A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 14
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Title: A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 14
Compiler: Robert Dodsley
Editor: William Carew Hazlitt
Release date: August 10, 2010 [eBook #33398]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33398
Credits: Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Christine Aldridge and the
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SELECT COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOLUME 14 ***
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Christine Aldridge and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.
2. This transcription uses the caret ^ symbol to indicate
superscripted text, and {curly brackets} around multi-character
superscripts.
A SELECT COLLECTION
OF
OLD ENGLISH PLAYS.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY ROBERT DODSLEY
IN THE YEAR 1744.
_FOURTH EDITION_,
NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED
WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS,
AND NEW NOTES
BY
W. CAREW HAZLITT.
BENJAMIN BLOM, INC.
New York
First published 1874-1876
Reissued 1964 by Benjamin Blom, Inc.
L.C. Catalog Card No.: 64-14702
_Printed in U.S.A. by_
NOBLE OFFSET PRINTERS, INC.
NEW YORK 3, N. Y.
CONTENTS
Page
THE REBELLION 1
LUST'S DOMINION or THE LASCIVIOUS QUEEN 93
ANDROMANA or THE MERCHANT'S WIFE 193
LADY ALIMONY 273
THE PARSON'S WEDDING 369
THE REBELLION.
_EDITION._
_The Rebellion; a Tragedy: As it was acted nine dayes together,
and divers times since, with good applause, by his Majesties
Company of Revells. Written by Thomas Rawlins. London: Printed
by I. Okes, for Daniell Frere, and are to be sold at the Signe
of the Red Bull in Little Brittaine._ 1640, 4^o.[1]
INTRODUCTION.
THOMAS RAWLINS, author of "The Rebellion," was a medallist by
profession, and afterwards became an engraver of the Mint, a
vocation which, in his preface, he prefers to the threadbare
occupation of a poet. [He also employed his talents occasionally
in engraving frontispieces and portraits for books, of which
several signed specimens are known.[2] It is said that he died in
1670.] It is an argument, as well of his personal respectability,
as of his easy circumstances, that no fewer than eleven copies of
prefatory verses, by the wits of the time, are prefixed to the
old edition. Notwithstanding the popularity of the piece, [which,
as it appears from the introductory poems, was composed by
Rawlins in early life,] and several passages of real merit, it
was [only once] republished, perhaps because rebellion soon
assumed the whole kingdom for its stage.
[Besides his play, Rawlins published in 1648 an octavo volume of
poems, written also in his youth, under the title of
"Calanthe."[3]]
TO THE WORSHIPFUL, AND HIS HONOURED KINSMAN,
ROBERT DUCIE,[4]
OF ASTON, IN THE COUNTY OF STAFFORD,
ESQUIRE;
SON TO SIR R. DUCIE, KNIGHT AND BARONET, DECEASED.
SIR,--Not to boast of any perfections, I have never yet been
owner of ingratitude, and would be loth envy should tax me now,
having at this time opportunity to pay part of that debt I owe
your love. This tragedy had at the presentment a general
applause; yet I have not that want of modesty as to conclude it
wholly worthy your patronage, although I have been bold to fix
your name unto it. Yet, however, your charity will be famous in
protecting this plant from the breath of Zoilus, and forgiving
this my confidence, and your acceptance cherish a study of a more
deserving piece, to quit the remainder of the engagement. In
Your kinsman, ready to serve you,
THOMAS RAWLINS.
TO THE READER.
READER, if courteous, I have not so little faith as to fear thy
censure, since thou knowest youth hath many faults, whereon I
depend, although my ignorance of the stage is also a sufficient
excuse. If I have committed any, let thy candour judge mildly of
them; and think not those voluntary favours of my friends (by
whose compulsive persuasions I have published this) are
commendations of my seeking, or through a desire in me to
increase the volume, but rather a care that you (since that I
have been over-entreated to present it to you) might find therein
something worth your time. Take no notice of my name, for a
second work of this nature shall hardly bear it. I have no desire
to be known by a threadbare cloak, having a calling that will
maintain it woolly. Farewell.
TO HIS LOVING FRIEND THE AUTHOR,
UPON HIS TRAGEDY "THE REBELLION."
To praise thee, friend, and show the reason why,
Issues from honest love, not flattery.
My will is not to flatter, nor for spite
To praise or dispraise, but to do thee right
Proud daring rebels in their impious way
Of Machiavellian darkness this thy play
Exactly shows; speaks thee truth's satirist,
Rebellion's foe, time's honest artist.
Thy continu'd scenes, parts, plots, and language can
Distinguish (worthily) the virtuous man
From the vicious villain, earth's fatal ill,
Intending mischievous traitor Machiavel.
Him and his treach'rous 'complices, that strove
(Like the gigantic rebels war 'gainst Jove)
To disenthrone Spain's king (the Heaven's anointed),
By stern death all were justly disappointed.
Plots meet with counterplots, revenge and blood:
Rebels' ruin makes thy tragedy good.
NATH. RICHARDS.[5]
TO HIS WORTHY ESTEEMED MASTER,
THOMAS RAWLINS, ON HIS "REBELLION."
I may not wonder, for the world does know,
What poets can, and ofttimes reach unto.
They oft work miracles: no marvel, then,
Thou mak'st thy tailor here a nobleman:
Would all the trade were honest too; but he
Hath learn'd the utmost of the mystery,
Filching with cunning industry the heart
Of such a beauty, which did prove the smart
Of many worthy lovers, and doth gain
That prize which others labour'd for in vain.
Thou mak'st him valiant too, and such a spirit,
As every noble mind approves his merit.
But what renown th' hast given his worth, 'tis fit
The world should render to thy hopeful wit,
And with a welcome plaudit entertain
This lovely issue of thy teeming brain.
That their kind usage to this birth of thine
May win so much upon thee, for each line
Thou hast bequeath'd the world, thou'lt give her ten,
And raise more high the glory of thy pen.
Accomplish these our wishes, and then see
How all that love the arts will honour thee.
C. G.[6]
TO MY FRIEND MASTER RAWLINS,
UPON THIS PLAY, HIS WORK.
Friend, in the fair completeness of your play
Y' have courted truth; in these few lines to say
Something concerning it, that all may know
I pay no more of praise than what I owe.
'Tis good, and merit much more fair appears
Appareled in plain praise, than when it wears
A complimental gloss. Tailors may boast
Th' have gain'd by your young pen what they long lost
By the old proverb, which says, _Three to a man_:
But to your vindicating muse, that can
Make one a man, and a man noble, they
Must wreaths of bays as their due praises pay.
ROBERT DAVENPORT.[7]
TO THE AUTHOR, ON HIS "REBELLION."
Thy play I ne'er saw: what shall I say then?
I in my vote must do as other men,
And praise those things to all, which common fame
Does boast of such a hopeful growing flame
Which, in despite of flattery, shall shine,
Till envy at thy glory do repine:
And on Parnassus' cliffy top shall stand,
Directing wand'ring wits to wish'd-for land;
Like a beacon o' th' Muses' hill remain,
That still doth burn, no lesser light retain;
To show that other wits, compar'd with thee,
Is but Rebellion i' th' high'st degree.
For from thy labours (thus much I do scan)
A tailor is ennobled to a man.
R. W.[8]
TO HIS DEAR FRIEND, MR. THOMAS RAWLINS.
To see a springot of thy tender age
With such a lofty strain to word a stage;
To see a tragedy from thee in print,
With such a world of fine meanders in't,
Puzzles my wond'ring soul; for there appears
Such disproportion 'twixt thy lines and years,
That when I read thy lines, methinks I see
The sweet-tongued Ovid fall upon his knee,
With (_parce precor_) every line and word
Runs in sweet numbers of its own accord:
But I am wonder-struck that all this while
Thy unfeather'd quill should write a tragic style.
This above all my admiration draws,
That one so young should know dramatic laws.
'Tis rare, and therefore is not for the span
Or greasy thumbs of every common man.
The damask rose, that sprouts before the spring,
Is fit for none to smell at but a king.
Go on, sweet friend; I hope in time to see
Thy temples rounded with the Daphnean tree.
And if men ask who nurs'd thee, I'll say thus,
It was the ambrosian spring of Pegasus.
ROBERT CHAMBERLAIN.[9]
TO HIS FRIEND, MASTER THOMAS RAWLINS,
ON HIS PLAY CALLED "THE REBELLION."
I will not praise thee, friend, nor is it fit,
Lest I be said to flatter what y' have writ:
For some will say I writ to applaud thee,
That when I print, thou may'st do so for me.
Faith, they're deceiv'd, thou justly claim'st thy bays:
Virtue rewards herself; thy work's thy praise.
T. JOURDAN.[10]
TO THE AUTHOR, MASTER THOMAS RAWLINS.
Kind friend, excuse me, that do thus intrude,
Thronging thy volume with my lines so rude.
Applause is needless here, yet this I owe,
As due to th' Muses; thine ne'er su'd (I know)
For hands, nor voice, nor pen, nor other praise
Whatsoe'er by mortals us'd, thereby to raise
An author's name eternally to bliss.
Were't rightly scann'd (alas!) what folly 'tis!
As if a poet's single work alone
Wants power to lift him to the spangled throne
Of highest Jove; or needs their lukewarm fires,
To cut his way or pierce the circled spheres.
Foolish presumption! whosoe'er thou art,
Thus fondly deem'st of poet's princely art,
Here needs no paltry petty pioneer's skill
To fortify; nay, thy mellifluous quill
Strikes Momus with amaze and silence deep,
And doom'd poor Zoilus to the Lethean sleep.
Then ben't dismay'd, I know thy book will live,
And deathless trophies to thy name shall give.
Who doubts, where Venus and Minerva meet
In every line, how pleasantly they greet?
Strewing thy paths with roses, red and white,
To deck thy silver-streams of fluent wit;
And entertain the graces of thy mind.
O, may thy early head sweet shelter find
Under the umbrage of those verdant bays,
Ordain'd for sacred poesy's sweet lays!
Such are thy lines, in such a curious dress,
Compos'd so quaintly, that, if I may guess,
None save thine own should dare t' approach the press.
I. GOUGH.[11]
TO THE INGENIOUS AUTHOR.
A sour and austere kind of men there be,
That would outlaw the laws of poesy;
And from a commonwealth's well-govern'd lists
Some grave and too much severe Platonists
Would exclude poets, and have enmity
With the soul's freedom, ingenuity.
These are so much for wisdom, they forget
That Heaven allow'th the use of modest wit.
These think the author of a jest alone
Is the man that deserves damnation;
Holding mirth vicious, and to laugh a sin:
Yet we must give these cynics leave to grin.
What will they think, when they shall see thee in
The plains of fair Elysium? sit among
A crowned troop of poets, and a throng
Of ancient bards, which soul-delighting choir
Sings daily anthems to Apollo's lyre?
Amongst which thou shalt sit, and crowned thus,
Shalt laugh at Cato and Democritus.
Thus shall thy bays be superscrib'd: my pen
Did not alone make plays, but also men.
E. B.[12]
TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR.
Bless me, you sacred Sisters! What a throng
Of choice encomiums 's press'd? such as was sung
When the sweet singer Stesichorus liv'd;
Upon whose lips the nightingale surviv'd.
What makes my sickly fancy hither hie
(Unless it be for shelter), when the eye
Of each peculiar artist makes a quest
After my slender judgment? then a jest
Dissolves my thoughts to nothing, and my pains
Has its reward in adding to my stains.
But as the river of Athamas can fire
The sullen wood, and make its flames aspire,
So the infused comfort I receive
By th' tie of friendship, prompts me to relieve
My fainting spirits, and with a full sail
Rush 'mongst your argosies; despite of hail
Or storms of critics, friend, to thee I come:
I know th' hast harbour, I defy much room:
Besides, I'll pay thee for't in grateful verse,
Since that thou art wit's abstract, I'll rehearse:
Nothing shall wool your ears with a long phrase
Of a sententious folly; for to raise
Sad pyramids of flattery, that may be
Condemn'd for the sincere prolixity.
Let envy turn her mantle, and expose
Her rotten entrails to infect the rose,
Or pine--like greenness of thy extant wit:
Yet shall thy Homer's shield demolish it.
Upon thy quill as on an eagle's wing,
Thou shalt be led through th' air's sweet whispering:
And with thy pen thou shalt engrave thy name
(Better than pencil) in the list of fame.
I. TATHAM.[13]
ON MASTER RAWLINS AND HIS TAILOR, IN "THE REBELLION."
In what a strange dilemma stood my mind,
When first I saw the tailor, and did find
It so well-fraught with wit! but when I knew
The noble tailor to proceed from you,
I stood amaz'd, as one with thunder struck,
And knew not which to read; you or your book.
I wonder how you could, being of our race,
So eagle-like look Phoebus in the face.
I wonder how you could, being so young,
And teeming yet, encounter with so strong
And firm a story; 'twould indeed have prov'd
A subject for the wisest, that had lov'd
To suck at Aganippe. But go on,
My best of friends; and as you have begun
With that is good, so let your after-times
Transcendent be. Apollo he still shines
On the best wits; and if a Momus chance
On this thy volume scornfully to glance,
Melpomene will defend, and you shall see,
That virtue will at length make envy flee.
I. KNIGHT.[14]
TO HIS INGENIOUS FRIEND, MASTER RAWLINS,
THE AUTHOR OF "THE REBELLION."
What need I strive to praise thy worthy frame,
Or raise a trophy to thy lasting name?
Were my bad wit with eloquence refin'd,
When I have said my most, the most's behind.
But that I might be known for one of them,
Which do admire thy wit and love thy pen,
I could not better show forth my good-will,
Than to salute you with my virgin quill,
And bring you something to adorn your head
Among a throng of friends, who oft have read
Your learned poems, and do honour thee
And thy bright genius. How like a curious tree
Is thy sweet fancy, bearing fruit so rare
The learned still will covet. Momus no share
Shall have of it; but end his wretched days
In grief, 'cause now he seeth th' art crown'd with bays.
JO. MERIELL.[15]
DRAMATIS PERSONA†.
_A Cupid._
KING OF SPAIN.
ANTONIO, _a count_.
MACHIAVEL, _a count_.
ALERZO, }
FULGENTIO, } _three Spanish colonels_.
PANDOLPHO, }
PETRUCHIO, _Governor of Filford_.
RAYMOND (_a Moor_), _General of the French army_.
LEONIS, }
GILBERTI, } _three French colonels_.
FIRENZO, }
SEBASTIANO, _Petruchio's son, in the disguise of a tailor called
Giovanno_.
OLD TAILOR.
VERMIN, _his man_.
_Three Tailors more._
_Captain of the Banditti._
_Two Ruffians and a Bravo._
PHILIPPA, _the Moor's wife_.
AURISTELLA, _Machiavel's wife_.
EVADNE, _Antonio's sister_.
AURELIA, _Sebastiano's sister_.
_Nurse, attendant on Evadne._
_Attendants._
SCENE--_Seville._
THE REBELLION.
ACT I., SCENE 1.
_Enter severally_, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, _and_ PANDOLPHO.
ALER. Colonel?
FUL. Signor Alerzo?
ALER. Here.
PAN. Signors, well-met:
The lazy morn has scarcely trimm'd herself
To entertain the sun; she still retains
The slimy tincture of the banish'd night:
I hardly could discern you.
ALER. But you appear fresh as a city bridegroom,
That has sign'd his wife a warrant for the
Grafting of horns; how fares Belinda
After the weight of so much sin? you lay with her
To-night; come, speak, did you take up on trust,
Or have you pawn'd a colony of oaths?
Or an embroidered belt? or have you ta'en
The courtier's trick, to lay your sword at mortgage?
Or perhaps a feather? 'twill serve in traffic,
To return her ladyship a fan, or so.
PAN. Y' are merry.
FUL. Come, be free,
Leave modesty for women to gild
Their pretty thriving art of plentitude,
To enrich their husbands' brows with cornucopias.
A soldier, and thus bashful! Pox! be open.
PAN. Had I the pox, good colonel, I should stride
Far opener than I do; but pox o' the fashion!
ALER. Count Antonio.
[_To them enter_ ANTONIO.
FUL. Though he appear fresh as a bloom
That newly kiss'd the sun, adorn'd with pearly
Drops, flung from the hand of the rose-finger'd morn,
Yet in his heart lives a whole host of valour.
PAN. He appears
A second Mars.
ALER. More powerful, since he holds wisdom
And valour captive.
FUL. Let us salute him.
[_Whilst they salute_ ANTONIO, _enters_ COUNT MACHIAVEL.
MACH. Ha! how close they strike, as if they heard
A winged thunderbolt [that] threaten'd his death,
And each ambitious were to lose his life;
So it might purchase him a longer being:
Their breath engenders like two peaceful winds,
That join a friendly league, and fill the air
With silken music;
I may pass by, and scarce be spar'd a look,
Or any else but young Antonio.
Rise from thy scorching den, thou soul of mischief!
My blood boils hotter than the poison'd flesh
Of Hercules cloth'd in the Centaur's shirt:
Swell me, revenge, till I become a hill,
High as Olympus' cloud-dividing top;
That I might fall, and crush them into air.
I'll observe.
[_Exit behind the hangings._
ANT. Command, I prythee, all[16]
This little world I'm master of contains,
And be assur'd 'tis granted; I have a life,
I owe to death; and in my country's cause I should----
FUL. Good sir, no more,
This ungrateful land owes you too much already.
ALER. And you still bind it in stronger bonds.
PAN. Your noble deeds that, like to thoughts, outstrip
The fleeting clouds, dash all our hopes of payment:
We are poor, but in unprofitable thanks;
Nay, that cannot rehearse enough your merit.
ANT. I dare not hear this; pardon, bashful ears,
For suffering such a scarlet to o'erspread
Your burning portals.
Gentlemen, your discourses taste of court,
They have a relish of known flattery;
I must deny to understand their folly:
Your pardon, I must leave you:
Modesty commands.
FUL. Your honour's vassals.
ANT. O good colonel, be more a soldier,
Leave compliments for those that live at ease,
To stuff their table-books; and o'er a board,
Made gaudy with some pageant, beside custards,
Whose quaking strikes a fear into the eaters,
Dispute 'em in a fashionable method.
A soldier's language should be (as his calling)
Rough, to declare he is a man of fire.
Farewell without the straining of a sinew,
No superstitious cringe! adieu!
[_Exit._
ALER. Is't not a hopeful lord?
Nature to him has chain'd the people's hearts;
Each to his saint offers a form of prayer
For young Antonio.
PAN. And in that loved name pray for the kingdom's good.
FUL. Count Machiavel!
_Enter_ MACHIAVEL _from behind the hangings_.
ALER. Let's away.
[_Exeunt_: _manet_ MACHIAVEL.
MACH. Heart, wilt not burst with rage, to see these slaves
Fawn like to whelps on young Antonio,
And fly from me as from infection? Death,
Confusion, and the list of all diseases, wait upon your lives
Till you be ripe for hell, which when it gapes,
May it devour you all: stay, Machi'vel,
Leave this same idle chat, it becomes woman
That has no strength, but what her tongue
Makes a monopoly; be more a man,
Think, think; in thy brain's mint
Coin all thy thoughts to mischief:
That may act revenge at full.
Plot, plot, tumultuous thoughts, incorporate;
Beget a lump, howe'er deform'd, that may at length,
Like to a cub lick'd by the careful dam,
Become (like to my wishes) perfect vengeance.
Antonio, ay, Antonio--nay, all,
Rather than lose my will, shall headlong fall
Into eternal ruin; my thoughts are high.
Death, sit upon my brow; let every frown
Banish a soul that stops me of a crown.
[_Exit._
_Enter_ EVADNE _and_ NURSE.
EVAD. The tailor yet return'd, nurse?
NUR. Madam, not yet.
EVAD. I wonder why he makes gowns so imperfect;
They need so many says.
NUR. Truly, in sooth, and in good deed, la, madam,
The stripling is in love: deep, deep in love.
EVAD. Ha!
Does his soul shoot with an equal dart
From the commanding bow of love's great god,
Keep passionate time with mine? or has
She spi'd my error to reflect with eager beams
Of thirsty love upon a tailor, being myself
Born high? [_Aside._]----I must know more--
In love, good nurse, with whom?
NUR. Truly, madam, 'tis a fortune,
Cupid, good lad--prais'd be his godhead for't,
Has thrown upon me, and I am proud on't;
O, 'tis a youth jocund as sprightly May,
One that will do discreetly with a wife,
Board her without direction from the stars,
Or counsel from the moon to do for physic;
No, he's a back;--O, 'tis a back indeed!
EVAD. Fie! this becomes you not.
NUR. Besides, he is of all that conquering calling,
A tailor, madam: O, 'tis a taking trade!
What chambermaid--with reverence may
I speak of those lost maidenheads--
Could long hold out against a tailor?
EVAD. Y' are uncivil.
NUR. What aged female, for
I must confess I am worn threadbare--
Would not be turn'd, and live a marriage life,
To purchase heaven?
EVAD. Heaven----
NUR. Yes, my dear madam, heaven; whither,
My most sweet lady, but to heaven? hell's a
Tailor's warehouse; he has the keys, and sits
In triumph cross-legg'd o'er the mouth:
It is no place of horror,
There's no flames made blue with brimstone;
But the bravest silks, so fashionable--
O, I do long to wear such properties!
EVAD. Leave your talk,
One knocks: go, see.
[_Knocks within._
NUR. O, 'tis my love! I come.
[_Exit._
EVAD. A tailor; fie! blush, my too tardy soul,
And on my brow place a becoming scorn,
Whose fatal sight may kill his mounting hopes.
Were he but one that, when 'twas said he's born,
Had been born noble, high,
Equal in blood to that our house boasts great;
I'd fly into his arms with as much speed
As an air-cutting arrow to the stake.
But, O, he comes! my fortitude is fled.
_Enter_ NURSE _and_ GIOVANNO _with a gown_.
GIO. Yonder she is, and walks, yet in sense strong enough to
maintain argument; she's under my cloak; for the best part of a
lady, as this age goes, is her clothes; in what reckoning ought
we tailors to be esteemed then, that are the master-workmen to
correct nature! You shall have a lady, in a dialogue with some
gallant touching his suit, the better part of man, so suck the
breath that names the skilful tailor, as if it nourished her.
Another Donna fly from the close embracements of her lord, to be
all-over-measured by her tailor. One will be sick, forsooth, and
bid her maid deny her to this don, that earl, the other marquis,
nay, to a duke; yet let her tailor lace and unlace her gown, so
round the skirts to fit her to the fashion. Here's one has in my
sight made many a noble don to hang the head, dukes and
marquises, three in a morning, break their fasts on her denials;
yet I, her tailor, blessed be the kindness of my loving stars, am
ushered; she smiles, and says I have stayed too long, and then
finds fault with some slight stitch, that eyelet-hole's too
close, then must I use my bodkin, 'twill never please else; all
will not do. I must take it home for no cause but to bring it her
again next morning. We tailors are the men, spite o' the proverb,
ladies cannot live without. It is we
That please them best in their commodity:
There's magic in our habits, tailors can
Prevail 'bove him honour styles best of man.
EVAD. Bid him draw near.
NUR. Come hither, love, sweet chuck:
My lady calls.
GIO. What means this woman? sure, she loves me too,
Tailors shall speed, had they no tongues to woo:
Women would sue to them.
[_Aside._]
EVAD. What, have you done it now?
GIO. Madam, your gown by my industry
Is purg'd of errors.
EVAD. Lord, what a neat methodical way you have
To vent your phrases; pray, when did you commence?
GIO. What mean you, madam?
EVAD. Doctor, I mean; you speak so physical.
NUR. Nay, madam, 'tis a youth, I praise my stars
For their kind influence, a woman may be proud on,
And I am.
O, 'tis a youth in print, a new Adonis.
And I could wish, although my glass tells me
I'm wondrous fair, I were a Venus for him.
GIO. O lady, you are more fairer by far.
NUR. La you there, madam!
GIO. Where art thou, man? art thou transform'd,
Or art thou grown so base, that
This ridiculous witch should think I love her?
[_Aside._]
EVAD. Leave us.
NUR. I go.
Duck, I'll be here anon;
I will, dove.
[_Exit._
GIO. At your best leisure.
Protect me, manhood, lest my glutted sense,
Feeding with such an eager appetite on
Your rare beauty, [and] breaking the sluices,
Burst into a flood of passionate tears.
I must, I will enjoy her, though a
Destroying clap from Jove's artillery were the reward:
And yet, dull-daring sir, by your favour, no,
He must be more than savage can attempt
To injure so much spotless innocence:
Pardon, great powers, the thought of such offence.
[_Aside._]
EVAD. When Sebastiano, clad in conquering steel,
And in a phrase able to kill, or from a coward's heart
Banish a thought of fear, woo'd me,
[He] won not so much on my captive soul
As this youth's silence does.
Help me, some power, out of this tangling maze,
I shall be lost else.
[_Aside._
GIO. Fear, to the breast of women; build
Thy throne on their soft hearts; mine must not be
Thy slave.--[_Aside._] Your pleasure, madam?
EVAD. I have a question must be directly answer'd;
No excuse, but from thy heart a truth.
GIO. Command me, madam; were it a secret,
On whose hinges hung the casements of my life,
Yet your command shall be obey'd to the least
Scruple.
EVAD. I take your word:
My aged nurse tells me you love her:
Answer; is't a truth?
GIO. She's jealous, I'll try;
As oracle.
EVAD. Ha!
GIO. 'Tis so, I'll further; I love her, madam,
With as rich a flame as anchorites
Do saints they offer prayers unto.
I hug her memory as I would embrace
The breath of Jove when it pronounced me
Happy, or prophet that should speak my
After-life great, even with adoration deified.
EVAD. My life, like to a bubble i' th' air,
Dissolv'd by some uncharitable wind,
Denies my body warmth: your breath
Has made me nothing.
[_She faints._
GIO. Rather let me lose all external being.
Madam, good madam.
EVAD. You say you love her.
GIO. Madam, I do.
Can any love the beauty of a stone,
Set by some curious artist in a ring,
But he must attribute some [virtue] to
The file that adds unto the lustre?
You appear like to a gem, cut by the
Steady hand of careful nature into such
Beauteous tablets, that dull art,
Famous in skilful flattery, is become
A novice in what fame proclaim'd him doctor;
He can't express one spark of your great lustre.
Madam, those beauties that, but studied on
By their admirers, are deifi'd, serve
But as spots to make your red and white
Envi'd of cloister'd saints.
EVAD. Have I, ungrateful man, like to the sun,
That from the heavens sends down his
Cherishing beams on some religious plant,
That with a bow, the worship of the
Thankful, pays the preserver of his life
And growth: but thou, unthankful man,
In scorn of me, to love a calendar of many
Years.[17]
GIO. Madam, upon my knees, a superstitious rite,
The Heathens us'd to pay their gods, I offer up
A life, that until now ne'er knew a price--
Made dear because you love it.
EVAD. Arise;
It is a ceremony due unto none but heaven.
GIO. Here I'll take root, and grow into my grave,
Unless, dear goddess, you forget to be
Cruel to him adores you with a zeal,
Equal to that of hermits.
EVAD. I believe you, and thus exchange a devout vow
Humbly upon my knees, that, though the
Thunder of my brother's rage should force divorce,
Yet in my soul to love you; witness all
The wing'd inhabitants of the highest heaven!
GIO. If sudden lightning, such as vengeful Jove
Clears the infectious air with, threaten'd to scorch
My daring soul to cinders, if I
Did love you, lady, I would love you, spite
Of the dogged fates or any power those curs'd
Hags set to oppose me.
_To them enter_ NURSE.
EVAD. Be thyself again.
NUR. Madam, your brother.
EVAD. Fie! you have done it ill; our brother, say you?
Pray you, take it home and mend it.
GIO. Madam, it shall be done; I take my leave.
Love, I am made thy envy; I am he
This vot'ress prays unto, as unto thee:
Tailors are more than men; and here's the odds:
They make fine ladies: ladies make them gods:
And so they are not men, but far above them.
This makes the tailors proud; then ladies love them.
[_Exit._
ANTONIO _meets him_.
ANT. What's he that pass'd?
EVAD. My tailor.
ANT. There's something in his face I (sure) should know.
But, sister, to your beads; pray for distress'd Seville;
Whilst I mount some watchtower,
To o'erlook our enemies: religion's laws
Command me fight for my lov'd country's cause.
[_Exit._
EVAD. Love bids me pray, and on his altars make
A sacrifice for my lov'd tailor's sake.
[_Exit._
_Alarum._ _Enter_ RAYMOND, PHILIPPA, LEONIS, GILBERTI, _and_
FIRENZO.
RAY. Stand.
LEO. Stand.
GIL. Stand.
FIR. Give the word through the army, stand there.
WITHIN. Stand, stand, stand, stand, ho!
RAY. Bid the drum cease, whilst we embrace our love:
Come, my Philippa, like the twins of war,
Lac'd in our steelly corselets, we're become
The envy of those brain-begotten gods
Mouldy antiquity lifted to heaven;
Thus we exchange our breath.
[_Kiss._
PHIL. My honour'd lord,
Duty commands, I pay it back again.
'Twill waste me into smoke else.
Can my body retain that breath that would
Consume an army dress'd in a rougher habit?
Pray, deliver (come, I'm a gentle thief)
The breath you stole.
[_He kisses her._
RAY. Restore back mine. [_She kisses him._] So, go,
pitch our tent, we'll
Have a combat i' th' field of love with thee
Philippa, ere we meet the foe: thou art
A friendly enemy. How say you, lords?
Does not my love appear
Like to the issue of the brain of Jove,
Governess of arms and arts, Minerva!
Or a selected beauty from a troop of Amazons?
LORDS. She is a mine of valour.
PHIL. Lords, spare your praises till, like Bradamant,
The mirror of our sex, I make the foe
Of France and us crouch like a whelp,
Awed by the heaving of his master's hand;
My heart runs through my arm, and when I deal
A blow, it sinks a soul.
My sword flies nimbler than the bolts of Jove,
And wounds as deep. Spain, thy proud host shall feel
Death has bequeath'd his office to my steel.
RAY. Come on, brave lords; upon your general's word,
Philippa loves no parley like the sword.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter_ GIOVANNO, OLD TAILOR, VERMIN, _and two more_.
GIO. Come, bullies, come; we must forsake the use of nimble
shears, and now betake us to our Spanish needles, stiletto
blades, and prove the proverb lies, lies in his throat: one
tailor can erect sixteen, nay more, of upstart gentlemen, known
by their clothes, and leave enough materials in hell to damn a
broker.
O. TAI. We must to the wars, my boys.
VER. How, master, to the wars?
O. TAI. Ay, to the wars, Vermin; what say'st thou to that?
VER. Nothing, but that I had rather stay at home: O, the good
penny-bread at breakfasts that I shall lose! Master, good master,
let me alone to live with honest John, noble John Black.
2D TAI. Wilt thou disgrace thy worthy calling, Vermin?
VER. No, but I am afraid my calling will disgrace me: I shall be
gaping for my morning's loaf and dram of ale, I shall; and now
and then look for a cabbage-leaf or an odd remnant to clothe my
bashful buttocks.
O. TAI. You shall.
VER. Yes, marry; why, I hope poor Vermin must be fed, and will be
fed, or I'll torment you.
GIO. Master, I take privilege from your love to hearten on my
fellows.
O. TAI. Ay, ay, do, do, good boy.
[_Exit._
GIO. Come, my bold fellows, let us eternise,
For our country's good, some noble act,
That may by time be regist'red at full:
And as the year renews, so shall our fame
Be fresh to after-times: the tailor's name,
So much trod under and the scorn of all,
Shall by this act be high, whilst others fall.
3D TAI. Come, Vermin, come.
VER. Nay, if Vermin slip from the back of a tailor, spit him with
a Spanish needle: or torment him in the louse's engine--your two
thumb-nails.
[_Exit all but_ GIOVANNO.
GIO. The city's sieged, and thou thus chain'd
In airy fetters of a lady's love!
It must not be: stay, 'tis Evadne's love;
Her life is with the city ruined, if
The French become victorious:
Evadne must not die: her chaster name,
That once made cold, now doth my blood inflame.
[_Exit._
ACT II., SCENE 1.
_A table and chairs._
_Enter_ (_after a shout crying_ ANTONIO) _the_ GOVERNOR _and_
COUNT MACHIAVEL.
GOV. Hell take their spacious throats! we shall ere long
Be pointed as a prodigy!
Antonio is the man they load with praise,
And we stand as a cypher to advance
Him by a number higher.
MACH. Now, Mach'vel, plot his ruin.
[_Aside._
It is not to be borne; are not you our
Master's substitute? then why should he
Usurp a privilege without your leave
To preach unto the people a doctrine
They ought not hear?
He incites 'em not to obey your charge,
Unless it be to knit a friendly league
With the opposing French, laying before 'em
A troop of feigned dangers will ensue,
If we do bid 'em battle.
GOV. Dares he do this?
MACH. 'Tis done already;
Smother your anger, and you shall see here
At the council-board he'll break into a
Passion, which [_Aside_] I'll provoke him to.
_To them_ ANTONIO, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, _and_ PANDOLPHO: _they
sit in council_.
GOV. Never more need, my worthy partners in
The dangerous brunts of iron war, had we
Of counsel: the hot-reined French, led by
That haughty Moor, upon whose sword sits victory
Enthroned, daily increase;
And, like the army of another Xerxes,
Make the o'erburthen'd earth groan at their weight.
We cannot long hold out; nor have we hope
Our royal master can raise up their siege,
Ere we be forc'd to yield:
My lord, your counsel; 'tis a desperate grief.
MACH. And must, my lord, find undelay'd release?
Noble commanders, since that war's grim god,
After our sacrifice of many lives,
Neglects our offerings, and repays our service
With loss; 'tis good to deal with policy.
He's no true soldier, that deals heedless blows
With the endangering of his life; and may
Walk in a shade of safety, yet o'erthrow
His towering enemy.
Great Alexander made the then known world
Slave to his powerful will more by the help
Of politic wit
Than by the rough compulsion of the sword.
Troy, that endur'd the Grecians ten years' siege,
By policy was fir'd, and became like to
A lofty beacon all on flame.
GOV. Hum, hum!
MACH. Suppose the French be mark'd for conquerors?
Stars have been cross'd, when at a natural birth
They dart prodigious beams; their influence,
Like to the flame of a new-lighted taper,
Has with the breath of policy been blown
Out,--even to nothing.
FUL. Hum, hum!
ALER. This has been studied.
[_Aside._]
PAN. He's almost out.
[_Aside._]
GOV. Good.
But to the matter. You counsel?
MACH. 'Tis this, my lord,
That straight, before the French have pitched their tents,
Or rais'd a work before our city walls--
As yet their ships have not o'erspread the sea--
We send a regiment, that may with speed
Land on the marshes, and begirt their backs,
Whilst we open our gates, and with a strong assault
Force 'em retreat into the arms of death:
So the revengeful earth shall be their tomb,
That did erewhile trample her teeming womb.
GOV. Machiavel speaks oracle; what says Antonio?
ANT. Nothing.
GOV. How?
ANT. Nothing.
MACH. It takes; revenge,
I hug thee; young lord, thou art lost.
[_Aside._
GOV. Speak, Antonio, your counsel.
ANT. Nothing.
GOV. How?
ANT. So;
And could my wish obtain a sudden grant
From yon tribunal, I would crave my senses
Might be all steeped in Lethe, to forget
What Machiavel has spoken.
MACH. Ha! it takes unto my wish.
[_Aside._
Why, Antonio?
ANT. Because you speak
Not like a man, that were possess'd with a
Mere soldier's heart, much less a soul guarded
With subtle sinews. O madness! can there be
In nature such a prodigy, so senseless,
So much to be wondered at,
As can applaud or lend a willing ear
To that my blushes do betray? I've been
Tardy to hear your childish policy.
GOV. Antonio, you're too bold; this usurp'd liberty
To abuse a man of so much merit is not
Seemly in you: nay, I'll term it sauciness.
ANT. Nay, then, my lord, I claim the privilege
Of a councillor, and will object.
This my prophetic fear whisper'd my heart:
When from a watchtow'r I beheld the French
Erect their spears which, like a mighty grove,
Denied my eyes any other object:
The tops show'd by a stolen reflection from
The sun like diamonds, or as the glorious
Gilder of the day should deign a lower visit.
Then my warm blood, that used to play like
Summer, felt a change; grey-bearded winter
Froze my very soul, till I became,
Like the Pyrenian hills, wrapp'd in a robe of ice:
My arctic[18] fears froze me into a statue.
ALER. Cowardly Antonio!
FUL. I have lost my faith,
And can behold him now without a wonder.
GOV. Antonio, y' are too long, and rack our patience;
Your counsel?
ANT. I fear'd--but what? not our proud enemies:
No, did they burthen all our Spanish world,
And I, poor I, only surviv'd to threat defiance
In the mounseers'[19] teeth, and stand defendant
For my country's cause, naked, unarm'd,
I'd through their bragging host, and pay my life
A sacrifice to death for my loved country's safety.
ALER. Fulgentio, thou hast not lost
Thy faith?
[_Aside._]
FUL. No, I'm reform'd; he's valiant.
[_Aside._]
GOV. Antonio, your counsel?
MACH. Ay, your counsel?
ANT. Our foes increase to an unreckon'd number;
We less than nothing, since we have no hope
To arrive a number, that may cope with
Half their army.
'Tis my counsel we strike a league:
'Tis wisdom to sue peace, where powerful fate
Threatens a ruin: lest [we] repent too late.
FUL. 'Tis god-like counsel.
[_Aside._
ALER. And becomes the tongue of young Antonio.
[_Aside._
GOV. Antonio, let me tell you, you have lost
Your valiant heart; I can with safety now
Term you a coward.
ANT. Ha!
GOV. Nay, more,
Since by your oratory you strive
To rob your country of a glorious conquest,
That may to after-times beget a fear,
Even with the thought should awe the trembling
World, you are a traitor.
ANT. Ha! my lord! coward and traitor! 'tis a damned lie,
And in the heart of him dares say't again
I'll write his error.
MACH. 'Tis as I would have't.
[_Aside._
FUL. Noble Antonio!
[_Aside._
ALER. Brave-spirited lord!
[_Aside._
FUL. The mirror of a soldier!
[_Aside._
GOV. O, are you mov'd, sir? has the deserved name
Of traitor prick'd you?
ANT. Deserv'd?
GOV. Yes.
MACH. Yes.
ANT. Machiavel, thou liest; hadst thou a heart
Of harden'd steel, my powerful arm
Should pierce it.
[_They fight all in a confused manner_: ANTONIO _kills the_
GOVERNOR, MACHIAVEL _falls_.
ALER. The governor
Slain by Antonio's hand?
FUL. No, by the hand of justice; fly, fly, my lord!
ALER. Send for a chirurgeon to dress Count Machiavel:
He must be now our governor; the king
Signed it in the dead governor's commission.
[_Exeunt._
ANT. Now I repent too late my rash contempt:
The horror of a murtherer will still
Follow my guilty thoughts, fly where I will.
[_Exit_ ANTONIO.
MACH. I'm wounded; else, coward Antonio,
Thou shouldst not fly from my revengeful arm:
But may my curses fall upon thy head,
Heavy as thunder! may'st thou die
Burthen'd with ulcerous sins, whose very weight
May sink thee down to hell,
Beneath the reach of smooth-fac'd mercy's arm!
[_A shout within, crying_ ANTONIO.
Confusion choke your rash officious throats!
And may that breath that speaks his loathed name
Beget a plague, whose hot infectious air
May scald you up to blisters, which foretel
A purge of life! Up, Machiavel,
Thou hast thy will, howe'er cross fate
Divert the people's hearts; they must perforce
Sue to that shrine our liking shall erect.
The governor is dead, Antonio's lost
To anything but death; 'tis our glad fate
To gripe the staff of what we look'd for--state.
My blood's ambitious, and runs through my veins,
Like nimble water through a leaden pipe
Up to some barren mountain. I must have more;
All wealth, in my thoughts, to a crown is poor.
_Enter_ GIOVANNO, EVADNE, _and_ NURSE.
GIO. 'Tis a neat gown, and fashionable, madam; is't not, love?
NUR. Upon my virginity, wonderful handsome: dear, when we are
married, I'll have such a one; shall I not, chicken, ha?
GIO. What else, kind nurse?
NUR. Truly you tailors are the most sanctified members of a
kingdom: how many crooked and untoward bodies have you set
upright, that they go now so straight in their lives and
conversation, as the proudest on them all?
GIO. That's certain, none prouder.
EVAD. How mean you, sir?
GIO. Faith, madam, your crooked movables in artificial bodies,
that rectify the deformity of nature's overplus, as bunching
backs: or scarcity, as scanty shoulders--are the proudest
creatures; you shall have them jet it with an undaunted boldness;
for the truth is, what they want in substance they have in air:
they will scold the tailor out of his art, and impute the defect
of nature to his want of skill, though his labour make her
appearance pride-worthy.
NUR. Well said, my bird's-nye, stand for the credit of tailors
whilst thou livest; wilt thou not, chuck? Ha, say'st thou, my
dear?
GIO. I were ungrateful else.
EVAD. Nurse, pray leave us, your presence makes your sweetheart
negligent of what he comes about; pray, be won to leave us here.
NUR. Madam, your will's obey'd:
Yet I can hardly pass from thee, my love,
At such a sudden warning.
GIO. Your eager love may be termed dotage;
For shame! confine[20] yourself to less expressions,
[And] leave my lady.
NUR. A kiss, and then I go; so, farewell, my duck.
[_Exit._
GIO. Death, she has left a scent to poison me;
Love her, said she? is any man so mad to hug a disease,
Or embrace a colder image than Pygmalion's,
Or play with the bird of
Frosty antiquity? not I:
Her gums stink worse than a pest-house,
And more danger of infecting.
[_Aside._
As I'm a mortal tailor, and your servant, madam,
Her breath has tainted me: I dare not salute
Your ladyship.
EVAD. Come, you are loth to part with't, 'tis so sweet.
GIO. Sweet, say you, madam? a muster of diseases
Can't smell worse than her rotten teeth.
Excuse my boldness, to defer your longing;
Thus I am new-created with your breath.
[_Kisses._
My gaping pores will ne'er be satisfied.
Again!--they still are hungry.
EVAD. My dear friend, let not thy lovely person
March with the scolding peace-affrighting drum:
War is too cruel: come, I'll chain
You here--here in my arms; and stifle you
With kisses; you sha' not go--by this, you sha' not go.
GIO. By this, I must.
[_He kisses her._
EVAD. I'll smother that harsh breath.
[_She kisses him._
GIO. Again I countercheck it.
[_Kiss._
_Enter_ ANTONIO, _as pursued; he sees them, and stands
amazed_.
ANT. O sister! ha!
What killing sight is this? cannot be she.
Sister.
EVAD. O my dear friend, my brother! w' are undone.
ANT. Degenerate girl, lighter than wind or air!
Canst thou forget thy birth? or, 'cause thou'rt fair,
Art privileg'd, dost think, with such a zeal
To grasp an under-shrub? dare you exchange
Breath with your tailors without fear of vengeance
From the disturbed ghosts of our dead parents,
For their blood's injury? or are your favours
Grown prostitute to all? my unkind fate
Grieves me not half so much as thee forgetful.
GIO. Sir, if on me this language, I must tell you,
You are too rash to censure. My unworthiness,
That makes me[21] seem so ugly in your eyes,
Perhaps hangs in these clothes, and's shifted off with them.
I am as noble, but that I hate to make
Comparisons, as any you can think worthy
To be call'd her husband.
ANT. Shred of a slave, thou liest!
GIO. Sir, I am hasty too; yet, in the presence of
My mistress [I] can use a temper.
ANT. [O] brave! your mistress!
_Enter_ MACHIAVEL _with Officers_.
MACH. Lay hold on him!
Ere we presume to meet the enemy,
We'll purge the city; lest the wrath of Heaven
Fall heavy on us. Antonio, I arrest thee
Of capital treason 'gainst the king and realm.
To prison with him!
EVAD. O my lost brother!
GIO. 'Tis but an error; treason, d'ye call it, to kill
The governor in heat of blood, and not intended?
For my Evadne's sake, something I'll do
Shall save his life.
[_Exit._
MACH. To prison with him!
ANT. Farewell, Evadne, as thou lovest the peace
Of our dead ancestors, cease to love
So loath'd a thing; a tailor!
Why, 'tis the scorn of all; therefore be rul'd
By thy departing brother, do not mix
With so much baseness.
Come, officers, bear me e'en where you please,
My oppress'd conscience nowhere can have ease.
[_Exit with Officers._
MACH. Lady, we here enjoin you to
Your chamber
As a prisoner, to wait a further censure;
Your brother's fault has pull'd a punishment
Upon your head, which you must suffer.
EVAD. E'en what you please, your tyranny can't bear
A shape so bad to make Evadne fear:
Strong innocence shall guard my afflicted soul,
Whose constancy shall tyranny control.
[_Exeunt. A noise within, crying Rescue, rescue! Enter_
ANTONIO _and Guard; to them_ GIOVANNO _and_ TAILORS,
_and rescue him, and beat them off_.
_Enter an_ OFFICER, _meeting_ MACHIAVEL.
OFF. A troop of tailors by force have ta'en
Antonio from us, and have borne him (spite
Of the best resistance we could make) unto some
Secret place; we cannot find him.
MACH. Screech-owl, dost know what thou hast said?
Death! find him, or you die! O my cross stars!
He must not live to torture our vex'd sense,
But die; though he'd no fault but innocence.
[_Exit._
_Enter_ GIOVANNO, ANTONIO, _and the_ OLD TAILOR.
GIO. Can this kindness merit your love?
Do I deserve your sister?
ANT. My sister! worthy tailor, 'tis a gift lies not in me to
give: ask something else, 'tis thine, although it be gained with
the quite extinguishing of this--this breath you gave me.
GIO. Have not I----
ANT. Speak no further; I confess you have been all unto me, life
and being; I breathe but with your licence: will no price buy out
your interest in me but her love? I tell thee, tailor, I have
blood runs in me, Spain cannot match for greatness next her
kings. Yet, to requite thy love, I'll call thee friend; be thou
Antonio's friend--a favour nobles have thirsted for: will this
requite thee?
GIO. Sir, this may, but----
ANT. My sister, thou wouldst say, most worthy tailor; she's not
mine to give; honour spake in my dying father: 'tis a sentence
that's registered here in Antonio's heart--I must not wed her but
to one in blood calls honour father. Prythee, be my friend;
forget I have a sister; in love I'll be more than a brother,
though not to mingle blood.
GIO. May I not call her mistress?
ANT. As a servant, far from the thoughts of wedlock.
GIO. I'm yours, friend: I am proud on't; you shall find
That, though a tailor, I've an honest mind.
Pray, master, help my lord unto a suit; his life
Lies at your mercy.
1ST TAI. I'll warrant you.
ANT. But for thy men.
1ST TAI. O, they are proud in that they rescu'd you,
And my blood of honour; since you are pleas'd
To grace the now declining trade of tailors
By being shrouded in their homely clothes,
And deck a shop-board with your noble person;
The taunting scorns the foul-mouth'd world can throw
Upon our needful calling shall be answered:
They injure honour, since your honour is a
Noble practitioner in our mystery.
GIO. Cheer up, Antonio, take him in.
The rest will make him merry; I'd go try
The temper of a sword upon some shield
That guards a foe. Pray for my good success.
[_Exit._
1ST TAI. Come, come, my lord, leave melancholy
To hired slaves, that murther at a price:
Yours was----
ANT. No more: flatter not [so] my sin.
1ST TAI. You are too strict a convertite; let's in.
[_Exit._
_After a confused noise within, enter_ RAYMOND,
LEONIS, GILBERTI, _hastily_.
RAY. What means this capering echo?
Or whence did this so lively counterfeit
Of thunder break out [in] to liberty?
GIL. 'Tis from the city.
RAY. It cannot be their voice should outroar Jove;
Our army, like a basilisk, has struck
Death through their eyes; our number, like a wind,
Broke from the icy prison of the north,
Has froze the portals to their shivering hearts;
They scarce have breath enough to speak't
They live.
[_A shout within._
GIL. 'Tis certainly from thence.
LEO. Y' are deceived, poor Spaniards! Fear
Has chang'd their elevated gait to a dejection:
They're planet-struck.
RAY. 'Tis from our jocund fleet, my genius prompts me;
They have already plough'd th' unruly seas,
And with their breasts, proof 'gainst the battering
Waves, dash'd the big billows into angry froth,
And, spite of the contentious foul-mouth'd gods
Of sea and wind, have reach'd the city frontiers,
And [have] begirt her navigable skirts.
Again! 'tis so.
[_Again within._
GIL. My creed's another way;
I have no faith but to the city.
_Alarum._ _Enter a_ SOLDIER _bloody_.
LEO. Here's one:
Now we shall know. Ha! he appears
Like one compos'd of horror.
RAY. What speaks thy troubled front?
LEO. Speak, crimson meteor.
RAY. Speak, prodigy, or on my sword thou fall'st.
SOL. The bold Spaniards, setting aside all cold acknowledgment of
any odds, or notice of the number our army is made proud with,
sends from their walls more lightning than great Jove affrights
the trembling world with, when the air is turn'd to mutiny.
RAY. Villain, thou liest; 'twere madness to believe thee. Foolish
Spain may, like those giants that heap hill on hill, mountain on
mountain, to pluck Jove from heaven, who with a hand of vengeance
flung 'em down beneath the centre, and those cloud-contemning
mounts heav'd by the strength of their ambitious arms, became
their monuments; so Spain's rash folly from this arm of mine
shall find their graves amongst the rubbish of their ruin'd
cities.
_Enter a second_ SOLDIER.
What, another! thy hasty news?
2D MESS. The daring enemies have through their gates made a
victorious sally: all our troops have jointly, like the dust
before the wind, made a dishonoured flight. Hark!
[_Alarum within._]
The conquering foe makes hitherward.
RAY. Run to my tent, fetch my Philippa, slave. Why movest thou
not?
2D MESS. The enemy's upon us.
RAY. Shall I send thy coward soul down the vaults of horror? Fly,
villain, or thou diest!
[_Strikes him._
_Alarum._ _Enter_ MACHIAVEL, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, PANDOLPHO,
_with_ PHILIPPA _prisoner_, GIOVANNO _with_ TAILOR.
MACH. Let one post to my castle, and conduct
My lady; tell her I have a prisoner would become
Proud in her forc'd captivity, to wait
Upon her beauty: fly, let not the tardy clouds outsail thee.
PHIL. Canst thou, proud man, think that Philippa's heart
Is humbled with her fortunes? No, didst thou
Bring all the rough tortures
From the world's childhood to this hour invented,
And on my resolute body, proof against pain,
Practis'd Sicilian tyranny, my giant thoughts
Should, like a cloud of wind-contemning smoke,
Mingle with heaven:
And not a look so base as to be pitied
Shall give you cause of triumph.
ALER. 'Fore heaven, a fiery girl.
FUL. A masculine spirit.
PAN. An Amazon.
RAY. See, my Philippa, her rich colour's fled, and like that soul
The furrow-fronted fates have made an anvil
To forge diseases on, she's lost herself
With her fled beauty; yet, pale as she stands,
She adds more glory to our churlish foe,
Than bashful Titan to the eastern world.
Spaniards, she is a conquest; Rome,
When her two-neck'd eagles aw'd the world,
Would have swum through her[22] own blood to purchase:
Nor must you enjoy that gem the superstitious gods
Would quarrel for, but through my heart.
Courage, brave friends, they're valiant that can fly
I' th' mouth of danger; 'tis they win, though die.
GIO. This Moor speaks truth,
Wrapp'd in a voice of thunder.
RAY. Speak, my Philippa, what untutor'd slave
Durst lay a rugged hand upon thy softness?
PHIL. 'Twas the epitome of Hercules:
No big Colossus, yet for strength far bigger:
A little person, great with matchless valour.
RAY. What pains thou takest to praise
Thine enemy!
PHIL. 'Twere sin to rob him that has wasted so his blood for
praise: this noble soldier, he 'twas made me captive; nor can he
boast 'twas in an easy combat; for my good sword, now ravish'd
from mine arm, forc'd crimson drops that, like a gory sweat,
buried his manly body in oblivion: those that were skill'd in his
effigies, as drunk with Lethe, had forgot 'twas he; till by the
drawing of the rueful curtain, they saw in him their error.
RAY. A common soldier, owner of a strength worthy
Such praise? Dares he cope with the
French general single?
PHIL. My lord, you must strike quick and sure.
RAY. Why pause you? my Philippa must not stay
Captivity's infection.
MACH. We have the day.
RAY. Not till you conquer me: which if my arm
Be not by witchcraft robb'd of his late strength,
Shall spin your labour to an ample length.
MACH. Upon him, then.
GIO. Odds is dishonourable combat: my lads,
Lets one to one; I am for the Moor.
ALER. Thee!
FUL. Tailor, you are too saucy.
GIO. Saucy?
ALER. Untutor'd groom, mechanic slave!
GIO. You have protection by the governor's presence,
Else, my plum'd estridges,[23] 'tis not your feathers,
More weighty than your beads, should stop
My vengeance, but I'd text my wrong
In bloody characters upon your pamper'd flesh.
FUL. You would?
GIO. By heaven, I would!
FUL. You'd be advis'd, and render up your life
A sacrifice to patience.
GIO. Musk-cat, I'd make your civet worship stink
First in your perfumed buff.
ALER. Phlegmatic slave!
GIO. Bloodless commanders.
FUL. }
PAN. } How?
ALER. }
GIO. So.
FUL. }
PAN. } Let's reward his boldness.
ALER. }
[_They fall upon_ GIOVANNO.
MACH. Whence this rashness?
RAY. Bless'd occasion! let's on 'em.
[_The French whisper. The French fly upon 'em: they turn to
their Guard, and beat 'em off._
ACT III., SCENE 1.
_Enter_ MACHIAVEL, FULGENTIO, PANDOLPHO, ALERZO, GIOVANNO,
_with_ RAYMOND _prisoner, and the rest of the_ TAILORS.
ALL THE TAI. A tailor, a tailor, a tailor!
GIO. Raymond, y' are now my prisoner:
Blind chance has favour'd, where your thoughts
Had hope she meant to ruin
From our discord, which Heaven has made victorious,
You meant to strike a harmony should glad you.
ALER. 'Tis not to be borne: a tailor!
[_Whisper._
FUL. 'Twas an affront galls me to think on't: besides,
His saucy valour might have ruin'd all
Our forward fortunes, had the French been stronger:
Let him be banish'd.
MACH. It shall be so;
My fears are built on grounds,
Stronger than Atlas' shoulders: this same tailor
Retains a spirit like the lost Antonio;
Whose sister we will banish in pretence
Of love to justice; 'tis a good snare to trap
The vulgar hearts: his and her goods, to gild
My lawless doings, I'll give the poor, whose tongues
Are i' their bellies; which being full,
Is tipp'd with heartless prayers; but, empty,
A falling planet is less dangerous; they'll down
To hell for curses. You tailor!
GIO. My lord.
MACH. Deliver up your prisoner.
GIO. Y' are obey'd.
MACH. So: now we command, on forfeit of thy life,
You be not seen on any ground
Our master's title circles within three days:
Such a factious spirit we must not nourish;
Lest, like the fabl'd serpent, [once] grown warm
In your conceited worth, you sting
Your country's breast, that nurs'd your valour.
GIO. This my reward?
ALER. More than thy worth deserves.
GIO. Pomander-box, thou liest!
FUL. Go purge yourself; your country vomits you.
GIO. Slaves, y' are not worth my anger.
FUL. Go vent your spleen 'mongst satires; pen a
Pamphlet, and call't the "Scourge of Greatness."
ALER. Or "Spain's Ingratitude."
GIO. Ye are not worth my breath,
Else I should curse you; but I must weep,
Not that I part from thee, unthankful Spain,
But my Evadne: well, it must be so:
Heart, keep thy still tough temper, spite of woe.
[_Exit._
MACH. My house shall be your prison. Attend 'em, colonel.
[_Exeunt_ RAYMOND, PHILIPPA, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, PANDOLPHO,
GIOVANNO,[24] &c. _Manent_ TAILORS.
FUL. Please you walk.
1ST. TAI. My servant banish'd?
3D TAI. Famish'd, master? nay, faith, and a tailor come to be
famish'd, 'tis a hard world: no bread in this world here, ho, to
save the renown'd corpse of a tailor from famishing! 'Tis no
matter for drink: give me bread.
2D TAI. Thou hast a gut would swallow a peck-loaf.
3D TAI. Ay, marry would it with vantage; I tell truth, and, as
the proverb says, shame the devil; if our hell afford a devil,
but I see none, unless he appear in a delicious remnant of nim'd
satin, and, by my faith, that's a courteous devil that suffers
the brokers to hang him in their ragged wardrobe; and used to
sell his devilship for money: I tell truth. A tailor, and lie?
faith, I scorn that.
1ST TAI. Leave your discovery.
3D TAI. Master, a traveller, you know, is famous for lying; and
having travelled as far as hell, may not I make description of
the unknown land?
1ST TAI. My brain is busy, Sebastiano must not tread an unknown
land to find a grave. Unfortunate Sebastiano! First to lose
thyself in a disguise, unfitting for thy birth, and then thy
country for thy too much valour:
There's danger in being virtuous in this age
Led by those sinful actors; the plunged stage
Of this vice-bearing world would headlong fall,
But charitable virtue bears up all.
I must invent: I ha't so:--
As he's a tailor, he is banish'd Spain,
As Sebastiano, 'tis revok'd again.
[_Exit cum suis._
_Enter_ MACHIAVEL _solus_.
MACH. How subtle are my springes! they take all
With what swift speed unto my chaffy bait
Do all fowls fly unto their hasty ruin?
Clap, clap your wings and flutter, greedy fools,
Whilst I laugh at your folly; I have a wire
Set for the Moor and his ambitious consort;
Which if my wife would second, they are sure.
_Enter_ AURISTELLA.
AUR. What must she second?
MACH. Art thou there, my love?
We're in a path that leads us to a height,
We may confront the sun, and with a breath
Extinguish common stars; be but thou rul'd,
The light, that does create day to this city,
Must be deriv'd from us.
AUR. You fire my soul,
And to my airy wings add quicker feathers:
What task would not I run to be call'd queen?
Did the life-blood of all our family,
Father and mother, stand as a quick wall
To stop my passage to a throne,
I'd with a poignard ope their azure veins,
And squeeze their active blood up into clods,
Till they become as cold as winter's snow;
And as a bridge upon their trunks I'd go.
MACH. Our souls are twins, and thirst with equal heat
For deity: kings are in all things gods,
Saving mortality.
AUR. To be a queen, what danger would I run!
I'd spend my life like to a barefoot nun,
So I might sit above the lesser stars
Of small nobility, but for a day.
MACH. 'Tis to be done, sweet love, a nearer way:
I have already with the sugar'd baits
Of justice, liberality, and all
The fox-like gins that subtle statesmen set
To catch the hearts o' th' giddy multitude:
Which, if it fail, as cautious policy
Forbids, I build too strongly on their drunk,
Uncertain votes. I'd have thee break with my
Great prisoner's wife, as I will do with him;
Promise (the states equal divided) half
Himself shall rule:
So that if need compel us to take arms,
We may have forces from the realm of France,
To seat us in the chair of government.
AUR. I never shall endure to walk as equal
With proud Philippa, no; my ambitious soul
Boils in a thirsty flame of total glory:
I must be all without a second flame
To dim our lustre.
MACH. Still my very soul!
Think'st thou I can endure competitor,
Or let an Ethiop sit by Machiavel's side
As partner in his honour? no, as I
Have seen i' the commonwealth of players,
One that did act the Theban Creon's part:
With such a life I became ravish'd, and on
Raymond mean to plot what he did on
The cavilling boys of Oedipus,
Whilst we grasp the whole dignity.
AUR. As how, sweet Machiavel?
MACH. It is not ripe, my love.
The king, I hear, applauds my justice;
Wherefore I've sent order that Count Antonio,
Once being taken, be sent to Filford Mill;
There ground to death.
AUR. What for his sister?
MACH. Thy envy: she I have banish'd;
And her goods, to guard a shower of curses
From my head, I have given the poor.
AUR. Good policy, let's home to our designs:
I hate to be officious, yet my frown
Shall be dissolv'd to flattery for a crown.
[_Exit._
MACH. Attend your lady. So, her forward spleen,
Tickled with thought of greatness makes the scene
Attempts run smooth: the haughty Moor shall be
The ladder, on whose servile back I'll mount
To greatness. If calm peace deny me easy way,
Rough war shall force it; which done, Raymond
And his Philippa must go seek an empire in
Elysium; for to rule predominant belongs
Alone to me: slaves are unworthy rule,
What state would set a crown upon a mule?
[_Exit._
ANTONIO, _disguised, sitting in a closet_.
ANT. My soul is heavy, and my eyelids feel
The weighty power of lazy Morpheus:
Each element, that breathes a life within me,
Runs a contrary course, and conspire[s]
To counterfeit a chaos: whilst the frame
And weak supporters of my inward man
Crack as beneath the weight of Atlas' burthen.
A sudden change! how my blear'd eyelids strive
To force a sleep 'gainst nature! O you powers,
That rule the better thoughts, if you have ought
To act on my frail body, let it be
With eagles' speed, or, if your wills so please,
Let my forepass'd and undigested wrongs
O'erwhelm my thoughts, and sink me to the ground
With their no less than death's remembrances.
Cease, bastard slave, to clog my senses
With the leaden weights of an unwilling sleep,
Unless thy raw-bon'd brother join his force,
And make a separation 'twixt
My airy soul and my all-earthly body;
I am o'ercome; Heaven work your wills;
My breath submits to this, as 'twould submit to death.
[_Sleeps._
_Soft music_; LOVE _descends half-way, then speaks_.
LOVE. Sleep, entranced man, but be
Wakeful in thy fancy; see,
Love hath left his palace fair,
And beats his wings against the air,
To ease thy panting breast of ill:
Love's a physician, and his[25] will
Must be obey'd: therefore with haste
To Flanders fly; the echoing blast
Of fame shall usher thee along,
And leave thee pester'd in a throng
Of searching troubles, which shall be
But bugbears to thy constancy.
_Enter from one side Death, and from the other side_ AURELIA;
_Death strikes three times at_ ANTONIO, _and_ AURELIA
_diverts it_. _Exeunt severally._
What this same shadow seems to be,
In Flanders thou shalt real see;
The maid that seem'd to conquer death,
And give thee longer lease of breath,
Doats on thy air; report hath been
Lavish in praising thee unseen.
Make haste to Flanders; time will be
Accus'd of slothfulness, if she
Be longer tortur'd: do not stay,
My power shall guide thee on the way.
[_Ascendat._[26]
_Enter_ GIOVANNO _and the_ OLD TAILOR.
GIO. He is asleep.
O. TAI. See how he struggles, as if some visions had
Assum'd a fuller shape of horror than
His troubled thoughts.[27]
GIO. His conscience gripes him to [a] purpose:
See, [see,] he wakes; let us observe.
ANT. Stay, gentle pow'r, leave hostage that thy promise
Thou wilt perform, and I will offer to
Thy deity
More than my lazy heart has offer'd yet.
But stay, Antonio, can thy easy faith
Give credit to a dream? an airy vision,
Fram'd by a strangeling[28] fancy, to delude weak sense
With a gay nothing? Recollect thyself;
Advise thee by thy fears; it may force hence
This midnight's shade of grief, and gild
It with a morn as full of joy as does
Bright Phoebus to our eastern world, when blushing
He arises from the lap of sea-green Thetis
To give a new day birth.
GIO. Why, how now, friend? what, talking to thyself?
ANT. O Giovanno, 'tis my unpartial thoughts,
That rise in war against my guilty conscience;
O, it stings me!
O. TAI. Be more a man, shrink not beneath a weight
So light a child may bear it; for, believe me,
If my prophetic fear deceive me not,
You'd done an act Spain should for ever praise,
Had you kill'd Machiavel too.
ANT. As how, good master--I must call you so?
This is your livery.
O. TAI. O, y' are a noble tailor. But to Machiavel--
It was my chance, being sent for by his wife
To take the measure of their noble prisoner,
Who, when I came, was busy being plac'd
Into a room, where I might easily hear
Them talk of crowns and kingdoms,
And of two that should be partners in this
End of Spain.
GIO. Who were they?
O. TAI. Machiavel and Raymond! At last Machiavel laugh'd,
Saying: for this I made the governor
To cross Antonio at the council-board;
Knowing that one must, if not both, should die.
ANT. Did he say this?
O. TAI. He did, and added more, [and] under
A feigned show of love to justice,
[He] banished your sister.
GIO. Is Evadne banish'd?
O. TAI. She is; and, as I guess, to Flanders;
Her woman too has left her.
ANT. Nay, droop not, friend: host, pray, tell proud
Mach'vel I have a sword left to chastise
A traitor: come, let's go seek Evadne.
GIO. O Antonio! the sudden grief almost distracts
Thy friend; but come, let's go, each several [way,]
And meet at Filford: if thou findest Evadne,
Bear her unto the castle.
[_Exit._
ANT. Farewell, good master.
[_Exit._
O. TAI. O, you honour me.
Bootless were all persuasions, they'll not stay.
I'll to the king; this treason may become,
Like a disease, out of the reach of physic,
And may infect past cure, if let alone.
[_Exit._
_Enter_ RAYMOND _and_ PHILIPPA.
PHIL. Erect thy head, my Raymond; be more tall
Than daring Atlas, but more safely wise:
Sustain no burthen but the politic care
Of being great: till thou achieve the city's
Axletree, and wave it as thou list.
RAY. Hast thou no skill in magic, that thou fall'st
So just upon my thoughts? thy tongue is tipp'd
Like nature's miracle, that draws the steel
With unresisted violence: I cannot keep
A secret to myself, but thy prevailing
Rhetoric ravishes and leaves my breast
Like to an empty casket,
That once was bless'd with keeping of a jewel
I durst not trust the air with, 'twas so precious:
Pray, be careful.
PHIL. You do not doubt me?
RAY. No, were you a woman made of such coarse ingredients as the
common, which in our trivial phrase we call mere women, I would
not trust thee with a cause so weighty, that the discovery did
endanger this--this hair that, when 'tis gone, a lynx's [eye]
cannot miss it: but you are--I want expressions, 'tis not common
words can speak you truly--you are more than woman.
PHIL. My lord, you know my temper, and how to win upon my heart.
RAY. I must be gone, and post a messenger:
France must supply what wants to make thee great--
An army, my Philippa, which these people,
Snoring in pride of their last victory,
Do not so much as dream on:
Nor shall, till they be forced to yield their voices
At our election; which will be ere long.
PHIL. O, 'tis an age, I'd rather have it said,
Philippa than a prisoner were dead.
[_Exit._
_Enter a Criminal Judge and Officers, with_ ANTONIO; PETRUCHIO
_and_ AURELIA _meet him, with Servants_.
JUD. Captain Petruchio, take this condemn'd man
Into your charge; it is Antonio, once
A Spanish count, till his rash folly with
His life made forfeit of his honour; he
Was found travelling to your castle;
'Twas Heaven's will that his own feet should with
A willing pace conduct him to his ruin:
For the murther he must be ground to death
In Filford Mill, of which you are the governor:
Here my commission in its end gives strength
To yours. He is your charge: farewell.
His death must be with speed.
[_Exit with his._[29]
ANT. Deceive me not, good glasses, [for] your lights
In my esteem never till now was precious,
It is the same, it is the very same
I sleeping saw.
AUR. Is this the man fame speaks so nobly of?
O love, Aurelia never until now
Could say he knew thee; I must dissemble it.
[_Aside._
PET. Come, sir, to my castle.
AUR. Fie on you, sir; to kill a governor, it is a fact death
cannot appear too horrible to punish.
ANT. Can this be truth? O shallow, shallow man,
To credit air! believe there can be substance in
A cloud of thick'ned smoke, as truth
Hid in a dream; yes, there is truth that, like
A scroll fetch'd from an oracle,
Betrays the double-dealing of the gods;
Dreams, that speak all of joy, do turn to grief,
And such bad fate deludes my light belief.
PET. Away with him.
[_Exeunt._
AURELIA _sola_.
AUR. Oft have I heard my brother with a tongue
Proud of the office, praise this lovely lord;
And my trapp'd soul did with as eager haste
Draw in the breath; and now, O Aurelia!
Buried with him must all the joy thou hast
For ever sleep; and with a pale consumption,
Pitying him wilt thou thyself be ruin'd?
He must not die; if there be any way
Reveal'd to the distressed, I will find it.
Assist a poor lost virgin, some good power,
And lead her to a path, whose secret tract
May guide both him and me unto our safety.
Be kind, good wits, I never until now
Put you to any trouble; 'tis your office
To help at need this little world you live by:
Not yet! O dulness! do not make me mad--
I have't, bless'd brains! now shall a woman's wit
Wrestle with fate, and if my plot but hit,
Come off with wreaths: my duty, nay, my all,
I must forsake, lest my Antonio fall.
[_Exit._
ACT IV., SCENE 1.
_Enter_ GIOVANNO _mad, solus_.
Not find Evadne! sure, some wanton wind
Has snatch'd her from the earth into the air!
Smooth Zephyr fans the tresses of her hair,
Whilst slick[30] Favonius plays the fawning slave,
And hourly dies, making her breasts his grave.
O false Evadne! is Giovanno's love,
That has outdone all merit for thy sake,
So light that wind outweighs it?
No, no, [no,] no; Evadne is all virtue,
Sweet as the breath of roses; and as chaste
As virgin lilies in their infancy.
Down, you deluding ministers of air,
Evadne is not light, though she be fair.
Dissolve that counterfeit: ha, ha, ha, ha!
See how they shrink! why so, now I will love you:
Go search into the hollows of the earth,
And find my love, or I will chain you up
To eternity: see, see, who's this?
O, I know him now. So, ho, ho! so, ho, ho!
Not hear? 'Tis Phaeton: no, 'tis an heir
Got, since his father's death, into a cloak
Of gold outshines the sun; the headstrong horses of
Licentious youth have broke their reins, and drawn
Him through the signs of all libidinousness.
See, from the whorish front of CapreA|
He's tumbling down as low as beggary.
O, are you come, grim Tartar Rhadamanth!
Go, ask of Pluto, if he have not ta'en
Evadne to his smoky commonwealth,
And ravish'd her? Begone, why stir you not?
Ha, ha, ha! the devil is afraid.
EVAD. Help, a rape!
[_Within._
BAN. Stop her mouth.
GIO. Who calls for help? 'tis my Evadne; ay,
It was her voice that gave the echo life,
That cried a rape. Devil, dost love a wench?
Who was thy pander, ha? What saucy fiend
Durst lay his unpar'd fangs on my Evadne?
Come, I'll swim unarmed o'er Acheron,
And sink grim Charon in his ferry boat.
EVAD. Murder! a rape!
[_Within._
GIO. I come, I come.
[_Exit._
_Enter the_ BANDIT _dragging_ EVADNE _by the hair: she drops
a scarf_. _Exeunt._
_Enter_ GIOVANNO _again_.
GIO. I cannot find her yet. The king of flames
Protests she is not there: but hang him, rogue,
They say he'll lie. O, how my glutted spleen
Tickles to think how I have paid the slave!
I made him lead me into every hole:
Ha, ha, ha! what crying was there there?
Here on a wheel, turn'd by a fury's hand,
Hangs a distracted statesman, that had spent
The little wit Heaven to strange purpose lent him
To suppress right, make beggars, and get means
To be a traitor. Ha, ha, ha! And here
A usurer, fat with the curses of so many heirs
His extortion had undone, sat to the chin
In a warm bath, made of new-melted gold;
And now and then a draught pass'd through his throat.
He fed upon his god; but he being angry
Scalded his chaps. Right against him
Stood a fool'd gallant, chain'd unto a post,
And lash'd by folly for his want of wit.
The reeling drunkard and plump glutton stood
Making of faces, close by Tantalus:
But drank and fed on air. The whoremaster,
Tied to a painted punk, was by a fury,
Termed insatiate lust, whipped with a blade
Of fire. And here----
What's here? 'tis my Evadne's veil; 'tis hers, I know't:
Some slave has ravish'd my Evadne! Well,
There breathes not such an impious slave in hell.
Nay, it is hers, I know it too-too plain.
Your breath is lost: 'tis hers: you speak in vain.
[_Exit._
_Thunder and lightning._ _Enter the_ BANDIT, _with_ EVADNE
_by the hair_.
CAPT. Come, bring her forward; tie her to that tree, each man
shall have his turn: come, minion, you must [now] squench the
raging flames of my concupiscence: what, do you weep, you
puritanical punk? I shall tickle mirth into you by and by.
Trotter, good Trotter, post unto my cell, make compound of
muskadine and eggs; for the truth is I am a giant in my promises,
but in the act a pigmy: I am old, and cannot do as I have done;
good Trotter, make all convenient speed.
TROT. Faith, master, if you cannot, here's them that can ferret
in a coney-burrow without a provocative; I'll warrant you, good
master.
CAPT. No more, I say, it is a parcel of excellent mutton: I'll
cut it up myself. Come, minion.
[_Exit_ TROTTER. _The Captain takes his dagger and winds it
about her hair, and sticks it in the ground. Thunder and
lightning._
EVAD. Kill me! O, kill me! Rather let me die
Than live to see the jewel that adorns
The souls of virtuous virgins ravish'd from me.
Do not add sin to sin, and at a price
That ruins me, and not enriches you,
Purchase damnation: do not, do not do't.
Sheathe here your sword, and my departing soul,
Like your good angel, shall solicit Heaven
To dash out your offences: let my flight
Be pure and spotless: do not injure that
Manhood would blush to think on: it is all
A maid's divinity: wanting her life,
She's a fair corse; wanting her chastity,
A spotted soul of living infamy.
CAPT. Hang chastity!
3D BAN. A very voice.
_Enter_ TROTTER.
TROT. O captain, captain! yonder is the mad Orlando the furious,
and I think he takes me for----What do you call him?
CAPT. What, Medor?[31]
TROT. Ay, ay, Medor: the devil Medor him, he has so nuddled[32]
me----O, here he comes: I'll be gone.
[_Exit._
_Enter_ GIOVANNO.
GIO. Stay, satyr, stay; you are too light of foot,
I cannot reach your paces, prythee, stay.
What goddess have you there? Sure, 'tis Evadne!
Are you the dragons that ne'er sleep, but watch
The golden fruit of the Hesperides?
Ha! then I am Hercules; fly ye! Sure,
That face dwelt on Evadne's shoulders.
[_He beats them off, and unbinds_ EVADNE.
EVAD. O thou preserver of near-lost Evadne!
What must my weakness pay?
GIO. 'Tis [she,] 'tis she; she must not know I'm mad.
EVAD. Assist me, some good pow'r; it is my friend.
[_Aside._]
Make me but wise enough to resolve myself.
GIO. It may be 'tis not she; I'll ask her name.
What are you call'd, sweet goddess?
EVAD. They that know me mortal term me Evadne.
GIO. 'Tis she: ay, ay, 'tis she.
EVAD. Pray you, sir, unto the bond of what I owe you, which is a
poor distressed virgin's life, add this one debt: [tell me,] what
are you?
GIO. Not worth your knowledge: I am a poor, a very, very poor
despised thing: but say, I pray, are you sure your name's Evadne?
EVAD. 'Tis questionless my tailor. [_Aside._] I am she; receive
me to your arms not alter'd in my heart, though in my clothes.
GIO. I do believe you, indeed I do; but stay, I don't. Are you a
maid, a virgin, pray, tell me? for my Evadne could not tell a
lie; speak, I shall love you, though that jewel's gone.
EVAD. I am as spotless, thank your happy self that sav'd
Me from those robbers, as the child which yet
Is but a jelly, 'tis so young.
GIO. No more, no more, trust me, I do believe you.
[They are] so many slaves, whose flaming appetites
Would in one night ravish a throng of virgins,
And never feel digression in their heat.
I'll after, and murder all.
EVAD. How do you?
GIO. Well, very well: belike, you think I am mad.
EVAD. You look distractedly.
GIO. 'Tis but your thoughts; indeed I am wondrous well.
How fair she looks after so foul a deed!
It cannot be she should be false to me:
No, thou art mad to think so. Fool, O fool!
Think'st thou those slaves, having so fair a mark,
Would not be shooting? Yes, they would: they have.
Evadne is fly-blown: I cannot love her.
[_Aside._]
EVAD. What say you, sweet?
GIO. The innocence that sits upon that face
Says she is chaste; the guilty cannot speak
So evenly as she does: guilty, said I?
Alas! it were not her fault, were she ravish'd.
O madness, madness! whither wilt thou bear me?
[_Aside._]
EVAD. His senses are unsettled; I'll go seek
Some holy man to rectify his wits.
Sweet, will you go unto some hermit's cell?
You look as you lack'd rest.
GIO. She speaks
Like to an angel, she's the same as when
I saw her first: as pure, as chaste. Did she
Retain the substance of a sinner--for she is none--
Her breath would then be sour, and betray
The rankness of the act: but her chaste sighs
Beget as sweet a dew as that of May.
Why weeps Evadne? truly I am not mad.
See, I am tame; pray, lead me where you please.
[_Exeunt._
_a banquet is set forth: enter_ PETRUCHIO, AURELIA, _with two
servants bringing_ ANTONIO _asleep in a chair, and set
him to the table_.
PET. The drink has done its part effectually;
'Twas a strong powder that could hold his senses
So fast, that this removing, so full of noise,
Had not the power to wake him.
AUR. Good father, let Aurelia, your daughter,
Do this same act of justice; let me tread
The pin:[33] the fact of his being so foul, so hateful,
Has lent me, though a maid, such fortitude.
PET. Thou hast thy wish, do't boldly; 'tis a deed
That, in the ignorance of elder ages,
Would be thought full of merit. Be not daunted.
AUR. I have a thought tells me it is religious
To sacrifice a murtherer to death;
Especially one that did act a deed
So generally accounted odious.
PET. By holy Jaques,[34] I am a governor,
And should my life (though by the hand of him
My duty does call king) be stroke i' th' air;
My injur'd corpse should not forsake the earth
Till I did see't reveng'd: be resolute, thy foot
Is guided by a power that, though unseen,
Is still a furtherer of good attempts.
AUR. Pray, sir, lend me the key of the back-ward,
For though my conscience tells me 'tis an act
I may hereafter boast of, yet I'll pass
Unto our Lady's chapel, when 'tis done,
To be confess'd, ere I am seen of any.
PET. I am proud to see thee so well given.
Take 'em, [my] girl, and with 'em take my prayers.
AUR. He wakes; pray, leave me, sir.
[_Exit_ PETRUCHIO.
So I'll make fast
The door: goodness, bear witness 'tis a potent
Power outweighs my duty.
ANT. Amazement! on what tenters do you stretch [me].
O, how this alteration wracks my reason! I m[ust try]
To find the axletree on which it hangs!
Am I asleep?
AUR. Shake off thy wonder; leave that seat; 'twas set
To sink thy body for ever from the eyes
Of human sight; to tell thee how would be
A fatal means to both our ruins----briefly,
My love has broke the bands of nature
With my father to give you being.
ANT. Happy, [O] happy vision! the bless'd preparative
To this same hour; my joy would burst me else.
AUR. Receive me to thy arms.
ANT. I would not wish to live but for thee: [but for thee,]
Life were a trouble; welcome to my soul.
AUR. Stand; I have a ceremony
To offer to our safety, ere we go.
[_She takes a dog, and ties it to the chair: she stamps: the
chair and dog descend: a pistol-shot within: a noise of
a mill._
Had not my love, like a kind branch
Of some o'erlooking tree, catch'd thee,
Thou'dst fallen, never to look upon the world again.
ANT. What shall I offer to my life's preserver?
AUR. Only thy heart, crown'd with a wreath of love.
Which I will ever keep; and in exchange
Deliver mine.
ANT. Thus I deliver: in this kiss receive't.
AUR. In the same form Aurelia yields up hers.
[_A noise._
ANT. What noise is that?
AUR. I fear my father.
ANT. What's to be done?
AUR. Through the back-ward, of which I have
The key, we'll suddenly make 'scape;
Then in two gowns, of which I am provided,
We'll clothe ourselves, till we be pass'd all fear.
ANT. Be't as you please: 'tis my good genius' will
That I obey--command; I'll follow still.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter_ PETRUCHIO _with servants_.
PET. She's gone unto her prayers; may every bead
Draw down a blessing on her, that like seed
May grow into a harvest: 'tis a girl
My age is proud of; she's indeed the model
Of her dead mother's virtues, as of shape.
Bear hence this banquet.
[_Exit with the banquet._
GIOVANNO _is discovered sleeping in the lap of_ EVADNE.
EVAD. Thou silent god, that with the leaden mace
Arresteth all save those prodigious birds,
That are fate's heralds to proclaim all ill;
Deafen Giovanno: let no fancied noise
Of ominous screech-owl's or night-raven's voice
Affright his quiet senses: let his sleep
Be free from horror or unruly dreams;
That may beget a tempest in the streams
Of his calm reason: let 'em run as smooth,
And with as great a silence, as those do
That never took an injury; where no wind
Had yet acquaintance: but like a smooth crystal
Dissolv'd into a water that ne'er frown'd,
Or knew a voice but music.
_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ AURELIA _in hermits' gowns_.
Holy hermits, for such your habits speak you,
Join your prayers with a distressed virgin's,
That the wits of this distracted young man may
Be settled.
ANT. Sure, 'tis my sister, and that
Sleeping man, Giovanno. She loves him still.
[_He wakes._
GIO. O, what a blessedness am I bereft of!
What pleasure has the least part of a minute
Stolen from my eyes? methought I did embrace
A brother and a friend; and both Antonio.
EVAD. Bless'd be those gentle powers that----
GIO. What, Evadne----have deceived my eyes,
Take heed, Evadne, worship not a dream,
'Tis of a smoky substance, and will shrink
Into the compass of report that 'twas,
And not reward the labour of a word.
Were it substantial! could I now but see
That man of men, I'd by my practice
Of religious prayers add to the calendar
One holy-day, and keep it once a year.
ANT. Behold Antonio!
EVAD. Brother!
[_To_ ANTONIO.
AUR. Brother!
[_To_ GIOVANNO.
ANT. What earthquake shakes my heart!
With what a speed she flew into his arms!
EVAD. Some power, that hearkens to the prayer of virgins,
Has been distill'd to pity at my fortunes,
And made Evadne happy.
AUR. Now my longing,
That was grown big, is with your sight delivered
Of a joy that will become a giant, and o'ercome me.
Welcome, thrice welcome, brother.
ANT. Ha, her brother! Fortune has bound me so
Much in their debts, I must despair to pay 'em:
Twice has my life been by these twins of goodness
Pluck'd from the hand of death; that fatal enmity
Between our houses here shall end,
Though my father at his death commanded me
To eternity of hatred.
What tie binds stronger than reprieve from death?
Come hither, friend. Now, brother, take her,
Thou'st been a noble tailor.
GIO. Be moderate, my joys, do not o'erwhelm me:
Here, take Aurelia: may you live happy!
O Antonio! this, this was the cause of my disguise;
Sebastiano could not win Evadne's love,
But Giovanno did; come now to our father's castle.
ANT. Pardon me; there is a bar, that does
Concern my life, forbids you as a friend
To think on going to any place
But to the tailor's house, which is not far.
Come: as we go, I will relate the cause.
AUR. Do, good brother.
EVAD. Go, good Sebastiano.
GIO. Sebastiano is your page, and bound to follow:
Lead on.
ANT. O noble temper, I admire thee! may
The world bring forth such tailors every day.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter three_ TAILORS _on a shop-board_.
1ST TAI. Come, come, let's work; for if my guesses point the
right, we shan't work long.
3D TAI. I care not how soon. I have a notable stomach to bread.
2D TAI. Dost hear, I suspect that courtier my master brought in
last night to be the king; which if it be, bullies, all the bread
in the town shan't satisfy us, for we will eat _Cum privilegio_.
1ST TAI. Come, let's have a device, a thing, a song, boy.
3D TAI. Come, an air----
THE SONG.
1ST TAI. _'Tis a merry life we live,
All our work is brought unto us;
Still are getting, never give,
For their clothes all men do woo us:
Yet (unkind) they blast our names
With aspersions of dishonour:
For which we make bold with their dames,
When we take our measure on her._
ALL TAI. _For which we, &c._
_Enter_ ANTONIO, GIOVANNO, _and the_ OLD TAILOR.
O. TAI. You see the life we live; (_To the_ TAILORS) cease.
ANT. O, 'tis a merry one.
GIO. It is no news to me, I have been us'd to't.
O. TAI. Now for discovery; the king as yet
Is ignorant of your names, and shall be
Till your merits beg your pardon.
My lord, you are for Machiavel; take this gown.
ANT. Pray for success.
[_Exit_ ANTONIO.
O. TAI. You, in this French disguise, for proud Philippa;
This is her garment. I hear the king: begone:
The Frenchman's folly sit upon your tongue.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter the_ KING, EVADNE, _and_ AURELIA.
KING. Believe me, tailor, you've outstripp'd the court,
For such perfections live not everywhere;
Nature was vex'd (as she's a very shrew),
She made all others in an angry mood;
These only she can boast for masterpieces:
The rest want something or in mind or form,
These are precisely made: a critic jury
Of cavilling arts cannot condemn a scruple.
AUR. But that your entrance in this formal speech
Betray'd you are a courtier, I had been angry
At your rank flattery.
KING. Can you say so?
EVAD. Sir, she has spoke my meaning.
KING. Friend, what are those beauties call'd.
[_Aside._
O. TAI. Your grace's pardon.
KING. Are they oracle, or is the knowledge fatal?
But that I know thy faith, this denial
Would conjure a suspicion in my breast;
Use thy prerogative; 'tis thy own house,
In which you are a king, and I your guest.
Come, ladies.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter_ ANTONIO _disguised like a physician_.
ANT. This habit will do well, and less suspected;
Wrapp'd i' this cover lives a kingdom's plague;
They kill with licence; Machi'vel's proud dame,
'Tis famed, is sick: upon my soul, howe'er
Her health may be, the aguish commons cry;
She's a disease they groan for: this disguise
Shall sift her ebon soul, and if she be
Infectious, like a megrim or rot limb,
The sword of justice must divide the joint
That holds her to the state-endanger'd body--
She comes.
_Enter_ MACHIAVEL, AURISTELLA _leaning on his arm, with two
Servants_.
MACH. Look up, my Auristella;
Better the sun forsake his course to bless
With his continuing beams th' Antipodes,
And we grovel for ever in eternal night,
Than death eclipse thy rich and stronger light.
Seek some physician: horror to my soul!
She faints; I'd rather lose the issue of my hopes
Than Auristella.
ANT. Issue of his hopes? strange!--
[_Aside._
MACH. The crown's enjoyment can yield no content
Without the presence of my Auristella.
ANT. Crown's enjoyment!
O villain!
MACH. Why stir you not? fetch me some skilful man,
My kingdom shall reward him; if his art
Chain her departing soul unto her flesh
But for a day, till she be crown'd a queen:
Fly, bring him unto this walk.
ANT. Stay,
Most honoured count--now for a forged link
Of flattery to chain me to his love.
[_Aside._
Having with studious care gone o'er the art
Folly terms magic, which more sublime souls
Skill'd i' the stars know is above that mischief,
I find you're born to be 'bove vulgar greatness,
Even to a throne: but stay, let's fetch this lady.
MACH. All greatness without her is slavery.
ANT. Use modest violence.
AUR. O!
ANT. Stand wider, give her air.
MACH. God-like physician, I and all that's mine,
Will at thy feet offer a sacrifice.
ANT. Forfend it, goodness; I--nay all,
Ere many hours [do] make the now young day
A type of sparkling youth, shall on their knees
Pray for your highness.
MACH. Look up, my Auristella, and be great;
Rise with the sun, but never to decline.
AUR. What have you done?
MACH. Wak'd thee to be a queen.
AUR. A queen! O, don't dissemble; you have robb'd me
Of greater pleasure than the fancied bliss
Elysium owns: O, for a pleasure real, that
Would appear in all unto my dream: that I may
Frown, and then kill: smile, and create again.
Were there a hell, as doating age would have,
To fright from lawless courses heedless youth:
For such a short-liv'd happiness as that
I would be lost unto eternity.
MACH. The day grows old in hours:
Come, Auristella, to the capital;
The greybeard senate shall on humble knees
Pay a religious sacrifice of praise
Unto thy demi-deity: the stars
Have in a general senate made thee queen
Of this our world. Great master of thy art,
Confirm my love.
ANT. Madam----
MACH. Nay, hear him, love;
Believe me, he's a man that may
Be secretary to the gods; he is alone
In art; 'twere sin to name a second: all are
Dunces to him.
ANT. How easy is the faith of the ambitious!
[_Aside._
MACH. Follow me to the council.
[_Exit._
AUR. Are you the man my husband speaks so high of?
Are you skill'd i' the stars?
ANT. Yes, madam.
AUR. Your habit says, or you abuse the custom,[35]
You're a physician?
ANT. Madam, I'm both.[36]
AUR. And d'ye find no let that stops my rising?
ANT. Not any.
AUR. Away, your skill is dull--dull to derision.
There is a star fix'd i' the heaven of greatness,
That sparkles with a rich and fresher light
Than our sick and defective taper.
ANT. It may be so the horoscope is troubled.
AUR. Confusion take your horoscope and you!
Can you with all your art advise my fears,
How to confound this constellation?
ANT. Death, how she conjures!
[_Aside._
Madam, I must search into the planets.
AUR. Planet me no planets; be a physician,
And from your study of industrious poisons
Fetch me your best-experienc'd speedy one,
And bring it to me straight: what 'tis to do,
Like unresolved riddles, [is] hid from you.
[_Exit._
ANT. Planet, said I? upon my life, no planet
Is so swift as her never-resting evil--
That is her tongue: well, I'll not question
What the poison is for; if for herself,
The common hangman's eas'd the labour
Of a blow; for if she live, her head
Must certain off; the poison I'll go get,
And give it her, then to the king:
If Sebastiano's Frenchified disguise
Purchase the like discovery, our eyes
Will be too scanty; we had need to be
All eye to watch such haughty villany.
[_Exit._
_Enter_ GIOVANNO _and_ PHILIPPA.
GIO. Begare, madam, me make de gowne so brave; O, de hole
vorle[37] be me patron; me ha vorke for le grand duches le
Shevere, le royne de Francia, Spagna, de Angleter, and all d'
fine madamosels.
PHIL. Nay, monsieur, to deprive desert of praise is unknown
language; troth, I use it not; nay, it is very well.
GIO. Be me trot, a, madam, me ner do ill, de English man do ill,
de Spanere do, de Duch, de all do ill but your Franchman, and,
begare, he do incomparable brave.
PHIL. Y' are too proud on't.
GIO. Begare, me no proud i de vorle, me speak be me trot de trut,
ang me no lie: metra, madam, begare, you have de find bode a de
vorle, O de fine brave big ting me have ever measure, me waire
fit it so pat.[38]
_Enter_ RAYMOND.
PHIL. Welcome, my lord!
Shall I still long, yet lose my longing still?
Is there no art to mount the lofty seat?
No engine that may make us ever great?
Must we be still styl'd subjects, and for fear
Our closest whispers reach the awing ear,
Not trust the wind?
RAY. Be calm, my love;
Ha! who have we here? an eavesdropper?
GIO. Me, signor, be pover a jentle homa a Franch
A votre commandement.
PHIL. My tailor.
GIO. Oui, monsieur, de madam tailor.
RAY. Some happy genius does attend my wishes,
Or, spirit-like, a page conducts unto me
The ministers whose sweat must send me ease:[39]
Come hither, Frenchman, canst thou rule thy tongue?
Art not too much a woman?
GIO. No, begare, me show someting for de man.
RAY. Or canst thou be like a perverse one--profess doggedness?
Be as a dead man dumb, briefly be this:
A friend to France, and with a silent speed
Post to our now approaching armed friends:
Tell them that Raymond, ere the hasty sand
Of a short hour be spent, shall be impal'd,
And on his brow, a deputy for France,
Support a golden wreath of kingly cares:
Bid 'em make haste to pluck my partner down
Into his grave; begone, as thou nursest
In thy breast thoughts that do thirst
For nobleness: be secret, and thou'rt made;
If not, thou'rt nothing. Mark, 'tis Raymond says it:
And, as I live, I breathe not, if my deeds
Appear not in a horror 'bove my words.
GIO. Begare, me no ned de threaten, me be as close to your
secret, or my lady's secrets, as de skin to de flesh--de flesh to
de bone: if me tell, call me de--vat de ye call de moder o de
dog, de bich; call me de son o de bich.
_Enter_ FULGENTIO.
FUL. Count Machiavel waits your honour i' th' hall.
RAY. Do't, and be more than common in our favour;
Here, take this ring for thy more credit:
Farewell, be quick and secret.
[_Exeunt._
GIO. Folly go
From my tongue, the French so nigh. And thou,
Half-ruin'd Spain, so wretchedly provided:
[O] strange, yet not; all countries have bred monsters:
'Tis a proverb--plain as true, and aged as 'tis both:[40]
_One tainted sheep mars a whole flock._
Machiavel, that tainted beast, whose spreading ills
Infecteth all, and by infecting kills.
I'll to the French, what he intends to be
Our ruin shall confound their villany.
[_Exit._
ACT V., SCENE 1.
_Enter the_ KING, ANTONIO, OLD TAILOR, EVADNE, AURELIA. _The_
KING _and_ ANTONIO _whisper_.
KING. For this discovery be still Antonio;
The frowning law may with a furrowed face
Hereafter look upon, but ne'er shall touch
Thy condemn'd body. Here from a king's hand
Take thy Aurelia; our command shall smoothe
The rising billows of her father's rage,
And charm it to a calm: let one be sent
To certify our pleasure. We would see him.
O. TAI. Your grace's will shall be in all obey'd.
KING. Thy loyal love makes thy king poor.
O. TAI. Let not your judgment, royal sir, be question'd.
To term that love was but a subject's duty.
[_Exit._
KING. You sent the poison, did you?
ANT. Yes, and it like your grace; the apothecary
Call'd it a strong provocative to madness.
KING. Did not he question what you us'd it for?
ANT. O, my disguise sav'd him that labour, sir;
My habit, that was more physician than myself,
Told him 'twas to despatch some property,[41]
That had been tortur'd with five thousand drugs
To try experiment: another man
Shan't buy the quantity of so much ratsbane
Shall kill a flea, but shall be had, forsooth,
Before a justice, be question'd; nay, perhaps
Confin'd to peep through an iron grate:
When your physician may poison who [pleaseth him],
Not, _cum privilegio_: it is his trade.
_Enter_ GIOVANNO.
EVAD. O my Sebastiano!
GIO. Peace, my Evadne, the king must not yet know me.
EVAD. My brother has already made you known.
GIO. Will't please your highness?
KING. What, Sebastiano, to be still a king
Of universal Spain without a rival?
Yes, it does please me, and you ministers
Of my still growing greatness shall ere long
Find I am pleas'd with you, that boldly durst
Pluck from the fixed arm of sleeping justice.
Her long-sheath'd sword, and whet the rusty blade
Upon the bones of Mach'vel, and his
Confederate rebels.
GIO. That, my lord, is yet
To do: let him mount higher, that
His fall may be too deep for resurrection;[42]
They're gone to the great hall, whither will't please
Your grace disguis'd to go? your person by
Our care shall be secure. Their French troops I
Have sent as useless into France, by virtue
Of Raymond's ring, which he gave me to bid
The general by that token to march
To this city.
KING. What say the colonels?
Will they assist me?
ANT. Doubt not, my lord.
KING. Come, then, let's go guarded, with such as you
'Twere sin to fear, were all the world untrue.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter_ TAILORS.
O. TAI. Now for the credit of tailors.
3D TAI. Nay, master, and we do not act, as they say, with any
players in the globe of the world, let us be baited like a bull
for a company of strutting coxcombs: nay, we can act, I can tell
you.
O TAI. Well, I must to the king; see you be perfect. I'll move it
to his highness.
[_Exit._
1ST TAI. Now, my masters, are we to do; d'ye mark me? do--
3D TAI.[43] Do! what do?--Act, act, you fool you: do, said you,
what do? you a player, you a plasterer, a mere dirt-dauber, and
not worthy to be mentioned with Vermin, that exact actor: do, I
am asham'd on't, fie!
2D TAI. Well said, Vermin, thou ticklest him, faith.
4TH TAI. Do, pah!
1ST TAI. Well, play; we are to play a play.
3D TAI. Play a play a play, ha, ha, ha! O egredious
nonsensensical widgeon, thou shame to our cross-legged
corporation; thou fellow of a sound, play a play! why
forty-pound Golding of the beggars' theatre speaks better, yet
has a mark for the sage audience to exercise their dexterity, in
throwing of rotten apples, whilst my stout actor pockets, and
then eats up, the injury: play a play! it makes my worship laugh,
i' faith.
2D TAI. To him, Vermin; thou bitt'st him, i' faith.
1ST TAI. Well, act a play before the king.
2D TAI. What play shall we act?
3D TAI. To fret the French the more, we will act _Strange but
True, or the Stradling Mounsieur, with the Neapolitan gentleman
between his legs_.
2D TAI. That would not act well.
3D TAI. O giant of incomparable ignorance! that would not act
well, ha, ha! that would not do well, you ass, you!
2D TAI. You bit him for saying _do_: Vermin, leave biting; you'd
best.
1ST TAI. What say you to our Spanish Bilbo?
3D TAI. Who, Jeronimo?
1ST TAI. Ay.
3D TAI. That he was a mad rascal to stab himself.
1ST TAI. But shall we act him?
2D TAI. Ay, let us do him.
3D TAI. Do again, ha!
2D TAI. No, no, let us act him.
3D TAI. I am content.
1ST TAI. Who shall act the ghost?
3D TAI. Why, marry that will I--I Vermin.
1ST TAI. Thou dost not look like a ghost.
3D TAI. A little player's deceit, howe'er,[44] will do't. Mark me.
I can rehearse, make me rehearse some:[45]
"When this eternal substance of the soul
Did live emprison'd in my wanton flesh,
I was a tailor in the court of Spain."
2D TAI. Courtier Vermin in the court of Spain.
3D TAI. Ay, there's a great many courtiers _Vermin_ indeed:
Those are they beg poor men's livings;
But, I say, tailor Vermin is a court-tailor.
2D TAI. Who shall act Jeronimo?
3D TAI. That will I:
Mark if I do not gape wider than the widest
Mouth'd fowler of them all, hang me!
"Who calls Jeronimo from his naked bed? ha-ugh?"
Now for the passionate part--
"Alas! it is my son Horatio."
1ST TAI. Very fine: but who shall act Horatio?
2D TAI. Ay, who shall do your son?
3D TAI. What do, do again? well, I will act Horatio.
2D TAI. Why, you are his father.
3D TAI. Pray, who is fitter to act the son than the father
That begot him?
1ST TAI. Who shall act Prince Balthazar and the king?
3D TAI. I will do Prince Balthazar too: and, for the king,
Who but I? which of you all has such a face for a king,
Or such a leg to trip up the heels of a traitor?
2D TAI. You will do all, I think.
3D TAI. Yes, marry, will I; who but Vermin? yet I will
Leave all to play the king:
Pass by, Jeronimo!
2D TAI. Then you are for the king?
3D TAI. Ay, bully, ay.
1ST TAI. Let's go seek our fellows, and to this gear.
3D TAI. Come on then.
[_Exeunt._
_A table and stools set. Enter_ BRAVO.
BRA. Men of our needful profession, that deal in such commodities
as men's lives, had need to look about 'em ere they traffic: I am
to kill Raymond, the devil's cousin-german, for he wears the same
complexion: but there is a right devil that hath hired me--that's
Count Machiavel. Good table, conceal me; here will I wait my
watchword: but stay, have I not forgot it--_Then_--Ay, then is my
arm to enter. I hear them coming.
[_Goes under the table._
_Enter the_ KING, ANTONIO, OLD TAILOR, EVADNE, AURELIA,
_above_. MACHIAVEL, RAYMOND, PHILIPPA, AURISTELLA,
GIOVANNO, _the Colonels with a Guard below_.
MACH. Pray, take your seats.
RAY. [_To_ PHILIPPA.] Not well? prythee, retire.
PHIL. Sick, sick at heart.
AUR. Well-wrought poison! O, how joy swells me!
[_Aside._
ANT. You see, my lord, the poison is box'd up.
[_Above._
PHIL. Health wait upon this royal company.
KING. Knows she we are here?
ANT. O no, my lord, 'tis to the twins of treason:
Machiavel and Raymond.
FUL. Royal! there's something in't.
ALER. It smells rank o' th' traitor.
PAN. Are you i' th' wind on't?
AUR. Will you leave us?
PHIL. I cannot stay; O, I am sick to death!
[_Exit._
AUR. Or I'll never trust poison more.
[_Aside._
MACH. Pray, seat yourselves,
Gentlemen; though your deserts have merit,
[_They sit about the table._
And your worths have deserv'd nobly;
But ingratitude, that should be banish'd
From a prince's breast, is Philip's favourite.
KING. [_Above._] Philip, traitor! why not king? I am so.
ANT. Patience, good my lord; I'll down.
[_Exit._
MACH. It lives too near him:
You, that have ventur'd with expense of blood
And danger of your lives, to rivet him
Unto his seat with peace: you, that in war
He term'd his Atlases, and press'd with praises
Your brawny shoulders; call'd you his Colossuses,
And said your looks frighted tall war
Out of his territories: now in peace [behold]
The issue of your labour. This bad man--
Philip, I mean--made of ingratitude,
Wo' not afford a name, that may distinguish
Your worthy selves from cowards; [while]
Civet cats spotted with rats'-dung,
Or a face, like white broth strew'd o'er with currants
For a stirring caper or itching dance, to please
My lady Vanity, shall be made a smock-knight.
KING. [_Above._] Villain! must our disgrace mount thee?
FUL. To what tends this?
ALER. What means Count Machiavel?
_Enter_ ANTONIO _below_.
AUR. To be your king; fie on this circumstance!
My longing will not brook it: say,
Will you obey us as your kings and queens.
[_Aside._
FUL. My Lord Antonio!
ANT. Confine yourselves, the king is within hearing; therefore
make show of liking Machiavel's plot: let him mount high, his
fall will be the deeper: my life, you shall be safe.
[_Aside._
AUR. Say, are you agreed?
RAY. If not, we'll force you to't:
Speak, Frenchman, are our forces i' th' city?
GIO. Oui, mounsier.
ALER. }
FUL. } We acknowledge you our king.
PAN. }
KING. More traitors!
MACH. Why----_then_.
[_The_ BRAVO _stabs_ RAYMOND.
RAY. Ha! from whence this sudden mischief?
Did you not see a hand arm'd with the fatal
Ruin of my life?
GIO. Non pas, signor.
MACH. Ha, ha, ha! lay hold on those French soldiers:
Away with them!
[_Exeunt Guard with the French Colonels._
RAY. Was't thy plot, Machiavel? go laughing to thy grave.
[_Stabs him._
AUR. Alas! my lord is wounded.
RAY. Come hither, Frenchman, make a dying man
Bound to thy love; go to Philippa,
Sickly as she is, bring her unto me;
Or my flying soul will not depart in peace else:
Prythee, make haste: yet stay, I have not breath
To pay thy labour.
Shrink ye, you twin-born Atlases, that bear
This my near-ruin'd world; have you not strength
To bear a curse, whose breath may taint the air,
That this globe may feel an universal plague?
No; yet bear up, till with a vengeful eye
I outstare day, and from the dogged sky
Pluck my impartial star. O, my blood
Is frozen in my veins--farewell, revenge--me--
[_Dies._
ALER. They need no law.
FUL. Nor hangman.
PAN. They condemn and execute without a jury.
_Enter_ PHILIPPA _mad_.
PHIL. I come, I come; nay, fly not, for by hell
I'll pluck thee by the beard, and drag thee thus
Out of thy fiery cave. Ha! on yonder hill
Stand troops of devils waiting for my soul:
But I'll deceive 'em, and, instead of mine,
Send this same spotted tiger's.
[_Stabs_ AURISTELLA.
AUR. O!
PHIL. So, whilst they to hell
Are posting with their prize, I'll steal to heaven:
Wolf, dost thou grin? ha! is my Raymond dead?
So ho, so ho! come back
You sooty fiends, that have my Raymond's soul,
Or[46] lay it down, or I will force you do't:
No, won't you stir? by Styx, I'll bait you for't:
Where is my crown? Philippa was a queen,
Was she not, ha? Why so, where is my crown?
O, you have hid it--ha, was't thou
[_Overthrows the table._
That robb'd Philippa of her Raymond's life?
Nay, I will nip your wings, you shall not fly;
I'll pluck you by the guarded front, and thus
Sink you to hell before me.
[_Stabs the_ BRAVO.
BRAVO. O, O!
PHIL. What, down, ho, ho, ho!
Laugh, laugh, you souls that fry in endless flames;
Ha, whence this chilness--must I die? Nay, then
I come, I come; nay, weep not, for I come:
Sleep, injur'd shadow; O, death strikes [me] dumb!
[_Dies._
AUR. Machi'vel, thy hand, I can't repent, farewell:
My burthened conscience sinks me down to hell.
[_Dies._
MACH. I cannot tarry long, farewell; we'll meet,
Where we shall never part: if here be any
My life has injur'd, let your charity
Forgive declining Machi'vel: I'm sorry.
ANT. His penitence works strongly on my temper.
Off, disguise; see, falling count, Antonio forgives thee.
MACH. Antonio? O my shame!
Can you, whom I have injur'd most, pardon my guilt?
Give me thy hand yet nearer: this embrace
Betrays thee to thy death: ha, ha, ha!
[_Stabs him._
So weeps the Egyptian monster when it kills,
Wash'd in a flood of tears; couldst ever think
Machi'vel's repentance could come from his heart?
No, down, Colossus, author of my sin,
And bear the burthen mingled with thine own,
To finish thy damnation.
_Enter the_ KING, AURELIA, EVADNE, OLD TAILOR.
KING. Accursed villain! thou hast murther'd him,
That holds not one small drop of royal blood,
But what is worth thy life.
EVAD. O my brother!
GIO. Give him some air, the wound cannot be mortal.
AUR. Alas! he faints: O my Antonio!
Curs'd Machi'vel, may thy soul----
ANT. Peace, peace, Aurelia; be more merciful:
Men are apt to censure, and will condemn
Thy passion, call it madness, and say thou
Want'st religion: nay, weep not, sweet,
For every one must die: it was thy love
For to deceive the law, and give me life:
But death, you see, has reach'd me: O, I die;
Blood must have blood, so speaks the law of heaven:
I slew the governor; for which rash deed
Heaven, fate, and man thus make Antonio bleed.
[_Dies._
MACH. Sleep, sleep, great heart, thy virtue made me ill:
Authors of vice, 'tis fit the vicious kill:
But yet forgive me: O, my once great heart
Dissolves like snow, and lessens to a rheum,
Cold as the envious blasts of northern wind:
World, how I lov'd thee, 'twere a sin to boast;
Farewell, I now must leave thee; [for] my life
Grows empty with my veins: I cannot stand; my breath
Is, as my strength, weak; and both seiz'd by death.
Farewell, ambition! catching at a crown,
Death tripp'd me up, and headlong threw me down.
[_Dies._
KING. So falls an exhalation from the sky,
And's never miss'd because unnatural;
A birth begotten by incorporate ill;
Whose usher to the gazing world is wonder.
_Enter_ PETRUCHIO.
Alas! good man, thou'rt come unto a sight
Will try thy temper, whether joy or grief
Shall conquer most within thee; joy lies here,
Scatter'd in many heaps: these, when they liv'd,
Threaten'd to tear this balsam from our brow,
And rob our majesty of this elixir.
[_Points to his crown._
Is't not my right? Was I not heir to Spain?
PET. You are our prince, and may you live
Long to enjoy your right!
KING. But now look here, 'tis plain grief has a hand
Harder than joy; it presses out such tears.
Nay, rise.
PET. I do beseech your grace not to think me
Contriver of Antonio's 'scape from death;
'Twas my disloyal daughter's breach of duty.
KING. That's long since pardon'd.
PET. You're still merciful.
KING. Antonio was thy son; I sent for thee
For to confirm it, but he is dead:
Be merciful, and do not curse the hand
That gave it him, though it deserve it.
AUR. O my griefs, are you not strong enough
To break my heart? Pray, tell me--tell me true
Can it be thought a sin? or is it so
By my own hand to ease my breast of woe?
KING. Alas! poor lady, rise; thy father's here.
PET. Look up, Aurelia; ha! why do you kneel?
[_To_ GIOVANNO.
GIO. For a blessing.
PET. Why she is not Aurelia----do not mock me.
KING. But he is Sebastiano, and your son;
Late by our hand made happy by enjoying
The fair Evadne, dead Antonio's sister:
[Her,] for whose sake he became a tailor,
And so long lived in that mean disguise.
PET. My joy had been too great if he had liv'd;
The thrifty heavens mingle our sweets with gall,
Lest, being glutted with excess of good,
We should forget the giver. Rise, Sebastiano,
With thy happy choice; may'st thou live crown'd
With the enjoyment of those benefits
My prayers shall beg for [thee]: rise, Aurelia,
And in some place, bless'd with religious prayers,
Spend thy left remnant.[47]
AUR. You advise well: indeed, it was a fault
To break the bonds of duty and of law;
But love, O love! thou, whose all-conquering pow'r
Builds castles on the hearts of easy maids,
And makes 'em strong e'en to[48] attempt those dangers
That, but rehears'd before, would fright their souls
Into a jelly. Brother, I must leave you;
And, father, when I send to you a note
That shall desire a yearly stipend to
That holy place my tired feet has found
To rest them in, pray, confirm it.
And now, great king, Aurelia begs of you
To grace Antonio in the mournful march
Unto his grave, which be where you think fit:
We need not be interr'd both in one vault.
KING. Bless'd virgin, thy desires I will perform.
AUR. Then I leave you; my prayers shall still attend you,
As I hope yours shall accompany me.
Father, your blessing, and ere long expect
To hear where I am entertain'd a nun.
Brother and sister, to you both adieu;
Antonio dead, Aurelia marries new.
[_Exit._
PET. Farewell, [my] girl; when I remember thee,
The beads I drop shall be my tears.
_Enter_ VERMIN _in a cloak for the prologue_.
KING. She's to all virgins a true mirror.
They that would behold true love, reflect on her:
There 'tis engross'd.
3D TAI. Great king, our grace----
O. TAI. The king is sad, you must not act.
3D TAI. How? not act? Shall not Vermin act?
O. TAI. Yes, you shall act, but not now; the king is indispos'd.
3D TAI. Well, then, some other time, I, Vermin; the king will act
before the king.
O. TAI. Very good; pray, make your _exit_.
3D TAI. I'll muster up all the tailors in the town, and so tickle
their sides.
[_The_ KING _and_ GIOVANNO _whisper_.
O. TAI. Nay, thou'rt a right Vermin; go, be not troublesome.
[_Exit_ VERMIN.
GIO. Upon my truth and loyalty, great king, what they did was but
feign'd, merely words without a heart: 'twas by Antonio's counsel.
KING. Thou art all truth: rise.
[_The Colonels kneel._
OMNES. Long live King Philip in the calm of peace to exercise his
regal clemency!
KING. Take up Antonio's body, and let the rest
Find Christian burial: mercy befits a king.
Come, trusty tailor,
And to all countries let swift fame report
King Philip made a tailor's house his court.
O. TAI. Your grace much honours me.
KING. We can't enough pay thy alone deserts;
Kings may be poor when subjects are like thee,
So fruitful in all loyal virtuous deeds:
March with the body, we'll perform all rites
Of sable ceremony: that done,
We'll to our court, since all our own is won.
[_Exeunt._[49]
* * * * *
LUST'S DOMINION
OR
THE LASCIVIOUS QUEEN.
_EDITION._
_Lusts Dominion; or, The Lascivious Queen. A Tragedie. Written by
Christofer Marloe, Gent. London, Printed for F. K., and are to
be sold by Robert Pollard, at the sign of Ben Johnson's head,
on the back-side of the Old-Exchange._ 1657. 12^{mo}.
DRAMATIS PERSONA†.
ELEAZAR, _the Moor, Prince of Fez and Barbary_.
PHILIP, _King of Spain, father to Fernando, Philip, and Isabella_.
FERNANDO, _King of Spain_, }
} _sons to Philip_.
PHILIP, _Prince of Spain_, }
ALVERO, _a nobleman, and father-in-law to Eleazar, and father to
Hortenzo and Maria_.
MENDOZA, _the cardinal_.
CHRISTOFERO, }
} _two noblemen of Spain_.
RODERIGO, }
HORTENZO, _lover to Isabella, and son to Alvero_.
ZARACK, }
} _two Moors attending Eleazar_.
BALTHAZAR, }
COLE, }
} _two friars_.
CRAB, }
EMMANUEL, _King of Portugal_.
CAPTAIN, SOLDIERS, _cum aliis_.
_Two Pages attending the queen._
THE QUEEN-MOTHER OF SPAIN, _and wife to King Philip_.
ISABELLA, _the Infanta of Spain_.
MARIA, _wife to Eleazar, and daughter to Alvero_.
_The Scene, Spain._
PREFACE.
[This play was printed in 12^o, 1657 and 1661, with the name of
Christopher Marlowe on the title as the author, than which few
things are more improbable. Yet Dilke, who printed the piece in
his series (1816), believed it to be really by Marlowe, and
considered it superior to his "Faustus." He observes:] "In
particular passages, and some whole scenes, 'Faustus' has great
beauties; but it must have been principally indebted for its
success to the superstitious ignorance of the times; 'Lust's
Dominion' is a much better play." Dilke continues, "It was
altered by Mrs Behn, and performed at the Duke of York's Theatre
in 1671, under the title of 'Abdelazar;' and probably furnished
hints for the admirable tragedy of 'The Revenge.' But,
notwithstanding the luxuriance of imagery in the first scenes,
the exquisite delicacy of the language that is throughout given
to Maria, and the great beauty of parts, 'it has too much of
"King Cambyses'" vein--rape, and murder, and superlatives;' and
if the stage be intended as a portraiture of real character, such
representations tend only to excite a disgust and abhorrence of
human nature: with the exception of the innocent Maria, the
fiery Philip, Isabella, Alvero, and Hortenzo, there is not one
with whom our feelings hold communion. The open representation of
the Devil in 'Faustus' is less offensive than the introduction of
him here in the garb of a Moor; but the philanthropy of our
ancestors was not shocked at any representation of an African or
an Israelite."
Mr Collier[50] remarks, "Thomas Dekker, in partnership with
William Haughton and John Day, was the author of 'The Spanish
Moor's Tragedy,' which Malone, by a strange error, calls 'The
Spanish Morris,' but he gives the right date, January 1599-1600.
The mistake was more important than it may appear at first sight,
as 'The Spanish Moor's Tragedy' was most likely the production
called 'Lust's Dominion,' not printed until 1657, and falsely
attributed to Marlowe. A Spanish Moor is the hero of it, and the
date in Henslowe, of January 1599-1600, corresponds with that of
a tract upon which some of the scenes are even verbally founded.
That Marlowe, who was killed in 1593, and could not, therefore,
be the author of it, requires no further proof."
LUST'S DOMINION;
OR,
THE LASCIVIOUS QUEEN.
ACT I., SCENE 1.
_Enter_ ZARACK, BALTHAZAR, _two Moors, taking tobacco; music
sounding within_. _Enter_ QUEEN-MOTHER OF SPAIN _with two_
PAGES. ELEAZAR, _sitting on a chair, suddenly draws the
curtain_.[51]
ELE. On me does music spend this sound! on me,
That hate all unity! ah, Zarack! [ah,] Balthazar!
QUEEN-M. My gracious lord.
ELE. Are you there with your beagles! hark, you slaves!
Did not I bind you on your lives to watch
That none disturb'd us?
QUEEN-M. Gentle Eleazar.
ELE. There, off: is't you that deaf me with this noise?
[_Exeunt two Moors._
QUEEN-M. Why is my love's aspA"ct so grim and horrid?
Look smoothly on me;
Chime out your softest strains of harmony,
And on delicious music's silken wings
Send ravishing delight to my love's ears,
That he may be enamoured of your tunes.
Come, let's kiss.
ELE. Away, away!
QUEEN-M. No, no says ay; and twice away says stay:
Come, come, I'll have a kiss; but if you strive,
For one denial you shall forfeit five.
ELE. Nay, prythee, good queen, leave me;
I am now sick and heavy, dull[52] as lead.
QUEEN-M. I'll make thee lighter by taking something from thee.
ELE. Do: take from me this ague and these fits
That, hanging on me,
Shake me in pieces, and set all my blood
A-boiling with the fire of rage: away, away!
Thou believ'st I jest,
And laugh'st to see
My wrath wear antic shapes! Begone, begone!
QUEEN-M. What means my love?
Burst all those wires, burn all those instruments;
For they displease my Moor. Art thou now pleas'd?
Or wert thou now disturb'd? I'll wage all Spain
To one sweet kiss, this is some new device
To make me fond and long. O, you men
Have tricks to make poor women die for you.
ELE. What, die for me? away!
QUEEN-M. Away, what way? I prythee, speak more kindly;
Why dost thou frown? at whom?
ELE. At thee.
QUEEN-M. At me!
O, why at me? For each contracted frown
A crooked wrinkle interlines my brow:
Spend but one hour in frowns, and I shall look
Like to a beldame of one hundred years.
I prythee, speak to me, and chide me not.
I prythee, chide, if I have done amiss;
But let my punishment be this and this.
[_Kiss._
I prythee, smile on me, if but awhile,
Then frown on me, I'll die: I prythee, smile.
Smile on me, and these two wanton boys,
These pretty lads that do attend on me,
Shall call thee Jove, shall wait upon thy cup,
And fill thee nectar: their enticing eyes
Shall serve as crystal, wherein thou may'st see
To dress thyself, if thou wilt smile on me.
Smile on me, and with coronets of pearl
And bells of gold, circling their pretty arms,
In a round ivory fount these two shall swim,
And dive to make thee sport:
Bestow one smile, one little, little smile,
And in a net of twisted silk and gold
In my all-naked arms thyself shall lie.
ELE. Why, what to do? Lust's arms do stretch so wide
That none can fill them. I lie there? away![53]
QUEEN-M. Where hast thou learn'd this language, that can say
No more but two rude words, _away, away_?
Am I grown ugly now?
ELE. Ugly as hell.
QUEEN-M. Thou lov'dst me once.
ELE. That can thy bastards tell.
QUEEN-M. What is my sin? I will amend the same.
ELE. Hence, strumpet! use of sin makes thee past shame.
QUEEN-M. Strumpet!
ELE. Ay, strumpet.
QUEEN-M. Too true 'tis, woe is me;
I am a strumpet, but made so by thee.
ELE. By me!
No, no, by these young bawds: fetch thee a glass,
And thou shalt see the balls of both thine eyes
Burning in fire of lust. By me! There's here,
Within this hollow cistern of thy breast,
A spring of hot blood: have not I, to cool it,
Made an extraction to the quintessence
Even of my soul: melted all my spirits,
Ravish'd my youth, deflow'r'd my lovely cheeks,
And dried this, this to an anatomy,
Only to feed your lust?--these boys have ears--
[_In a whisper._]
Yet wouldst thou murder me.
QUEEN-M. I murder thee!
ELE. I cannot ride through the Castilian streets
But thousand eyes, through windows and through doors,
Throw killing looks at me; and every slave
At Eleazar darts a finger out,
And every hissing tongue cries, "There's the Moor;
That's he that makes a cuckold of our king;
There goes the minion of the Spanish queen;
That's the black prince of devils; there goes he
That on smooth boys, on masques and revellings,
Spend[s] the revenues of the King of Spain."
Who arms this many-headed beast but you?
Murder and lust are twins, and both are thine.
Being weary of me, thou wouldst worry me,
Because some new love makes thee loathe thine old.
QUEEN-M. Eleazar!
ELE. Harlot, I'll not hear thee speak.
QUEEN-M. I'll kill myself unless thou hear'st me speak.
My husband-king upon his deathbed lies,
Yet have I stol'n from him to look on thee:
A queen hath made herself thy concubine,
Yet dost thou now abhor me; hear me speak,
Else shall my sons plague thy adult'rous wrongs,
And tread upon thy heart for murdering me:
This tongue hath murder'd me. Cry murder, boys.
[_The_ QUEEN _shouts_.]
TWO BOYS. Murder! the queen's murder'd!
ELE. Love, slaves, peace!
TWO BOYS. Murder! the queen's murder'd!
ELE. Stop your throats!
Hark! hush, you squaller. Dear love, look up:
Our chamber-window stares into the court,
And every wide-mouth'd ear, hearing this news,
Will give alarum to the cuckold king:
I did dissemble when I chid my love,
And that dissembling was to try my love.
QUEEN-M. Thou call'dst me strumpet.
ELE. I'll tear out my tongue
From this black temple for blaspheming thee.
QUEEN-M. And when I woo'd thee but to smile on me,
Thou cri'dst away, away, and frown'dst upon me.
ELE. Come, now
I will kiss thee; now I'll smile upon thee;
Call to thy ashy cheeks their wonted red;
Come, frown not, pout not; smile, smile upon me,
And with my poniard will I stab my flesh,
And quaff carouses to thee of my blood;
Whilst in moist nectar kisses thou dost pledge me.
How now, why star'st thou thus?
[_Knock._
_Enter_ ZARACK.
ZAR. The king is dead!
ELE. Ah, dead! [ah, dead!] You hear this?
Is't true, is't true? The king [is] dead!
Who dare knock thus?
ZAR. It is the cardinal
Making inquiry if the queen were here.
Ele. See, she is here, [go] tell him; and yet [no--]
Zarack, stay.
_Enter_ BALTHAZAR.
BAL. Don Roderigo's come to seek the queen.
ELE. Why should Roderigo seek her here?
BAL. The king hath swooned thrice; and, being recovered,
Sends up and down the court to seek her grace.
ELE. The king was dead with you. [_To_ ZARACK.] Run, and with a
voice
Erected high as mine, say thus, thus threaten,
To Roderigo and the cardinal:
Seek no queens here, I'll broach them, if they do,
Upon my falchion's point:
[_Knock again._
Again! more knocking!
ZAR. Your father is at hand, my gracious lord.
ELE. Lock all the chambers, bar him out, you apes:
Hither, a vengeance! stir, Eugenia,
You know your old walk underground; away!
So down, hie to the king; quick, quick, you squalls,
Crawl with your dam i' th' dark; dear love, farewell:
One day I hope to shut you up in hell.
[ELEAZAR _shuts them in_.
SCENE II.
_Enter_ ALVERO.
ALV. Son Eleazar, saw you not the queen?
ELE. Hah!
ALV. Was not the queen here with you?
ELE. Queen with me!
Because, my lord, I'm married to your daughter,
You, like your daughter, will grow jealous:
The queen with me! with me a Moor, a devil,
A slave of Barbary, a dog--for so
Your silken courtiers christen me. But, father,
Although my flesh be tawny, in my veins
Runs blood as red, as royal, as the best
And proudest in Spain; there does, old man.
My father, who with his empire lost his life,
And left me captive to a Spanish tyrant,--
O! Go tell him, _Spanish tyrant_; tell him, do.
He that can lose a kingdom, and not rave,
He's a tame jade; I am not: tell old Philip
I call him tyrant; here's a sword and arms,
A heart, a head, and so, pish!--'tis but death.
Old fellow, she's not here: but ere I die,
Sword, I'll bequeath thee a rich legacy.
ALV. Watch fitter hours to think on wrongs than now;
Death's frozen hand holds royal Philip's heart;
Half of his body lies within a grave;
Then do not now by quarrels shake that state,
Which is already too much ruinate.
Come, and take leave of him, before he die.
[_Exit._
ELE. I'll follow you. Now, purple villany,
Sit like a robe imperial on my back,
That under thee I closelier may contrive
My vengeance; foul deeds hid do sweetly thrive.
Mischief, erect thy throne, and sit in state
Here, here upon this head; let fools fear fate,
Thus I defy my stars. I care not, I,
How low I tumble down, so I mount high:
Old Time, I'll wait bareheaded at thy heels,
And be a footboy to thy winged hours;
They shall not tell one minute out in sands,
But I'll set down the number; I'll still wake,
And waste these balls of sight by tossing them
In busy observations upon thee.
Sweet opportunity! I'll bind myself
To thee in base apprenticehood so long,
Till on thy naked scalp grow hair as thick
As mine; and all hands shall lay hold on thee,
If thou wilt lend me but thy rusty scythe,
To cut down all that stand within my wrongs
And my revenge. Love, dance in twenty forms
Upon my beauty, that this Spanish dame
May be bewitch'd and doat; her amorous flames
Shall blow up the old king, consume his sons,
And make all Spain a bonfire. This
Tragedy being acted, hers doth begin:
To shed a harlot's blood can be no sin.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
_The Curtain being drawn, there appears in his bed_ KING
PHILIP, _with his Lords; the_ PRINCESS ISABELLA _at the
feet_, MENDOZA, ALVERO, HORTENZO, FERNANDO, RODERIGO;
_and to them enter_ QUEEN _in haste_.
QUEEN-M. Whose was that screech-owl's voice that, like the sound
Of a hell-tortur'd soul, rung through mine ears
Nothing but horrid shrieks, nothing but death?
Whilst I, vailing my knees to the cold earth,
Drowning my wither'd cheeks in my warm tears,
And stretching out my arms to pull from heaven
Health for the royal majesty of Spain,
All cried, the majesty of Spain is dead!
That last word _dead_ struck through the echoing air
Rebounded on my heart, and smote me down
Breathless to the cold earth, and made me leave
My prayers for Philip's life; but, thanks to heaven,
I see him live, and lives (I hope) to see
Unnumber'd years to guide this empery.
KING P. The number of my years ends in one day:
Ere this sun's down, all a king's glory sets,
For all our lives are but death-counterfeits.
Father Mendoza, and you peers of Spain,
Dry your wet eyes; for sorrow wanteth force
T' inspire a breathing soul in a dead corse;
Such is your king. Where's Isabella, our daughter?
MEN. At your bed's feet, confounded in her tears.
KING P. She of your grief the heaviest burthen bears;
You can but lose a king, but she a father.
QUEEN-M. She bear the heaviest burthen! O, say rather
I bear, and am borne down; my sorrowing
Is for a husband's loss, loss of a king.
KING P. No more. Alvero, call the princess hither.
ALV. Madam, his majesty doth call for you.
KING P. Come hither, Isabella, reach a hand,
Yet now it shall not need: instead of thine,
Death, shoving thee back, clasps his hands in mine,
And bids me come away: I must, I must,
Though kings be gods on earth, they turn to dust.
Is not Prince Philip come from Portugal?
ROD. The prince as yet is not return'd, my lord.
KING P. Commend me to him, if I ne'er behold him.
This tells the order of my funeral;
Do it as 'tis set down; embalm my body;
Though worms do make no difference of flesh,
Yet kings are curious here to dig their graves;
Such is man's frailty: when I am embalm'd,
Apparel me in a rich royal robe,
According to the custom of the land;
Then place my bones within that brazen shrine,
Which death hath builded for my ancestors;
I cannot name death, but he straight steps in
And pulls me by the arm.
FER. His grace doth faint;
Help me, my lords, softly to raise him up.
_Enter_ ELEAZAR, _and stands sadly by_.
KING P. Lift me not up, I shortly must go down.
When a few dribbling minutes have run out,
Mine hour is ended. King of Spain, farewell;
You all acknowledge him your sovereign?
ALL. When you are dead, we will acknowledge him.
KING P. Govern this kingdom well; to be a king
Is given to many, but to govern well
Granted to few. Have care to Isabel;
Her virtue was King Philip's looking-glass;
Reverence the queen your mother; love your sister
And the young prince your brother: even that day,
When Spain shall solemnise my obsequies,
And lay me up in earth, let them crown you.
Where's Eleazar, Don Alvero's son?
FER. Yonder, with cross'd arms, stands he malcontent.
KING P. I do commend him to thee for a man
Both wise and warlike; yet beware of him:
Ambition wings his spirit; keep him down.
What will not men attempt to win a crown?
Mendoza is protector of thy realm,
I did elect him for his gravity;
I trust he'll be a father to thy youth.
Call help, Fernando, now I faint indeed.
FER. My lords!
KING. P. Let none with a distracted voice
Shriek out, and trouble me in my departure.
Heaven's hands, I see, are beckoning for my soul;
I come, I come; thus do the proudest die;
Death hath no mercy, life no certainty.
[_Dies._
MEN. As yet his soul's not from her temple gone:
Therefore forbear loud lamentation.
QUEEN-M. O, he's dead, he's dead! lament and die;
In her king's end begins Spain's misery.
ISA. He shall not end so soon. Father, dear father!
FER. Forbear, sweet Isabella: shrieks are vain.
ISA. You cry forbear; you by his loss of breath
Have won a kingdom, you may cry forbear:
But I have lost a father and a king,
And no tongue shall control my sorrowing.
HOR. Whither, good Isabella?
ISA. I will go
Where I will languish in eternal woe.
HOR. Nay, gentle love.
ISA. Talk not of love to me,
The world and the world's pride henceforth I'll scorn.
[_Exit._
HOR. My love shall follow thee; if thou deny'st
To live with poor Hortenzo as his wife,
I'll never change my love, but change my life.
_Enter_ PHILIP _hastily_.
PHIL. I know he is not dead; I know proud death
Durst not behold such sacred majesty.
Why stand you thus distracted? Mother, brother,
My Lord Mendoza, where's my royal father?
QUEEN-M. Here lies the temple of his royal soul.
FER. Here's all that's left of Philip's majesty;
Wash you his tomb with tears: Fernando's moan,
Hating a partner, shall be spent alone.
[_Exit._
PHIL. O happy father! miserable son!
Philip is gone to joy, Philip's forlorn:
He dies to live, my life with woe is torn.
QUEEN-M. Sweet son.
PHIL. Sweet mother: O, how I now do shame
To lay on one so foul so fair a name:
Had you been a true mother, a true wife,
This king had not so soon been robb'd of life.
QUEEN-M. What means this rage, my son?
PHIL. Call not me your son.
My father, whil'st he liv'd, tir'd his strong arms
In bearing Christian armour 'gainst the Turks,
And spent his brains in warlike stratagems
To bring confusion on damn'd infidels:
Whilst you, that snorted here at home, betray'd
His name to everlasting infamy;
Whilst you at home suffer'd his bedchamber
To be a brothelry; whilst you at home
Suffer'd his queen to be a concubine,
And wanton red-cheek'd boys to be her bawds;
Whilst she, reeking in that lecher's arms----
ELE. Me!
PHIL. Villain, 'tis thee;
Thou hell-begotten fiend, at thee I stare.
QUEEN-M. Philip, thou art a villain to dishonour me.
PHIL. Mother, I am no villain: 'tis this villain
Dishonours you and me, dishonours Spain,
Dishonours all these lords; this devil is he,
That----
ELE. What! O, pardon me, I must throw off
All chains of duty, wert thou ten kings' sons;
Had I as many souls as I have sins,
As this from hence, so they from this should fly,
In just revenge of this indignity.
PHIL. Give way, or I'll make way upon your bosoms.
ELE. Did my dear sovereign live, sirrah, that tongue----
QUEEN-M. Did but King Philip live, traitor, I'd tell----
PHIL. A tale that should rid both your souls to hell.
Tell Philip's ghost, that Philip tells his queen,
That Philip's queen is a Moor's concubine;
Did the king live, I'd tell him how you two
Ripp'd up the entrails of his treasury
With masques and antic revellings.
ELE. Words insupportable! dost hear me, boy?
QUEEN-M. Stand you all still, and see me thus trod down?
PHIL. Stand you all still, yet let this devil stand here?
MEN. Forbear, sweet prince. Eleazar, I am now
Protector to Fernando, King of Spain;
By that authority, and by consent
Of all these peers, I utterly deprive thee
Of all those royalties thou holdst in Spain.
QUEEN-M. Cardinal, who lends thee this commission?
ELE. Cardinal, I'll shorten thee by the head for this.
PHIL. Forward, my Lord Mendoza; damn the fiend.
ELE. Princes of Spain, consent you to this pride?
ALL. We do.
QUEEN-M. For what cause? Let his faith be tried.
MEN. His treasons need no trial, they're too plain.
Come not within the court; for, if you do,
To beg with Indian slaves I'll banish you.
[_Exeunt all but_ ALVERO, QUEEN _and_ ELEAZAR.
SCENE IV.
ALV. Why should my son be banished?
_Enter_ MARIA.
QUEEN-M. Of that dispute not now. Alvero,
I'll to the king my son; it shall be tried,
If Castile's king can cool a cardinal's pride.
[_Exeunt_ QUEEN _and_ ALVERO.
ELE. If I digest this gall--O my Maria,
I am whipp'd, and rack'd, and torn upon the wheel
Of giddy Fortune; she and her minions
Have got me down, and treading on my bosom,
They cry, _Lie still_: the cardinal
(O rare!) would bandy me away from Spain,
And banish me to beg--ay, beg with slaves.
MARIA. Conquer with patience these indignities.
ELE. Patience! ha, ha! yes, yes, an honest cardinal!
MARIA. Yet smother [still] the grief, and seek revenge.
ELE. Ha! banish me! s'foot, why, say they do,
There's Portugal--a good air, and France--a fine country,
Or Barbary--rich, and has Moors; the Turk,
Pure devil, and allows enough to fat
The sides of villany--good living there!
I can live there, and there, and there;
Troth, 'tis a villain can live anywhere.
But say I go from hence: I leave behind me
A cardinal that will laugh; I leave behind me
A Philip that will clap his hands for joy.
And dance lavoltoes through the Castile court;
But the deep'st wound of all is this, I leave
My wrongs, dishonours, and my discontents--
O, unreveng'd; my bedrid enemies
Shall never be rais'd up by the strong physical
Curing of my sword; therefore stay still;
Many have hearts to strike, that dare not kill
Leave me, Maria. Cardinal, this disgrace
Shall dye thy soul as inky as my face.
Pish!--hence, Maria.
_Enter_ ALVERO.
MARIA. To the king I'll fly,
He shall revenge my lord's indignity.
[_Exit._
ALV. Mendoza woos the king to banish thee.
Startle thy wonted spirits, awake thy soul,
And on thy resolution fasten wings,
Whose golden feathers may outstrip their hate.
ELE. I'll tie no golden feathers to my wings.
ALV. Shall they thus tread thee down, which once were glad
To lacquey by thy conquering chariot-wheels?
ELE. I care not: I can swallow more sour wrongs.
ALV. If they triumph o'er thee, they'll spurn me down.
ELE. Look: spurn again!
ALV. What ice hath cool'd that fire,
Which sometimes made thy thoughts to heaven aspire?
This patience had not wont to dwell with thee.
_Enter_ FERNANDO _and_ MARIA.
ELE. 'Tis right, but now the world is chang'd, you see;
Though I seem dead to you, here lives a fire----
No more, here comes the king and my Maria:
The Spaniard loves my wife; she swears to me
She's chaste as the white moon; well, if she be;
Well, too, if she be not, I care not, I;
I'll climb up by that love to dignity.
FER. Thou woo'st me to revenge thy husband's wrong,
I woo thy fair self not to wrong thyself;
Swear but to love me, and to thee I'll swear
To crown thy husband with a diadem.
MARIA. Such love as I dare yield, I'll not deny.
FER. When in the golden arms of majesty--
I am broke off--yonder thy husband stands;
I'll set him free, if thou unite my bands;
So much for that. Durst then the cardinal
Put on such insolence? tell me, fair madam,
Where's your most valiant husband?
ELE. He sees me, and yet inquires for me.
MARIA. Yonder, my lord.
FER. Eleazar, I have in my breast writ down
From her report your late receiv'd disgrace;
My father lov'd you dearly, so will I.
ELE. True, for my wife's sake.
[_Aside._
FER. This indignity
Will I have interest in; for, being your king,
You shall perceive I'll curb my underling.
This morning is our coronation, and
[Our] father's funeral solemnised.
Be present, step into your wonted place,
We'll gild your dim disgraces with our grace.
[_Exeunt._
ELE. I thank my sovereign that you love my wife;
I thank thee, wife, that thou wilt lock my head
In such strong armour to bear off all blows;
Who dare say such wives are their husbands' foes?
Let's see now, by her falling I must rise;
Cardinal, you die if the king bid me live;
Philip, you die for railing at me;
Proud lord, you die, that with Mendoza cried,
Banish the Moor.
And you, my loving liege, you're best sit fast:
If all these live not, you must die at last.
ACT II., SCENE 1.
_Enter two_ LORDS, PHILIP, MENDOZA, ELEAZAR, _with him the_
KING _crowned_; QUEEN-MOTHER, ALVERO, ZARACK, BALTHAZAR,
_and Attendants_.
MEN. Why stares this devil thus, as if pale death
Had made his eyes the dreadful messengers
To carry black destruction to the world?
Was he not banish'd Spain?
PHIL. Your sacred mouth
Pronounc'd the sentence of his banishment:
Then spurn the villain forth.
ELE. Who spurns the Moor,
Were better set his foot upon the devil.
Do spurn me, and this confounding arm of wrath
Shall, like a thunderbolt breaking the clouds,
Divide his body from his soul! Stand back.
Spurn Eleazar!
ROD. Shall we bear this pride?
ALV. Why not? he underwent much injury.
MEN. What injury have we perform'd, proud lord?
ELE. Proud cardinal, my unjust banishment.
MEN. 'Twas we that did it, and our words are laws.
KING. 'Twas we repeal'd him, and our words are laws.
ZAR. BAL. If not, these are.
[_All the Moors draw._
PHIL. How! threaten'd and outdar'd!
KING. Shall we give arm to hostile violence?
Sheathe your swords, sheathe them: it's we command.
ELE. Grant Eleazar justice, my dread liege.
MEN. Eleazar hath had justice from our hands,
And he stands banish'd from the court of Spain.
KING. Have you done justice? Why, Lord Cardinal,
From whom do you derive authority
To banish him the court without our leave?
MEN. From this, the staff of our protectorship;
From this, which the last will of your dead father
Committed to our trust; from this high place,
Which lifts Mendoza's spirits beyond the pitch
Of ordinary honour, and from this----
[KING _takes the staff from_ MENDOZA, _and gives it to_
ELEAZAR.
KING. Which too much overweening insolence
Hath quite ta'en from thee. Eleazar, up,
And from us sway this staff of Regency.
ALL. How's this!
PHIL. Dare sons presume to break their father's will?
KING. Dare subjects countercheck their sovereign's will?
'Tis done, and who gainsays it, is a traitor.
PHIL. I do, Fernando, yet am I no traitor.
MEN. Fernando, I am wrong'd; by Peter's chair,
Mendoza vows revenge. I'll lay aside
My cardinal's hat, and in a wall of steel,
The glorious livery of a soldier,
Fight for my late-lost honour.
KING. Cardinal!
MEN. King! thou shalt be no king for wronging me.
The Pope shall send his bulls through all thy realm,
And pull obedience from thy subjects' hearts,
To put on armour of the Mother Church.
Curses shall fall like lightnings on thy head,
Bell, book, and candle: holy water, prayers,
Shall all chime vengeance to the court of Spain,
Till they have power to conjure down that fiend,
That damn'd Moor, that devil, that Lucifer,
That dares aspire the staff the card'nal sway'd.
ELE. Ha, ha, ha! I laugh yet, that the cardinal's vex'd.
PHIL. Laugh'st thou, base slave! the wrinkles of that scorn
Thine own heart's blood shall fill. Brother, farewell;
Since you disprove the will our father left
For base lust of a loathed concubine.
ELE. Ha! concubine! who does Prince Philip mean?
PHIL. [_To_ ELEAZAR.] Thy wife. [_To_ ALVERO.] Thy daughter.
Base, aspiring lords,
Who to buy honour are content to sell
Your names to infamy, your souls to hell.
And stamp you now? Do, do, for you shall see
I go for vengeance, and she'll come with me.
ELE. Stay, for she's here already, see, proud boy.
[_They both draw._
QUEEN-M. Hold! stay this fury; if you long for blood,
Murder me first. Dear son, you are a king;
Then stay the violent tempest of their wrath.
KING. Shall kings be oversway'd in their desires?
ROD. Shall subjects be oppress'd by tyranny?
QUEEN-M. No state shall suffer wrong; then hear me speak:
Mendoza, you have sworn you love the queen;
Then by that love I charge you leave these arms.
Eleazar, for those favours I have given you,
Embrace the cardinal, and be friends with him.
ELE. And have my wife call'd strumpet to my face!
QUEEN-M. 'Twas rage made his tongue err; do you not know
The violent love Mendoza bears the queen?
Then speak him fair, for in that honey'd breath
I'll lay a bait shall train him to his death.
[_Aside._
Come, come, I see your looks give way to peace;
Lord Cardinal, begin; and [_Aside_] for reward,
Ere this fair setting sun behold his bride,
Be bold to challenge love, yet be denied.
MEN. That promise makes me yield.
[_Aside._]
My gracious lord,
Though my disgrace hath graven its memory
On every Spaniard's eye, yet shall the duty
I owe your sacred highness, and the love
My country challengeth, make me lay by
Hostile intendments, and return again
To the fair circle of obedience.
KING. Both pardon and our favour bids you welcome;
And for some satisfaction for your wrongs,
We here create you Salamanca's Duke:
But first, as a true sign all grudges die,
Shake hands with Eleazar, and be friends;
This union pleaseth us. Now, brother Philip,
You are included in this league of love,
So is Roderigo. To forget all wrongs,
Your castle for awhile shall bid us welcome;
Eleazar, shall it not? It is enough.
Lords, lead the way, that [_Aside_] whilst you feast yourselves,
Fernando may find time all means to prove,
To compass fair Maria for our love.
[_Exeunt omnes._
SCENE II.
QUEEN-MOTHER _and_ ELEAZAR.
ELE. Madam, a word: now have you wit or spirit?
QUEEN-M. Both.
ELE. Set them both to a most gainful task.
Our enemies are in my castle-work.
QUEEN-M. Ay; but the king's there too; it's dangerous pride
To strike at those that crouch by a lion's side.
ELE. Remove them.
QUEEN-M. How?
ELE. How! a thousand ways:
By poison, or by this [_Points to his sword_]; but every groom
Has skill in such base traffic; no, our policies
Must look more strange, must fly with loftier wings;
Vengeance, the higher it falls, more honour brings;
But you are cold--you dare not do.
QUEEN-M. I dare.
ELE. You have a woman's heart; look you, this hand--
[_Takes her hand._
O, 'tis too little to strike home.
QUEEN-M. At whom?
ELE. Your son.
QUEEN-M. Which son? the king?
ELE. Angels of heaven
Stand like his guard about him! how, the king!
Not for so many worlds as there be stars
Sticking upon th' embroider'd firmament.
The king! he loves my wife, and should he die,
I know none else would love her; let him live
In heaven.[54]
[_Aside_.
Good Lord Philip----
QUEEN-M. He shall die.
ELE. How? good, good.
QUEEN-M. By this hand.
ELE. When? good, good; when?
QUEEN-M. This night, if Eleazar give consent.
ELE. Why, then, this night Philip shall not live
To see you kill him! Is he not your son?
A mother be the murd'rer of a brat
That liv'd within her! ha!
QUEEN-M. 'Tis for thy sake.
ELE. Pish! What excuses cannot damn'd sin make
To save itself! I know you love him well;
But that he has an eye, an eye, an eye.
To others, our two hearts seem to be lock'd
Up in a case of steel; upon our love others
Dare not look; or, if they dare, they cast
Squint, purblind glances. Who care, though all see all,
So long as none dare speak? But Philip
Knows that iron ribs of our villains
Are thin: he laughs to see them, like this hand,
With chinks and crevices; how [with] a villanous,
A stabbing, [a] desperate tongue the boy dare speak:
A mouth, a villanous mouth! let's muzzle him.
QUEEN-M. How?
ELE. Thus:
Go you, and with a face well-set do
In good sad colours, such as paint out
The cheek of that foul penitence, and with a tongue
Made clean and glib, cull from their lazy swarm
Some honest friars whom that damnation, gold,
Can tempt to lay their souls to the stake;
Seek such--they are rank and thick.
QUEEN-M. What then? I know such--what's the use?
ELE. This is excellent!
Hire these to write books, preach, and proclaim abroad
That your son Philip is a bastard.
QUEEN-M. How?
ELE. A bastard. Do you know a bastard? do't:
Say conscience spake with you, and cried out do't;
By this means shall you thrust him from all hope
Of wearing Castile's diadem, and, that spur
Galling his sides, he will fly out and fling,
And grind the cardinal's heart to a new edge
Of discontent; from discontent grows treason,
And on the stalk of treason, death: he's dead,
By this blow and by you; yet no blood shed.
Do't then; by this trick he is gone.
We stand more sure in climbing high;
Care not who fall, 'tis real policy: are you
Arm'd to do this, ha?
QUEEN-M. Sweet Moor, it is done.
ELE. Away then; work with boldness and with speed:
On greatest actions greatest dangers feed.
[_Exit_ QUEEN-MOTHER.
Ha, ha! I thank thee, provident creation,
That seeing[55] in moulding me thou didst intend
I should prove villain; thanks to thee and nature,
That skilful workman: thanks for my face:
Thanks that I have not wit to blush!
What, Zarack! ho, Balthazar!
_Enter the two_ MOORS.
BOTH. My lord.
ELE. Nearer. So: silence!
Hang both your greedy ears upon my lips;
Let them devour my speech, suck in my breath, and in.
Who let's it break prison, here is his death.
This night the card'nal shall be murder'd.
BOTH. Where?
ELE. And to fill up a grave Philip dies.
BOTH. Where?
ELE. Here.
BOTH. By whom?
ELE. By thee, and, slave, by thee.
Have you [the] hearts and hands to execute?
BOTH. Here's both.
1ST MOOR. He dies, were he my father.
ELE. Ho, away.
Stay--go, go--stay; see me no more till night.
Your cheeks are black; let not your souls look white.
BOTH. Till night?
ELE. Till night: a word! the Mother-Queen
Is trying, if she can, with fire of gold
Warp the green consciences of two covetous friars
To preach abroad Philip's bastardy.
_1st Moor._ His bastardy! who was his father?
ELE. Who?
Search for these friars: hire them to work with you.
Their holy callings will approve the fact
Most good and meritorious: sin shines clear,
When her black face religion's mask doth wear.
Here comes the queen--good--and the friars.
SCENE III.
_Enter two friars_, CRAB _and_ COLE, _and_ QUEEN-MOTHER.
COLE. Your son a bastard? say, we do;
But how then shall we deal with you?
I tell you, as I said before,
His being a bastard, you are so poor
In honour and in name, that time
Can never take away the crime.
QUEEN-M. I grant that, friar; yet rather I'll endure
The wound of infamy to kill my name,
Than to see Spain bleeding with civil swords.
The boy is proud, ambitious; he woos greatness;
He takes up Spanish hearts on trust to pay them,
When he shall finger Castile's crown. O, then,
Were it not better my disgrace were known,
Than such a base aspirer fill the throne?
COLE. Ha, brother Crab, what think you?
CRAB. As you, dear brother Cole.
COLE. Then we agree.
Cole's judgment is as Crab's, you see.
Lady, we swear to speak and write
What you please, so all go right.
QUEEN-M. Then, as we gave directions, spread abroad
In Cadiz, Madrid, Granada, and Medina,
And all the royal cities of the realm,
Th' ambitious hopes of that proud bastard Philip:
And sometimes, as you see occasion,
Tickle the ears of the rude multitude
With Eleazar's praise; gild his virtues,
Naples' recovery, and his victories
Achiev'd against the Turkish Ottoman.
Will you do this for us?
ELE. Say, will you?
BOTH. Ay.
ELE. Why start you back and stare?
Ha! are you afraid?
COLE. O, no, sir, no! but, truth to tell,
Seeing your face, we thought of hell.
ELE. Hell is a dream.
COLE. But none do dream in hell.
ELE. Friars, stand to her and me; and by your sin
I'll shoulder out Mendoza from his seat,
And of two friars create you cardinals.
O, how would cardinals' hats on their heads sit?
COLE. This face would look most goodly under it.
Friar[s] Crab and Cole do swear
In those circles still to appear,
In which she or you do charge us rise;
For you our lives we'll sacrifice.
_Valete, gaudete:
Si pereamus, flete;
Orate pro nobis,
Oremus pro vobis._
Cole will be burnt and Crab be press'd,
Ere they prove knaves; thus are you cross'd and bless'd.
ELE. Away! you know. [_Exeunt_ FRIARS.] Now, madam, none shall
throw
Their leaden envy in an opposite scale,
To weigh down our true golden happiness.
QUEEN-M. Yes, there is one.
ELE. One! who?
Give me his name, and I will turn
It to a magic spell to bind
Him here, here. Who?
QUEEN-M. Your wife Maria.
ELE. Ha! my Maria!
QUEEN-M. She's
The Hellespont divides my love and me:
She being cut off----
ELE. Stay, stay; cut off!
Let's think upon't; my wife!
Humph! kill her too!
QUEEN-M. Does her love make thee cold?
ELE. Had I a thousand wives, down go they all.
She dies; I'll cut her off. Now, Balthazar!
_Enter_ BALTHAZAR.
BAL. Madam, the king entreats your company.
QUEEN-M. His pleasure be obey'd. Dear love, farewell;
Remember your Maria.
[_Exit._
ELE. Dear,[56] adieu;
With this I'll guard her, whilst it stabs at you.
[_Points to his sword._
My lord,[57] the friars are won to join with us.
Be prosperous! about it, Balthazar.
BAL. The watchword?
ELE. O, the word; let it be _Treason_.
When we cry treason, break ope chamber doors:
Kill Philip and the cardinal. Hence!
BAL. I fly.
[_Exit._
ELE. Murder, now ride in triumph; darkness, horror,
Thus I invoke your aid; your act begin;
Night is a glorious robe for th' ugliest sin.
SCENE IV.
_Enter_ COLE _and_ CRAB _in trousers; the_ CARDINAL _in one
of their weeds, and_ PHILIP _putting on the other_.
FRIARS. Put on, my lord, and fly, or else you die.
PHIL. I will not, I will die first. Cardinal,
Prythee, good cardinal, pluck off, friars; slave!
Murder us two! he shall not, by this sword.
CAR. My lord, you will endanger both our lives.
PHIL. I care not; I'll kill some before I die.
Away! s'heart! take your rags! Moor, devil, come.
FRIARS. My lord, put on, or else----
PHIL. God's foot! come, help.
CAR. Ambitious villain! Philip, let us fly
Into the chamber of the mother-queen.
PHIL. Thunder beat down the lodgings.
CAR. Else
Let's break into the chamber of the king.
PHIL. Agreed.
A pox upon these lousy gabardines.
Agreed; I am for you, Moor; stand side by side;
Come, hands off; leave your ducking.[58] Hell cannot fright
Their spirits that do desperately fight.
COL. You are too rash, you are too hot;
Wild desperateness doth valour blot.
The lodging of the king's beset
With staring faces black as jet,
And hearts of iron: your deaths are vow'd,
If you fly that way; therefore shroud
Your body in friar Cole's grey weed;
For is't not madness, man, to bleed,
When you may 'scape untouch'd away?
Here's hell, here's heaven: here if you stay,
You're gone, you're gone; friar Crab and I
Will here dance friskin, whilst you fly.
Gag us, bind us, come put on;
The gag's too wide; so gone, gone, gone!
PHIL. O, well, I'll come again. Lord Cardinal,
Take you the castle, I'll to Portugal.
I vow I'll come again, and if I do----
CAR. Nay, good my lord.
PHIL. Black devil, I'll conjure you.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE V.
_To the_ FRIARS _making a noise, gagged and bound, enter_
ELEAZAR, ZARACK, BALTHAZAR, _and other Moors, all with
their swords drawn_.
ELE. Guard all the passages. Zarack, stand there;
There Balthazar, there you. The friars?
Where have you plac'd the friars?
ALL. My lord, a noise![59]
BAL. The friars are gagg'd and bound.
ELE. 'Tis Philip and the cardinal; shoot:--ha! stay--
Unbind them. Where's Mendoza and the prince?
COLE. Santa Maria, who can tell!
By Peter's keys, they bound us well,
And having crack'd our shaven crowns,
They have escap'd you in our gowns.
ELE. Escap'd! escap'd away! I am glad, it's good;
I would their arms may turn to eagles' wings,
To fly as swift as time. Sweet air, give way:
Winds, leave your two-and-thirty palaces,
And meeting all in one, join all your might
To give them speedy and a prosperous flight.
Escaped, friars! which way?
BOTH. This way.
ELE. Good!
Alas, what sin is't to shed innocent blood?
For look you, holy men, it is the king:
The king, the king. See, friars, sulphury wrath
Having once entered into royal breasts,
Mark how it burns. The queen, Philip's mother.
O, most unnatural! will have you two
Divulge abroad that he's a bastard. O,
Will you do it?
CRAB. What says my brother friar?
COLE. A prince's love is balm, their wrath is fire.
CRAB. 'Tis true; but yet I'll publish no such thing;
What fool would lose his soul to please a king?
ELE. Keep there--good, there; yet, for it wounds my soul
To see the miserablest wretch to bleed,
I counsel you, in care unto your lives,
T' obey the mother-queen; for by my life,
I think she has been prick'd [in] her conscience.
O, it has stung her for some fact misdone,
She would not else disgrace herself and son.
Do't therefore; hark! she'll work your deaths else, hate
Bred in woman is insatiate. Do't, friars.
CRAB. Brother Cole, zeal sets me in a flame:
I'll do't.
COLE. And I: his baseness we'll proclaim.
[_Exeunt_ FRIARS.
ELE. Do, and be damn'd; Zarack and Balthazar,
Dog them at the heels; and when their poisonous breath
Hath scatter'd this infection on the hearts
Of credulous Spaniards, here reward them thus:
[_Points to his sword._
Slaves too much trusted do grow dangerous.
Why this shall feed and fat suspicion
And my policy.
I'll ring through all the court this loud alarum,
That they contriv'd the murder of the king,
The queen, and me; and, being undermin'd,
To 'scape the blowing up, they fled. O, good!
There, there, thou there, cry treason; each one take
A several door; your cries my music make.
BAL. Where is the king? treason pursues him.
_Enter_ ALVERO _in his shirt, his sword drawn_.
ELE. Where is the sleeping queen?
Rise, rise, and arm against the hand of treason.
ALV. Whence comes this sound of treason?
_Enter the_ KING _in his shirt, his sword drawn_.
KING. Who frights our quiet slumbers with
This heavy noise?
_Enter_ QUEEN _in her night attire_.
QUEEN-M. Was it a dream, or did the sound
Of monster treason call me from my rest?
KING. Who rais'd this rumour? Eleazar, you?
ELE. I did, my liege, and still continue it,
Both for your safety and mine own discharge.
KING. Whence comes the ground then?
ELE. From the cardinal
And the young prince who, bearing in his mind
The true idea of his late disgrace
In putting him from the protectorship,
And envying the advancement of the Moor,
Determined this night to murder you;
And for your highness lodged within my castle,
They would have laid the murder on my head.
KING. The cardinal and my brother! bring them forth:
Their lives shall answer this ambitious practice.
ELE. Alas! my lord, it is impossible;
For when they saw I had discovered them,
They train'd two harmless friars to their lodgings,
Disrob'd them, gagg'd them, bound them to two posts,
And in their habits did escape the castle.
KING. The cardinal is all ambition,
And from him doth our brother gather heart.
QUEEN-M. Th' ambition of the one infects the other,
And, in a word, they both are dangerous:
But might your mother's counsel stand in force,
I would advise you, send the trusty Moor
To fetch them back, before they have seduc'd
The squint-ey'd multitude from true allegiance,
And drawn them to their dangerous faction.
KING. It shall be so. Therefore, my state's best prop,
Within whose bosom I durst trust my life,
Both for my safety and thine own discharge,
Fetch back those traitors; and till your return
Ourself will keep your castle.
ELE. My liege, the tongue of true obedience
Must not gainsay his sovereign's impose.
By heaven! I will not kiss the cheek of sleep,
Till I have fetched those traitors to the court!
KING. Why, this sorts right: he gone, his beauteous wife
Shall sail into the naked arms of love.
[_Aside._
QUEEN-M. Why, this is as it should be; he once gone,
His wife, that keeps me from his marriage-bed,
Shall by this hand of mine be murdered.
[_Aside._
KING. This storm is well-nigh past; the swelling clouds
That hang so full of treason, by the wind
In awful majesty are scattered.
Then each man to his rest. Good night, sweet friend!
Whilst thou pursu'st the traitors that are fled,
Fernando means to warm thy marriage-bed.
[_Exeunt._
ELE. Many good nights consume and damn your souls!
I know he means to cuckold me this night,
Yet do I know no means to hinder it:
Besides, who knows whether the lustful king,
Having my wife and castle at command,
Will ever make surrender back again?
But if he do not, with my falchion's point
I'll lance those swelling veins, in which hot lust
Does keep his revels; and with that warm blood,
Where Venus' bastard cooled his swelt'ring spleen,
Wash the disgrace from Eleazar's brow.
SCENE VI.
_Enter_ MARIA.
MARIA. Dear Eleazar!
ELE. If they lock the gates,
I'll toss a ball of wildfire o'er the walls.
MARIA. Husband! sweet husband!
ELE. Or else swim o'er the moat,
And make a breach th[o]rough the flinty sides
Of the rebellious walls.
MARIA. Hear me, dear heart.
ELE. Or undermine the chamber where they lie,
And by the violent strength of gunpowder
Blow up the castle and th' incestuous couch,
In which lust wallows; but my labouring thoughts,
Wading too deep in bottomless extremes,
Do drown themselves in their own stratagems.
MARIA. Sweet husband, dwell not upon circumstance,
When weeping sorrow, like an advocate,
Importunes you for aid; look in mine eye,
There you shall see dim grief swimming in tears,
Invocating succour. O, succour!
ELE. Succour! zounds! for what?
MARIA. To shield me from Fernando's unchaste love,
Who with uncessant prayers importun'd me----
ELE. To lie with you! I know't.
MARIA. Then seek some means how to prevent it.
ELE. 'Tis [im]possible:
For, to the end that his unbridled lust
Might have more free access unto thy bed,
This night he hath enjoined me
To fetch back Philip and the cardinal.
MARIA. Then this ensuing night shall give an end
To all my sorrows; for before foul lust
Shall soil the fair complexion of mine honour,
This hand shall rob Maria of her life.
ELE. Not so, dear soul; for in extremities
Choose out the least: and ere the hand of death
Should suck this ivory palace of thy life,
Embrace my counsel, and receive this poison
Which, in the instant he attempts thy love,
Then give it him: do, do,
Do poison him. [_Aside_.] He gone, thou'rt next--
Be sound in resolution, and farewell.
By one and one I'll ship you all to hell.
[_Aside._]
Spain, I will drown thee with thine own proud blood,
Then make an ark of carcases: farewell!
Revenge and I will sail in blood to hell.
[_Exit._
MARIA. Poison the king! alas! my trembling hand
Would let the poison fall; and through my cheeks
Fear, suited in a bloodless livery,
Would make the world acquainted with my guilt.
But thanks, prevention: I have found a means,
Both to preserve my royal sovereign's life
And keep myself a true and loyal wife.
[_Exit._
ACT III., SCENE 1.
_Enter_ QUEEN-MOTHER _with a torch_.
QUEEN-M. Fair eldest child of love, thou spotless night,
Empress of silence, and the queen of sleep,
Who with thy black cheeks' pure complexion,
Mak'st lovers' eyes enamour'd of thy beauty,
Thou art like my Moor; therefore will I adore thee
For lending me this opportunity,
O, with the soft-skinn'd negro. Heavens, keep back
The saucy staring day from the world's eye,
Until my Eleazar make return:
Then in his castle shall he find his wife
Transform'd into a strumpet by my son:
Then shall he hate her, whom he would not kill;
Then shall I kill her, whom I cannot love.
The king is sporting with his concubine.
Blush not, my boy; be bold like me thy mother.
But their delights torture my soul like devils,
Except her shame be seen: wherefore awake!
Christophero! Roderigo! raise the court;
Arise, you peers of Spain; Alvero, rise;
Preserve your country from base infamies.
_Enter at several doors, with lights and rapiers drawn_,
ALVERO, RODERIGO, _and_ CHRISTOPHERO, _with others_.
ALL. Who rais'd these exclamations through the court?
QUEEN-M. Sheathe up your swords; you need not swords, but eyes
To intercept this treason.
ALV. What's the treason?
Who are traitors? ring the larum-bell;
Cry _Arm_ through all the city: once before
The horrid cry of treason did affright
Our sleeping spirits.
QUEEN-M. Stay;
You need not cry _Arm, arm!_ for this black deed
Works treason to your king, to me, to you,
To Spain, and all that shall in Spain ensue.
This night Maria (Eleazar's wife)
Hath drawn the king by her lascivious looks
Privately to a banquet; I (unseen)
Stood and beheld him in her lustful arms;
O God! shall bastards wear Spain's diadem?
If you can kneel to baseness, vex them not;
If you disdain to kneel, wash off this blot.
ROD. Let's break into the chamber, and surprise her.
ALV. O miserable me! do, do, break in;
My country shall not blush at my child's sin.
QUEEN-M. Delay is nurse to danger, follow me;
Come you and witness to her villany.
ALV. Hapless Alvero, how art thou undone
In a light daughter and a stubborn son!
[_Exeunt_ OMNES.
SCENE II.
_Enter_ KING, _with his rapier drawn in one hand, leading_
MARIA, _seeming affrighted, in the other_.
MARIA. O, kill me, ere you stain my chastity.
KING. My hand holds death; but love sits in mine eye.
Exclaim not, dear Maria; do but hear me.
Though thus in dead of night, as I do now,
The lustful Tarquin stole to the chaste bed
Of Collatine's fair wife, yet shall thou be
No Lucrece, nor thy king a Roman slave,
To make rude villany thine honour's grave.
MARIA. Why from my bed have you thus frighted me?
KING. To let thee view a bloody horrid tragedy.
MARIA. Begin it, then; I'll gladly lose my life,
Rather than be an emperor's concubine.
KING. By my high birth, I swear thou shalt be none;
The tragedy I'll write with my own hand;
A king shall act it, and a king shall die,
Except sweet mercy's beam shine from thine eye.
If this affright thee, it shall sleep for ever.
If still thou hate me, thus this noble blade
This royal purple temple shall invade.
MARIA. My husband is from hence: for his sake spare me.
KING. Thy husband is no Spaniard: thou art one:
So is Fernando; then for country's sake,
Let me not spare thee: on thy husband's face
Eternal night in gloomy shades doth dwell;
But I'll look on thee like the gilded sun,
When to the west his fiery horses run.
MARIA. True, here you look on me with sunset eyes,
For by beholding you my glory dies.
KING. Call me thy morning then; for, like the morn,
In pride Maria shall through Spain be borne.
[_Music plays within._
This music was prepar'd to please thine ears:[60]
Love me, and thou shalt hear no other sounds.
[_A banquet brought in._
Lo, here's a banquet set with mine own hands;
Love me, and thus I'll feast thee like a queen.
I might command thee, being thy sovereign;
But love me, and I'll kneel and sue to thee,
And circle this white forehead with the crown
Of Castile, Portugal, and Arragon,
And all those petty kingdoms which do bow
Their tributary knees to Philip's heir.
MARIA. I cannot love you whilst my husband lives.
KING. I'll send him to the wars, and in the front
Of some main army shall he nobly die.
MARIA. I cannot love you if you murder him.
KING. For thy sake then I'll call a parliament,
And banish by a law all Moors from Spain.
MARIA. I'll wander with him into banishment.
KING. It shall be death for any negro's hand
To touch the beauty of a Spanish dame.
Come, come, what needs such cavils with a king?
Night blinds all jealous eyes, and we may play.
Carouse that bowl to me: I'll pledge all this;
Being down, we'll make it more sweet with a kiss.
Begin, I'll lock all doors: begin, Spain's queen:
[_Locks the doors._
Love's banquet is most sweet when 'tis least seen.
MARIA. O thou conserver of my honour's life:
Instead of poisoning him, drown him in sleep.
Because I'll quench the flames of wild desire,
I'll drink this off--let fire conquer love's fire.
[_Aside._
KING. Were love himself in real substance here,
Thus would I drink him down; let your sweet strings
Speak louder: pleasure is but a slave to kings,
In which love swims. Maria, kiss thy king:
Circle me in this ring of ivory;
O, I grow dull, and the cold hand of sleep
Hath thrust his icy fingers in my breast,[61]
And made a frost within me. Sweet, one kiss
To thaw this deadness that congeals my soul.
MAR. Your majesty hath overwatch'd yourself.
He sleeps already--not the sleep of death,
But a sweet slumber, which the powerful drug
Instill'd through all his spirits. O bright day,
Bring home my dear lord ere his king awake,
Else of his unstain'd bed he'll shipwreck make.
[_Offers to go._
_Enter_ OBERON, _and_ FAIRIES _dancing before him; and Music
with them_.
MARIA. O me! what shapes are these?
OBER. Stay, stay, Maria.
MARIA. My sovereign lord awake, save poor Maria.
OBER. He cannot save thee: save that pain;
Before he wake, thou shalt be slain:
His mother's hand shall stop thy breath,
Thinking her own son is done to death:
And she that takes away thy life,
Does it to be thy husband's wife:
Adieu, Maria, we must hence:
Embrace thine end with patience.
Elves and fairies make no stand,
Till you come in fairyland.
[_Exeunt dancing and singing._
MARIA. Fairies or devils, whatsoe'er you be,
Thus will I hide me from your company.
[_Offers to go._
SCENE III.
_To her enter_ QUEEN-MOTHER _suddenly, with_ ALVERO _and_
RODERIGO _with rapiers_.
QUEEN-M. Lay hold upon the strumpet! where's the king?
Fernando! son! Ah me! your king is dead!
Lay hands upon the murd'ress.
MARIA. Imperious queen,
I am as free from murder as thyself;
Which I will prove, if you will hear me speak.
The king is living.
ROD. If he liv'd, his breath would beat within his breast.
QUEEN-M. The life he leads, Maria, thou shalt soon participate.
MARIA. O father, save me!
ALV. Thou'rt no child of mine.
Hadst thou been owner of Alvero's spirit,
Thy heart would not have entertain'd a thought
That had convers'd with murder: yet mine eyes,
Howe'er my tongue wants words, brimful with tears
Entreat her further trial.
QUEEN-M. To what end?
Here lies her trial; from this royal breast
Hath she stolen all comfort--all the life
Of every bosom in the realm of Spain.
ROD. She's both a traitor and [a] murd'ress.
QUEEN-M. I'll have her forthwith strangled.
ALV. Hear her speak.
QUEEN-M. To heaven let her complain, if she have wrong;
I murder but the murd'ress of my son.
ALL. We murder [but] the murd'ress of our king.[62]
ALV. Ah me! my child! O, O, cease your torturing!
MARIA. Heaven ope your windows, that my spotless soul,
Riding upon the wings of innocence,
May enter Paradise. Fairies, farewell;
Fernando's death in mine you did foretell.
[_She dies._ KING _wakes_.
KING. Who calls Fernando? Love--Maria, speak;
O, whither art thou fled? Whence flow these waters,
That fall like winter-storms from the drown'd eyes?
ALV. From my Maria's death.
KING. My Maria dead!
Damn'd be the soul to hell that stopp'd her breath.
Maria! O me! who durst murder thee?
QUEEN-M. I thought my dear Fernando had been dead,
And in my indignation murder'd her.
KING. I was not dead, until you murder'd me
By killing fair Maria.
QUEEN-M. Gentle son----
KING. Ungentle mother, you a deed have done
Of so much ruth, that no succeeding age
Can ever clear you of. O my dear love!
Yet heavens can witness thou wert never mine.
Spain's wonder was Maria.
QUEEN-M. Sweet, have done.
KING. Have done! for what? For shedding zealous tears
Over the tomb of virtuous chastity?
You cry _Have done_, now I am doing good;
But cried _Do on_, when you were shedding blood.
Have you done, mother? Yes, yes, you have done
That which will undo your unhappy son.
ROD. These words become you not, my gracious lord.
KING. These words become not me! no more it did
Become you, lords, to be mute standers-by,
When lustful fury ravish'd chastity:
It ill becomes me to lament her death;
But it became you well to stop her breath!
Had she been fair, and not so virtuous,
This deed had not been half so impious.
ALV. But she was fair in virtue, virtuous fair. O me!
KING. O me! she was true honour's heir.
Hence, beldam, from my presence! all, fly hence;
You are all murderers. Come, poor innocent,
Clasp thy cold hand in mine; for here I'll lie,
And since I liv'd for her, for her I'll die.
SCENE IV.
_Enter_ ELEAZAR _with a torch, his rapier drawn_.
ELE. Bar up my castle gates! fire and confusion
Shall girt these Spanish curs. Was I for this
Sent to raise power against a fugitive?
To have my wife deflower'd? Zounds! where's my wife?
My slaves cry out she's dallying with the king:
Stand by; where is your king? Eleazar's bed
Shall scorn to be an Emperor's brothelry.
QUEEN-M. Be patient, Eleazar; here's the king.
ELE. Patience and I am foes. Where's my Maria?
ALV. Here is her hapless corse, that was Maria.
KING. Here lies Maria's body, here her grave,
Her dead heart in my breast a tomb shall have.
ELE. Now, by the proud complexion of my cheeks,
Ta'en from the kisses of the amorous sun,
Were he ten thousand kings that slew my love,
Thus should my hand, plum'd with revenge's wings,
Requite mine own dishonour and her death.
[_Stabs the_ KING.
QUEEN-M. Ah me! my son!
ALL. The king is murder'd!
Lay hold on the damn'd traitor.
ELE. In his breast,
That dares but dart a finger at the Moor,
I'll bury this sharp steel, yet reeking warm
With the unchas'd[63] blood of that lecher-king,
That threw my wife in an untimely grave.
ALV. She was my daughter, and her timeless grave
Did swallow down my joys as deep as yours.
But thus----
ELE. But what? Bear injuries that can:
I'll wear no forked crest.
ROD. Damn this black fiend! cry treason through the court:
The king is murder'd.
ELE. He that first opes his lips, I'll drive his words
Down his wide throat upon my rapier's point.
The king is murder'd, and I'll answer it.
I am dishonour'd, and I will revenge it.
Bend not your dangerous weapons at my breast;
Think where you are: this castle is the Moor's;
You are environ'd with a wall of flint,
The gates are lock'd, portcullises let down;
If Eleazar spend one drop of blood,
[ZARACK _and_ BALTHAZAR _above with calivers_.[64]]
On those high turret-tops my slaves stand arm'd,
And shall confound your souls with murd'ring shot:
Or if you murder me, yet underground
A villain, that for me will dig to hell,
Stands with a burning linstock in his fist,
Who, firing gunpowder, up in the air
Shall fling your torn and mangled carcases.
QUEEN-M. O, sheathe your weapons: though my son be slain,
Yet save yourselves; choose a new sovereign.
ALL. Prince Philip is our sovereign, choose him king!
ELE. Prince Philip shall not be my sovereign.
Philip's a bastard, and Fernando's dead.
Mendoza sweats to wear Spain's diadem:
Philip has sworn confusion to this realm.
They both are up in arms; war's flames do shine
Like lightning in the air. Wherefore, my lords,
Look well on Eleazar; value me,
Not by my sunburnt cheeks, nor by my birth,
But by my loss of blood,
Which I have sacrific'd in Spain's defence.
Then look on Philip and the cardinal;
Look on those gaping curs, whose wide throats
Stand stretch'd wide open like the gates of death,
To swallow you, your country, children, wives.
Philip cries fire and blood: the cardinal
Cries likewise fire and blood. I'll quench those flames.
The Moor cries blood and fire, and that shall burn,
Till Castile, like proud Troy, to cinders turn.
ROD. Lay by these ambages; what seeks the Moor?
ELE. A kingdom, Castile's crown.
ALV. Peace, devil; for shame!
QUEEN-M. Peace, doating lord, for shame! O misery,
When Indian slaves thirst after empery!
Princes and peers of Spain, we are beset
With horror on each side; [if] you deny him,
Death stands at all our backs: we cannot fly him.
Crown Philip king: the crown upon his head
Will prove a fiery meteor; war and vengeance
And desolation will invade our land.
Besides, Prince Philip is a bastard born.
O, give me leave to blush at mine own shame;
But I, for love to you, love to fair Spain,
Choose rather to rip up a queen's disgrace
Than, by concealing it, to set the crown
Upon a bastard's head: wherefore, my lords,
By my consent, crown that proud blackamoor.
Since Spain's bright glory must so soon grow dim--
Since it must end, let it end all in him.
ALL. Eleazar shall be king!
ALV. O treachery!
Have you so soon ras'd out Fernando's love?
So soon forgot the duty of true peers?
So soon, so soon, buried a mother's name,
That you will crown him king that slew your king?
ELE. Will you hear him or me? who shall be king?
ALL. Eleazar shall be Castile's sovereign!
ALV. Do, do: make haste to crown him. Lords, adieu:
Here hell must be, when the devil governs you.
[_Exit._
ELE. By heaven's great star, which Indians do adore,
But that I hate to hear the giddy world
Shame, that I waded to a crown through blood,
I'd not digest his pills: but since, my lords,
You have chosen Eleazar for your king,
Invest me with a general applause.
ALL. Live, Eleazar, Castile's royal king!
ROD. A villain and a base-born fugitive.
[_Aside._]
CHRIS. A bloody tyrant and usurping slave.
[_Aside._]
ELE. Thanks to you all: 'tis not the Spanish crown
That Eleazar strives for, but Spain's peace.
Amongst you I'll divide her empery:
Christofero shall wear Granada's crown;
To Roderigo I'll give Arragon;
Naples, Navarre, and fair Jerusalem
I'll give to other three; and then our viceroys
Shall shine about our bright Castilian crown,
As stars about the sun. Cry all, arm, arm;
Prince Philip and the cardinal do ride
Like Jove in thunder; in a storm we'll meet them.
Go, levy powers; if any man must fall,
My death shall first begin the funeral.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE V.
_Enter_ ZARACK _and_ BALTHAZAR, _with calivers_.
BAL. Is thy cock ready, and thy powder dry?
ZAR. My cock stands perching like a cock o' the game, with a red
coal for his crest, instead of a comb; and for my powder, 'tis
but touch and take.
BAL. I have tickling gear too; anon I'll cry, here I have it, and
yonder I see it. But, Zarack, is't policy for us to kill these
bald-pates?
ZAR. Is't policy for us to save ourselves? If they live, we die.
Is't not wisdom then to send them to heaven, rather than be sent
ourselves? Come, you black slave, be resolute. This way they
come; here they will stand, and yonder will I stand.
BAL. And in yonder hole I.
ZAR. Our amiable faces cannot be seen if we keep close; therefore
hide your cock's head, lest his burning cock's-comb betray us.
But soft; which of the two shall be thy white?[65]
BAL. That black villain friar Cole.
ZAR. I shall have a sharp piece of service; friar Crab shall be
my man. Farewell, and be resolute.
BAL. Zounds! Zarack, I shall never have the heart to do it.
ZAR. You rogue, think who commands--Eleazar. Who shall
rise--Balthazar. Who shall die--a lousy friar. Who shall
live--our good lord and master, the negro-king of Spain.
BAL. Cole, thou art but a dead man, and shalt turn to ashes.
[_Exit._
ZAR. Crab, here's that shall make vinegar of thy carcase.
[_Exit._
_Enter_ CRAB _and_ COLE, _two friars, with a rout of
stinkards following them_.
CRAB. Ah! brother, 'tis best so. Now we have drawn them to a
head, we'll begin here i' the market-place. Tut, so long as we be
commanded by the mother-queen, we'll say her son is a bastard,
an' he were ten Philips.
COLE. Take you one market-form, I'll take another.
CRAB. No, God's-so',[66] we must both keep one form.
COLE. Ay, in oration, but not in station. Mount, mount.
1ST STINK. Well, my masters, you know him not so well as I, on my
word. Friar Crab is a sour fellow.
2D STINK. Yet he may utter sweet doctrine, by your leave. But
what think you of friar Cole?
1ST STINK. He? all fire: an' he be kindled once, a hot catholic.
3D STINK. And you mark him, he has a zealous nose, and richly
inflamed.
1ST STINK. Peace, you rogues! Now they begin.
CRAB. _Incipe, Frater._
COLE. _Non ego, Domine._
CRAB. _Nec ego._
COLE. _Quare?_
CRAB. _Quia?_
COLE. _QuA|so._
ALL. Here's a queasy beginning, methinks. Silence! silence!
CRAB. Brethren, citizens, and market-folks of Seville.
COLE. Well-beloved and honoured Castilians.
CRAB. It is not unknown to you.
COLE. I am sure you are not ignorant.
CRAB. How villanous and strong!
COLE. How monstrous and huge!
CRAB. The faction of Prince Philip is.
COLE. Philip, that is a bastard.
CRAB. Philip, that is a dastard.
COLE. Philip, that killed your king.
CRAB. Only to make himself king.
COLE. And, by Gad's blessed lady, you are all damned, and you
suffer it.
1ST STINK. Friar Cole says true: he speaks out to the heat of his
zeal: look how he glows!
2D STINK. Well, friar Crab for my money; he has set my teeth an
edge against this bastard.
1ST STINK. O, his words are like vergis to whet a man's stomach.
ALL. Silence! silence!
CRAB. Now contrariwise.
COLE. Your noble king the Moor----
CRAB. Is a valiant gentleman;
COLE. A noble gentleman;
CRAB. An honourable gentleman;
COLE. A fair black gentleman.
CRAB. A friend to Castilians,
COLE. A champion for Castilians,
CRAB. A man fit to be a king.
COLE. If he were not borne down by him that would be king, who
(as I said before) is a bastard, and no king.
1ST STINK. What think you, my masters? Do you mark his words
well?
CRAB. Further, compare them together.
ALL. S'blood! there's no comparison between them.
COLE. Nay, but hear us, good countrymen.
ALL. Hear friar Cole! hear friar Cole!
COLE. Set[67] that bastard and Eleazar together.
1ST STINK. How? mean you by the ears?
CRAB. No, but compare them.
COLE. Do but compare them.
2D STINK. Zounds! we say again, comparisons are odious.
1ST STINK. But say on, say on.
[_Pieces go off; friars die._
ALL. Treason! treason! every man shift for himself. This is
Philip's treason. Arm, arm, arm!
[_Exeunt._
SCENE VI.
_Enter_ ELEAZAR, ZARACK, _and_ BALTHAZAR.
ELE. Zarack and Balthazar, are they despatch'd?
ZAR. We saw 'em sprawl, and turn up the white of the eye.
ELE. So shall they perish that lay countermines
To cross our high designments: by their habits
The cardinal and Philip 'scap'd our nets,
And by your hands they tasted our revenge.
_Enter_ QUEEN-MOTHER.
Here comes the queen; away! under our wings
You shall stand safe, and brave the proudest kings.
[_Exeunt._
QUEEN-M. O, fly, my Eleazar; save thy life,
Else 'point a guard about thee; the mad people,
Tempestuous like the sea, run up and down,
Some crying _kill the bastard_, some, _the Moor_;
Some cry, _God save King Philip_; and some cry,
_God save the Moor_, some others, _he shall die_.
ELE. Are these your fears? Thus blow them into air.
I rushed amongst the thickest of their crowds,
And with a countenance majestical,
Like the imperious sun, dispers'd their clouds;
I have perfumed the rankness of their breath,
And by the magic of true eloquence
Transform'd this many-headed Cerberus,
This pied chamelion, this beast multitude,
Whose power consists in number, pride in threats,
Yet melt like snow when majesty shines forth,
This heap of fools who, crowding in huge swarms,
Stood at our court gates like a heap of dung,
Reeking and shouting out contagious breath
Of power to poison all the elements--
This wolf I held by th' ears, and made him tame,
And made them tremble at the Moor's great name:
No, we must combat with a grimmer foe;
That damn'd Mendoza overturns our hopes.
He loves you dearly.
QUEEN-M. By his secret letters
He hath entreated me to leave the court,
And fly into his arms.
ELE. The world cannot devise a stratagem
Sooner to throw confusion on his pride.
Subscribe to his desires, and in dead night
Steal to his castle; swear to him his love
Hath drawn you thither; undermine his soul,
And learn what villanies are there laid up;
Then for your pleasure walk to take the air:
Near to the castle I'll in ambush lie,
And seem by force to take you prisoner:
This done, I have a practice (plotted here)
Shall rid him of his life and us of fear.
About it, madam, this is all in all;
We cannot stand, unless Mendoza fall.
[_Exeunt._
ACT IV., SCENE 1.
_Enter_ EMANUEL, _King of Portugal_, PRINCE PHILIP, MENDOZA,
ALVERO, _with drums and soldiers marching_.
K. OF PORT. Poor Spain! how is the body of thy peace
Mangled and torn by an ambitious Moor.
How is thy prince and councillors abus'd,
And trodden under the base foot of scorn.
Wrong'd lords, Emanuel of Portugal partakes
A falling share in all your miseries;
And though the tardy hand of slow delay
Withheld us from preventing your mishaps
Yet shall revenge dart black confusion
Into the bosom of that damned fiend.
PHIL. But is it possible our mother-queen
Should countenance his ambition?
ALV. Her advice is as a steersman to direct his course;
Besides, as we by circumstance have learnt,
She means to marry him.
PHIL. Then, here upon my knees,
I pluck allegiance from her; all that love,
Which by innative duty I did owe her,
Shall henceforth be converted into hate.
This will confirm the world's opinion
That I am base-born, and the damned Moor
Had interest in my birth; this wrong alone
Gives new fire to the cinders of my rage;
I may be well transform'd from what I am,
When a black devil is husband to my dam.
K. OF PORT. Prince, let thy rage give way to patience,
And set a velvet brow upon the face
Of wrinkled anger: our keen swords
Must right these wrongs, and not light airy words.
PHIL. Yet words may make the edge of rage more sharp,
And whet a blunted courage with revenge.
ALV. Here's none wants whetting, for our keen resolves
Are steel'd unto the back with double wrongs;
Wrongs that would make a handless man take arms:
Wrongs that would make a coward resolute.
CAR. Why, then, join all our several wrongs in one,
And from these wrongs assume a firm resolve
To send this devil to damnation.
[_Drums afar off._
PHIL. I hear the sound of his approaching march.
Stand fair; Saint Jacques for the right of Spain!
_Enter the_ MOOR, RODERIGO, CHRISTOFERO, _with drums,
colours, and soldiers marching bravely_.
ELE. Bastard of Spain!
PHIL. Thou true-stamp'd son of hell,
Thy pedigree is written in thy face.
[_Alarum and a battle; the_ MOOR _prevails: all exeunt_.
SCENE II.
_Enter_ PHILIP _and_ CARDINAL.
PHIL. Move forward with your main battalion,
Or else all's lost.
CAR. I will not move a foot.
PHIL. S'heart! will you lose the day?
CAR. You lose your wits,
You're mad; it is no policy.
PHIL. You lie.
CAR. Lie!
PHIL. Lie! a pox upon't, cardinal, come on,
Second the desperate vanguard which is mine,
And where I'll die or win. Follow my sword
The bloody way I lead it, or, by heaven,
I'll play the devil, and mar all! we'll turn our backs
Upon the Moors, and set on thee; ay, thee,
Thee, cardinal! s'heart! thee.
CAR. Your desperate arm
Hath almost thrust quite through the heart of hope:
Our fortunes lie a-bleeding by your rash
And violent onset.
PHIL. O, O, s'life! s'foot! will you [not] fight?
CAR. We will not hazard all upon one cast.
PHIL. You will not?
CAR. No.
PHIL. Coward!
CAR. By deeds I'll try.
Whether your venomous tongue says true. Farewell;
Courage shines both in this and policy.
[_Exit._
PHIL. To save thy skin whole, that's thy policy.
You whoreson fat-chapp'd guts, Ill melt away
That larded body by the heat of fight,
Which I'll compel thee to, or else by flying:
To work which I'll give way to the proud foe.
Whilst I stand laughing to behold you run.
Cardinal, I'll do't, I'll do't; a Moor, a Moor!
Philip cries a Moor! holla! la! whoo!
_Enter_ KING OF PORTUGAL.
K. OF PORT. Prince Philip! Philip!
PHIL. Here: plague, where's the Moor?
K. OF PORT. The Moor's a devil: never did horrid fiend,
Compell'd by some magician's mighty charm,
Break through the prisons of the solid earth
With more strange horror than this prince of hell,
This damned negro, lion-like doth rush
Through all, and spite of all knit opposition.
PHIL. Puh, puh! where, where?
I'll meet him: where? You mad me!
'Tis not his arm
That acts such wonders, but our cowardice.
This cardinal, O, this cardinal is a slave.
_Enter_ CAPTAIN.
CAPT. Sound a retreat, or else the day is lost!
PHIL. I'll beat that dog to death that sounds retreat.
K. OF PORT. Philip!
PHIL. I'll tear his heart out that dares name that sound.
K. OF PORT. Sound a retreat.
PHIL. Who's that? you tempt my sword, sir;
Continue this alarum, fight pell-mell;
Fight, kill, be damn'd. This fat-back, coward cardinal
Lies heavy on my shoulders; this, ay, this,
Shall fling him off. Sound a retreat? Zounds! you mad me!
Ambition plumes the Moor, whilst black despair,
Offering to tear from him the diadem
Which he usurps, makes him to cry at all,
And to act deeds beyond astonishment.
But Philip is the night that darks his glories:
This sword, yet reeking with his negro's blood,
Being grasp'd by equity and this strong arm,
Shall through and through.
ALL. Away, then!
PHIL. From before me.
Stay, stand, stand fast: fight. A Moor, a Moor.
SCENE III.
_Enter_ ELEAZAR, ZARACK, BALTHAZAR, RODERIGO, CHRISTOFERO,
_and others; they fight: Moors are all beat in. Exeunt
omnes. Manet_ ELEAZAR, _weary; a Moor lies slain_.
ELE. O, for more work, more souls to post to hell,
That I might pile up Charon's boat so full,
Until it topple o'er! O, 'twould be sport
To see them sprawl through the black slimy lake.
Ha, ha! there's one going thither: sirrah! you,
You slave, who kill'd thee? How he grins! this breast,
Had it been temper'd and made proof like mine,
It never would have been a mark for fools
To hit afar off with their dastard bullets.
But thou didst well; thou knew'st I was thy lord,
And out of love and duty to me here,
Where I fell weary, thou laidst down thyself
To bear me up thus: God-a-mercy, slave,
A king for this shall give thee a rich grave.
_As he sits down, enter_ PHILIP _with a broken sword_.
PHIL. I'll wear thee to the pommel, but I'll find
The subject of mine honour and revenge.
Moor, 'tis for thee I seek! come, now, now take me
At good advantage. Speak! where art thou?
ELE. Here!
PHIL. Fate and revenge, I thank you. Rise!
ELE. Leave and live.
PHIL. Villain, it is Philippo that bids rise.
ELE. It had been good for thee to have hid thy name;
For the discovery, like to a dangerous charm,
Hurts him that finds it. Wherefore do those bloodhounds,
Thy rage and valour, chase me?
PHIL. Why? to kill thee.
ELE. With that? what, a blunt axe! Think'st thou, I'll let
Thy fury take a full blow at this head,
Having these arms? Be wise, go change thy weapon.
PHIL. O sir!
ELE. I'll stay thy coming.
PHIL. Thou'lt be damn'd first.
ELE. By all our Indian gods----
PHIL. Puh! never swear.
Thou know'st 'tis for a kingdom which we fight,
And for that who'll not venture to hell-gates?
Come, Moor, I'm arm'd with more than complete steel--
The justice of my quarrel: when I look
Upon my father's wrongs, my brother's wounds,
My mother's infamy, Spain's misery,
And lay my finger here; O, 'tis too dull
To let out blood enough to quench them all.
But when I see your face, and know what fears
Hang on thy troubled soul, like leaden weights,
To make it sink, I know this finger's touch
Has strength to throw thee down; I know this iron
Is sharp and long enough to reach that head.
Fly not, devil; if thou do----
ELE. How? fly? O, base!
PHIL. Come then.
ELE. Stay, Philip; whosoe'er begat thee----
PHIL. Why, slave, a king begat me.
ELE. May be so;
But I'll be sworn thy mother was a queen;
For her sake will I kill thee nobly.
Fling me thy sword; there's mine. I scorn to strike
A man disarm'd.
PHIL. For this dishonouring me,
I'll give thee one stab more.
ELE. I'll run away,
Unless thou change that weapon, or take mine.
PHIL. Neither.
ELE. Farewell.
PHIL. S'heart! stay; and if you dare,
Do as I do, oppose thy naked breast
Against this poniard; see! here's this for thine.
ELE. I am for thee, Philip.
PHIL. Come, nay, take more ground,
That with a full career thou may'st strike home.
ELE. Thou'lt run away then?
PHIL. Ha!
ELE. Thou'lt run away then?
PHIL. Faith I will; but first on this I'll bear
Thy panting heart, thy head upon thy spear.
ELE. Come.
_Enter_ CARDINAL _and_ KING OF PORTUGAL _on the one, and_
MOORS _on the other side_.
CAR. Side, upon the Moors.
1ST MOOR. Side, upon the cardinal.
PHIL. Hold, cardinal; strike not any of our side.
ELE. Hold, Moors; strike not any of our side.
PHIL. We two will close this battle.
ELE. Come, agreed.
Stand, armies, and give aim, whilst we two bleed.
CAR. With poniards! 'tis too desperate, dear Philip.
PHIL. Away! have at the Moor! s'heart! let me come.
KING OF P. Be arm'd with manly weapons: 'tis for slaves
To dig their own and such unworthy graves.
ELE. I am for thee any way: thus or, see, thus;
Here try the vigour of thy sinewy arm.
The day is ours already; brainless heads
And bleeding bodies, like a crown, do stand
About the temples of our victory.
Yet, Spaniards, if you dare, we'll fight it out
Thus, man to man alone. I'll first begin
And conquer, or in blood wade up to the chin.
PHIL. Let not a weapon stir but his and mine.
ELE. Nor on this side; conquest in blood shall shine.
[_Alarum; they fight, the Moor is struck down, which his side
seeing, step all in and rescue him; the rest join, and
drive in the Moors. Alarum continuing, Spaniards and
Moors, with drums and colours, fly over the stage, pursued
by_ PHILIP, CARDINAL, KING OF PORTUGAL, _and others_.
_Enter_ ZARACK, CHRISTOFERO, _and_ ELEAZAR, _at several doors_.
CHRIS. Where is my lord?
ZAR. Where is my sovereign?
ELE. What news brings Zarack and Christofero?
ZAR. O, fly, my lords, fly, for the day is lost!
ELE. There are three hundred and odd days in a year,
And cannot we lose one of them? come, fight.
CHRIS. The lords have left us, and the soldiers faint;
You are round-beset with proud fierce enemies;
Death cannot be prevented but by flight.
ELE. He shall, Christofero. I have yet left
One stratagem that, in despite of fate,
Shall turn the wheel of war about once more.
The mother-queen hath all this while sat sadly
Within our tent, expecting to whose bosom
White-winged peace and victory will fly:
Her have I us'd as a fit property
To stop this dangerous current; her have I sent,
Arm'd with love's magic, to enchant the cardinal,
And bind revenge down with resistless charms;
By this time does she hang about his neck,
And by the witchcraft of a cunning kiss
Has she disarm'd him. Hark! they sound retreat;
She has prevail'd; a woman's tongue and eye
Are weapons stronger than artillery.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_Enter_ CARDINAL, QUEEN-MOTHER, SOLDIERS, _drums and colours_.
QUEEN-M. By all those sighs which thou, like passionate tunes,
Hast often to my dull ears offered,
By all thy hopes to enjoy my royal bed,
By all those mourning lines which thou hast sent,
Weeping in black, to tell thy languishment;
By love's best, richest treasure, which I swear
I will bestow, and which none else shall wear,
As the most prized jewel, but thyself;
By that bright fire which, flaming through thine eyes,
From thy love-scorched bosom does arise,
I do conjure thee, let no churlish sound,
With war's lewd horror my desires confound.
Dear, dear Mendoza; thus I do entreat,
That still thou wouldst continue this retreat;
I'll hang upon thee, till I hear thee say,
Woman, prevail; or chiding, cri'st _Away_.
CAR. Is there no trick in this, forg'd by the Moor?
QUEEN-M. I would the Moor's damnation were the ransom
Of all the innocent blood that has been shed
In this black day: I care not for the Moor;
Love to my kingdom's peace makes me put on
This habit of a suppliant; shall I speed?
CAR. You shall, were it to have my bosom bleed;
I have no power to spare the negro's head,
When I behold the wounds which his black hand
Has given mine honour: but when I look on you,
I have no power to hate him; since your breath
Dissolves my frozen heart, being spent for him;
In you my life must drown itself or swim.
You have prevail'd: drum, swiftly hence; call back
Our fierce-pursuing troops, that run to catch
The laurel wreath of conquest: let it stand
Awhile untouch'd by any soldier's hand.
[_Exit drum._
Away! stay you and guard us. Where's the Moor?
I'll lose what I have got, a victor's prize,
Yielding myself a prisoner to your eyes.
QUEEN-M. Mine eyes shall quickly grant you liberty.
The Moor stays my return; I'll put on wings,
And fetch him; to make peace belongs to kings.
_As she goes out, enter_ ELEAZAR, ZARACK, BALTHAZAR, _and
Soldiers well armed; at sight of each other, all draw_.
CAR. Soldiers, call back the drum: we are betray'd.
ELE. Moors, stand upon your guard; avoid, look back.
QUEEN-M. What means this jealousy? Mendoza, Moor,
Lay by your weapons and embrace; the sight
Of this and this begets suspicion.
Eleazar, by my birth, he comes in peace:
Mendoza, by mine honour, so comes he.
CAR. Discharge these soldiers then.
ELE. And these.
[_Soldiers stand aloof._
CAR. Away!
ELE. Go!
QUEEN-M. Soul, rejoice, to see this glorious day.
[_She joins them together; they embrace._
CAR. Your virtues work this wonder. I have met
At her most dear command: what's your desires?
ELE. Peace and your honour'd arms: how loathingly
I sounded the alarums, witness heaven.
'Twas not to strike your breast, but to let out
The rank blood of ambition. That Philip
Makes you his ladder, and being climb'd so high
As he may reach a diadem, there you lie.
He's base-begotten,--that's his mother's sin.
QUEEN-M. God pardon it.
ELE. Ah! amen. But he's a bastard,
And rather than I'll kneel to him, I'll saw
My legs off by the thighs, because I'll stand
In spite of reverence: he's a bastard, he's!
And to beat down his usurpation
I have thrown about this thunder: but, Mendoza,
The people hate him for his birth;
He only leans on you, you are his pillar;
You gone, he walks on crutches, or else falls.
Then shrink from under him; are not they
Fools that, bearing others up, themselves seem low,
Because they above sit high; why, you do so.
CAR. 'Tis true.
QUEEN-M. Behold this error with fix'd eyes.
CAR. 'Tis true. Well?
ELE. O, have you found it? Have you smelt
The train of powder that must blow you up,
Up into air? What air? Why this, a breath;
Look you; in this time may a king meet death.
[Have] an eye to't, check it, check it.
CAR. How?
ELE. How? thus--
Steal from the heat of that incestuous blood,
Where ravish'd honour and Philippo lies;
Leave him; divide this huge and monstrous body
Of armed Spaniards into limbs thus big:
Part man from man, send every soldier home;
I'll do the like: peace with an olive branch
Shall fly with dovelike wings about all Spain;
The crown, which I as a good husband keep,
I will lay down upon the empty chair;
Marry you the queen, and fill it: for my part,
These knees are yours, sir.
CAR. Is this sound?
ELE. From my heart.
CAR. If you prove false----
ELE. If I do, let fire fall----
CAR. Amen.
ELE. Upon thy head [_Aside_]; and so it shall.
CAR. All of myself is yours; soldiers, begone.
ELE. And that way you.
CAR. The rest I will divide:
The lords shall be convented.
ELE. Good.
CAR. Let's meet.
QUEEN-M. Where?
ELE. Here anon: this [_Aside_] is thy winding-sheet.
[_Exit_ CARDINAL. _The Moor walks up and down musing._
QUEEN-M. What shape will this prodigious womb bring forth,
Which groans with such strange labour?
ELE. Excellent!
QUEEN-M. Why, Eleazar, art thou rapt with joys,
Or does thy sinking policy make to shore?
ELE. Ha!
QUEEN-M. Eleazar, madman! hear'st thou, Moor?
ELE. Well so; you turn my brains; you mar the face
Of my attempts i' the making; for this chaos,
This lump of projects, ere it be lick'd over,
'Tis like a bear's conception; stratagems,
Being but begot and not got out, are like
Charg'd cannons not discharg'd--they do no harm
Nor good. True policy, breeding in the brain,
Is like a bar of iron, whose ribs being broken
And soften'd in the fire, you then may forge it
Into a sword to kill, or to a helmet to defend,
Life. 'Tis therefore wit to try all fashions,
Ere you apparel villany. But--but
I ha' suited him; fit, fit, O, fit!
QUEEN-M. How, prythee, how?
ELE. Why, thus;--yet, no;--let's hence
My heart is nearest of my council, yet
I scarce dare trust my heart with't; what I do,
It shall look old the hour wherein 'tis born;
Wonders twice seen are garments overworn.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE V.
_Enter_ CARDINAL _at one door_; PHILIPPO _half-armed, and two_
SOLDIERS _following him with the rest of the armour; the_
CARDINAL, _seeing him, turns back again_.
PHIL. Sirrah! you, cardinal! coward! run away!
So ho, ho! what, cardinal!
CAR. I am not for your lure.
[_Exit._
PHIL. For that then, O, [_Touching his sword_] that it had
nail'd thy heart
Up to the pommel to the earth; come, arm me.
Ha! 'sfoot! when all our swords were royally gilt with blood,
When with red sweat, that trickled from our wounds,
We had dearly earn'd a victory; when hell
Had from their hinges heav'd off her iron gates,
To bid the damn'd Moor and the devils enter,
Then to lose all, then to sound base retreat;
Why, soldiers, ha!
1ST SOL. I am glad of it, my lord.
PHIL. Ha, glad! art glad I am dishonoured,
That thou and he [have me] dishonoured?
1ST SOL. Why, my lord,
I am glad that you so cleanly did come off.
PHIL. Thou hast a lean face and a carrion heart;
A plague on him and thee too: then, 'sheart! then
To crack the very heart-strings of our army--
To quarter it in pieces--I could tear my hair,
And in cursing spend my soul;
Cardinal! what, Judas! come, we'll fight,
Till there be left but one; if I be he,
I'll die a glorious death.
1ST SOL. So will I, I hope, in my bed.
[_Aside._]
2D SOL. Till there be but one left, my lord? Why, that's now; for
all our fellows are crawled home; some with one leg, some ne'er
an arm, some with their brains beaten out, and glad they 'scaped
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