to us; we had it from her.
Ile say no more; the event will testifie
Whoes in the fault.[98]
_Enter Sucket and Crackby_.
_Suc_. Be not abashd; a little impudence is requisite;
Observe me, with what a garbe and gesture martiall
I will beseige their fortresses.
_Bel_. Who sent these fooles to trouble us?--Gent[lemen],
We have some conference will admit no audience
Besides ourselves.
We must desire you to withdraw, or give us
Leave to do soe.
_Suc_. Men of warr are not soe easily put to a retreat; it suites not
with their repute.
_Cla_. Heele fight with us, sister: weed best procure him bound toth
peace.
_Crac_. Ladies, I must no more endure repulse;
I come to be a suiter.
_Bel_. For what?
_Crac_. Why, that you would with Judgment overlooke
This lovely countenance.
_Cla_. The hangman shall doe't sooner.
_Crac_. If you knew
How many bewtious gentlewomen have sued
To have my picture--
_Cla_. To hang at their beds head for a _memento mori_--
_Crac_. You would regard it with more curiosity.
There was a merchants daughter the other day
Runn mad at sight of itt.
_Cla_. It scared her from her witts: she thought the
divell had haunted her.
_Suc_. Valour deserves regard, myne shall propugne
Your bewty gainst all opposers.
_Bel_. Alasse! mine is so meane,
None will contend with it, it needs no champions.
_Crac_. Contemne me not, lady; I am--
_Cla_. A most egregious asse.
_Crac_. Most nobly propagatted; my father was a man
Well fu[rnish'd] with white and yellow mettall.
_Cla_. I lay my life a Tinker.
_Crac_. And in his parish of account.
_Cla_. A Scavenger.
_Bel_. Is it a badge of your profession
To be uncivell?
_Suc_. Uncivell!
Noe; what is in other men uncivill
In us is resolution; therefore yeild:
I am invincible, flesh cannot stand
Before me.
_Bel_. It must be drunke then.
_Cla_. I am not ith humour now
To laugh, or else Ide not dismisse him yet.
Good Mr. _Crackby_, does your wisdome thinke
That I can love you?
_Crac_. My worth deserves it.
_Cla_. Well said, impudence.
Goe, get you home toth Cittie; goe solicitt
Some neighbors daughter; match with _Nan_ your Schoolefellow
With whome you usd to walk to _Pimblicoe_[99]
To eate plumbe cakes and creame,--one of your parish,
Good what-doe-you-lack.
_Crac_. This is offensive to
My reputation.
_Cla_. You shall heare more on't:
When thou art married, if the kind charity
Of other men permitt thee to geet thee children
That call thy wife mother, bring them up
To people shopps and cheat for 18d,
The pretious youth that fathers them.
Walke, walke, you and your Captaine _Huff_ to _London_,
And tell thy mother how thou has't sped i'th country,
And let her moane thee.
_Crac_. Captaine, we must give place; these girles are firebrands,
And we as straw before them.
_Suc_. They may stand
In neede of valour.
[_Exeunt Suc. and Crac_.
_Enter Thurston_.
_Cla_. Have you oreheard us? these are the lads will do't,
When 20 such as you will be cast off.
_Thu_. Like a bob'd[100] Hawke.--Mrs, if I mistake not,
Your mother does inquire for you.
_Bel_. I will attend her pleasure. [_Exit_.
_Cla_. Doe not goe, wench; we shall scarce be honest.
_Thu_. Love, is it time, after the services
I have perform'd, to have some salary?
Noe labourer works without his hier; I would
Be satisfied when you determine we
Shall end our hopes in marriage.
_Cla_. I have lookt for this month in my Calender
And find that marriage is prohibited.
_Thu_. It is not Lent nor Advent;[101] if it were
The Court is not so strickt but 'twill dispense
With freinds, and graunt a licence.
_Cla_. Whole be bound
With you that theres no hindrance but we may
Be lawfully espoused?
_Thu_. Ime not so barren
Of freinds but I shall find security
For what will nere be question'd.
_Cla_. It may be soe; but one who calculated
My birth did warne me to abstaine from marriage
Til I was twenty.
_Thu_. You're no _Atlanta_; if you be, Ile play
_Hippomanes_ and over runn you.
_Cla_. You'd scarce catch me,
Though you had _Venus_ apples to seduce
My covetous eyes. Henceforth Ide have you leave
Your love to me.
_Thu_. I must leave to live then.
Why doe you say soe?
_Cla_. Cause it is [un]iust
You should mispend affection on her
Who is incapeable of it.
_Thu_. You'd faine wrest
A new expence of complement from me:
If you delight to heare your praise, Ile hire
Some mercenary [poet][102] to comend
In lofty verse your bewty.
_Cla_. You are merry:
My humor is not specious; we must know
A further distance.
_Thu_. Wherefore, pray?
Our eyes are no more poysonous then they were.
_Cla_. Yes, they infect reciprocall.
_Thu_. This language
Is not accustomd; pray, tell me how
My presence is offensive, and Ile shun you[103]
As I would doe my fate. You are not serious:
My innocence assures me my deserts
Can chalenge no such usage.
_Cla_. Tis confest; but we
Are like thinne christall glasses that will crack
By touching one another: I coniure thee
By all our past love, from this parting minute
Nere to behold me more. I dare not venter
My frailty with thee.
_Thu_. What immodesty
Has my demeaner uttred you should doubt
Ravishing from me?
_Cla_. Thats not it, but cause
I would not tempt my destinie: thy sight
Would inflame marble, much more me whose heart
Is prompt enough to fly into thy breast
And leave mine empty. But 'tmust not remaine
In that lone habitation, least a curse,
A fearefull one, sease on mee.
_Thu_. Can there be
Curses more horrid, incident to earth
For its past Sinns, then would depend on you
For such a bold presumption as your breatch
Of faith would be.
_Cla_. Our tyrant fate has found
Yet uninvented torments to expresse
Our loyall soules. O, _Thurston_, thou wert never
--Not when our mutuall freindships might have taught
The constant turtles amity--more deare
To me then now. I could, as well as then,
Peruse love's dictats in thy amorous cheeks,
Enioy the pressure of thy modest lipp;
But Ime enioynd by powerfull menaces
T'infring my wonted use and to disclaime
My vowes to thee.
_Thu_. If this be possible,
What will become of earth? men will no more
Respect Society or strive to save
Humanity alive: henceforth theyle seeke
For lost fidelity on Caves or topps
Of untrodd Rocks, and plight their trothes to beasts;
Commix with them and generate a race
Of creatures, though less rationall, yet more
Indude with truth. O _Clariana_, can
There be a motive able to convert
This pretious Christall temple, built for purity
And goodnes adoration, to a faine
For Idoll falshoods worship? But I cannot
Labour my wandring Judgment to beleife
Thou speakst thy meaning. If I have not lovd
With that essential perfectnes thy worth
That man could doe, in charity declare
My Ignorant defect, and Ile amend it
With more then zealous industry.
_Cla_. Tis vaine:
You may as easily penetrate the cloudes
With a soft whisper, as my eares, then which
Noe thunders deafer. _Thurston_, tis not cause
I have in the intemperate heate of blood
Given up my soule to a new choyce, that breeds
This soddaine mutability: I will
Preserve my affection as inviolate to you
As Anchorites their vowes, and in my grave
Interr my virgin glory. Teares will not
Permitt more conference: fare you well; Ile keepe
My passion up till I have none to weepe. [_Exit_.
_Thu_. Shees gon! What vapor which the flattring sunn
Exhales to heaven as to create a starr,
Yet throwst, a fading meteor, to the earth,
Has falne like me? Divinity, that tells
Us there are soules in women, Ile no more
Credit thy dubious _Theorems_ nor thinke
Thy lawes astring us to preserve our faith.
Let the nice Casuists, that dispute each clause
Belongs to conscience with a[l]ternate sense,
Dispense with breach of promise and prescribe
Equivocacons to evade all oathes
Without offending, or shees damnd.
_Enter Lovell_.
_Lov_. Well, Companion, at my friends Intreatie I am content to be
reconsyld; but have a care, goe to, ha, oh ho, youle[104] ... more; why,
goe to then ... pledge the companion ... heeres to thee: what, what!
_Thu_. Heres one perchance will satisfie me.
Sir, your habit speaks yer understanding:
Please you resolve me one thing which disturbes
The quiet of my conscience.
_Lov_. Revenge may slumber but can never sleep:
He that lets slip an Injury thats done
Takes the next course to draw a greater on.
_Thu_. You counsell well. I pray, in all the volumes
Your learning has perusd, did you ere find
Any conclusion that allowd it lawfull
To breake an oath?
_Lov_. If she neglect and throw[105] disgrace on thee,
Fly't thou as much and be thy scorne as free.
_Thu_. An Oracle speakes in him; but, pray, tell me
Ist lawfull then to breake an oath?
_Lov_. Though time prolongs, we cannot style it sloath:
My vowes are firme; hees damd that breaks an oath.
_Thu_. Good, good, agen: but the oath I treat on,
Is of another kind: tis to a woman.
_Lov_. It could not be her fault; there's a mistake in't.
_Thu_. None o'my life, theres none.
_Lov_. Let me see, let me see:
No, twas not hers, twas _Grimeses_ knavery.
_Thu_. Ha, whether did wild fancy lead my apprehension.
He minds me not but is in disputation
With his owne thoughts.
_Lov_. Wilt thou pledge me ii cuppes? Why, goe to and goe to, then.
Ha to thee, ha, sirra _Grimes_!
--When man gainst man conspire to doe evill,
For what Society is a fitt!
_Thu_. The Devill. [_Claps him on the shoulder_.
_Lov_. Oh helpe, helpe![106] [_Exit_.
_Enter Lady_.
_Lady_. I hope, sir,
Noe occasion offerd in my house
Breedes your distast; I should be sorry if
It be soe, and conceald from me.
_Thu_. Your goodnes
Is to nice ore me; Ime exceeding well;
Only some erring cogitations
Trouble my braine a little.
_Lady_. Tis much pitty
Distraction should have roome in you; I would
Not for the love you beare my daughter, have you
Be discont[ent]ed here.
_Thu_. And your daughter
Repayes me kindly fort.
_Lady_. Surely her breeding
Affords her better manners then to iniure
A gent[leman] of your deservings?
_Thu_. Alas, she has not:
Twas but an unkindness triviall
Mong freinds not worth the nameing.
_Lady_. It was to much
Wert but an ill looke. If I may so far,
Without immodesty, entreat the knowledge
Of what it was Ile chide her for't. Pray, sir,--
We women are bold suitors; by your looke
It is no meane perplexity her folly
Has cast upon your temper,--pray, disclose it;
And ift be anything the obedience
She owes to me may countermand, she shall
Repent her error.
_Thu_. Your humanity
Would wrest a secret from me, though my life
Consisted ith concealment: she has abolishd
Her protestations to me, murdred vowes
Which like the blood of Innocents will pull
Cloudes of black vengeance on her, for no cause
I can imagine but her humor; banishd
Me her society and sight for ever.[107]
_Lady_. Tis above wonder: could I as well rule
Her will as her exterior actions,
She should not thus reject you; but I cannot
Limitt her mind, compell her to affect
Against her liking. If perswations may
Reduse her, Ile endevour it.
_Thu_. Twilbe needles;
I am resolvd to meet her in revolt,
Hug infidelity with as strong a faith
As she can possible; and if mans mallice
Can passe a womans, my dispight shall winne
Preheminence. I will inquire out one
By nature framd in scorne of bewty, and
In your perfidious daughters presence give her
That heart which she reiected.
_Lady_. Twere pitty
Your passion should undoe you; you may find
Matches of noble quality: my daughter
In worth's inferior to you, yet I doubt not
But my perswasive oratorie may gaine you
Her forfeited affection.
_Thu_. Let her reserve it
For them who sue to inioy it; Ile conferr
My fancy on a Negro new reclaim'd
From prostitution; sacrifice my youth
To bedridd age, ere reinthrall my heart
To her insulting bewty.
_Lady_. Twould be a maime to your discretion
To abjure a certaine and a pleasing good
For an uncertaine harme you would impose
In malice on another. Yo'are a man
In whome the glorious soule of goodnes moves
With such a spacious posture that no woman,
But such a squemish baby as my daughter,
Would be most fortunate to enrich their choyse
With one so much deserving.
_Thu_. He experience
Your affirmation: could you love me?
_Lady_. What
I spoake was a contingent supposition
What others might doe, but not argument
I meant to love you.
_Thu_. But I know you will;
I see a pleasing augury in your looks
Presages mercy; and those eyes, whose lustre
The light (that scornes privation) cannot equall,
Darts beames of comfort on me.
_Lady_. Twould be rare
Could you perswade me to't, I can find
No such propension in my selfe; beware
Least in this wildnes you ingage your heart
To one cannot accept it.
_Thun_. Pish!
Ime sure you will: humanity forbids
Refusall of my affection, which shall be
As constant as insep[a]rable heate
To elementall fire.--I'me soddaine, lady,
In my resolve, but firme as fate.
_Lady_. Surely,
You are not well.
_Thu_. You are deceivd; I am
Exceeding well yett; all my faculties
Retaine their wonted motion; but Ime like
A new recoverd patient, whose relapse
Admitts no helpe of phisick: in your love
Consists my hope, futurity of health;
And you have too much charity to suffer
Perdition overwhelme me.
_Lady_. Your confidence
Workes much uppon my lenity; but twould
Occasion scandall; every one would judge
I did supplant my daughter, should I yeild
To your desines.
_Thu_. Let the censorious world
Fright those with harelipd Calumnie whose guilt
Merritts detraction; your pure innocence
No feind dares vitiatt.
_Lady_. You have prevaild.
_Thu_. Ile take you at your word, a holy kisse
Shall seale the contract. [_kisse_.
Avaunt! stand of! she has poysond me, her lips
Are sault as sulpher, and her breath infects,
Noe scorpions like it.
_Lady_. What ayles you, Sir?
_Thu_. Ha, ha, ha!
Those who imagine such prodigious mischiefes
Should be more cunning then to be ore reacht
By puisne[108] cosnage; Have you no more judgement
Then to beleive I lov'd you.
_Lady_. Doe you not love me then?
_Thu_. Can a man
Robd of a Jewell deare to him as breath
Affect the theife, O murdresse?--for that title
Best suites thy impious quality, since thy curse,
Thy cruell curse, imposd uppon my love,
Has massacred two of the faithfulst hearts
Affection ere united. Though your lust
Desir'd smooth youth to sate it, piety
Might have reclamd you for attempting me,
Your daughter's interest.--Ile not rayle
Cause tis unman[ner]ly,[109] untill you find
What 'tis to cause true lovers prove unkind.
[_Exit_.
_Enter Alexan_.
_Lady_. Was I a sleepe? What transitory dreame
Deceivd my sense? did I not here my love
Protest affection? no, it was some feind
Vested in his mortallity, whome hell
Sent to abuse my weaknes.
_Lov_. She has bin sure tormented with that furie which cla[pt] me on my
shoulder. She talkes of Hell, love and affection. Ha, goe to and goe to!
the old Knight my Mrs. Goast, I hope does not haunt the house.
_Lady_. Twas he, Ime certaine on't; I felt his lips,
And they were flesh; they breath'd on mine a warmth
Temperate as westerne kisses which the morne
Weaps liquid drops to purchase. This confirmes
It was no apparition that contemnd
My willingnes, but he, his reall selfe,
Mockt my integrity: he must not passe soe,
To blase abroad my infamy.
_Lov_. Madam, feare nothing, be not troubled; the Goast meant no harme
to you, uppon my life he did not; Goe to and goe to, I say and I sayt,
he did not. He did appeare to me--your love, your husband, my old
Mr.--here, clapt me on the shoulder, as his old custome was still when
he usd to talke with me familiarly.
_Lady_. But, Sirrah, what familiarity
Have you with any of my privasies?
Sausie groome, practise your ancient duty.
_Enter Young Mar_.
_Y. M_. What meanes this fury, Madam?
_Lady_. O, deare boy,
What haplesse fate exposd thee to the veiw
Of this [sic] sad mothers sorrowes? but I charge thee,
As thou respects thy duty, not to question
The cause of my distemper; my iust feares
Prohibits thee the knowledge of it.
_Lov_. Why, Sir, she has seene the Divell.
_Lady_. Ha!
_Lov_. Nay, Madam, I have don; they say the Divell has no power ore a
Drunkard; once more Ile run the hazard.
_Y. M_. Whoe, what is he? speake,
For heavens sake, speake: were he defensd with clouds
Or circled with unsteadfast boggs, my rage
Should cut a passage to him.
_Lady_. Thou strait will grow
More passionate then I: goe to your chamber,
Ile but dispatch these gentlemen.
[_Exit Mar_.
_Enter Sir Geffery, Crackby, [Suc]ett [and Bun]ch.
_Sir Gef_. O here she is.--Lady, I and my Nephew, being your good
neighbors and of the worshipfull, I of the Country, he of the Cittie,
have long desird a match with your daughters, but they are coy, so
childish, so unmannerly; I know not how to terme them: they dispise who
worship offers them, they may[110] hereafter doe worse and have worse,
madam.
_Crac_. My uncle tells your ladiship the truth:
We are noe peasants[111] or unhonorable
To be affronted with indignities.
_Suc_. Here are men that has seene service.
_Bunch_. At a mustring or ith Artillery[112] garden.
_Lady_. 'Twas past my pleasure, good Sir _Geffery_, you have had such
harch entertainement from them: henceforth Ile lay my charge upon them
to be more tractable.--Mr. _Alexander_, goe call my daughters hither.
_Lov_. She turnes againe.--I shall with all celerity wish them to
approach. [_Exit_.
_Sir Gef_. Certainly, Madam, I can see no cause
Wherefore at first you might not, without putting
My Knighthood to this trouble, have matched with me
Your selfe; it had b
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