The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Plays of Philip Massinger, Vol. I This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: The Plays of Philip Massinger, Vol. I Author: Philip Massinger Release date: March 8, 2015 [eBook #48440] Language: English Credits: Produced by Judith Wirawan, Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAYS OF PHILIP MASSINGER, VOL. I *** Produced by Judith Wirawan, Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net [Illustration: Philip Massinger] _London, Published by John Murray. 1830._ THE PLAYS OF PHILIP MASSINGER. ADAPTED FOR FAMILY READING, AND THE USE OF YOUNG PERSONS, BY THE OMISSION OF OBJECTIONABLE PASSAGES. VOL. I. LONDON: JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. MDCCCXXX. LONDON: PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRIARS. ADVERTISEMENT. The Old English Dramatists, the friends and co-temporaries of Shakspeare, have contributed one of the most valuable portions to the poetic literature of our country. But--abounding as they do in wit and fancy, in force and copiousness of expression, in truth and variety of character, in rapid change of incidents, in striking and interesting situations, and, above all, in justice and elevation of sentiment--their works are totally unknown to the generality of readers, and are only found in the hands of an adventurous few, who have deviated from the beaten paths of study to explore for themselves less familiar and exhausted tracts of literary amusement. The neglect of these authors, in an age so favourable to works of imagination as the present, can only be ascribed to that occasional coarseness of language which intermixes with and pollutes the beauty of their most exquisite scenes. For what may be termed the licentiousness of the stage, for immorality of principle, for that offence which was transplanted from France to England with the court of Charles the Second, our old dramatists do not require the aid of any apologist. They are innocent of attempting to confound the notions of right and wrong, or of seeking to influence the bad passions of our nature against the first great principles of morals. These were the corruptions of a later and more vicious age. With the earlier play-writers, the bent of the story and the interest of the spectator are always directed to the side of virtue; but the objection against them is, that though they armed themselves in her cause, they were too little scrupulous what kind of weapon they employed. The worst things are always called by the worst names. Nothing is sacrificed to delicacy. The grossest subjects are treated, whenever they happen to occur--and no care is taken to avoid them--in the grossest terms. Vice loses none of her enormity by any diminution of her coarseness. If the wicked are introduced, they are painted with a perfect truth of nature; they are represented as loathsome in language as they are detestable in conduct; and are rendered as offensive to the reader of cultivated taste and virtuous habits as they would be in the actual intercourse of life. However well it may have suited the less polished age of Elizabeth and James thus to inculcate purity by exhibiting all the corruptions of the depraved, and to fortify the moral principle by portraying wickedness, with all its hateful accompaniments, as an object of disgust as well as abhorrence and contempt, such strong pictures are no longer tolerable at the present day, and the recurrence of them militates against that general circulation and approval which is otherwise due to the great merit of the works in which they occur. Under these circumstances, the Editors of the Family Library have determined on publishing a selection from the plays of Massinger, Beaumont, Fletcher, Ford, Shirley, Webster, Middleton, and others, omitting all such scenes and passages as are inconsistent with the delicacy and refinement of modern taste and manners. Whenever it is possible, the play will be printed entire. If there be a double plot, the one, as in the case of the Virgin-Martyr, eminently beautiful, and the other as eminently offensive, the living beauty will be separated from the dead weight of corruption to which it is unnaturally joined, and be presented to the reader in a form which may afford an unmixed and flowing enjoyment to his imagination. When there is a radical evil in the groundwork of the play, only a single act or a few scenes may be given; but, in such cases, care will always be taken to preserve the interest of an entire and connected story. The work will be accompanied with short explanatory notes, and occasional critical remarks. CONTENTS. Page LIFE OF MASSINGER 1 THE VIRGIN-MARTYR 23 THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE 107 THE BONDMAN 205 THE MAID OF HONOUR 299 DIRECTION TO THE BINDER. Portrait of Massinger to face the Title-page. LIFE OF MASSINGER. Very few materials exist for a life of Massinger beyond the entries of the Parish Register or the College Books, and a few slender intimations scattered here and there in the dedications to his plays. From these scanty sources the following brief memoir is derived. Our author was born at Salisbury[1] in the year 1584: he was the son of Arthur Massinger, a gentleman in the service of Henry, the second Earl of Pembroke[2]. We must not suppose, from his being thus attached to the family of a nobleman, that the father of our poet was a person of inferior birth and station. In those days the word servant carried with it no sense of degradation. The great lords and officers of the court numbered inferior nobles among their followers. We read, in Cavendish's Life of Wolsey, that "my Lord Percy, the son and heir of the Earl of Northumberland, attended upon and was servitor to the lord-cardinal[3]:" and from the situation which Arthur Massinger held in the household of so high and influential a person as the Earl of Pembroke, we might be justly led to argue rather favourably than unfavourably of his family and his connexions. "There were," says Mr. Gifford, "many considerations which united to render this state of dependance respectable and even honourable. The secretaries, clerks, and assistants, of various departments, were not then, as now, nominated by the government, but left to the choice of the person who held the employment; and as no particular dwelling was officially set apart for their residence, they were entertained in the house of their principal. That communication, too, between noblemen of power and trust, both of a public and private nature, which is now committed to the post, was in those days managed by confidential servants, who were despatched from one to the other, and even to the sovereign[4];" and, indeed, the father of our poet himself was, we know, in one instance thus employed as the bearer of communications from his patron to Elizabeth. We read in The Sidney Letters[5], "Mr. Massinger is newly come up from the Earl of Pembroke with letters to the queen for his lordship's leave to be away this St. George's Day." This was an errand which would not have been intrusted to the execution of any inconsiderable person: unimportant as the occasion may appear to us, it would not have been regarded in that light by Elizabeth; for no monarch ever exacted from the nobility, and particularly from her officers of state, a more rigid and scrupulous compliance with stated order than this princess. With regard to the early youth of Massinger, we possess no information whatever. Mr. Gifford supposes that it might have been passed at Wilton, a seat belonging to the Earl of Pembroke, in the neighbourhood of Salisbury; but this mode of disposing of his early years rests on a very improbable conjecture. It may occasionally have happened that the child of a favourite dependant was admitted as the companion of the younger branches of the patron's family, and allowed to receive his education among them; but this was certainly not an ordinary case; and, like Cavendish, a large majority of the great man's servants and dependants "left wife and _children_, home and family, rest and quietness, only to serve him[6]."--Massinger was most likely educated at the grammar-school of Salisbury, where many distinguished characters have received the rudiments of their education, among whom the elegant and accomplished Addison is to be numbered. But wherever the first years of our poet's life may have been spent, and whatever may have been the nature of his education, we know that at the age of eighteen (May 14, 1602) he was entered at the university of Oxford, and became a commoner of St. Alban's Hall[7]. Massinger resided at Oxford about four years, and then abruptly left it, without taking any degree. The cause of this sudden departure is ascribed by Mr. Gifford to the death of his father, from whom his supplies were derived: but Davies relates a very different story, and asserts that the Earl of Pembroke, who had sent him to the university and maintained him there, withdrew the necessary allowance in consequence of his having misapplied the time demanded for severer studies, in the pursuit of a more attractive but less profitable description of literature. Each opinion is equally ungrounded on the basis of any substantial evidence, and rests almost entirely on the imagination of the biographer: what slight authority there is favours the latter supposition, which, perhaps, on the whole, is most consistent with the known circumstances of the case. Anthony Wood, who was born, lived, and died at Oxford; who spent his time in collecting and recording the gossip which circulated in the university respecting the characters and conduct of its more distinguished sons; and whose evidence, however indifferent it may be, is the best that can be obtained upon the subject, confirms the representation of Davies:--"Massinger," says Wood, "gave his mind more to poetry and romance, for about four years or more, than to logic and philosophy, which _he ought to have done, as he was patronised to that end_." This passage corroborates the account of Davies so far as to intimate that patronage was afforded to our author, and that cause of dissatisfaction was given to the patron; but it goes no farther: it does not even state to whom the poet was indebted for assistance, nor that the misapplication of his academic hours was at all resented by the friend from whom the assistance was received: but still Wood is very probably correct in his information that other than his paternal funds were depended upon for maintaining Massinger at the university; and if such was the case, there can be no question from whose hands they must have proceeded; while the simple fact of his having been totally neglected, from the time of his father's death, by the whole of the Pembroke family, till after the demise of the earl, carries with it a strong suspicion that some offence was committed on the side of the poet, and tenaciously remembered on the side of the peer. Henry, the second Earl of Pembroke, died (1601) the year before Massinger was admitted at Oxford; and William, the third earl, to whom the father of Massinger continued attached during life, is universally and justly considered one of the brightest ornaments of the courts of Elizabeth and James. He was a man of generous and liberal disposition; the distinguished patron of arts and learning; and a lover of poetry, which he himself cultivated with some degree of success. It is not probable--it is impossible--that such a man should have allowed the highly talented son of an old and faithful servant of his family to be checked in his course of study, and abandoned to maintain, through the early years of life, a single-handed contest with adversity, for the want of that pecuniary aid which he could have yielded and never missed, unless some strong and decided cause of displeasure had existed. Had Massinger been merely forced to leave the university, as Mr. Gifford supposes, because the funds necessary to maintain him there had failed with the life of his father, we impute an act of illiberality to the Earl of Pembroke which is inconsistent with the whole tenor of his life and character. From whatever source the expenses of our author's education were originally defrayed, their suddenly ceasing argues in favour of the account intimated by Wood and detailed by Davies. If his father had, during his life, supported him at the university, there must have been some reason for the earl's not continuing that support when the father of Massinger was no more; and perhaps the most honourable supposition for both parties is that which represents the earl as offended by the bent of our author's studies and pursuits. By adopting this view of the case we are saved from the painful necessity of either assuming, on the one hand, that a nobleman distinguished among the most amiable characters of his age allowed a highly gifted and meritorious young man, a natural dependant of his house, to languish in the want of that countenance and protection on which he had an hereditary claim; or, on the other hand, that Massinger had incurred the displeasure of his natural and hereditary patron by the commission of some more crying offence. Every, even the slightest, surmise of Mr. Gifford is deserving attention and respect; but I cannot admit the supposition by which he would account for the alienation that subsisted between the Earl of Pembroke and our author. That distinguished critic has inferred, from the religious sentiments contained in The Virgin Martyr, that Massinger was a Roman catholic, and for that cause neglected by the protector of his father. But if the intimations scattered through this play and others should be received as sufficient evidence of the faith of Massinger, we must, on similar evidence--the intimations contained in Measure for Measure, for instance--conclude that the religion of Shakspeare was the same; and then we are cast back upon our old difficulty, and have to explain why William Earl of Pembroke, a celebrated patron of literary men, and of dramatists in particular, scorned to yield his notice to the catholic Massinger, while (to use the expression of Heminge and Condell) he "prosequuted" the catholic Shakspeare and "his works with so much favour[8]?" There are many reasons for believing Shakspeare to have been a member of the church of Rome; and the patronage afforded him by the Earl of Pembroke proves, that that nobleman extended his liberality to men of genius without any regard to distinctions of faith; but, on the other hand, we have no just grounds for assuming that Massinger really did hold the same opinions. The only evidence we have upon this point, that afforded by the general tone of his writings, is of a most vague and superficial description. What, in fact, can be inferred from it? We may from such a source derive very satisfactory information respecting the sentiments which would be favourably received by the audience, but very little respecting those of the author. The truth is, that though the national religion was reformed in its liturgy and articles, the feelings, prejudices, and superstitions of the people were still almost entirely catholic; and Massinger, like any other dramatic author, writing for the amusement of the people, necessarily addressed them in a language they would understand, and with sentiments that accorded with their own. Besides, as a poet, he would never carry his theological distinctions to his literary labours: Voltaire himself is catholic in his tragedies; and Massinger naturally adopted the creed which was most suitable to the purposes of poetry, and afforded the most picturesque ceremonies and romantic situations. I feel inclined, therefore, to dismiss entirely the theory suggested by Mr. Gifford, for these two reasons; first, supposing our author to have been a catholic, we have no reason for condemning the Earl of Pembroke as a bigot and a persecutor, who would close his eyes to the merits of so great an author, because his faith did not tally with his own; and, secondly, we have no sufficient grounds for supposing him to have been a catholic at all. But with regard to all such visionary conjectures, thinking is literally a waste of thought. Whatever may have been the nature of Massinger's studies at Oxford, it is quite certain, from the general character of his works, that his time could not have been wasted there; and his literary acquirements, at the period of his leaving the university, appear to have been multifarious and extensive. He was about two-and-twenty (1606) when he arrived in London, where, as he more than once observes, he was driven by his necessities, and somewhat inclined, perhaps, by the peculiar bent of his talents, to dedicate himself to the service of the stage. The theatre, when Massinger first took up his abode in the metropolis, must have presented attractions of all others the most calculated to excite the interest, and inspire the imagination, of a young man of sensibility, taste, and education like our poet. No art ever attained a more rapid maturity than the dramatic art in England. The people had, indeed, been long accustomed to a species of exhibition, called MIRACLES or MYSTERIES, founded on sacred subjects, and performed by the ministers of religion themselves, on the holy festivals, in or near the churches, and designed to instruct the ignorant in the leading facts of sacred history[9]. From the occasional introduction of allegorical characters, such as Faith, Death, Hope, or Sin, into these religious dramas, representations of another kind, called MORALITIES, had by degrees arisen, of which the plots were more artificial, regular, and connected, and which were entirely formed of such personifications: but the first rough draught of a regular tragedy and comedy--Lord Sackville's Gorboduc, and Still's Gammer Gurton's Needle[10]--were not produced till within the latter half of the sixteenth century, and little more than twenty years before the stage acquired its highest splendour in the productions of Shakspeare. About the end of the sixteenth century, the attention of the public began to be more generally directed to the drama; and it throve most admirably beneath the cheering beams of popular favour. The theatrical performances which in the early part of Elizabeth's reign had been exhibited on temporary stages, erected in such halls or apartments as the actors could procure, or, more generally, in the yards of the larger inns, while the spectators surveyed them from the surrounding windows and galleries, began to find more convenient and permanent habitations. About the year 1569, a regular playhouse, under the appropriate name of The Theatre, was erected. It is supposed to have stood somewhere in Blackfriars; and, three years after the commencement of this establishment, the queen, yielding to her own inclination for such amusements, and disregarding the remonstrances of the Puritans, granted licence and authority to the servants of the Earl of Leicester ("for the recreation of her loving subjects, as for her own solace and pleasure when she should think good to see them") to exercise their occupation throughout the whole realm of England. From this time the number of theatres increased with the increasing demands of the people. Various noblemen had their respective companies of performers, who were associated as their servants, and acted under their protection; and when Massinger left Oxford, and commenced dramatic author, there were no less than seven principal theatres open in the metropolis. With respect to the interior arrangements, there were very few points of difference between our modern theatres and those of the days of Massinger. The prices of admission, indeed, were considerably cheaper: to the boxes the entrance was a shilling; to the pit and galleries only sixpence. Sixpence also was the price paid for stools upon the stage; and these seats, as we learn from Decker's Gull's Hornbook, were particularly affected by the wits and critics of the time. The conduct of the audience was less restrained by the sense of public decorum, and smoking tobacco, playing at cards, eating and drinking, were generally prevalent among them. The hours of performance were also earlier: the play commencing at one o'clock. During the representation a flag was unfurled at the top of the theatre; and the stage, according to the universal practice of the age, was strewn with rushes; but, in all other respects, the theatres of Elizabeth and James's days seem to have borne a perfect resemblance to our own. They had their pit, where the inferior class of spectators, _the groundlings_, vented their clamorous censure or approbation; they had their boxes--_rooms_ as they were called--to which the right of exclusive admission was engaged by the night, for the more affluent portion of the audience; and there were again the galleries, or _scaffoldings_ above the boxes, for those who were content to purchase less commodious situations at a cheaper rate. On the stage, in the same manner, the appointments appear to have been nearly of the same description as at present. The curtain divided the audience from the actors, which, at the third sounding, not indeed of the _bell_, but of the _trumpet_, was drawn for the commencement of the performance. Malone, in his account of the ancient theatre, supposes that there were no moveable scenes; that a permanent elevation of about nine feet was raised at the back of the stage, from which, in many of the old plays, part of the dialogue was spoken; and that there was a private box on each side this platform. Such an arrangement would have destroyed all theatrical illusion; and it seems extraordinary that any spectators should desire to fix themselves in a station where they could have seen nothing but the backs and trains of the performers; but, as Malone himself acknowledges the spot to have been inconvenient, and that "it is not very easy to ascertain the precise situation where these boxes really were[11]", it may very reasonably be presumed, that they were not placed in the position that the historian of the English stage has supposed. As to the permanent floor, or _upper stage_, of which he speaks, he may or may not be correct in his statement. All that his quotations upon the subject really establish is, that in the old, as in the modern theatre, when the actor was to speak from a window, or balcony, or the walls of a fortress, the requisite ingenuity was not wanting to contrive a representation of the place. But with regard to the use of painted moveable scenery, it is not possible, from the very circumstances of the case, to believe him correct in his theory. Such a contrivance could not have escaped our ancestors. All the materials were ready to their hands. They had not to invent for themselves, but merely to adapt an old invention to that peculiar purpose; and at a time when every better-furnished apartment was adorned with tapestry; when even the rooms of the commonest taverns were hung with painted cloths; while all the materials were constantly before their eyes, we can hardly believe our forefathers to have been so deficient in ingenuity, as to have missed the simple contrivance of converting the common ornaments of their walls into the decorations of their theatres. But, in fact, the use of scenery was almost co-existent with the introduction of dramatic representations in this country. In the Chester Mysteries (1268), the most ancient and complete collection of the kind which we possess, is found the following stage direction: "Then Noe shall go into the arke with all his familye, his wife excepte. _The arke must be boarded round about; and upon the boardes all the beastes and fowles, hereafter rehearsed, must be painted_, that their wordes may agree with their pictures[12]." In this passage we have a clear reference to a painted scene. It is not likely that, in the lapse of three centuries, while all other arts were in a state of rapid improvement, and the art of dramatic writing, perhaps, more rapidly and successfully improved than any other, the art of theatrical decoration should have alone stood still. It is not improbable that their scenes were few; and that they were varied, as occasion might require, by the introduction of different pieces of stage furniture. Mr. Gifford, who adheres to the opinions of Malone, says, "A table with a pen and ink thrust in, signified that the stage was a counting-house; if these were withdrawn and two stools put in their place, it was then a tavern[13]." And this might be perfectly satisfactory as long as the business of the play was supposed to be passing within doors; but when it was removed to the open air, such meagre devices would no longer be sufficient to guide the imagination of the audience, and some new method must have been adopted to indicate the place of action. After giving the subject very considerable attention, I cannot help thinking that Steevens was right in rejecting Malone's theory, and concluding that the spectators were, as at the present day, assisted in following the progress of the story by means of painted moveable scenery. This opinion is confirmed by the ancient stage directions. In the folio Shakspeare, 1623, we read "Enter Brutus _in his orchard_; Enter Timon _in the woods_; Enter Timon _from the cave_." In Coriolanus, "Marcius follows them _to the gates and is shut in_." Innumerable instances of the same kind might be cited to prove that the ancient stage was not so defective in the necessary decorations as some antiquaries of great authority would represent. "It may be added," says Steevens, "that the dialogue of our old dramatists has such perpetual reference to objects supposed visible to the audience, that the want of scenery could not have failed to render many of the descriptions absurd. Banquo examines the outside of Inverness castle with such minuteness, that he distinguishes even the nests which the martens had built under the projecting part of its roof. Romeo, standing in a garden, points to the tops of fruit-trees gilded by the moon. The prologue speaker to the second part of Henry the Fourth expressly shows the spectators '_This_ worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,' in which Northumberland was lodged. Iachimo takes the most exact inventory of every article in Imogen's bed-chamber, from the silk and silver of which her tapestry was wrought, down to the Cupids that support her andirons. Had not the inside of the apartment, with its proper furniture, been represented, how ridiculous must the action of Iachimo have appeared! He must have stood looking out of the room for the particulars supposed to be visible within it." The works of Massinger would afford innumerable instances of a similar kind to vindicate the opinion which Steevens has asserted on the testimony of Shakspeare alone. But on this subject there is one passage which appears to me quite conclusive. Must not all the humour of the mock play in The Midsummer Night's Dream have been entirely lost, unless the audience before whom it was performed were accustomed to all the embellishments requisite to give effect to a dramatic representation, and could consequently estimate the absurdity of those shallow contrivances and mean substitutes for scenery devised by the ignorance of the clowns[14]? In only one respect do I perceive any material difference between the mode of representation at the time of Massinger and at present: in his day, the female parts were performed by boys. This custom, which must in many cases have materially injured the illusion of the scene, was in others of considerable advantage: it furnished the stage with a succession of youths, regularly educated for the art, to fill, in every department of the drama, the characters suited to their age. When the lad had become too tall for Juliet, he had acquired the skill, and was most admirably fitted, both in age and appearance, for performing the part which Garrick considered the most difficult on the stage, because it needed "an old head upon young shoulders," the ardent and arduous character of Romeo. When the voice had "the mannish crack," that rendered the youth unfit to appear as the representative of the gentle Imogen, the stage possessed in him the very person that was wanting to do justice to the princely sentiments of Arviragus or Guiderius[15]. Such was the state of the stage when Massinger arrived in the metropolis, and dedicated his talents to its service. He joined a splendid fraternity, for Shakspeare, Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Shirley, were then flourishing at the height of their reputation, and the full vigour of their genius. Massinger came among them no unworthy competitor for such honours and emoluments as the theatre could afford. Of the honours, indeed, he seems to have reaped a very fair and equitable portion; of the emoluments, the harvest was less abundant. In those days, very little pecuniary reward was to be gained by the dramatic poet, unless, as indeed was most frequently the case, he added the profession of the actor to that of the author, and recited the verses which he wrote. The distinguished performers of that time, Alleyn, Burbage, Heminge, Condell, Shakspeare, all appear to have died in independent, if not affluent, circumstances; but the remuneration obtained by the poet was most miserably curtailed. The price given at the theatre for a new play fluctuated between ten and twenty pounds; the copyright, if the piece was printed, might produce from six to ten pounds more; in addition to these sums, the dedication-fee may be reckoned, the usual amount of which was forty shillings. Our author appears to have produced about two or three plays every year. Most of them were successful; but, even with this industry and good fortune, his annual income would rarely have exceeded fifty pounds: and we cannot, therefore, feel surprised at finding him continually speaking of his necessities; or that the only existing document connected with his life should be one that represents him in a state of pecuniary embarrassment. Among the papers of Dulwich College, the indefatigable Mr. Malone discovered the following letter tripartite, which, coming from persons of such deserved celebrity, cannot fail of interesting the reader. "_To our most loving friend, Mr. Phillip Hinchlow, esquire, these._ "Mr. Hinchlow, "You understand our unfortunate extremitie, and I doe not thincke you so void of Christianitie but that you would throw so much money into the Thames as wee request now of you, rather than endanger so many innocent lives. You know there is x_l._ more, at least, to be receaved of you for the play. We desire you to lend us v_l._ of that, which shall be allowed to you; without which, we cannot be bayled, nor _I play any more_ till this be dispatch'd. It will lose you xx_l._ ere the end of the next weeke, besides the hindrance of the next new play. Pray, sir, consider our cases with humanity, and now give us cause to acknowledge you our true freind in time of neede. Wee have entreated Mr. Davison to deliver this note, as well to witness your love as our promises, and alwayes acknowledgement to be ever "Your most thankfull and loving friends, "NAT. FIELD[16]." "The money shall be abated out of the money remayns for the play of Mr. Fletcher and ours. "ROB. DABORNE[17]." "I have ever found you a true loving friend to mee, and in soe small a suite, it beinge honest, I hope you will not fail us. "PHILIP MASSINGER." _Indorsed._ "Received by mee, Robert Davison, of Mr. Hinchlow, for the use of Mr. Daboerne, Mr. Feeld, Mr. Messenger, the sum of v_l._ "ROB. DAVISON[18]." The occasion of the distress in which these three distinguished persons were involved it is not possible to fathom. We may imagine a thousand emergencies, either creditable or discreditable to the fame of the writers, with which the letter would perfectly tally; but, on such slight and vague intimations, no ingenuity could determine which was most likely to be correct. But from the document a circumstance is ascertained, which, before its discovery, had been called in question. Sir Aston Cockayne, a friend of Massinger, had asserted in a volume of poems, published in 1658, that our author had written in conjunction with Fletcher; Davies doubted this report, but the above letter establishes the fact beyond the possibility of dispute. Massinger is known to have produced thirty-seven plays for the stage, a list of which is given at the conclusion of this memoir. Sixteen entire plays and the fragment of another, The Parliament of Love, alone are extant. No less than eleven of his productions, in manuscript, were in possession of Mr. Warburton (Somerset Herald), and destroyed with the rest of that gentleman's invaluable collection by his cook, who, ignorant of their worth, used them as waste paper for the purposes of the kitchen. The great and various merits of the works of Massinger will be better seen in the following volumes than in any elaborate, critical dissertation. If our author be compared with the other dramatic writers of his age, we cannot long hesitate where to place him. More natural in his characters and more poetical in his diction than Jonson or Cartwright, more elevated and nervous than Fletcher, the only writers who can be supposed to contest his pre-eminence, Massinger ranks immediately under Shakspeare himself. Our poet excels, perhaps, more in the description than in the expression of passion; this may in some measure be ascribed to his attention to the fable: while his scenes are managed with consummate skill, the lighter shades of character and sentiment are lost in the tendency of each part to the catastrophe. The melody, force, and variety of his versification are always remarkable. The prevailing beauties of his productions are dignity and elegance; their predominant fault is want of passion. Massinger's last play--which is unfortunately lost--The Anchoress of Pausilippo, was acted Jan. 26, 1640, about six weeks before his death, which happened on the 17th of March, 1640. He went to bed in good health, says Langbaine, and was found dead in the morning, in his own house on the Bankside. He was buried in the churchyard of St. Saviour's, and the comedians paid the last sad duty to his name, by attending him to the grave. It does not appear, though every stone and every fragment of a stone has been carefully examined, that any monument or inscription of any kind marked the place where his dust was deposited. "The memorial of his mortality," says Gifford, "is given with a pathetic brevity, which accords but too well with the obscure and humble passages of his life: March 20, 1639-40, buried Philip Massinger, A STRANGER." Such is all the information that remains to us of this distinguished poet. But though we are ignorant of every circumstance respecting him but that he lived, wrote, and died, we may yet form some idea of his personal character from the recommendatory poems prefixed to his several plays, in which, as Mr. Gifford justly observes, the language of his panegyrists, though warm, expresses an attachment apparently derived not so much from his talents as his virtues: he is their _beloved_, _much-esteemed_, _dear_, _worthy_, _deserving_, _honoured_, _long-known_, and _long-loved friend_. All the writers of his life represent him as a man of singular modesty, gentleness, candour, and affability; nor does it appear that he ever made or found an enemy. LIST OF MASSINGER'S PLAYS. _Those marked * are extant. Those marked + were destroyed by Mr. Warburton's servant._ + The Forced Lady. T. + The Noble Choice. C. + The Wandering Lovers. C. + Philenzo and Hippolita. T. C. + Antonio and Vallia. C. + The Tyrant. T. + Fast and Welcome. C. + The Woman's Plot. C. * The Old Law. C. * The Virgin Martyr. T. * The Unnatural Combat. T. * The Duke of Milan. T. * The Bondman. T. C. * The Renegado. T. C. * The Parliament of Love. C. + The Spanish Viceroy. C. * The Roman Actor. T. The Judge. * The Great Duke of Florence. The Honour of Women. * The Maid of Honour. T.C. * The Picture. T. C. + Minerva's Sacrifice. T. * The Emperor of the East. T. C. + Believe as you List. C. The Unfortunate Piety. T. * The Fatal Dowry. T. * A New Way to Pay Old Debts. C. * The City Madam. C. * The Guardian. C. The Tragedy of Cleander. * A very Woman. T. C. The Orator. * The Bashful Lover. T. C. The King and the Subject. Alexius, or the Chaste Lover. The Fair Anchoress of Pausilippo. FOOTNOTES: [1] The register of his birth is not to be found, but all writers of his life agree in naming this city as the place of his nativity; and their account is corroborated by the college entry, which styles him _Salisburiensis_. [2] Dedication to The Bondman. [3] Singer's edition, p. 120. [4] Introduction to the Works of Massinger, p. xxxviii. [5] Vol. ii. p. 933. [6] Life of Wolsey, p. 517. [7] The entry in the college book styles him "Phillip Massinger, _Salisburiensis, generosi filius_." [8] Dedication to the folio edition of Shakspeare. [9] Indulgences were granted to those who attended the representation of them. [10] Gorboduc appeared in 1562; Gammer Gurton, in 1566. [11] Reed's Shakspeare, vol. iii. p. 83, note 3. [12] Reed's Shakspeare, vol. iii. p. 15. [13] Gifford's Massinger, vol. i. p. 103. [14] This question ought to be set at rest, methinks, by the following extract from the Book of Revels, the oldest that exists, in the office of the auditors of the imprest: "Mrs. Dane, the lynnen dealer, for _canvass to paynte for houses for the players, and other properties_, as monsters, great hollow trees, and such other, _twenty dozen ells_, 12_l._"--See Boswell's Shakspeare, vol. iii. p. 364, et seq. [15] The first woman who appeared in a regular drama, on a public stage, played Desdemona, about the year 1660. Her name is unknown. [16] Nat. Field. This celebrated actor played female parts. He was the author of two comedies: A Woman's a Weathercock, 1612, and Amends for Ladies, 1618. He also assisted Massinger in The Fatal Dowry. [17] Robert Daborne was the author of two plays: The Christian turned Turk, 1612, and The poor Man's Comfort, 1655. He was a gentleman of liberal education, master of arts, and in holy orders. It is supposed that he had preferment in Ireland. A sermon by him, preached at Waterford, in 1618, is extant. [18] Additions to Malone's Hist. Account of Eng. Stage, p. 488. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR.] This very beautiful play, one of Massinger's earliest and most popular works, was first printed in 1622, but we have no account when it was first produced. In the composition of it he was assisted by Decker, a dramatist of no mean reputation. The plot of this tragedy is founded on the tenth and last general persecution of the Christians, which broke out in the nineteenth year of Dioclesian's reign with a fury hard to be expressed; the Christians being every where, without distinction of age, sex, or condition, dragged to execution, and subjected to the most exquisite torments that rage, cruelty, and hatred could suggest. In the construction of their play, Massinger and his associate Decker appear to have conceived the idea of combining the prominent parts of the old Mystery with the Morality, which was not yet obliterated from the memories, nor perhaps from the affections, of many of the spectators. Among the many instances of skill displayed by the authors of The Virgin-Martyr in the management of their materials may be remarked the dexterity and good taste with which they have avoided the untimely concurrence of the good and evil spirit; an error into which Tasso and others of greater name than Massinger have inadvertently fallen.--Of the character of the heroine it is impossible to speak too highly: her genuine and dignified piety, her unsullied innocence, her unshaken constancy, her lofty pity for her persecutors, her calm contempt of torture, and her heroic death, exalt the mind in no ordinary degree. All the other parts are subordinate to her, and require little observation. Antoninus is brave and generous, and we sympathize with his genuine attachment for Dorothea. Calista and Christeta, hasty, self-confident, readily promising for their steadiness, soon forgetting their resolutions, and equally secure in every change of opinion, are well contrasted with the heroine of the piece, whose fixed principles always guard her against rashness, and therefore preserve her from contradiction. Artemia's love for Antoninus would be wholly without interest, if we were not moved for a moment by her indignation at the rejection of her offer; and we see her at length consigned to Maximinus with as little emotion as is shown by themselves. The introduction of a good and evil spirit disguised in human shapes was not to be expected in a work aspiring to the reputation of a regular tragedy: still, whatever be their departure from propriety, it must be remembered that such representations had a most solemn origin, and that the business in which the spirits are engaged has a substantial conformity with the opinions of the early ages in which the plot is laid. The opposition of the demons to the progress of the faith, and the reasoning and raillery which Dorothea expresses, under the influence of Angelo, against the pagan gods, are to be found in Justin, Tatian, Arnobius, and others. The separate agency of the spirits, and the consequence of their personal encounter, are also described in a characteristic manner. Apart from Angelo, Harpax seems to advance in his malignant work. When the daughters of Theophilus express their zeal for paganism, he "grows fat to see his labours prosper;" yet he cannot look forward to the defeat of those labours in their approaching conversion, though on some occasions we find he could "see a thousand leagues" in his master's service. And this agrees with the doctrine, that when some signal triumph of the faith was at hand, the evil spirits were abridged of their usual powers. Again, when Harpax expects to meet Angelo, he thus expresses the dread of his presence, and the effect which it afterwards produced on him: "--------I do so hate his sight, That, should I look on him, I should sink down." Act II. sc. 2. And this, too, perfectly agrees with the power attributed to the superior spirits of quelling the demons by those indications of their quality which were not to be perceived by mortals: _per occultissimæ signa præsentiæ, quæ angelicis sensibus etiam malignorum spirituum, potius quam infirmitati hominum, possunt esse perspicua_. Civ. Dei, lib. ix. The tragedy is too full of horrors; but this is a fault of which our ancestors were very tolerant. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. DIOCLESIAN, } MAXIMINUS, } _Emperors of Rome_. KING OF PONTUS. KING OF EPIRE. KING OF MACEDON. SAPRITIUS, _Governor of Cæsarea_. THEOPHILUS, _a zealous persecutor of the Christians_. SEMPRONIUS, _captain of_ SAPRITIUS' _guards_. ANTONINUS, _son to_ SAPRITIUS. MACRINUS, _friend to_ ANTONINUS. HARPAX, _an evil spirit, following_ THEOPHILUS _in the shape of a secretary_. ANGELO, _a good spirit, serving_ DOROTHEA _in the habit of a page_. JULIANUS, } GETA, } _servants of_ THEOPHILUS. PRIEST OF JUPITER. BRITISH SLAVE. ARTEMIA, _daughter to_ DIOCLESIAN. CALISTA, } CHRISTETA, } _daughters to_ THEOPHILUS. DOROTHEA, _the Virgin-Martyr_. _Officers and Executioners._ SCENE, Cæsarea. THE VIRGIN-MARTYR. ACT I. SCENE I. _The Governor's Palace._ _Enter_ THEOPHILUS _and_ HARPAX. _Theoph._ Come to Cæsarea to-night! _Harp._ Most true, sir. _Theoph._ The emperor in person! _Harp._ Do I live? _Theoph._ 'Tis wondrous strange! The marches of great princes, Like to the motions of prodigious meteors, Are step by step observed; and loud-tongued Fame The harbinger to prepare their entertainment: And, were it possible so great an army, Though cover'd with the night, could be so near, The governor cannot be so unfriended Among the many that attend his person, But, by some secret means, he should have notice Of Cæsar's purpose;--in this, then, excuse me, If I appear incredulous. _Harp._ At your pleasure. _Theoph._ Yet, when I call to mind you never fail'd me In things more difficult, but have discover'd Deeds that were done thousand leagues distant from me, When neither woods, nor caves, nor secret vaults, No, nor the Power they serve, could keep these Christians Or from my reach or punishment, but thy magic Still laid them open; I begin again To be as confident as heretofore; It is not possible thy powerful art Should meet a check, or fail. _Enter the Priest of Jupiter, bearing an Image, and followed by_ CALISTA _and_ CHRISTETA. _Harp._ Look on the Vestals, The holy pledges that the gods have given you, Your chaste, fair daughters. Were 't not to upbraid A service to a master not unthankful, I could say these, in spite of your prevention, Seduced by an imagined faith, not reason, (Which is the strength of nature) quite forsaking The Gentile gods, had yielded up themselves To this new-found religion. This I cross'd, Discover'd their intents, taught you to use, With gentle words and mild persuasions, The power and the authority of a father, Set off with cruel threats; and so reclaim'd them: And, whereas they with torment should have died, (Hell's furies to me, had they undergone it!) [Aside. They are now votaries in great Jupiter's temple, And, by his priest instructed, grown familiar With all the mysteries, nay, the most abstruse ones, Belonging to his deity. _Theoph._ 'Twas a benefit, For which I ever owe you.--Hail, Jove's flamen! Have these my daughters reconciled themselves, Abandoning for ever the Christian way, To your opinion? _Priest._ And are constant in it. They teach their teachers with their depth of judgment, And are with arguments able to convert The enemies to our gods, and answer all They can object against us. _Theoph._ My dear daughters! _Cal._ We dare dispute against this new-sprung sect, In private or in public. _Harp._ My best lady, Perséver[19] in it. _Chris._ And what we maintain, We will seal with our bloods. _Harp._ Brave resolution! I e'en grow fat to see my labours prosper. _Theoph._ I young again. To your devotions. _Harp._ Do-- My prayers be present with you. [_Exeunt Priest_, CAL. _and_ CHRIS. _Theoph._ O my Harpax! Thou engine of my wishes, thou that steel'st My bloody resolutions, thou that arm'st My eyes 'gainst womanish tears and soft compassion, Instructing me, without a sigh, to look on Babes torn by violence from their mothers' breasts To feed the fire, and with them make one flame; Old men, as beasts, in beasts' skins torn by dogs; Virgins and matrons tire the executioners; Yet I, unsatisfied, think their torments easy-- _Harp._ And in that, just, not cruel. _Theoph._ Were all sceptres That grace the hands of kings made into one, And offer'd me, all crowns laid at my feet, I would contemn them all,--thus spit at them; So I to all posterities might be call'd The strongest champion of the Pagan gods, And rooter out of Christians. _Harp._ Oh, mine own, Mine own dear lord! to further this great work, I ever live thy slave. _Enter_ SAPRITIUS _and_ SEMPRONIUS. _Theoph._ No more--The governor. _Sap._ Keep the ports close[20], and let the guards be doubled; Disarm the Christians; call it death in any To wear a sword, or in his house to have one. _Semp._ I shall be careful, sir. _Sap._ 'Twill well become you. Such as refuse to offer sacrifice To any of our gods, put to the torture. Grub up this growing mischief by the roots; And know, when we are merciful to them, We to ourselves are cruel. _Semp._ You pour oil On fire that burns already at the height: I know the emperor's edict, and my charge, And they shall find no favour. _Theoph._ My good lord, This care is timely for the entertainment Of our great master, who this night in person Comes here to thank you. _Sap._ Who! the emperor? _Harp._ To clear your doubts, he doth return in triumph, Kings lackeying[21] by his triumphant chariot; And in this glorious victory, my lord, You have an ample share: for know, your son, The ne'er-enough commended Antoninus, So well hath flesh'd his maiden sword[22], and dyed His snowy plumes so deep in enemies' blood, That, besides public grace beyond his hopes, There are rewards propounded. _Sap._ I would know No mean in thine, could this be true. _Harp._ My head Answer the forfeit. _Sap._ Of his victory There was some rumour: but it was assured, The army pass'd a full day's journey higher Into the country. _Harp._ It was so determined; But, for the further honour of your son, And to observe the government of the city, And with what rigour, or remiss indulgence, The Christians are pursued, he makes his stay here: [_Trumpets._ For proof, his trumpets speak his near arrival. _Sap._ Haste, good Sempronius, draw up our guards, And with all ceremonious pomp receive The conquering army. Let our garrison speak Their welcome in loud shouts, the city show Her state and wealth. _Semp._ I'm gone. [_Exit._ _Sap._ O, I am ravish'd With this great honour! cherish, good Theophilus, This knowing scholar. Send for your fair daughters; I will present them to the emperor, And in their sweet conversion, as a mirror, Express your zeal and duty. _Theoph._ Fetch them, good Harpax. [_Exit_ HARPAX. _Enter_ SEMPRONIUS, _at the head of the guard, soldiers leading three kings bound_; ANTONINUS _and_ MACRINUS _bearing the emperor's eagles_; DIOCLESIAN _with a gilt laurel on his head, leading in_ ARTEMIA: SAPRITIUS _kisses the emperor's hand, then embraces his son_; HARPAX _brings in_ CALISTA _and_ CHRISTETA. _Loud shouts._ _Diocle._ So: at all parts I find Cæsarea Completely govern'd: the licentious soldier Confined in modest limits, and the people Taught to obey, and not compell'd with rigour: The ancient Roman discipline revived, Which raised Rome to her greatness, and proclaim'd her The glorious mistress of the conquer'd world; But, above all, the service of the gods, So zealously observed, that, good Sapritius, In words to thank you for your care and duty, Were much unworthy Dioclesian's honour, Or his magnificence to his loyal servants.-- But I shall find a time with noble titles To recompense your merits. _Sap._ Mightiest Cæsar, [23]Whose power upon this globe of earth is equal To Jove's in heaven; whose victorious triumphs On proud rebellious kings that stir against it, Are perfect figures of his immortal trophies Won in the Giants' war; whose conquering sword, Guided by his strong arm, as deadly kills As did his thunder! all that I have done, Or, if my strength were centupled, could do, Comes short of what my loyalty must challenge. But, if in any thing I have deserved Great Cæsar's smile, 'tis in my humble care Still to preserve the honour of those gods, That make him what he is: my zeal to them I ever have express'd in my fell hate Against the Christian sect that, with one blow, (Ascribing all things to an unknown Power,) Would strike down all their temples, and allows them Nor sacrifice nor altars. _Diocle._ Thou, in this, Walk'st hand in hand with me: my will and power Shall not alone confirm, but honour all That are in this most forward. _Sap._ Sacred Cæsar, If your imperial majesty stand pleased To shower your favours upon such as are The boldest champions of our religion, Look on this reverend man, [_points to Theophilus._] to whom the power Of searching out, and punishing such delinquents, Was by your choice committed; and, for proof, He hath deserved the grace imposed upon him, And with a fair and even hand proceeded, Partial to none, not to himself, or those Of equal nearness to himself; behold This pair of virgins. _Diocle._ What are these? _Sap._ His daughters. _Artem._ Now by your sacred fortune, they are fair ones, Exceeding fair ones: would 'twere in my power To make them mine! _Theoph._ They are the gods', great lady, They were most happy in your service else: On these, when they fell from their father's faith, I used a judge's power, entreaties failing (They being seduced) to win them to adore The holy Powers we worship; I put on The scarlet robe of bold authority, And, as they had been strangers to my blood, Presented them in the most horrid form, All kind of tortures; part of which they suffer'd With Roman constancy. _Artem._ And could you endure, Being a father, to behold their limbs Extended on the rack? _Theoph._ I did; but must Confess there was a strange contention in me, Between the impartial office of a judge, And pity of a father; to help justice Religion stept in, under which odds Compassion fell:--yet still I was a father. For e'en then, when the flinty hangman's whips Were worn with stripes spent on their tender limbs, I kneel'd, and wept, and begg'd them, though they would Be cruel to themselves, they would take pity On my gray hairs; now note a sudden change, Which I with joy remember; those, whom torture, Nor fear of death could terrify, were o'ercome By seeing of my sufferings; and so won, Returning to the faith that they were born in, I gave them to the gods. And be assured I that used justice with a rigorous hand, Upon such beauteous virgins, and mine own, Will use no favour, where the cause commands me, To any other; but, as rocks, be deaf To all entreaties. _Diocle._ Thou deserv'st thy place; Still hold it, and with honour. Things thus order'd Touching the gods, 'tis lawful to descend To human cares, and exercise that power Heaven has conferr'd upon me;--which that you, Rebels and traitors to the power of Rome, Should not with all extremities undergo, What can you urge to qualify your crimes, Or mitigate my anger? [24]_K. of Epire._ We are now Slaves to thy power, that yesterday were kings, And had command o'er others; we confess Our grandsires paid yours tribute, yet left us, As their forefathers had, desire of freedom. And, if you Romans hold it glorious honour, Not only to defend what is your own, But to enlarge your empire, (though our fortune Denies that happiness,) who can accuse The famish'd mouth, if it attempt to feed? Or such, whose fetters eat into their freedoms, If they desire to shake them off? _K. of Pontus._ We stand The last examples, to prove how uncertain All human happiness is; and are prepared To endure the worst. _K. of Macedon._ That spoke, which now is highest In Fortune's wheel, must, when she turns it next, Decline as low as we are. This consider'd Taught the Ægyptian Hercules, Sesostris, That had his chariot drawn by captive kings, To free them from that slavery;--but to hope Such mercy from a Roman were mere madness: We are familiar with what cruelty Rome, since her infant greatness, ever used Such as she triumph'd over; age nor sex Exempted from her tyranny; scepter'd princes Kept in her common dungeons, and their children, In scorn train'd up in base mechanic arts, For public bondmen. In the catalogue Of those unfortunate men, we expect to have Our names remember'd. _Diocle._ In all growing empires, Even cruelty is useful; some must suffer, And be set up examples to strike terror In others, though far off: but, when a state Is raised to her perfection, and her bases Too firm to shrink, or yield, we may use mercy, And do 't with safety[25]: but to whom? not cowards, Or such whose baseness shames the conqueror, And robs him of his victory, as weak Perseus Did great Æmilius[26]. Know, therefore, kings Of Epire, Pontus, and of Macedon, That I with courtesy can use my prisoners, As well as make them mine by force, provided That they are noble enemies: such I found you, Before I made you mine; and, since you were so, You have not lost the courages of princes, Although the fortune. Had you born yourselves Dejectedly, and base, no slavery Had been too easy for you: but such is The power of noble valour, that we love it Even in our enemies, and taken with it, Desire to make them friends, as I will you. _K. of Epire._ Mock us not, Cæsar. _Diocle._ By the gods, I do not. Unloose their bonds:--I now as friends embrace you. Give them their crowns again. _K. of Pontus._ We are twice o'ercome; By courage, and by courtesy. _K. of Macedon._ But this latter Shall teach us to live ever faithful vassals To Dioclesian, and the power of Rome. _K of Epire._ All kingdoms fall before her! _K. of Pontus._ And all kings Contend to honour Cæsar! _Diocle._ I believe Your tongues are the true trumpets of your hearts, And in it I most happy. Queen of fate, Imperious Fortune! mix some light disaster With my so many joys, to season them, And give them sweeter relish: I'm girt round With true felicity; faithful subjects here, Here bold commanders, here with new-made friends: But, what's the crown of all, in thee, Artemia, My only child, whose love to me and duty, Strive to exceed each other! _Artem._ I make payment But of a debt, which I stand bound to tender As a daughter and a subject. _Diocle._ Which requires yet A retribution from me, Artemia, Tied by a father's care, how to bestow A jewel, of all things to me most precious: Nor will I therefore longer keep thee from The chief joys of creation, marriage rites; Which that thou may'st with greater pleasures taste of, Thou shalt not like with mine eyes, but thine own. Among these kings, forgetting they were captives; Or those, remembering not they are my subjects, Make choice of any: By Jove's dreadful thunder, My will shall rank with thine. _Artem._ It is a bounty The daughters of great princes seldom meet with; For they, to make up breaches in the state, Or for some other public ends, are forced To match where they affect not[27]. May my life Deserve this favour! _Diocle._ Speak; I long to know The man thou wilt make happy. _Artem._ If that titles, Or the adored name of Queen could take me, Here would I fix mine eyes, and look no further; But these are baits to take a mean-born lady, Not her that boldly may call Cæsar father: In that I can bring honour unto any, But from no king that lives receive addition: To raise desert and virtue by my fortune, Though in a low estate, were greater glory, Than to mix greatness with a prince that owes[28] No worth but that name only. _Diocle._ I commend thee; 'Tis like myself. _Artem._ If, then, of men beneath me, My choice is to be made, where shall I seek, But among those that best deserve from you? That have served you most faithfully; that in dangers Have stood next to you; that have interposed Their breasts as shields of proof, to dull the swords Aim'd at your bosom; that have spent their blood To crown your brows with laurel? _Macr._ Cytherea, Great Queen of Love, be now propitious to me! _Harp._ [_to Sap._] Now mark what I foretold. _Anton._ Her eye's on me. Fair Venus' son, draw forth a leaden dart[29], And, that she may hate me, transfix her with it; Or, if thou needs wilt use a golden one, Shoot it in the behalf of any other: Thou know'st I am thy votary elsewhere. [_Aside._ _Artem._ [_advances to Anton._] Sir. _Theoph._ How he blushes! _Sap._ Welcome, fool, thy fortune. Stand like a block when such an angel courts thee! _Artem._ I am no object to divert your eye From the beholding. _Anton._ Rather a bright sun, Too glorious for him to gaze upon, That took not first flight from the eagle's aerie. As I look on the temples, or the gods, And with that reverence, lady, I behold you, And shall do ever. _Artem._ And it will become you, While thus we stand at distance; but, if love, Love born out of the assurance of your virtues, Teach me to stoop so low-- _Anton._ O, rather take A higher flight. _Artem._ Why, fear you to be raised? Say I put off the dreadful awe that waits On majesty, or with you share my beams, Nay, make you to outshine me; change the name Of Subject into Lord, rob you of service That's due from you to me, and in me make it Duty to honour you, would you refuse me? _Anton._ Refuse you, madam! such a worm as I am Refuse what kings upon their knees would sue for! Call it, great lady, by another name; An humble modesty, that would not match A molehill with Olympus. _Artem._ He that's famous For honourable actions in the war, As you are, Antoninus, a proved soldier, Is fellow to a king. _Anton._ If you love valour, As 'tis a kingly virtue, seek it out, And cherish it in a king; there it shines brightest, And yields the bravest lustre. Look on Epire, A prince, in whom it is incorporate; And let it not disgrace him that he was O'ercome by Cæsar; it was victory, To stand so long against him: had you seen him, How in one bloody scene he did discharge The parts of a commander and a soldier, Wise in direction, bold in execution; You would have said, Great Cæsar's self excepted, The world yields not his equal. _Artem._ Yet I have heard, Encountering him alone in the head of his troop, You took him prisoner. _K. of Epire._ 'Tis a truth, great princess: I'll not detract from valour. _Anton._ 'Twas mere fortune; Courage had no hand in it. _Theoph._ Did ever man Strive so against his own good? _Sap._ Spiritless villain! How I am tortured! By the immortal gods, I now could kill him. _Diocle._ Hold, Sapritius, hold, On our displeasure, hold! _Harp._ Why, this would make A father mad; 'tis not to be endured; Your honour's tainted in 't. _Sap._ By heaven, it is: I shall think of it. _Harp._ 'Tis not to be forgotten. _Artem._ Nay, kneel not, sir; I am no ravisher, Nor so far gone in fond affection to you, But that I can retire, my honour safe:-- Yet say, hereafter, that thou hast neglected What, but seen in possession of another, Will make thee mad with envy. _Anton._ In her looks Revenge is written. _Mac._ As you love your life, Study to appease her. _Anton._ Gracious madam, hear me. _Artem._ And be again refused? _Anton._ The tender of My life, my service, or, since you vouchsafe it, My love, my heart, my all: and pardon me, Pardon, dread princess, that I made some scruple To leave a valley of security, To mount up to the hill of majesty, On which, the nearer Jove, the nearer lightning. What knew I, but your grace made trial of me; Durst I presume to embrace, where but to touch With an unmanner'd hand was death? The fox, When he saw first the forest's king[30], the lion, Was almost dead with fear; the second view Only a little daunted him; the third, He durst salute him boldly: pray you, apply this; And you shall find a little time will teach me To look with more familiar eyes upon you, Than duty yet allows me. _Sap._ Well excused. _Artem._ You may redeem all yet. _Diocle._ And, that he may Have means and opportunity to do so, Artemia, I leave you my substitute In fair Cæsarea. _Sap._ And here, as yourself, We will obey and serve her. _Diocle._ Antoninus, So you prove hers, I wish no other heir; Think on 't:--be careful of your charge, Theophilus; Sapritius, be you my daughter's guardian. Your company I wish, confederate princes, In our Dalmatian wars: which finished With victory I hope, and Maximinus, Our brother and copartner in the empire, At my request won to confirm as much, The kingdoms I took from you we'll restore, And make you greater than you were before. [_Exeunt all but_ ANTONINUS _and_ MACRINUS. _Anton._ Oh, I am lost for ever! lost, Macrinus! The anchor of the wretched, hope, forsakes me, And with one blast of Fortune all my light Of happiness is put out. _Mac._ You are like to those That are ill only, 'cause they are too well; That, surfeiting in the excess of blessings, Call their abundance want. What could you wish, That is not fall'n upon you? honour, greatness, Respect, wealth, favour, the whole world for a dower; And with a princess, whose excelling form Exceeds her fortune. _Anton._ Yet poison still is poison, Though drunk in gold; and all these flattering glories To me, ready to starve, a painted banquet, And no essential food. When I am scorch'd With fire, can flames in any other quench me? What is her love to me, greatness, or empire, That am slave to another, who alone Can give me ease or freedom? _Mac._ Sir, you point at Your dotage on the scornful Dorothea: Is she, though fair, the same day to be named With best Artemia? In all their courses, Wise men purpose their ends: with sweet Artemia, There comes along pleasure, security, Usher'd by all that in this life is precious: With Dorothea (though her birth be noble, The daughter to a senator of Rome, By him left rich, yet with a private wealth, And far inferior to yours) arrives The emperor's frown, which, like a mortal plague, Speaks death is near; the princess' heavy scorn, Under which you will shrink; your father's fury, Which to resist even piety forbids:-- And but remember that she stands suspected A favourer of the Christian sect; she brings Not danger, but assured destruction with her. This truly weigh'd one smile of great Artemia Is to be cherish'd, and preferr'd before All joys in Dorothea: therefore leave her. _Anton._ In what thou think'st thou art most wise, thou art Grossly abused, Macrinus, and most foolish. For any man to match above his rank, Is but to sell his liberty. With Artemia I still must live a servant; but enjoying Divinest Dorothea, I shall rule, Rule as becomes a husband: for the _danger_, Or call it, if you will, _assured destruction_, I slight it thus.--If, then, thou art my friend, As I dare swear thou art, and wilt not take A governor's place upon thee[31], be my helper. _Mac._ You know I dare, and will do any thing; Put me unto the test. _Anton._ Go, then, Macrinus, To Dorothea; tell her I have worn, In all the battles I have fought, her figure, Her figure in my heart, which, like a deity, Hath still protected me. Thou canst speak well; And of thy choicest language spare a little, To make her understand how much I love her, And how I languish for her. Bear these jewels, Sent in the way of sacrifice, not service, As to my goddess: all lets[32] thrown behind me, Or fears that may deter me, say, this morning I mean to visit her by the name of friendship:-- No words to contradict this. _Mac._ I am yours: And, if my travail this way be ill spent, Judge not my readier will by the event. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [19] Perséver.] So this word was anciently written and pronounced: thus the king, in _Hamlet_: ----_but to_ perséver _In obstinate condolement_. GIFFORD. [20] Sap. _Keep the_ ports _close._] This word, which is directly from the Latin, is so frequently used by Massinger and the writers of his time for the _gates of a town_, that it appears superfluous to produce any examples of it.--GIFFORD. [21] _Kings_ lackeying _by his triumphant chariot._] Running by the side of it like _lackeys_ or foot-boys.--GIFFORD. [22] _Flesh'd his maiden sword._] These words are from Shakspeare, of whose works Massinger appears to have been a great reader. [23] _Whose power_, &c.] An imitation of the well-known line, _Divisum imperium cum Jove Cæsar habet_.--GIFFORD. [24] K. of Epire. _We are now Slaves to thy power_, &c.] I have observed several imitations of Massinger in the dramas of Mason: there is, for instance, a striking similarity between this spirited speech, and the indignant exclamation of the brave but unfortunate Caractacus: ----"Soldier, I had arms, Had neighing steeds to whirl my iron cars, Had wealth, dominions: dost thou wonder, Roman, I fought to save them? What if Cæsar aims To lord it universal o'er the world, Shall the world tamely crouch to Cæsar's footstool?" GIFFORD. [25] _And do 't with safety._] This is admirably expressed: the maxim, however, though just, is of the most dangerous nature; for what ambitious chief will ever allow the state to be "raised to her perfection," or that the time for using "mercy with safety" is arrived? Even Dioclesian has his exceptions,--strong ones too! for Rome was old enough in his time. There is an allusion to Virgil, in the opening of this speech: _Res dura, et novitas regni me talia cogunt Moliri, &c._ GIFFORD. [26] --------_as weak Perseus Did great Æmilius._] It is said that Perseus sent to desire Paulus Æmilius not to exhibit him as a spectacle to the Romans, and to spare him the indignity of being led in triumph. Æmilius replied coldly: _The favour he asks of me is in his own power; he can procure it for himself_.--COXETER. [27] _To match where they affect not._] This does better for modern than Roman practice; and, indeed, the author was thinking more of Hamlet than Dioclesian, in this part of the dialogue.--GIFFORD. [28] _Owes_.] i. e. _owns_. [29] _Fair Venus' son, draw forth a leaden dart._] The idea of this double effect, to which Massinger has more than one allusion, is from Ovid: _Filius huic Veneris; figat tuus omnia, Phoebe, Te meus arcus, ait:--Parnassi constitit arce, Eque sagittifera promsit duo tela pharetra Diversorum operum; fugat hoc, facit illud amorem. Quod facit, auratum est, et cuspide fulget acuta; Quod fugat, obtusum est, et habet sub arundine plumbum._ Met. lib. i. 470. GIFFORD. [30] --------_The fox, When he saw first the forest's king_, &c.] The fable is from the Greek. In a preceding line there is an allusion to the proverb, _Procul a Jove, sed procul a fulmine_.--GIFFORD. [31] _A governor's place upon thee._] From the Latin: _ne sis mihi tutor_.--GIFFORD. [32] ----_All lets._] i. e. _All impediments._ ACT II. SCENE I. _A Room in_ DOROTHEA'_s House_. _Enter_ DOROTHEA, _followed by_ ANGELO _with a book and taper_. _Dor._ My book and taper. _Ang._ Here, most holy mistress. _Dor._ Thy voice sends forth such music, that I never Was ravish'd with a more celestial sound. Were every servant in the world like thee, So full of goodness, angels would come down To dwell with us: thy name is Angelo, And like that name thou art; get thee to rest, Thy youth with too much watching is opprest. _Ang._ No, my dear lady, I could weary stars, And force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes, By my late watching, but to wait on you. When at your prayers you kneel before the altar, Methinks I'm singing with some quire in heaven, So blest I hold me in your company: Therefore, my most loved mistress, do not bid Your boy, so serviceable, to get hence; For then you break his heart. _Dor._ Be nigh me still, then: In golden letters down I'll set that day, Which gave thee to me. Little did I hope To meet such worlds of comfort in thyself, This little, pretty body; when I, coming Forth of the temple, heard my beggar-boy, My sweet-faced, godly beggar-boy, crave an alms, Which with glad hand I gave, with lucky hand!-- And, when I took thee home, my most chaste bosom, Methought, was fill'd with no hot wanton fire, But with a holy flame, mounting since higher, On wings of cherubins, than it did before. _Ang._ Proud am I, that my lady's modest eye So likes so poor a servant. _Dor._ I have offer'd Handfuls of gold but to behold thy parents. I would leave kingdoms, were I queen of some, To dwell with thy good father; for, the son Bewitching me so deeply with his presence, He that begot him must do 't ten times more. I pray thee, my sweet boy, show me thy parents; Be not ashamed. _Ang._ I am not: I did never Know who my mother was; but, by yon palace, Fill'd with bright heavenly courtiers, I dare assure you, And pawn these eyes upon it, and this hand, My father is in heaven: and, pretty mistress, If your illustrious hour-glass spend his sand, No worse than yet it does; upon my life, You and I both shall meet my father there, And he shall bid you welcome. _Dor._ A blessed day! We all long to be there, but lose the way. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _A Street, near_ DOROTHEA'_s House_. _Enter_ MACRINUS, _met by_ THEOPHILUS _and_ HARPAX. _Theoph._ The Sun, god of the day, guide thee, Macrinus! _Mac._ And thee, Theophilus! _Theoph._ Glad'st thou in such scorn[33]? I call my wish back. _Mac._ I'm in haste. _Theoph._ One word, Take the least hand[34] of time up:--stay. _Mac._ Be brief. _Theoph._ As thought: I prithee tell me, good Macrinus, How health and our fair princess lay together This night, for you can tell; courtiers have flies[35], That buzz all news unto them. _Mac._ She slept but ill. _Theoph._ Double thy courtesy; how does Antoninus? _Mac._ Ill, well, straight, crooked,--I know not how. _Theoph._ Once more; --Thy head is full of windmills:--when doth the princess Bestow herself on noble Antoninus? _Mac._ I know not. _Theoph._ No! thou art the manuscript, Where Antoninus writes down all his secrets: Honest Macrinus, tell me. _Mac._ Fare you well, sir. [_Exit._ _Harp._ Honesty is some fiend, and frights him hence; A many courtiers love it not. _Theoph._ What piece Of this state-wheel, which winds up Antoninus, Is broke, it runs so jarringly? the man Is from himself divided: O thou, the eye, By which I wonders see, tell me, my Harpax, What gad-fly tickles this Macrinus so, That, flinging up the tail, he breaks thus from me. _Harp._ Oh, sir, his brain-pan is a bed of snakes, Whose stings shoot through his eye-balls, whose poisonous spawn Ingenders such a fry of speckled villanies, That, unless charms more strong than adamant Be used, the Roman angel's[36] wings shall melt, And Cæsar's diadem be from his head Spurn'd by base feet; the laurel which he wears, Returning victor, be enforced to kiss That which it hates, the fire. And can this ram, This Antoninus-Engine, being made ready To so much mischief, keep a steady motion?-- His eyes and feet, you see, give strange assaults. _Theoph._ I'm turn'd a marble statue at thy language, Which printed is in such crabb'd characters, It puzzles all my reading: what, in the name Of Pluto, now is hatching? _Harp._ This Macrinus, The line is[37], upon which love-errands run 'Twixt Antoninus and that ghost of women, The bloodless Dorothea; who in prayer And meditation, mocking all your gods, Drinks up her ruby colour: yet Antoninus Plays the Endymion to this pale-faced Moon, Courts, seeks to catch her eyes-- _Theoph._ And what of this? _Harp._ These are but creeping billows, Not got to shore yet: but if Dorothea Fall on his bosom, and be fired with love, (Your coldest women do so),--had you ink Brew'd from the infernal Styx, not all that blackness Can make a thing so foul, as the dishonours, Disgraces, buffetings, and most base affronts Upon the bright Artemia, star o' the court, Great Cæsar's daughter. _Theoph._ I now conster[38] thee. _Harp._ Nay, more; a firmament of clouds, being fill'd With Jove's artillery, shot down at once, To pash[39] your gods in pieces, cannot give, With all those thunderbolts, so deep a blow To the religion there, and pagan lore, As this; for Dorothea hates your gods, And, if she once blast Antoninus' soul, Making it foul like hers, Oh! the example-- _Theoph._ Eats through Cæsarea's heart like liquid poison. Have I invented tortures to tear Christians, To see but which, could all that feel hell's torments Have leave to stand aloof here on earth's stage, They would be mad till they again descended, Holding the pains most horrid of such souls, May-games to those of mine; has this my hand Set down a Christian's execution In such dire postures, that the very hangman Fell at my foot dead, hearing but their figures; And shall Macrinus and his fellow-masquer Strangle me in a dance? _Harp._ No:--on; I hug thee, For drilling thy quick brains in this rich plot Of tortures 'gainst these Christians: on; I hug thee! _Theoph._ Both hug and holy me: to this Dorothea, Fly thou and I in thunder. _Harp._ Not for kingdoms Piled upon kingdoms: there's a villain page Waits on her, whom I would not for the world Hold traffic with; I do so hate his sight, That, should I look on him, I must sink down. _Theoph._ I will not lose thee then, her to confound: None but this head with glories shall be crown'd. _Harp._ Oh! mine own as I would wish thee! [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [33] _Theoph._ Glad'st _thou in such scorn_?] Theophilus, who is represented as a furious zealot for paganism, is mortified at the indifference with which Macrinus returns the happiness he had wished him by his god. Mr. M. Mason reads, Gaddest _thou in such scorn_? He may be right; for Macrinus is evidently anxious to pass on: the reading of the text, however, is that of all the old copies.--GIFFORD. [34] _Hand_,] here used for _inch_, _moment_. We often meet the phrase _of his hands_, for _of his inches_. [35] ----_flies_.] This word is used by Ben Jonson, a close and devoted imitator of the ancients, for _a domestic parasite_, _a familiar_, &c. and from him, probably, Decker adopted it in the present sense.--GIFFORD. [36] _Roman angels_,] i. e. the _Roman eagle_, the well-known military ensign. _Angel_ in the sense of _bird_ is frequently met with among our old writers. Jonson beautifully calls the nightingale "The dear good angel of the spring." And if this should be thought, as it probably is, a Grecism; yet we have the same term in another passage, which will admit of no dispute: "Not an _angel_ of the air, _Bird_ melodious, or _bird_ fair," &c. _Two Noble Kinsmen._ GIFFORD. [37] Harp. _This Macrinus, The_ line _is_, &c] The allusion is to the rude fire-works of our ancestors. So, in the _Fawne_, by Marston: "_Page._ There be squibs, sir, running upon _lines_, like some of our gawdy gallants," &c.--GIFFORD. [38] _Conster_,] i. e. _understand_. This word (a corruption of _construe_), so frequently heard among the common people, has not found a place in any dictionary that I have met with. [39] _Pash_,] i. e. _to strike a thing with such force as to dash it to pieces_. The word is now obsolete; which is to be regretted, as we have none that can adequately supply its place: it is used in its proper sense by Dryden, which is the latest instance I recollect: "Thy cunning engines have with labour raised My heavy anger, like a mighty weight, To fall and _pash_ thee." GIFFORD. SCENE III. _A Hall in_ DOROTHEA'_s House, with a gallery above_. _Enter_ DOROTHEA, MACRINUS, _and_ ANGELO. _Dor._ My trusty Angelo, with that curious eye Of thine, which ever waits upon my business, I prithee watch those my still-negligent servants, That they perform my will, in what's enjoined them To the good of others. Be careful, my dear boy. _Ang._ Yes, my sweetest mistress. [_Exit._ _Dor._ Now, sir, you may go on. _Mac._ I then must study A new arithmetic, to sum up the virtues Which Antoninus gracefully become. There is in him so much man, so much goodness, So much of honour, and of all things else, Which make our being excellent, that from his store He can enough lend others; yet, much ta'en from him, The want shall be as little, as when seas Lend from their bounty, to fill up the poorness Of needy rivers. _Dor._ Sir, he is more indebted To you for praise, than you to him that owes[40] it. _Mac._ If queens, viewing his presents paid to the whiteness Of your chaste hand alone, should be ambitious But to be parted[41] in their numerous shares; This he counts nothing: could you see main armies Make battles in the quarrel of his valour, That 'tis the best, the truest; this were nothing: The greatness of his state, his father's voice, And arm, awing Cæsarea, he ne'er boasts of; The sunbeams which the emperor throws upon him Shine there but as in water, and gild him Not with one spot of pride: no, dearest beauty, All these, heap'd up together in one scale, Cannot weigh down the love he bears to you, Being put into the other. _Dor._ Could gold buy you To speak thus for a friend, you, sir, are worthy Of more than I will number; and this your language Hath power to win upon another woman, 'Top of whose heart the feathers of this world Are gaily stuck: but all which first you named, And now this last, his love, to me are nothing. _Mac._ You make me a sad messenger;--but himself _Enter_ ANTONINUS. Being come in person, shall, I hope, hear from you Music more pleasing. _Anton._ Has your ear, Macrinus, Heard none, then? _Mac._ None I like. _Anton._ But can there be In such a noble casket, wherein lie Beauty and chastity in their full perfections, A rocky heart, killing with cruelty A life that's prostrated beneath your feet? _Dor._ I am guilty of a shame I yet ne'er knew, Thus to hold parley with you;--pray, sir, pardon. [_Going._ _Anton._ Good sweetness, you now have it, and shall go: Be but so merciful, before your wounding me With such a mortal weapon as Farewell, To let me murmur to your virgin ear, What I was loth to lay on any tongue But this mine own. _Dor._ If one immodest accent Fly out, I hate you everlastingly. _Anton._ My true love dares not do it. _Mac._ Hermes inspire thee! _Enter, in the gallery above_, ARTEMIA, SAPRITIUS, _and_ THEOPHILUS. _Anton._ Come, let me tune you:--glaze not thus your eyes With self-love of a vow'd virginity; All men desire your sweet society, But if you bar me from it, you do kill me, And of my blood are guilty. _Artem._ O base villain! _Sap._ Bridle your rage, sweet princess. _Anton._ Could not my fortunes, Rear'd higher far than yours, be worthy of you, Methinks my dear affection makes you mine. _Dor._ Sir, for your fortunes, were they mines of gold, He that I love is richer; and for worth, You are to him lower than any slave Is to a monarch. _Sap._ So insolent, base Christian! _Dor._ Can I, with wearing out my knees before him, Get you but be his servant, you shall boast You're equal to a king. _Sap._ Confusion on thee, For playing thus the lying sorceress! _Anton._ Your mocks are great ones; none beneath the sun Will I be servant to.--On my knees I beg it, Pity me, wondrous maid. _Sap._ I curse thy baseness. _Theoph._ Listen to more. _Dor._ O kneel not, sir, to me. _Anton._ This knee is emblem of an humbled heart: That heart which tortured is with your disdain, Justly for scorning others, even this heart, To which for pity such a princess sues, As in her hand offers me all the world, Great Cæsar's daughter. _Artem._ Slave, thou liest. _Anton._ Yet this Is adamant to her, that melts to you In drops of blood. _Theoph._ A very dog! _Anton._ Perhaps 'Tis my religion makes you knit the brow; Yet be you mine, and ever be your own: I ne'er will screw your conscience from that Power, On which you Christians lean. _Sap._ I can no longer Fret out my life with weeping at thee, villain. Sirrah! [_Aloud._ Would, ere thy birth, the mighty Thunderer's hand Had struck thee in the womb! _Mac._ We are betray'd. _Artem._ Is that the idol, traitor, which thou kneel'st to, Trampling upon my beauty? _Theoph._ Sirrah, bandog[42]! Wilt thou in pieces tear our Jupiter For her? our Mars for her? our Sol for her? _Artem._ Threaten not, but strike: quick vengeance flies Into my bosom; caitiff! here all love dies. [_Exeunt above._ _Anton._ O! I am thunderstruck! We are both o'erwhelm'd---- _Mac._ With one high-raging billow. _Dor._ You a soldier, And sink beneath the violence of a woman! _Anton._ A woman! a wrong'd princess. From such a star Blazing with fires of hate, what can be look'd for, But tragical events? my life is now The subject of her tyranny. _Dor._ That fear is base, Of death, when that death doth but life displace Out of her house of earth; you only dread The stroke, and not what follows when you're dead; There's the great fear, indeed: come, let your eyes Dwell where mine do, you'll scorn their tyrannies. _Re-enter below_, ARTEMIA, SAPRITIUS, THEOPHILUS, _a guard_; ANGELO _comes and stands close by_ DOROTHEA. _Artem._ My father's nerves put vigour in mine arm, And I his strength must use. Because I once Shed beams of favour on thee, and, with the lion, Play'd with thee gently, when thou struck'st my heart, I'll not insult on a base, humbled prey, By lingering out thy terrors; but, with one frown, Kill thee:--hence with them all to execution. Seize him; but let even death itself be weary In torturing her. I'll change those smiles to shrieks; Give the fool what she's proud of, martyrdom: In pieces rack that pander. [_Points to_ MACR. _Sap._ Albeit the reverence I owe our gods and you, are, in my bosom, Torrents so strong, that pity quite lies drown'd From saving this young man; yet, when I see What face death gives him, and that a thing within me Says, 'tis my son, I am forced to be a man, And grow fond of his life, which thus I beg. _Artem._ And I deny. _Anton._ Sir, you dishonour me, To sue for that which I disclaim to have. I shall more glory in my sufferings gain, Than you in giving judgment, since I offer My blood up to your anger; nor do I kneel To keep a wretched life of mine from ruin: Preserve this temple, builded fair as yours is, And Cæsar never went in greater triumph, Than I shall to the scaffold. _Artem._ Are you so brave, sir? Set forward to his triumph, and let those two Go cursing along with him. _Dor._ No, but pitying, For my part, I, that you lose ten times more By torturing me, than I that dare your tortures: Through all the army of my sins, I have even Labour'd to break, and cope with death to the face. The visage of a hangman frights not me; The sight of whips, racks, gibbets, axes, fires, Are scaffoldings by which my soul climbs up To an eternal habitation. _Theoph._ Cæsar's imperial daughter, hear me speak. Let not this Christian thing in this her pageantry Of proud deriding both our gods and Cæsar, Build to herself a kingdom in her death, Going laughing from us: no; her bitterest torment Shall be, to feel her constancy beaten down; The bravery of her resolution lie Batter'd, by argument, into such pieces, That she again in penitence shall creep To kiss the pavements of our paynim gods. _Artem._ How to be done? _Theoph._ I'll send my daughters to her, And they shall turn her rocky faith to wax; Else spit at me, let me be made your slave, And meet no Roman's but a villain's grave. _Artem._ Thy prisoner let her be, then; and, Sapritius, Your son and that[43], be yours: death shall be sent To him that suffers them, by voice or letters, To greet each other. Rifle her estate; Christians to beggary brought grow desperate. _Dor._ Still on the bread of poverty let me feed. _Ang._ O! my admired mistress, quench not out The holy fires within you, though temptations Shower down upon you: Clasp thine armour on, Fight well, and thou shalt see, after these wars, Thy head wear sunbeams, and thy feet touch stars. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [40] _Owes_,] i. e. _owns_. [41] _Parted_,] i. e. _endowed with a part_. [42] _Bandog!_] A _bandog_, as the name imports, was a dog so fierce, as to require to be chained up. Bandogs are frequently mentioned by our old writers (indeed the word occurs three times in this play) and always with a reference to their savage nature. If the term was appropriated to a species, it probably meant a large dog, of the mastiff kind, which, though no longer met with here, is still common in many parts of Germany: it was familiar to Snyders, and is found in most of his hunting-pieces. In this country the bandog was kept to bait bears: with the decline of that sport, perhaps, the animal fell into disuse, as he was too ferocious for any domestic purpose. Mr. Gilchrist has furnished me with a curious passage from Laneham, which renders any further details on the subject unnecessary. "On the syxth day of her Majestyes cumming, a great sort of _bandogs_ whear thear tyed in the utter coourt, and thyrteen bears in the inner. Whoosoever made the pannel, thear wear enoow for a queast, and one for a challenge and need wear. A wight of great wisdoom and gravitie seemed their foreman to be, had it cum to a jury: but it fell oout that they wear causd to appeer thear upon no such matter, but onlie too onswear too an _auncient quarrele between them and the bandogs_," &c. _Queen Elizabeth's Entertainment at Killingwoorth Castle, in 1575_.--GIFFORD. [43] _Your son and_ that.] Macrinus, whom before she had called a pander. M. MASON. ACT III. SCENE I. _A Room in_ DOROTHEA'_s House_. _Enter_ SAPRITIUS, THEOPHILUS, _Priest_, CALISTA, _and_ CHRISTETA. _Sap._ Sick to the death, I fear. _Theoph_. I meet your sorrow, With my true feeling of it. _Sap._ She's a witch, A sorceress, Theophilus; my son Is charm'd by her enchanting eyes; and, like An image made of wax, her beams of beauty Melt him to nothing: all my hopes in him, And all his gotten honours, find their grave In his strange dotage on her. Would, when first He saw and loved her, that the earth had open'd, And swallow'd both alive! _Theoph._ There's hope left yet. _Sap._ Not any: though the princess were appeased, All title in her love surrender'd up; Yet this coy Christian is so transported With her religion, that unless my son (But let him perish first!) drink the same potion, And be of her belief, she'll not vouchsafe To be his lawful wife. _Priest._ But, once removed From her opinion, as I rest assured The reasons of these holy maids will win her, You'll find her tractable to any thing, For your content or his. _Theoph._ If she refuse it, The Stygian damps, breeding infectious airs, The mandrake's shrieks, the basilisk's killing eye, The dreadful lightning that does crush the bones, And never singe the skin, shall not appear Less fatal to her, than my zeal made hot With love unto my gods. I have deferr'd it, In hopes to draw back this apostata, Which will be greater honour than her death, Unto her father's faith; and, to that end, Have brought my daughters hither. _Cal._ And we doubt not To do what you desire. _Sap._ Let her be sent for. Prosper in your good work; and were I not To attend the princess, I would see and hear How you succeed. _Theoph._ I am commanded too, I'll bear you company. _Sap._ Give them your ring, To lead her as in triumph, if they win her, Before her highness. [_Exit._ _Theoph._ Spare no promises, Persuasions, or threats, I do conjure you: If you prevail, 'tis the most glorious work You ever undertook. _Enter_ DOROTHEA _and_ ANGELO. _Priest._ She comes. _Theoph._ We leave you; Be constant, and be careful. [_Exeunt_ THEOPH. _and Priest_. _Cal._ We are sorry To meet you under guard. _Dor._ But I more grieved You are at liberty. So well I love you, That I could wish, for such a cause as mine, You were my fellow-prisoners: Prithee, Angelo, Reach us some chairs. Please you sit---- _Cal._ We thank you: Our visit is for love, love to your safety. _Christ._ Our conference must be private; pray you, therefore, Command your boy to leave us. _Dor._ You may trust him With any secret that concerns my life; Falsehood and he are strangers: had you, ladies, Been bless'd with such a servant, you had never Forsook that way, your journey even half ended, That leads to joys eternal. In the place Of loose lascivious mirth, he would have stirr'd you To holy meditations; and so far He is from flattery, that he would have told you, Your pride being at the height, how miserable And wretched things you were, that, for an hour Of pleasure here, have made a desperate sale Of all your right in happiness hereafter. He must not leave me; without him I fall: In this life he's my servant, in the other A wish'd companion. _Ang._ 'Tis not in the devil, Nor all his wicked arts, to shake such goodness. _Dor._ But you were speaking, lady. _Cal._ As a friend And lover of your safety, and I pray you So to receive it; and, if you remember How near in love our parents were, that we, Even from the cradle, were brought up together, Our amity increasing with our years, We cannot stand suspected. _Dor._ To the purpose. _Cal._ We come, then, as good angels, Dorothea, To make you happy; and the means so easy, That, be not you an enemy to yourself, Already you enjoy it. _Christ._ Look on us, Ruin'd as you are, once, and brought unto it, By your persuasion. _Cal._ But what follow'd, lady? Leaving those blessings which our gods gave freely, And shower'd upon us with a prodigal hand, As to be noble born, youth, beauty, wealth, And the free use of these without control, Check, curb, or stop, such is our law's indulgence! All happiness forsook us; bonds and fetters, For amorous twines; the rack and hangman's whips, In place of choice delights; our parents' curses Instead of blessings; scorn, neglect, contempt, Fell thick upon us. _Christ._ This consider'd wisely, We made a fair retreat; and reconciled To our forsaken gods, we live again In all prosperity. _Cal._ By our example, Bequeathing misery to such as love it, Learn to be happy. The Christian yoke's too heavy For such a dainty neck; it was framed rather To be the shrine of Venus, or a pillar, More precious than crystal, to support Our Cupid's image: our religion, lady, Is but a varied pleasure; yours a toil Slaves would shrink under. _Dor._ Have you not cloven feet? are you not devils? Dare any say so much, or dare I hear it Without a virtuous and religious anger? Now to put on a virgin modesty, Or maiden silence, when His power is question'd That is omnipotent, were a greater crime, Than in a bad cause to be impudent. Your gods! your temples! brothel-houses rather, Or wicked actions of the worst of men, Pursued and practised. Your religious rites! Oh! call them rather juggling mysteries, The baits and nets of hell: your souls the prey For which the devil angles; your false pleasures A steep descent, by which you headlong fall Into eternal torments. _Cal._ Do not tempt Our powerful gods. _Dor._ Which of your powerful gods? Your gold, your silver, brass, or wooden ones, That can nor do me hurt, nor protect you? Most pitied women! will you sacrifice To such,--or call them gods or goddesses, Your parents would disdain to be the same, Or you yourselves? O blinded ignorance! Tell me, Calista, by thy truth, I charge you, Or any thing you hold more dear, would you, To have him deified to posterity, Desire your father an adulterer, A ravisher, almost a parricide, A vile incestuous wretch? _Cal._ That, piety And duty answer for me. _Dor._ Or you, Christeta, To be hereafter register'd a goddess, Give your chaste body up to the embraces Of wicked passion? have it writ on your forehead, "This is the mistress in the art of sin. Knows every trick, and labyrinth of desires That are immodest?" _Christ._ You judge better of me, Or my affection is ill placed on you. Shall I turn wanton? _Dor._ No, I think you would not. Yet, such was Venus, whom you worship; such Flora, the foundress of the public stews, And has, for that, her sacrifice; your Jupiter, A loose adulterer:--read ye but those That have canonized them, you'll find them worse Than, in chaste language, I can speak them to you. Are they immortal, then, that did partake Of human weakness, and had ample share In men's most base affections; subject to Unchaste loves, anger, bondage, wounds, as men are? Here, Jupiter, to serve his lust, turn'd bull, The shape, indeed, in which he stole Europa; Neptune, for gain, builds up the walls of Troy, As a day-labourer; Apollo keeps Admetus' sheep for bread; the Lemnian smith Sweats at the forge for hire; Prometheus here, With his still-growing liver, feeds the vulture; Saturn bound fast in hell with adamant chains; And thousands more, on whom abused error Bestows a deity. Will you then, dear sisters, For I would have you such, pay your devotions To things of less power than yourselves? _Cal._ We worship Their good deeds in their images. _Dor._ By whom fashion'd? By sinful men. I'll tell you a short tale[44], Nor can you but confess it is a true one: A king of Egypt, being to erect The image of Osiris, whom they honour, Took from the matrons' necks the richest jewels, And purest gold, as the materials To finish up his work; which perfected, With all solemnity he set it up, To be adored, and served himself his idol; Desiring it to give him victory Against his enemies: but, being overthrown, Enraged against his god, (these are fine gods, Subject to human fury!) he took down The senseless thing, and melting it again, He made a bason, in which eunuchs wash'd His concubine's feet; and for this sordid use, Some months it served: his mistress proving false, As most indeed do so, and grace concluded Between him and the priests, of the same bason He made his god again!--Think, think, of this, And then consider, if all worldly honours, Or pleasures that do leave sharp stings behind them, Have power to win such as have reasonable souls, To put their trust in dross. _Cal._ Oh, that I had been born Without a father! _Christ._ Piety to him Hath ruin'd us for ever. _Dor._ Think not so; You may repair all yet: the attribute That speaks his Godhead most, is merciful: Revenge is proper to the fiends you worship, Yet cannot strike without his leave.--You weep,-- Oh, 'tis a heavenly shower! celestial balm To cure your wounded conscience! let it fall, Fall thick upon it; and, when that is spent, I'll help it with another of my tears: And may your true repentance prove the child Of my true sorrow, never mother had A birth so happy! _Cal._ We are caught ourselves, That came to take you; and, assured of conquest, We are your captives. _Dor._ And in that you triumph: Your victory had been eternal loss, And this your loss immortal gain. Fix here, And you shall feel yourselves inwardly arm'd 'Gainst tortures, death, and hell:--but, take heed, sisters, That, or through weakness, threats, or mild persuasions, Though of a father, you fall not into A second and a worse apostasy. _Cal._ Never, oh never! steel'd by your example, We dare the worst of tyranny. _Christ._ Here's our warrant, You shall along and witness it. _Dor._ Be confirm'd then; And rest assured, the more you suffer here, The more your glory, you to heaven more dear. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTE: [44] ----_I'll tell you a_ short tale, &c.] I once thought that I had read this _short tale_ in Arnobius, from whom, and from Augustin, much of the preceding speech is taken; but, upon looking him over again, I can scarcely find a trace of it. Herodotus has, indeed, a story of a king of Egypt (Amasis), which bears a distant resemblance to it; but the application is altogether different:--there is a _bason of gold_ in which he and his guests were accustomed to spit, _wash their feet_, &c. which is formed _into a god_; but whether this furnished the poet with any hints I cannot undertake to say.--GIFFORD. SCENE II. _The_ GOVERNOR'S _Palace_. _Enter_ ARTEMIA, SAPRITIUS, THEOPHILUS, _and_ HARPAX. _Artem._ Sapritius, though your son deserve no pity, We grieve his sickness: his contempt of us We cast behind us, and look back upon His service done to Cæsar, that weighs down Our just displeasure. If his malady Have growth from his restraint, or that you think His liberty can cure him, let him have it: Say, we forgive him freely. _Sap._ Your grace binds us Ever your humblest vassals. _Artem._ Use all means For his recovery; though yet I love him, I will not force affection. If the Christian, Whose beauty hath out-rivall'd me, be won To be of our belief, then let him wed her; That all may know, when the cause wills, I can Command my own affections. _Theoph._ Be happy then, My lord Sapritius: I am confident, Such eloquence and sweet persuasion dwell Upon my daughters' tongues, that they will work her To any thing they please. _Sap._ I wish they may! Yet 'tis no easy task to undertake, To alter a perverse and obstinate woman. [_A shout within: loud music._ _Artem._ What means this shout? _Sap._ It is seconded with music, Triumphant music.--Ha! _Enter_ SEMPRONIUS. _Semp._ My lord, your daughters, The pillars of our faith[45], having converted, For so report gives out, the Christian lady, The image of great Jupiter born before them, Sue for access. _Theoph._ My soul divined as much. Blest be the time when first they saw this light! Their mother, when she bore them to support My feeble age, fill'd not my longing heart With so much joy, as they in this good work Have thrown upon me. _Enter priest with the Image of Jupiter, incense and censers: followed by_ CALISTA _and_ CHRISTETA, _leading_ DOROTHEA. Welcome, oh, thrice welcome, Daughters, both of my body and my mind! Let me embrace in you my bliss, my comfort; And, Dorothea, now more welcome too, Than if you never had fallen off! I am ravish'd With the excess of joy:--speak, happy daughters, The blest event. _Cal._ We never gain'd so much By any undertaking. _Theoph._ O my dear girl, Our gods reward thee! _Dor._ Nor was ever time, On my part, better spent. _Christ._ We are all now Of one opinion. _Theoph._ My best Christeta! Madam, if ever you did grace to worth, Vouchsafe your princely hands. _Artem._ Most willingly---- Do you refuse it? _Cal._ Let us first deserve it. _Theoph._ My own child still! here set our god; prepare The incense quickly: Come, fair Dorothea, I will myself support you;--now kneel down, And pay your vows to Jupiter. _Dor._ I shall do it Better by their example. _Theoph._ They shall guide you; They are familiar with the sacrifice. Forward, my twins of comfort, and, to teach her, Make a joint offering. _Christ._ Thus---- [_they both spit at the image._ _Cal._ And thus---- [_throw it down, and spurn it._ _Harp._ Profane, And impious! stand you now like a statue? Are you the champion of the gods? where is Your holy zeal, your anger? _Theoph._ I am blasted; And, as my feet were rooted here, I find I have no motion; I would I had no sight too! Or if my eyes can serve to any use, Give me, thou injured power! a sea of tears, To expiate this madness in my daughters; For, being themselves, they would have trembled at So blasphemous a deed in any other:---- For my sake, hold awhile thy dreadful thunder, And give me patience to demand a reason For this accursed act. _Dor._ 'Twas bravely done. _Theoph._ Peace, damn'd enchantress, peace!--I should look on you With eyes made red with fury, and my hand, That shakes with rage, should much outstrip my tongue, And seal my vengeance on your hearts;--but nature, To you that have fallen once, bids me again To be a father. Oh! how durst you tempt The anger of great Jove? _Dor._ Alack, poor Jove! He is no swaggerer; how still he stands! He'll take a kick, or any thing. _Sap._ Stop her mouth. _Dor._ It is the patient'st godling! do not fear him; He would not hurt the thief that stole away Two of his golden locks; indeed he could not: And still 'tis the same quiet thing. _Theoph._ Blasphemer! Ingenious cruelty shall punish this: Thou art past hope: but for you yet, dear daughters, Again bewitch'd, the dew of mild forgiveness May gently fall, provided you deserve it, With true contrition: be yourselves again; Sue to the offended deity. _Christ._ Not to be The mistress of the earth. _Cal._ I will not offer A grain of incense to it, much less kneel, Nor look on it but with contempt and scorn, To have a thousand years conferr'd upon me Of worldly blessings. We profess ourselves To be, like Dorothea, Christians; And owe her for that happiness. _Theoph._ My ears Receive, in hearing this, all deadly charms, Powerful to make man wretched. _Artem._ Are these they You bragg'd could convert others! _Sap._ That want strength To stand themselves! _Harp._ Your honour is engaged, The credit of your cause depends upon it; Something you must do suddenly. _Theoph._ And I will. _Harp._ They merit death; but, falling by your hand, 'Twill be recorded for a just revenge, And holy fury in you. _Theoph._ Do not blow The furnace of a wrath thrice hot already; Ætna is in my breast, wildfire burns here, Which only blood must quench. Incensed Power! Which from my infancy I have adored, Look down with favourable beams upon The sacrifice, though not allow'd thy priest, Which I will offer to thee; and be pleased, My fiery zeal inciting me to act, To call that justice others may style murder. Come, you accursed, thus by the hair I drag you Before this holy altar; thus look on you, Less pitiful than tigers to their prey: And thus, with mine own hand, I take that life Which I gave to you. [_Kills them._ _Dor._ O most cruel butcher! _Theoph._ My anger ends not here: hell's dreadful porter, Receive into thy ever-open gates Their damned souls, and let the Furies' whips On them alone be wasted; and, when death Closes these eyes, 'twill be Elysium to me To hear their shrieks and howlings. Make me, Pluto, Thy instrument to furnish thee with souls Of that accursed sect; nor let me fall, Till my fell vengeance hath consumed them all. [_Exit, with_ HARPAX. _Artem._ 'Tis a brave zeal. _Enter_ ANGELO, _smiling_. _Dor._ Oh, call him back again, Call back your hangman! here's one prisoner left To be the subject of his knife. _Artem._ Not so; We are not so near reconciled unto thee; Thou shalt not perish such an easy way. Be she your charge, Sapritius, now; and suffer None to come near her, till we have found out Some torments worthy of her. _Ang._ Courage, mistress; These martyrs but prepare your glorious fate: You shall exceed them, and not imitate. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTE: [45] _The pillars of our_ faith, &c.] Here, as in many other places, the language of Christianity and paganism is confounded: _faith_ was always the distinctive term for the former, in opposition to heathenism.--GIFFORD. ACT IV. SCENE I. _The Governor's Palace._ ANTONINUS _on a couch, asleep, with Doctors about him_; SAPRITIUS _and_ MACRINUS. _Sap._ O you, that are half gods, lengthen that life Their deities lend us; turn o'er all the volumes Of your mysterious Æsculapian science, T' increase the number of this young man's days: And, for each minute of his time prolong'd, Your fee shall be a piece of Roman gold With Cæsar's stamp, such as he sends his captains When in the wars they earn well: do but save him, And, as he's half myself, be you all mine. _1 Doct._ What art can do, we promise; physic's hand As apt is to destroy as to preserve, If heaven make not the med'cine: all this while, Our skill hath combat held with his disease; But 'tis so arm'd, and a deep melancholy, To be such in part with death, we are in fear The grave must mock our labours. _Mac._ I have been His keeper in this sickness, with such eyes As I have seen my mother watch o'er me. Stand by his pillow, and, in his broken slumbers, Him shall you hear cry out on Dorothea; And, when his arms fly open to catch her, Closing together, he falls fast asleep, Pleased with embracings of her airy form. Physicians but torment him; his disease Laughs at their gibberish language: let him hear The voice of Dorothea, nay, but the name, He starts up with high colour in his face: She, or none, cures him; and how that can be, The princess' strict command barring that happiness, To me impossible seems. _Sap._ To me it shall not; I'll be no subject to the greatest Cæsar Was ever crown'd with laurel, rather than cease To be a father. [_Exit._ _Mac._ Silence, sir; he wakes. _Anton._ Thou kill'st me, Dorothea; oh, Dorothea! _Mac._ She's here _Anton._ Here! Where? Why do you mock me, sir? Age on my head hath stuck no white hairs yet, Yet I'm an old man, a fond doting fool Upon a woman. I, to buy her beauty, (In truth I am bewitch'd) offer my life, And she, for my acquaintance, hazards hers: Yet, for our equal sufferings, none holds out A hand of pity. _1 Doct._ Let him have some music. _Anton._ Hell on your fiddling! [_Starting from his couch._ _1 Doct._ Take again your bed, sir; Sleep is a sovereign physic. _Anton._ Confusion on your fooleries! Where's the rest Thy pills and base apothecary drugs Threaten'd to bring unto me? Out, you impostors! Quacksalving, cheating mountebanks! your skill Is to make sound men sick, and sick men kill. _Mac._ Oh, be yourself, dear friend. _Anton._ Myself, Macrinus! How can I be myself, when I am mangled Into a thousand pieces? here moves my head, But where's my heart? wherever--that lies dead. _Re-enter_ SAPRITIUS, _dragging in_ DOROTHEA _by the hair_, ANGELO _following_. _Sap._ Follow me, thou damn'd sorceress! Call up thy spirits, And, if they can, now let them from my hand Untwine these witching hairs. _Anton._ I am that spirit: Or, if I be not, were you not my father, One made of iron should hew that hand in pieces, That so defaces this sweet monument Of my love's beauty. _Sap._ Art thou sick? _Anton._ To death. _Sap._ Would'st thou recover? _Anton._ Would I live in bliss! _Sap._ And do thine eyes shoot daggers at that man That brings thee health? _Anton._ It is not in the world. _Sap._ It's here. _Anton._ To treasure, by enchantment lock'd In caves as deep as hell, am I as near. _1 Doct._ Shall the boy stay, sir? _Sap._ No matter for the boy. [_Exeunt_ SAP. MAC. _and Doct._ _Dor._ O, guard me, angels! What tragedy must begin now? _Anton._ When a tiger Leaps into a timorous herd, with ravenous jaws, Being hunger-starved, what tragedy then begins? _Dor._ Death; I am happy so: you, hitherto, Have still had goodness sphered within your eyes; Let not that orb be broken. _Ang._ Fear not, mistress; If he dare offer violence, we two Are strong enough for such a sickly man. _Dor._ What is your horrid purpose, sir? your eye Bears danger in it. _Anton._ I must---- _Dor._ Oh, kill me, [_Kneels._ And heaven will take it as a sacrifice; But, if you play the ravisher, there is A hell to swallow you. _Anton._ Rise:--for the Roman empire, Dorothea, I would not wound thine honour. My father's will Would have me seize upon you, as my prey; Which I abhor, as much as the blackest sin The villany of man did ever act. [SAPRITIUS _breaks in with_ MACRINUS. _Dor._ Die happy for this language! _Sap._ Die a slave, A blockish idiot! _Mac._ Dear sir, vex him not. _Sap._ Yes, and vex thee too: where's this lamia[46]? _Dor._ I'm here; do what you please. _Sap._ Spurn her to the bar. _Dor._ Come, boy, being there, more near to heaven we are. _Sap._ Kick harder; go out, witch! [_Exeunt._ _Anton._ O bloody hangmen! Thine own gods give thee breath! Each of thy tortures is my several death. [_Exit._ FOOTNOTE: [46] _Lamia_,] i. e. _sorceress_, _hag_. The word is pure Latin. SCENE II.[47] _The Place of Execution. A scaffold, block, &c._ _Enter_ ANTONINUS, _supported by_ MACRINUS, _and Servants_. _Anton._ Is this the place, where virtue is to suffer, And heavenly beauty, leaving this base earth, To make a glad return from whence it came? Is it, Macrinus? _Mac._ By this preparation, You well may rest assured that Dorothea This hour is to die here. _Anton._ Then with her dies The abstract of all sweetness that's in woman! Set me down, friend, that, ere the iron hand Of death close up mine eyes, they may at once Take my last leave both of this light and her: For, she being gone, the glorious sun himself To me's Cimmerian darkness. _Mac._ Strange affection[48]! Cupid once more hath changed his shafts with Death, And kills, instead of giving life. _Anton._ Nay, weep not; Though tears of friendship be a sovereign balm, On me they're cast away. It is decreed That I must die with her; our clue of life Was spun together. _Mac._ Yet, sir, 'tis my wonder, That you, who, hearing only what she suffers, Partake of all her tortures, yet will be, To add to your calamity, an eyewitness Of her last tragic scene, which must pierce deeper, And make the wound more desperate. _Anton._ Oh, Macrinus! 'Twould linger out my torments else, not kill me, Which is the end I aim at: being to die too, What instrument more glorious can I wish for, Than what is made sharp by my constant love And true affection? It may be, the duty And loyal service, with which I pursued her, And seal'd it with my death, will be remember'd Among her blessed actions; and what honour Can I desire beyond it? _Enter a Guard bringing in_ DOROTHEA, _a Headsman before her; followed by_ THEOPHILUS, SAPRITIUS, _and_ HARPAX. See, she comes; How sweet her innocence appears! more like To heaven itself, than any sacrifice That can be offer'd to it. By my hopes Of joys hereafter, the sight makes me doubtful In my belief; nor can I think our gods Are good, or to be served, that take delight In offerings of this kind: that, to maintain Their power, deface the master-piece of nature, Which they themselves come short of. She ascends, And every step raises her nearer heaven. _Sap._ You are to blame To let him come abroad. _Mac._ It was his will; And we were left to serve him, not command him. _Anton._ Good sir, be not offended; nor deny My last of pleasures in this happy object, That I shall e'er be blest with. _Theoph._ Now, proud contemner Of us, and of our gods, tremble to think, It is not in the Power thou serv'st to save thee. Not all the riches of the sea, increased By violent shipwrecks, nor the unsearch'd mines, (Mammon's unknown exchequer), shall redeem thee: And, therefore, having first with horror weigh'd What 'tis to die, and to die young; to part with All pleasures and delights; lastly, to go Where all antipathies to comfort dwell, Furies behind, about thee, and before thee; And, to add to affliction, the remembrance Of the Elysian joys thou might'st have tasted, Hadst thou not turn'd apostata[49] to those gods That so reward their servants; let despair Prevent the hangman's sword, and on this scaffold Make thy first entrance into hell. _Anton._ She smiles, Unmoved, by Mars! as if she were assured Death, looking on her constancy, would forget The use of his inevitable hand. _Theoph._ Derided too! despatch, I say. _Dor._ Thou fool! That gloriest in having power to ravish A trifle from me I am weary of, What is this life to me? not worth a thought; Or, if it be esteem'd, 'tis that I lose it To win a better: even thy malice serves To me but as a ladder to mount up To such a height of happiness, where I shall Look down with scorn on thee, and on the world; Where, circled with true pleasures, placed above The reach of death or time, 'twill be my glory To think at what an easy price I bought it. There's a perpetual spring, perpetual youth: No joint-benumbing cold, or scorching heat, Famine, nor age, have any being there. Forget, for shame, your Tempe; bury in Oblivion your feign'd Hesperian orchards:-- The golden fruit, kept by the watchful dragon, Which did require a Hercules to get[50] it, Compared with what grows in all plenty there, Deserves not to be named. The Power I serve Laughs at your happy Araby, or the Elysian shades; for he hath made his bowers Better in deed, than you can fancy yours. _Anton._ O, take me thither with you! _Dor._ Trace my steps, And be assured you shall. _Sap._ With my own hands I'll rather stop that little breath is left thee, And rob thy killing fever. _Theoph._ By no means; Let him go with her: do, seduced young man, And wait upon thy saint in death; do, do: And, when you come to that imagined place, That place of all delights--pray you, observe me, And meet those cursed things I once call'd Daughters, Whom I have sent as harbingers before you; If there be any truth in your religion, In thankfulness to me, that with care hasten Your journey thither, pray you send me some Small pittance of that curious fruit you boast of. _Anton._ Grant that I may go with her, and I will. _Sap._ Wilt thou in thy last minute damn thyself? _Theoph._ The gates to hell are open. _Dor._ Know, thou tyrant, Thou agent for the devil, thy great master, Though thou art most unworthy to taste of it, I can, and will. _Enter_ ANGELO, _in the Angel's habit_[51]. _Harp._ Oh! mountains fall upon me, Or hide me in the bottom of the deep, Where light may never find me! _Theoph._ What's the matter? _Sap._ This is prodigious, and confirms her witchcraft. _Theoph._ Harpax, my Harpax, speak! _Harp._ I dare not stay: Should I but hear her once more, I were lost. Some whirlwind snatch me from this cursed place, To which compared, (and with what now I suffer,) Hell's torments are sweet slumbers! [_Exit._ _Sap._ Follow him. _Theoph._ He is distracted, and I must not lose him. Thy charms upon my servant, cursed witch, Give thee a short reprieve. Let her not die, Till my return. [_Exeunt_ SAP. _and_ THEOPH. _Anton._ She minds him not; what object Is her eye fix'd on? _Mac._ I see nothing. _Anton._ Mark her. _Dor._ Thou glorious minister of the Power I serve! (For thou art more than mortal,) is 't for me, Poor sinner, thou art pleased awhile to leave Thy heavenly habitation, and vouchsafest, Though glorified, to take my servant's habit?-- For, put off thy divinity, so look'd My lovely Angelo. _Ang._ Know, I am the same; And still the servant to your piety. Your zealous prayers and pious deeds first won me (But 'twas by His command to whom you sent them) To guide your steps. I tried your charity, When in a beggar's shape you took me up, And clothed my naked limbs, and after fed, As you believed, my famish'd mouth. Learn all, By your example, to look on the poor With gentle eyes! for in such habits, often, Angels desire an alms[52]. I never left you, Nor will I now; for I am sent to carry Your pure and innocent soul to joys eternal, Your martyrdom once suffer'd; and before it, Ask any thing from me, and rest assured, You shall obtain it. _Dor._ I am largely paid For all my torments. Since I find such grace, Grant that the love of this young man to me, In which he languisheth to death, may be Changed to the love of heaven. _Ang._ I will perform it; And in that instant when the sword sets free Your happy soul, his shall have liberty. Is there aught else? _Dor._ For proof that I forgive My persecutor, who in scorn desired To taste of that most sacred fruit I go to; After my death, as sent from me, be pleased To give him of it. _Ang._ Willingly, dear mistress. _Mac._ I am amazed. _Anton._ I feel a holy fire, That yields a comfortable heat within me; I am quite alter'd from the thing I was. See! I can stand, and go alone; thus kneel To heavenly Dorothea, touch her hand With a religious kiss. [_Kneels._ _Re-enter_ SAPRITIUS _and_ THEOPHILUS. _Sap._ He is well now, But will not be drawn back. _Theoph._ It matters not, We can discharge this work without his help. But see your son. _Sap._ Villain! _Anton._ Sir, I beseech you, Being so near our ends, divorce us not. _Theoph._ I'll quickly make a separation of them: Hast thou aught else to say? _Dor._ Nothing, but to blame Thy tardiness in sending me to rest; My peace is made with heaven, to which my soul Begins to take her flight: strike, O! strike quickly; And, though you are unmoved to see my death, Hereafter, when my story shall be read, As they were present now, the hearers shall Say this of Dorothea, with wet eyes, "She lived a virgin, and a virgin dies." [_Her head is struck off._ _Anton._ O, take my soul along, to wait on thine! _Mac._ Your son sinks too. [_Antoninus falls._ _Sap._ Already dead! _Theoph._ Die all That are, or favour this accursed sect: I triumph in their ends, and will raise up A hill of their dead carcasses, to o'erlook The Pyrenean hills, but I'll root out These superstitious fools, and leave the world No name of Christian. [_Loud music: Exit_ ANGELO, _having first laid his hand upon the mouths of_ ANTON. _and_ DOR. _Sap._ Ha! heavenly music! _Mac._ 'Tis in the air. _Theoph._ Illusions of the devil, Wrought by some witch of her religion, That fain would make her death a miracle; It frights not me. Because he is your son, Let him have burial; but let her body Be cast forth with contempt in some highway, And be to vultures and to dogs a prey. [_Exeunt._ THEOPHILUS _discovered sitting in his Study: books about him_[53]. _Theoph._ Is 't holiday, O Cæsar, that thy servant, Thy provost, to see execution done On these base Christians in Cæsarea, Should now want work? Sleep these idolaters, That none are stirring?--As a curious painter, When he has made some honourable piece, Stands off, and with a searching eye examines Each colour, how 'tis sweeten'd; and then hugs Himself for his rare workmanship--so here, Will I my drolleries, and bloody landscapes, Long past wrapt up, unfold, to make me merry With shadows, now I want the substances. My muster-book of hell-hounds. Were the Christians, Whose names stand here, alive and arm'd, not Rome Could move upon her hinges. What I've done, Or shall hereafter, is not out of hate To poor tormented wretches[54]; no, I'm carried With violence of zeal, and streams of service I owe our Roman gods. This Christian maid was well, _Enter_ ANGELO _with a basket filled with fruit and flowers_. A pretty one; but let such horror follow The next I feed with torments, that when Rome Shall hear it, her foundation at the sound May feel an earthquake. How now? [_Music._ _Ang._ Are you amazed, sir? So great a Roman spirit--and doth it tremble! _Theoph._ How cam'st thou in? to whom thy business? _Ang._ To you: I had a mistress, late sent hence by you Upon a bloody errand; you entreated, That, when she came into that blessed garden Whither she knew she went, and where, now happy, She feeds upon all joy, she would send to you Some of that garden fruit and flowers; which here, To have her promise saved, are brought by me. _Theoph._ Cannot I see this garden? _Ang._ Yes, if the master Will give you entrance. [_He vanishes._ _Theoph._ 'Tis a tempting fruit, And the most bright-cheek'd child I ever view'd; Sweet smelling, goodly fruit. What flowers are these? In Dioclesian's gardens, the most beauteous, Compared with these, are weeds: is it not February, The second day she died? frost, ice, and snow, Hang on the beard of winter: where's the sun That gilds this summer? pretty, sweet boy, say, In what country shall a man find this garden?-- My delicate boy,--gone! vanish'd! within there, Julianus! Geta!-- _Enter_ JULIANUS _and_ GETA. _Both._ My lord. _Theoph._ Are my gates shut? _Geta._ And guarded. _Theoph._ Saw you not A boy? _Jul._ Where? _Theoph._ Here he enter'd; a young lad; A thousand blessings danced upon his eyes: A smoothfaced, glorious thing, that brought this basket. _Geta._ No, sir! _Theoph._ Away--but be in reach, if my voice calls you. [_Exeunt_ JUL. _and_ GETA. No!--vanish'd, and not seen!--Be thou a spirit, Sent from that witch to mock me, I am sure This is essential, and, howe'er it grows, Will taste it. [_Eats of the fruit._ _Harp._ [_within._] Ha, ha, ha, ha! _Theoph._ So good I'll have some more, sure. _Harp._ Ha, ha, ha, ha! great liquorish fool! _Theoph._ What art thou? _Harp._ A fisherman. _Theoph._ What dost thou catch? _Harp._ Souls, souls; a fish call'd souls. _Theoph._ Geta! _Re-enter_ GETA. _Geta._ My lord. _Harp._ [_within._] Ha, ha, ha, ha! _Theoph._ What insolent slave is this, dares laugh at me? Or what is 't the dog grins at so? _Geta._ I neither know, my lord, at what, nor whom; for there is none without, but my fellow Julianus, and he is making a garland for Jupiter. _Theoph._ Jupiter! all within me is not well; And yet not sick. _Harp._ [_within._] Ha, ha, ha, ha! _Theoph._ What's thy name, slave? _Harp._ [_at one end of the room._] Go look. _Geta._ 'Tis Harpax' voice. _Theoph._ Harpax! go, drag the caitiff to my foot, That I may stamp upon him. _Harp._ [_at the other end._] Fool, thou liest! _Geta._ He's yonder, now, my lord. _Theoph._ Watch thou that end, Whilst I make good this. _Harp._ [_in the middle._] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! _Theoph._ Search for him. [_Exit_ GETA.] All this ground, methinks, is bloody, And paved with thousands of those Christians' eyes Whom I have tortured; and they stare upon me. What was this apparition? sure it had A shape angelical. Mine eyes, though dazzled, And daunted at first sight, tell me, it wore A pair of glorious wings; yes, they were wings; And hence he flew:----'tis vanish'd! Jupiter, For all my sacrifices done to him, Never once gave me smile.--How can stone smile? Or wooden image laugh? [_music._] Ha! I remember, Such music gave a welcome to mine ear, When the fair youth came to me:--'tis in the air, Or from some better place; a Power divine, Through my dark ignorance, on my soul does shine, And makes me see a conscience all stain'd o'er, Nay, drown'd and damn'd for ever in Christian gore. _Harp._ [_within._] Ha, ha, ha! _Theoph._ Again!--What dainty relish on my tongue This fruit hath left! some angel hath me fed: If so toothful, I will be banqueted. [_Eats again._ _Enter_ HARPAX, _in a fearful shape, fire flashing out of the Study_. _Harp._ Hold! _Theoph._ Not for Cæsar. _Harp._ But for me thou shalt. _Theoph._ Thou art no twin to him that last was here. Ye Powers, whom my soul bids me reverence, guard me! What art thou? _Harp._ I am thy master. _Theoph._ Mine! _Harp._ And thou my everlasting slave: that Harpax, Who hand in hand hath led thee to thy hell, Am I. _Theoph._ Avaunt! _Harp._ I will not; cast thou down That basket with the things in 't, and fetch up What thou hast swallow'd, and then take a drink, Which I shall give thee, and I'm gone. _Theoph._ My fruit! Does this offend thee? see! [_Eats again._ _Harp._ Spit it to the earth, And tread upon it, or I'll piecemeal tear thee. _Theoph._ Art thou with this affrighted? see, here's more. [_Pulls out a handful of flowers._ _Harp._ Fling them away, I'll take thee else, and hang thee In a contorted chain of icicles, In the frigid zone: down with them! _Theoph._ At the bottom One thing I found not yet. See! [_Holds up a cross of flowers._ _Harp._ Oh! I am tortured. _Theoph._ Can this do 't? hence, thou fiend infernal, hence! _Harp._ Clasp Jupiter's image, and away with that. _Theoph._ At thee I'll fling that Jupiter; for, methinks, I serve a better master: he now checks me For murdering my two daughters, put on[55] by thee. By thy damn'd rhetoric did I hunt the life Of Dorothea, the holy virgin-martyr. She is not angry with the axe, nor me, But sends these presents to me; and I'll travel O'er worlds to find her, and from her white hand Beg a forgiveness. _Harp._ No; I'll bind thee here. _Theoph._ I serve a strength above thine; this small weapon[56], Methinks, is armour hard enough. _Harp._ Keep from me. [_Sinks a little._ _Theoph._ Art posting to thy centre? down, hell-hound! down! Me thou hast lost. That arm, which hurls thee hence, [_Harpax disappears._ Save me, and set me up, the strong defence In the fair Christian quarrel! _Enter_ ANGELO. _Ang._ Fix thy foot there, Nor be thou shaken with a Cæsar's voice, Though thousand deaths were in it; and I then Will bring thee to a river, that shall wash Thy bloody hands clean and more white than snow; And to that garden where these blest things grow, And to that martyr'd virgin, who hath sent That heavenly token to thee: spread this brave wing, And serve, than Cæsar, a far greater king. [_Exit._ _Theoph._ It is, it is, some angel. Vanish'd again! Oh, come back, ravishing boy! bright messenger! Thou hast, by these mine eyes fix'd on thy beauty, Illumined all my soul. Now look I back On my black tyrannies, which, as they did Outdare the bloodiest, thou, blest spirit, that lead'st me, Teach me what I must do, and, to do well, That my last act the best may parallel[57]. [_Exit._ FOOTNOTES: [47] Speaking of the remainder of this act, Gifford says, "there may be (and probably are) finer passages in our dramatic poets, but I am not acquainted with them." [48] Mac. _Strange affection! Cupid once more hath changed his shafts with Death, And kills, instead of giving life._] This is a beautiful allusion to a little poem among the _Elegies_ of Secundus. Cupid and Death unite in the destruction of a lover, and in endeavouring to recover their weapons from the body of the victim, commit a mutual mistake, each plucking out the "shafts" of the other. The consequences of this are prettily described: _Missa peregrinis sparguntur vulnera nervis, Et manus ignoto sævit utrinque malo. Irrita Mors arcus validi molimina damnat, Plorat Amor teneras tam valuisse manus; Foedabant juvenes primus in pulvere malas Oscula quas, heu, ad blanda vocabat Amor. Canicies vernis florebat multa corollis Persephone crinem vulserat unde sibi. Quid facerent? falsas procul abjecere sagittas, De pharetra jaculum prompsit uterque novum. Res bona! sed virus pueri penetravit in arcum; Ex illo miseros tot dedit ille neci._ Lib. ii. Eleg. 6. The fable, however, is very ancient.--GIFFORD. [49] _Apostata._] Our old writers usually said, _apostata, statua_, &c. where we now say, _apostate, statue_. [50] _Which did require a Hercules to get it._] This beautiful description of Elysium, as Mr. Gilchrist observes to me, has been imitated by Nabbes, in that very poetic rhapsody, _Microcosmus_: some of the lines may be given: "Cold there compels no use of rugged furs, Nor makes the mountains barren; there's no dog To rage, and scorch the land. Spring's always there, And paints the valleys; whilst a temperate air Sweeps their embroider'd face with his curl'd gales, And breathes perfumes:--there night doth never spread Her ebon wings: but daylight's always there, And one blest season crowns the eternal year." GIFFORD. [51] _Enter_ ANGELO, _in the Angel's_ habit, &c.] It appears that Angelo was not meant to be seen or heard by any of the people present, but Dorothea. In the inventory of the Lord Admiral's properties, given by Mr. Malone, is, "a roobe for to goe invisibell." It was probably of a light gauzy texture, and afforded a sufficient hint to our ancestors, not to see the person invested with it; or rather, to understand that some of the characters on the stage were not to see him.--GIFFORD. [52] ------------_Learn all, By your example_, &c.] "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers; for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." Heb. c. xiii. v. 2. Here is also a beautiful allusion to the parting speech of the "sociable archangel," to Tobit and his son.--GIFFORD. [53] The whole of this scene Gifford ascribes to Decker. [54] ------------_is not out of hate To poor tormented wretches_, &c.] This is said to distinguish his character from that of Sapritius, whose zeal is influenced by motives of interest, and by many other considerations, which appear to weigh nothing with Theophilus.--GIFFORD. [55] _Put on_,] i. e. _instigated_. [56] ----_this small weapon._] Meaning the "cross of flowers," which he had just found. The language and ideas of this play are purely catholic.--GIFFORD. [57] _That my last act the best may parallel._] Thus far Decker; what follows, I apprehend, was written by Massinger. In pathos, strength, and harmony, it is not surpassed by any passage of equal length in the English language.--GIFFORD. SCENE II. DIOCLESIAN'_s Palace_. _Enter_ DIOCLESIAN, MAXIMINUS, _the Kings of Epire, Pontus, and Macedon, meeting_ ARTEMIA; _Attendants_. _Artem._ Glory and conquest still attend upon Triumphant Cæsar! _Diocle._ Let thy wish, fair daughter, Be equally divided; and hereafter Learn thou to know and reverence Maximinus, Whose power, with mine united, makes one Cæsar. _Max._ But that I fear 'twould be held flattery, The bonds consider'd in which we stand tied, As love and empire, I should say, till now I ne'er had seen a lady I thought worthy To be my mistress. _Artem._ Sir, you show yourself Both courtier and soldier; but take heed, Take heed, my lord, though my dull-pointed beauty, Stain'd by a harsh refusal in my servant, Cannot dart forth such beams as may inflame you, You may encounter such a powerful one, That with a pleasing heat will thaw your heart, Though bound in ribs of ice. Love still is Love; His bow and arrows are the same: Great Julius, That to his successors left the name of Cæsar, Whom war could never tame, that with dry eyes Beheld the large plains of Pharsalia cover'd With the dead carcases of senators, And citizens of Rome; when the world knew No other lord but him, struck deep in years too, (And men gray-hair'd forget the loves of youth,) After all this, meeting fair Cleopatra, A suppliant too, the magic of her eye, Even in his pride of conquest, took him captive: Nor are you more secure. _Max._ Were you deform'd, (But, by the gods, you are most excellent,) Your gravity and discretion would o'ercome me; And I should be more proud in being prisoner To your fair virtues, than of all the honours, Wealth, title, empire, that my sword hath purchased. _Diocle._ This meets my wishes. Welcome it, Artemia, With outstretch'd arms, and study to forget That Antoninus ever was: thy fate Reserved thee for this better choice; embrace it. _Max._ This happy match brings new nerves to give strength To our continued league. _Diocle._ Hymen himself Will bless this marriage, which we'll solemnize In the presence of these kings. _K. of Pontus._ Who rest most happy, To be eye-witnesses of a match that brings Peace to the empire. Diocle. We much thank your loves: But where's Sapritius, our governor, And our most zealous provost, good Theophilus? If ever prince were blest in a true servant, Or could the gods be debtors to a man, Both they and we stand far engaged to cherish His piety and service. _Artem._ Sir, the governor Brooks sadly his son's loss, although he turn'd Apostata in death; but bold Theophilus, Who for the same cause, in my presence, seal'd His holy anger on his daughters' hearts; Having with tortures first tried to convert her, Dragg'd the bewitching Christian to the scaffold, And saw her lose her head. _Diocle._ He is all worthy: And from his own mouth I would gladly hear The manner how she suffer'd. _Artem._ 'Twill be deliver'd With such contempt and scorn, (I know his nature,) That rather 'twill beget your highness' laughter, Than the least pity. _Diocle._ To that end I would hear it. _Enter_ THEOPHILUS, SAPRITIUS, _and_ MACRINUS. _Artem._ He comes; with him the governor. _Diocle._ O, Sapritius, I am to chide you for your tenderness; But yet, remembering that you are a father, I will forget it. Good Theophilus, I'll speak with you anon.--Nearer, your ear. [_To_ SAPRITIUS. _Theoph._ [_aside to_ MACRINUS.] By Antoninus' soul, I do conjure you, And though not for religion, for his friendship, Without demanding what's the cause that moves me, Receive my signet:--By the power of this, Go to my prisons, and release all Christians, That are in fetters there by my command. _Mac._ But what shall follow? _Theoph._ Haste then to the port; You there shall find two tall ships ready rigg'd, In which embark the poor distressed souls, And bear them from the reach of tyranny. Enquire not whither you are bound: the Deity That they adore will give you prosperous winds, And make your voyage such, and largely pay for Your hazard, and your travail. Leave me here; There is a scene that I must act alone: Haste, good Macrinus; and the great God guide you! _Mac._ I'll undertake 't; there's something prompts me to it; 'Tis to save innocent blood, a saint-like act: And to be merciful has never been By moral men themselves esteem'd a sin. [_Exit._ _Diocle._ You know your charge? _Sap._ And will with care observe it. _Diocle._ For I profess he is not Cæsar's friend, That sheds a tear for any torture that A Christian suffers. Welcome, my best servant, My careful, zealous provost! thou hast toil'd To satisfy my will, though in extremes: I love thee for 't; thou art firm rock, no changeling. Prithee deliver, and for my sake do it, Without excess of bitterness, or scoffs, Before my brother and these kings, how took The Christian her death? _Theoph._ And such a presence, Though every private head in this large room Were circled round with an imperial crown, Her story will deserve, it is so full Of excellence and wonder. _Diocle._ Ha! how is this? _Theoph._ O! mark it, therefore, and with that attention, As you would hear an embassy from heaven By a wing'd legate; for the truth deliver'd, Both how, and what, this blessed virgin suffer'd, And Dorothea but hereafter named, You will rise up with reverence, and no more, As things unworthy of your thoughts, remember What the canonized Spartan ladies were, Which lying Greece so boasts of. Your own matrons, Your Roman dames, whose figures you yet keep As holy relics, in her history Will find a second urn: Gracchus' Cornelia, Paulina, that in death desired to follow Her husband Seneca, nor Brutus' Portia, That swallow'd burning coals to overtake him, Though all their several worths were given to one, With this is to be mention'd. _Max._ Is he mad? _Diocle._ Why, they did die, Theophilus, and boldly; This did no more. _Theoph._ They, out of desperation, Or for vain glory of an after-name, Parted with life: this had not mutinous sons, As the rash Gracchi were; nor was this saint A doting mother, as Cornelia was. This lost no husband, in whose overthrow Her wealth and honour sunk; no fear of want Did make her being tedious; but, aiming At an immortal crown, and in His cause Who only can bestow it; who sent down Legions of ministering angels to bear up Her spotless soul to heaven, who entertain'd it With choice celestial music, equal to The motion of the spheres; she, uncompell'd, Changed this life for a better. My lord Sapritius, You were present at her death; did you e'er hear Such ravishing sounds? _Sap._ Yet you said then 'twas witchcraft, And devilish illusions. _Theoph._ I then heard it With sinful ears, and belch'd out blasphemous words Against his Deity, which then I knew not, Nor did believe in him. _Diocle._ Why, dost thou now? Or dar'st thou, in our hearing---- _Theoph._ Were my voice As loud as is His thunder, to be heard Through all the world, all potentates on earth Ready to burst with rage, should they but hear it; Though hell, to aid their malice, lent her furies, Yet I would speak, and speak again, and boldly: I am a Christian; and the Powers you worship, But dreams of fools and madmen. _Max._ Lay hands on him. _Diocle._ Thou twice a child! for doting age so makes thee, Thou couldst not else, thy pilgrimage of life Being almost past through, in this last moment Destroy whate'er thou hast done good or great-- Thy youth did promise much; and, grown a man, Thou mad'st it good, and, with increase of years, Thy actions still better'd: as the sun, Thou didst rise gloriously, kept'st a constant course In all thy journey; and now, in the evening, When thou shouldst pass with honour to thy rest, Wilt thou fall like a meteor? _Sap._ Yet confess That thou art mad, and that thy tongue and heart Had no agreement. _Max._ Do; no way is left, else, To save thy life, Theophilus. _Diocle._ But, refuse it, Destruction as horrid, and as sudden, Shall fall upon thee, as if hell stood open, And thou wert sinking thither. _Theoph._ Hear me, yet; Hear, for my service past. _Artem._ What will he say? _Theoph._ As ever I deserved your favour, hear me, And grant one boon; 'tis not for life I sue for; Nor is it fit that I, that ne'er knew pity To any Christian, being one myself, Should look for any; no, I rather beg The utmost of your cruelty. I stand Accomptable for thousand Christians' deaths; And, were it possible that I could die A day for every one, then live again To be again tormented, 'twere to me An easy penance, and I should pass through A gentle cleansing fire; but, that denied me, It being beyond the strength of feeble nature, My suit is, you would have no pity on me. In mine own house there are a thousand engines Of studied cruelty, which I did prepare For miserable Christians; let me feel, As the Sicilian did his brazen bull[58], The horrid'st you can find; and I will say, In death, that you are merciful. _Diocle._ Despair not; In this thou shalt prevail. Go fetch them hither: [_Exit some of the Guard._ Death shall put on a thousand shapes at once, And so appear before thee; racks, and whips!---- Thy flesh, with burning pincers torn, shall feed The fire that heats them; and what's wanting to The torture of thy body, I'll supply In punishing thy mind. Fetch all the Christians That are in hold; and here, before his face, Cut them in pieces. _Theoph._ 'Tis not in thy power: It was the first good deed I ever did. They are removed out of thy reach; howe'er, I was determined for my sins to die, I first took order for their liberty; And still I dare thy worst. _Re-enter Guard with racks and other instruments of torture._ _Diocle._ Bind him, I say; Make every artery and sinew crack: The slave that makes him give the loudest shriek, Shall have ten thousand drachmas: wretch! I'll force thee To curse the Power thou worship'st. _Theoph._ Never, never: No breath of mine shall e'er be spent on Him, [_They torment him._ But what shall speak His majesty or mercy. I'm honour'd in my sufferings. Weak tormentors, More tortures, more:--alas! you are unskilful-- For heaven's sake more; my breast is yet untorn: Here purchase the reward that was propounded. The irons cool,--here are arms yet, and thighs; Spare no part of me. _Max._ He endures beyond The sufferance of a man. _Sap._ No sigh nor groan, To witness he hath feeling. _Diocle._ Harder, villains! _Enter_ HARPAX. _Harp._ Unless that he blaspheme, he's lost for ever. If torments ever could bring forth despair, Let these compel him to it:--Oh me! My ancient enemies again! [_Falls down._ _Enter_ DOROTHEA _in a white robe, a crown upon her head, led in by_ ANGELO; ANTONINUS, CALISTA, _and_ CHRISTETA _following, all in white, but less glorious_; ANGELO _holds out a crown to_ THEOPHILUS. _Theoph._ Most glorious vision!-- Did e'er so hard a bed yield man a dream So heavenly as this? I am confirm'd, Confirm'd, you blessed spirits, and make haste To take that crown of immortality You offer to me. Death! till this blest minute, I never thought thee slow-paced; nor would I Hasten thee now, for any pain I suffer, But that thou keep'st me from a glorious wreath, Which through this stormy way I would creep to, And, humbly kneeling, with humility wear it. Oh! now I feel thee:--blessed spirits! I come; And, witness for me all these wounds and scars, I die a soldier in the Christian wars. [_Dies._ _Sap._ I have seen thousands tortured, but ne'er yet A constancy like this. _Harp._ I am twice damn'd. _Ang._ Haste to thy place appointed, cursed fiend! [HARPAX _sinks with thunder and lightning_. In spite of hell, this soldier's not thy prey; 'Tis I have won, thou that hast lost the day. [_Exit with_ DOR. _&c._ _Diocle._ I think the centre of the earth be crack'd-- Yet I stand still unmoved, and will go on: The persecution that is here begun, Through all the world with violence shall run. [_Flourish. Exeunt._ FOOTNOTE: [58] _As the Sicilian did his brazen bull._] The brazen bull, an ingenious instrument of torture, invented by Perillus, and presented to Phalaris, the tyrant of Agrigentum, was fatal both to its author and its owner. Phalaris made the first experiment of its powers upon Perillus; and when the people, exasperated by his cruelties, eventually rose against him, the tyrant suffered death by its means himself. THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE. THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.] This play, under the title of The Great Duke, was licensed by Sir Henry Herbert, July 5th, 1627. The plot is raised on those slight materials afforded by our old chroniclers in the life of Edgar, which Mason has since worked up into the beautiful drama of Elfrida. The first edition of this play was published 1636, when it was preceded by two commendatory copies of verses by G. Donne and J. Ford. Though highly and most deservedly popular, it was not reprinted. This may be attributed, in some measure, to the growing discontent of the times, which perversely turned aside from scenes like these, to dwell with fearful anxiety on those of turbulence and blood.--It is impossible not to be charmed with the manner in which this play is written. The style is worthy of the most polished stage. An easy elevation and a mild dignity are preserved throughout, which afford an excellent model for the transaction of dramatic business between persons of high rank and refined education. As to the subject, it is of itself of no great importance; but this is somewhat compensated by the interest the principal characters take in it, and the connexion of love with the views of state.--The scenes between Giovanni and Lidia present a most beautiful picture of artless attachment, and of that unreserved innocence and tender simplicity which Massinger describes in so eminently happy a manner. Were it not for the scene of low buffoonery in the fourth act, where Petronella assumes the dress and character of her mistress, The Great Duke of Florence would have been a perfect and unrivalled production. TO THE TRULY HONOURED, AND MY NOBLE FAVOURER, SIR ROBERT WISEMAN, KNT.[59] OF THORRELL'S HALL, IN ESSEX. SIR, As I dare not be ungrateful for the many benefits you have heretofore conferred upon me, so I have just reason to fear that my attempting this way to make satisfaction (in some measure) for so due a debt, will further engage me. However, examples encourage me. The most able in my poor quality have made use of dedications in this nature, to make the world take notice (as far as in them lay) who and what they were that gave supportment and protection to their studies; being more willing to publish the doer, than receive a benefit in a corner. For myself, I will freely, and with a zealous thankfulness, acknowledge, that for many years I had but faintly subsisted, if I had not often tasted of your bounty. But it is above my strength and faculties to celebrate to the desert your noble inclination, and that made actual, to raise up, or, to speak more properly, to rebuild the ruins of demolished poesie. But that is a work reserved, and will be, no doubt, undertaken, and finished, by one that can to the life express it. Accept, I beseech you, the tender of my service; and in the list of those you have obliged to you, contemn not the name of Your true and faithful honourer, PHILIP MASSINGER. FOOTNOTE: [59] Sir Robert Wiseman was the eldest son of Richard Wiseman, a merchant of London, who, having acquired an ample fortune, retired into Essex, in which county he possessed considerable estates, where he died in 1618, and was succeeded by Sir Robert. The friend of Massinger was the oldest of fourteen children, and a man of an amiable character. He died unmarried the 11th May, 1641, in his sixty-fifth year.--GILCHRIST. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. COZIMO, _Duke of Florence_. GIOVANNI, _nephew to the duke_. SANAZARRO, _the duke's favourite_. CAROLO CHAROMONTE, GIOVANNI'_s tutor_. CONTARINO, _secretary to the duke_. ALPHONSO, } HIPPOLITO, } _counsellors of state_. HIERONIMO, } CALANDRINO, _a merry fellow, servant to_ GIOVANNI. BERNARDO, } CAPONI, } _servants to_ CHAROMONTE. PETRUCHIO, } _A Gentleman._ FIORINDA, _Duchess of Urbin_. LIDIA, _daughter to_ CHAROMONTE. CALAMINTA, _servant to_ FIORINDA. PETRONELLA, _a foolish servant to_ LIDIA. _Attendants, Servants, &c._ SCENE, partly in Florence, and partly at the residence of CHAROMONTE in the country. THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE. ACT I. SCENE I. _The Country. A Room in_ CHAROMONTE'_s House_. _Enter_ CHAROMONTE _and_ CONTARINO. _Char._ You bring your welcome with you. _Cont._ Sir, I find it In every circumstance. _Char._ Again most welcome. Yet, give me leave to wish (and pray you excuse me, For I must use the freedom I was born with) The great duke's pleasure had commanded you To my poor house upon some other service; Not this you are design'd to: but his will Must be obey'd, howe'er it ravish from me The happy conversation of one As dear to me as the old Romans held Their household Lars, whom they believed had power To bless and guard their families. _Cont._ 'Tis received so On my part, signior; nor can the duke But promise to himself as much as may Be hoped for from a nephew. And 'twere weakness In any man to doubt, that Giovanni[60], Train'd up by your experience and care In all those arts peculiar and proper To future greatness, of necessity Must in his actions, being grown a man, Make good the princely education Which he derived from you. _Char._ I have discharged, To the utmost of my power, the trust the duke Committed to me, and with joy perceive The seed of my endeavours was not sown Upon the barren sands, but fruitful glebe, Which yields a large increase: my noble charge, By his sharp wit, and pregnant apprehension, Instructing those that teach him; making use, Not in a vulgar and pedantic form, Of what's read to him, but 'tis straight digested, And truly made his own. His grave discourse, In one no more indebted unto years, Amazes such as hear him: horsemanship, And skill to use his weapon, are by practice Familiar to him: as for knowledge in Music, he needs it not, it being born with him; All that he speaks being with such grace deliver'd, That it makes perfect harmony. _Cont._ You describe A wonder to me. _Char._ Sir, he is no less; And that there may be nothing wanting that May render him complete, the sweetness of His disposition so wins on all Appointed to attend him, that they are Rivals, even in the coarsest office, who Shall get precedency to do him service; Which they esteem a greater happiness Than if they had been fashion'd and built up To hold command o'er others. _Cont._ And what place Does he now bless with his presence? _Char._ He is now Running at the ring[61], at which he's excellent. He does allot for every exercise A several hour; for sloth, the nurse of vices, And rust of action, is a stranger to him. But I fear I am tedious; let us pass, If you please, to some other subject, though I cannot Deliver him as he deserves. _Cont._ You have given him A noble character. _Char._ And how, I pray you, (For we, that never look beyond our villas, Must be inquisitive,) are state affairs Carried in court? _Cont._ There's little alteration: Some rise, and others fall, as it stands with The pleasure of the duke, their great disposer. _Char._ Does Lodovico Sanazarro hold Weight and grace with him? _Cont._ Every day new honours Are shower'd upon him, and without the envy Of such as are good men; since all confess The service done our master in his wars 'Gainst Pisa and Sienna may with justice Claim what's conferr'd upon him. _Char._ 'Tis said nobly; For princes never more make known their wisdom, Than when they cherish goodness where they find it: They being men, and not gods, Contarino, They can give wealth and titles, but no virtues; That is without their power. When they advance, Not out of judgment, but deceiving fancy, An undeserving man, howe'er set off With all the trim of greatness, state, and power, And of a creature even grown terrible To him from whom he took his giant form, This thing is still a comet, no true star; And when the bounties feeding his false fire Begin to fail, will of itself go out, And what was dreadful proves ridiculous. But in our Sanazarro 'tis not so, He being pure and tried gold; and any stamp Of grace, to make him current to the world, The duke is pleased to give him, will add honour To the great bestower; for he, though allow'd Companion to his master, still preserves His majesty in full lustre. _Cont._ He, indeed, At no part does take from it, but becomes A partner of his cares, and eases him, With willing shoulders, of a burden which He should alone sustain. _Char._ Is he yet married? _Cont._ No, signior, still a bachelor; howe'er It is apparent that the choicest virgin For beauty, bravery, and wealth, in Florence, Would, with her parents' glad consent, be won, Were his affection and intent but known To be at his devotion. _Char._ So I think too. But break we off--here comes my princely charge. _Enter_ GIOVANNI _and_ CALANDRINO. Make your approaches boldly; you will find A courteous entertainment. [CONT. _kneels_. _Giov._ Pray you, forbear My hand, good signior; 'tis a ceremony Not due to me. 'Tis fit we should embrace With mutual arms. _Cont._ It is a favour, sir, I grieve to be denied. _Giov._ You shall o'ercome: But 'tis your pleasure, not my pride, that grants it. Nay, pray you, guardian, and good sir, put on: How ill it shows to have that reverend head Uncover'd to a boy! _Char._ Your excellence Must give me liberty to observe the distance And duty that I owe you. _Giov._ Owe me duty! I do profess (and when I do deny it, Good fortune leave me!) you have been to me A second father, and may justly challenge, For training up my youth in arts and arms, As much respect and service as was due To him that gave me life. And did you know, sir, Or will believe from me, how many sleeps Good Charomonte hath broken, in his care To build me up a man, you must confess Chiron, the tutor to the great Achilles, Compared with him, deserves not to be named. And if my gracious uncle, the great duke, Still holds me worthy his consideration, Or finds in me aught worthy to be loved, That little rivulet flow'd from this spring; And so from me report him. _Cont._ Fame already Hath fill'd his highness' ears with the true story Of what you are, and how much better'd by him; And 'tis his purpose to reward the travail Of this grave sir with a magnificent hand: For though his tenderness hardly could consent To have you one hour absent from his sight, For full three years he did deny himself The pleasure he took in you, that you, here, From this great master, might arrive unto The theory of those high mysteries Which you, by action, must make plain in court. 'Tis, therefore, his request, (and that, from him, Your excellence must grant a strict command,) That instantly (it being not five hours' riding) You should take horse and visit him. These his letters Will yield you further reasons. [_Delivers a packet._ _Cal._ To the court! Farewell the flower, then, of the country's garland. This is our sun, and when he's set we must not Expect or spring or summer, but resolve For a perpetual winter. _Char._ Pray you, observe [GIOVANNI _reading the letters_. The frequent changes in his face. _Cont._ As if His much unwillingness to leave your house Contended with his duty. _Char._ Now he appears Collected and resolved. _Giov._ It is the duke! The duke, upon whose favour all my hopes And fortunes do depend; nor must I check At his commands for any private motives That do invite my stay here, though they are Almost not to be master'd. My obedience, In my departing suddenly, shall confirm I am his highness' creature; yet I hope A little stay to take a solemn farewell Of all those ravishing pleasures I have tasted In this my sweet retirement, from my guardian And his incomparable daughter, cannot meet An ill construction. _Cont._ I will answer that: Use your own will. _Giov._ I would speak to you, sir, In such a phrase as might express the thanks My heart would gladly pay; but---- _Char._ I conceive you: And something I would say; but I must do it In that dumb rhetoric which you make use of; For I do wish you all----I know not how, My toughness melts, and, spite of my discretion, I must turn woman. [_Embraces_ GIOVANNI. _Cont._ What a sympathy There is between them! _Cal._ Were I on the rack, I could not shed a tear. But I am mad, And, ten to one, shall hang myself for sorrow Before I shift my shirt. But hear you, sir, (I'll separate you), when you are gone, what will Become of me? _Giov._ Why, thou shalt to court with me. [_Takes_ CHAR. _aside_. _Cal._ To see you worried? _Cont._ Worried, Calandrino! _Cal._ Yes, sir: for, bring this sweet face to the court, There will be such a longing 'mong the madams, Who shall engross it first, nay, fight and scratch for 't, That, if they be not stopp'd----So much for him. There's something else that troubles me. _Cont._ What's that? _Cal._ Why, how to behave myself in court, and tightly. I have been told the very place transforms men, And that not one of a thousand, that before Lived honestly in the country on plain salads, But bring him thither, mark me that, and feed him But a month or two with custards and court cake-bread, And he turns knave immediately.--I'd be honest; But I must follow the fashion, or die a beggar. _Giov._ And, if I ever reach my hopes, believe it, We will share fortunes. _Char._ This acknowledgment _Enter_ LIDIA. Binds me your debtor ever.--Here comes one In whose sad looks you easily may read What her heart suffers, in that she is forced To take her last leave of you. _Cont._ As I live, A beauty without parallel! _Lid._ Must you go, then, So suddenly? _Giov._ There's no evasion, Lidia, To gain the least delay, though I would buy it At any rate. Greatness, with private men Esteem'd a blessing, is to me a curse; And we, whom, for our high births, they conclude The only freemen, are the only slaves. Happy the golden mean! Had I been born In a poor sordid cottage, not nursed up With expectation to command a court, I might, like such of your condition, sweetest, Have ta'en a safe and middle course, and not, As I am now, against my choice, compell'd Or to lie groveling on the earth, or raised So high upon the pinnacles of state, That I must either keep my height with danger, Or fall with certain ruin. _Lid._ Your own goodness Will be your faithful guard. _Giov._ O, Lidia!---- _Cont._ So passionate[62]! [_Aside._ _Giov._ For, had I been your equal, I might have seen and liked with mine own eyes, And not, as now, with others'; I might still, And without observation or envy, As I have done, continued my delights With you, that are alone, in my esteem, The abstract of society: we might walk In solitary groves, or in choice gardens; From the variety of curious flowers Contemplate nature's workmanship and wonders: And then, for change, near to the murmur of Some bubbling fountain, I might hear you sing, And, from the well-tuned accents of your tongue, In my imagination conceive With what melodious harmony a quire Of angels sing above their Maker's praises: And then with chaste discourse, as we return'd, Imp[63] feathers to the broken wings of time:-- And all this I must part from. _Cont._ You forget The haste imposed upon us. _Giov._ One word more, And then I come. And after this, when, with Continued innocence of love and service, I had grown ripe for hymeneal joys, Embracing you, but with a lawful flame, I might have been your husband. _Lid._ Sir, I was, And ever am, your servant; but it was, And 'tis, far from me in a thought to cherish Such saucy hopes. If I had been the heir Of all the globes and sceptres mankind bows to, At my best you had deserved me; as I am, Howe'er unworthy, in my virgin zeal I wish you, as a partner of your bed, A princess equal to you; such a one That may make it the study of her life, With all the obedience of a wife, to please you. May you have happy issue, and I live To be their humblest handmaid! _Giov._ I am dumb, And can make no reply. _Cont._ Your excellence Will be benighted. _Giov._ This kiss, bathed in tears, May learn you what I should say. _Lid._ Give me leave To wait on you to your horse. _Char._ And me to bring you To the one half of your journey. _Giov._ Your love puts Your age to too much trouble. _Char._ I grow young, When most I serve you. _Cont._ Sir, the duke shall thank you. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [60] _Giovanni._] This word is used as a quadrisyllable. This is incorrect, and shows that Massinger had studied the language in books only: no Italian would or could pronounce it in this manner. He makes the same mistake in the name of the duchess:--Fiorinda is a trisyllable; yet he adopts the division of poor Calandrino, and constantly pronounces it Fi-o-rin-da.--GIFFORD. [61] _Running at the ring._] This amusement made a part of nearly all those magnificent spectacles which used to be given on public occasions. A ring of a very small diameter was suspended by a string from a kind of gibbet, of which the horizontal beam moved on a swivel. At this the competitors ran with their spears couched, with loose reins, and, as the public regulations have it, "as much speed as the horses have." The object was to carry off the ring on the point of the spear, which was light, taper, and adapted to the purpose. It was of difficult attainment; for, from an account of a match made by King Edward the Sixth, seventeen against seventeen, of which he has left a description, it appears, that "in one hundred and twenty courses the ring was carried off but three times."--_King Edward's Journal, p. 26._ The victor was usually rewarded with a ring set with precious stones, and bestowed by the lady of the day. [62] _So passionate!_] i. e. _so deeply affected_. In this sense the word perpetually occurs in our old writers. [63] _To imp._] i. e. _to insert a new feather into the wing of a hawk in the place of a broken one_.--These lines are perhaps the most beautiful of a scene eminently graceful and elegant. SCENE II. _Florence. A Room in the Palace._ _Enter_ ALPHONSO, HIPPOLITO, _and_ HIERONIMO. _Alph._ His highness cannot take it ill. _Hip._ However, We with our duties shall express our care For the safety of his dukedom. _Hier._ And our loves _Enter_ COZIMO. To his person.--Here he comes: present it boldly. [_They kneel_: ALPHONSO _tenders a paper_. _Coz._ What needs this form? We are not grown so proud As to disdain familiar conference With such as are to counsel and direct us. This kind of adoration show'd not well In the old Roman emperors, who, forgetting That they were flesh and blood, would be styled gods: In us to suffer it were worse. Pray you, rise. [_Reads._ Still the old suit! With too much curiousness You have too often search'd this wound, which yields Security and rest, not trouble, to me. For here you grieve that my firm resolution Continues me a widower; and that My want of issue to succeed me in My government, when I am dead, may breed Distraction in the state, and make the name And family of the Medici, now admired, Contemptible. _Hip._ And with strong reasons, sir. _Alph._ For were you old, and past hope to beget The model of yourself, we should be silent. _Hier._ But being in your height and pride of years, As you are now, great sir; and having, too, In your possession the daughter of The deceased Duke of Urbin, and his heir, Whose guardian you are made; were you but pleased To think her worthy of you, besides children, The dukedom she brings with her for a dower Will yield a large increase of strength and power To those fair territories which already Acknowledge you their absolute lord. _Coz._ You press us With solid arguments, we grant; and, though We stand not bound to yield account to any Why we do this or that, (the full consent Of our subjects being included in our will,) We, out of our free bounties, will deliver The motives that divert[64] us. You well know That, three years since, to our much grief, we lost Our duchess; such a duchess, that the world, In her whole course of life[65], yields not a lady That can with imitation deserve To be her second; in her grave we buried All thoughts of woman: let this satisfy For any second marriage. Now, whereas You name the heir of Urbin, as a princess Of great revenues, 'tis confess'd she is so: But for some causes, private to ourself, We have disposed her otherwise. Yet despair not; For you, ere long, with joy shall understand, That in our princely care we have provided One worthy to succeed us. _Enter_ SANAZARRO. _Hip._ We submit, And hold the counsels of great Cozimo Oraculous. _Coz._ My Sanazarro!--Nay, Forbear all ceremony. You look sprightly, friend, And promise in your clear aspect some novel That may delight us. _Sanaz._ O sir, I would not be The harbinger of aught that might distaste you; And therefore know (for 'twere a sin to torture Your highness' expectation) your vice-admiral, By my directions, hath surprised the galleys Appointed to transport the Asian tribute Of the great Turk. A richer prize was never Brought into Florence. _Coz._ Still my nightingale, That with sweet accents dost assure me that My spring of happiness comes fast upon me! Embrace me boldly. I pronounce that wretch An enemy to brave and thriving action, That dares believe but in a thought, we are Too prodigal in our favours to this man, Whose merits, though with him we should divide Our dukedom, still continue us his debtor. _Hip._ 'Tis far from me. _Alph._ We all applaud it. _Coz._ Nay, blush not, Sanazarro; we are proud Of what we build up in thee; nor can our Election be disparaged, since we have not Received into our bosom and our grace A glorious[66] lazy drone, grown fat with feeding On others' toil, but an industrious bee, That crops the sweet flowers of our enemies, And every happy evening returns Loaden with wax and honey to our hive. _Sanaz._ My best endeavours never can discharge The service I should pay. _Coz._ Thou art too modest; But we will study how to give, and when, _Enter_ GIOVANNI _and_ CONTARINO. Before it be demanded.----Giovanni! My nephew! let me eye thee better, boy. In thee, methinks, my sister lives again; For her love I will be a father to thee, For thou art my adopted son. _Giov._ Your servant, And humblest subject. _Coz._ Thy hard travel, nephew, Requires soft rest, and therefore we forbear, For the present, an account how thou hast spent Thy absent hours. See, signiors, see, our care, Without a second bed, provides you of A hopeful prince. Carry him to his lodgings, And, for his further honour, Sanazarro, With the rest, do you attend him. _Giov._ All true pleasures Circle your highness! _Sanaz._ As the rising sun, We do receive you. _Giov._ May this never set, But shine upon you ever! [_Exeunt_ GIOVANNI, SANAZARRO, HIERONIMO, ALPHONSO, _and_ HIPPOLITO. _Coz._ Contarino! _Cont._ My gracious lord. _Coz._ What entertainment found you From Carolo de Charomonte? _Cont._ Free, And bountiful. He's ever like himself, Noble and hospitable. _Coz._ But did my nephew Depart thence willingly? _Cont._ He obey'd your summons As did become him. Yet it was apparent, But that he durst not cross your will, he would Have sojourn'd longer there, he ever finding Variety of sweetest entertainment. But there was something else; nor can I blame His youth, though with some trouble he took leave Of such a sweet companion. _Coz._ Who was it? _Cont._ The daughter, sir, of signior Carolo, Fair Lidia, a virgin, at all parts, But in her birth and fortunes, equal to him. The rarest beauties Italy can make boast of Are but mere shadows to her, she the substance Of all perfection. And what increases The wonder, sir, her body's matchless form Is better'd by the pureness of her soul. Such sweet discourse, such ravishing behaviour, Such charming language, such enchanting manners, With a simplicity that shames all courtship[67], Flow hourly from her, that I do believe Had Circe or Calypso her sweet graces, Wandering Ulysses never had remember'd Penelope, or Ithaca. _Coz._ Be not rapt so. _Cont._ Your excellence would be so, had you seen her. _Coz._ Take up, take up[68].--But did your observation Note any passage of affection Between her and my nephew? _Cont._ How it should Be otherwise between them, is beyond My best imagination. Cupid's arrows Were useless there; for of necessity, Their years and dispositions do accord so, They must wound one another. _Coz._ Umph! Thou art My secretary, Contarino, and more skill'd In politic designs of state, than in Thy judgment of a beauty; give me leave, In this, to doubt it.--Here. Go to my cabinet, You shall find there letters newly received, Touching the state of Urbin. Pray you, with care peruse them: leave the search Of this to us. _Cont._ I do obey in all things. [_Exit._ _Coz._ Lidia! a diamond so long conceal'd, And never worn in court! of such sweet feature! And he on whom I fix my dukedom's hopes Made captive to it! Umph! 'tis somewhat strange. Our eyes are every where, and we will make A strict inquiry.--Sanazarro! _Re-enter_ SANAZARRO. _Sanaz._ Sir. _Coz._ Is my nephew at his rest? _Sanaz._ I saw him in bed, sir. _Coz._ 'Tis well; and does the princess Fiorinda, Nay, do not blush, she is rich Urbin's heir, Continue constant in her favours to you? _Sanaz._ Dread sir, she may dispense them as she pleases; But I look up to her as on a princess I dare not be ambitious of, and hope Her prodigal graces shall not render me Offender to your highness. _Coz._ Not a scruple. He whom I favour, as I do my friend, May take all lawful graces that become him: But touching this hereafter. I have now (And though perhaps it may appear a trifle) Serious employment for thee. _Sanaz._ I stand ready For any act you please. _Coz._ I know it, friend. Have you ne'er heard of Lidia, the daughter Of Carolo Charomonte? _Sanaz._ Him I know, sir, For a noble gentleman, and my worthy friend; But never heard of her. _Coz._ She is deliver'd, And feelingly to us, by Contarino, For a masterpiece in nature. I would have you Ride suddenly thither to behold this wonder, But not as sent by us; that's our first caution: The second is, and carefully observe it, That, though you are a bachelor, and endow'd with All those perfections that may take a virgin, On forfeit of our favour do not tempt her: It may be her fair graces do concern us. Pretend what business you think fit, to gain Access unto her father's house, and, there, Make full discovery of her, and return me A true relation:--I have some ends in it, With which we will acquaint you. _Sanaz._ This is, sir, An easy task. _Coz._ Yet one that must exact Your secrecy and diligence. Let not Your stay be long. _Sanaz._ It shall not, sir. _Coz._ Farewell, And be, as you would keep our favour, careful. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [64] _Divert us._] i. e. _turn us aside_ from following your advice. [65] ------------_that the world, In her whole course of life_, &c.] This is awkwardly expressed, a circumstance most unusual with Massinger; but seems to mean, in her various excellences and virtues.--GIFFORD. [66] _Glorious_,] i. e. _vain_, _empty_, _vaunting_. [67] _All courtship_,] i. e. _all court breeding_. [68] _Take up, take up._] i. e. _stop, check yourself_. ACT II. SCENE I. _The same. A Room in_ FIORINDA'_s House_. _Enter_ FIORINDA _and_ CALAMINTA. _Fior._ How does this dressing show? _Calam._ 'Tis of itself Curious and rare; but, borrowing ornament, As it does from your grace, that deigns to wear it, Incomparable. _Fior._ Thou flatter'st me. _Calam._ I cannot, Your excellence is above it. _Fior._ Were we less perfect, Yet, being as we are, an absolute princess, We of necessity must be chaste, wise, fair, By our prerogative!--yet all these fail To move where I would have them. How received Count Sanazarro the rich scarf I sent him For his last visit? _Calam._ With much reverence, I dare not say affection. He express'd More ceremony in his humble thanks, Than feeling of the favour; and appear'd Wilfully ignorant, in my opinion, Of what it did invite him to. _Fior._ No matter; He's blind with too much light[69]. Have you not heard Of any private mistress he's engaged to? _Calam._ Not any; and this does amaze me, madam, That he, a soldier, should in his manners Be so averse to women. _Fior._ Troth, I know not. _Calam._ I do suspect him; for I learnt last night, When the great duke went to rest, attended by One private follower, he took horse; but whither He's rid, or to what end, I cannot guess at, But I will find it out. _Fior._ Do, faithful servant; _Enter_ CALANDRINO. We would not be abused.--Who have we here? _Calam._ How the fool stares! _Fior._ And looks as if he were Conning his neck-verse. _Cal._ If I now prove perfect In my A B C of courtship, Calandrino Is made for ever. I am sent--let me see, On a _How d'ye_, as they call 't. _Calam._ What wouldst thou say? _Cal._ Let me see my notes. These are her lodgings; well. _Calam._ Art thou an ass? _Cal._ Peace! thou art a court wagtail, [_Looking on his instructions._ To interrupt me. _Fior_. He has given it you. Cal. _And then say to the illustrious Fi-o-rin-da_-- I have it. Which is she? _Calam._ Why this; fop-doodle. _Cal._ Leave chattering, bull-finch; you would put me out, But 'twill not do.--_Then, after you have made Your three obeisances to her, kneel, and kiss The skirt of her gown._--I am glad it is no worse. _Calam._ This is sport unlook'd for. _Cal._ Are you the princess? _Fior._ Yes, sir. _Cal._ Then stand fair, For I am choleric; and do not nip A hopeful blossom. Out again:--_Three low Obeisances_-- _Fior._ I am ready. _Cal._ I come on, then. _Calam._ With much formality. _Cal._ Umph! One, two, three. [_Makes antic courtesies._ Thus far I am right. Now for the last. [_Kisses the skirt of her gown._]--O, rare! She is perfumed all over! Sure great women, Instead of little dogs, are privileged To carry musk-cats. _Fior._ Now the ceremony Is pass'd, what is the substance? _Cal._ I'll peruse My instructions, and then tell you.--_Her skirt kiss'd, Inform her highness that your lord_---- _Calam._ Who's that? _Cal._ Prince Giovanni, who entreats your grace, That he, with your good favour, may have leave To present his service to you. I think I have nick'd it For a courtier of the first form. _Fior._ To my wonder. _Enter_ GIOVANNI _and a Gentleman_. Return unto the prince--but he prevents My answer. Calaminta, take him off; And, for the neat delivery of his message, Give him ten ducats: such rare parts as yours Are to be cherish'd. _Cal._ We will share: I know It is the custom of the court, when ten Are promised, five is fair. Fie! fie! the princess Shall never know it, so you despatch me quickly, And bid me not come to-morrow. _Calam._ Very good, sir. [_Exeunt_ CALANDRINO _and_ CALAMINTA. _Giov._ Pray you, friend, Inform the duke I am putting into act What he commanded. _Gent._ I am proud to be employ'd, sir. [_Exit._ _Giov._ Madam, that, without warrant, I presume To trench upon your privacies, may argue Rudeness of manners; but the free access Your princely courtesy vouchsafes to all That come to pay their services, gives me hope To find a gracious pardon. _Fior._ If you please, not To make that an offence in your construction, Which I receive as a large favour from you, There needs not this apology. _Giov._ You continue, As you were ever, the greatest mistress of Fair entertainment. _Fior._ You are, sir, the master; And in the country have learnt to outdo All that in court is practised. But why should we Talk at such distance? You are welcome, sir. We have been more familiar, and since You will impose the province (you should govern) Of boldness on me, give me leave to say You are too punctual. Sit, sir, and discourse As we were used. _Giov._ Your excellence knows so well How to command, that I can never err When I obey you. _Fior._ Nay, no more of this. You shall o'ercome; no more, I pray you, sir.-- And what delights, pray you be liberal In your relation, hath the country life Afforded you? _Giov._ All pleasures, gracious madam, But the happiness to converse with your sweet virtues. I had a grave instructor, and my hours Design'd to serious studies yielded me Pleasure with profit, in the knowledge of What before I was ignorant in; the signior, Carolo de Charomonte, being skilful To guide me through the labyrinth of wild passions, That labour'd to imprison my free soul A slave to vicious sloth. _Fior._ You speak him well. _Giov._ But short of his deserts. Then for the time Of recreation, I was allow'd (Against the form follow'd by jealous parents In Italy) full liberty to partake His daughter's sweet society. She's a virgin Happy in all endowments which a poet Could fancy in his mistress; being herself A school of goodness, where chaste maids may learn, Without the aids of foreign principles, By the example of her life and pureness, To be as she is, excellent. I but give you A brief epitome of her virtues, which, Dilated on at large, and to their merit, Would make an ample story. _Fior._ Your whole age, So spent with such a father, and a daughter, Could not be tedious to you. _Giov._ True, great princess: And now, since you have pleased to grant the hearing Of my time's expense in the country, give me leave To entreat the favour to be made acquainted What service, or what objects in the court, Have, in your excellency's acceptance, proved Most gracious to you. _Fior._ I'll meet your demand, And make a plain discovery. The duke's care For my estate and person holds the first And choicest place: then, the respect the courtiers Pay gladly to me, not to be contemn'd. But that which raised in me the most delight, (For I am a friend to valour,) was to hear The noble actions truly reported Of the brave count Sanazarro. I profess, When it hath been, and fervently, deliver'd, How boldly, in the horror of a fight, Cover'd with fire and smoke, and, as if nature Had lent him wings, like lightning he hath fallen Upon the Turkish galleys, I have heard it With a kind of pleasure, which hath whisper'd to me, This worthy must be cherish'd. _Giov._ 'Twas a bounty You never can repent. _Fior._ I glory in it. And when he did return, (but still with conquest,) His armour off, not young Antinous Appear'd more courtly; all the graces that Render a man's society dear to ladies, Like pages waiting on him; and it does Work strangely on me. _Giov._ To divert your thoughts, Though they are fix'd upon a noble subject, I am a suitor to you. _Fior._ You will ask, I do presume, what I may grant, and then It must not be denied. _Giov._ It is a favour For which I hope your excellence will thank me. _Fior._ Nay, without circumstance. _Giov._ That you would please To take occasion to move the duke, That you, with his allowance, may command This matchless virgin, Lidia, (of whom I cannot speak too much,) to wait upon you. She's such a one, upon the forfeit of Your good opinion of me, that will not Be a blemish to your train. _Fior._ 'Tis rank! he loves her: But I will fit him with a suit. [_Aside._]--I pause not, As if it bred or doubt or scruple in me To do what you desire, for I'll effect it, And make use of a fair and fit occasion; Yet, in return, I ask a boon of you, And hope to find you, in your grant to me, As I have been to you. _Giov._ Command me, madam. _Fior._ 'Tis near allied to yours. That you would be A suitor to the duke, not to expose, After so many trials of his faith, The noble Sanazarro to all dangers, As if he were a wall to stand the fury Of a perpetual battery: but now To grant him, after his long labours, rest And liberty to live in court; his arms And his victorious sword and shield hung up For monuments. _Giov._ Umph!--I'll embrace, fair princess, _Enter_ COZIMO. The soonest opportunity. The duke! _Coz._ Nay, blush not; we smile on your privacy, And come not to disturb you. You are equals, And, without prejudice to either's honours, May make a mutual change of love and courtship, Till you are made one, and with holy rites, And we give suffrage to it. _Giov._ You are gracious. _Coz._ To ourself in this: but now break off; too much Taken at once of the most curious viands, Dulls the sharp edge of appetite. We are now For other sports, in which our pleasure is That you should keep us company. _Fior._ We attend you. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTE: [69] _He's blind with too much light._] Ennobled by Milton--"dark with excess of light." SCENE II. _The Country. A Hall in_ CHAROMONTE'_s House._ _Enter_ BERNARDO, CAPONI, _and_ PETRUCHIO. _Bern._ Is my lord stirring? _Cap._ No; he's fast. _Pet._ Let us take, then, Our morning draught. Such as eat store of beef, Mutton, and capons, may preserve their healths With that thin composition call'd small beer, As, 'tis said, they do in England. But Italians, That think when they have supp'd upon an olive, A root, or bunch of raisins, 'tis a feast, Must kill those crudities rising from cold herbs, With hot and lusty wines. _Cap._ A happiness Those tramontanes[70] ne'er tasted. _Bern._ Have they not Store of wine there? _Cap._ Yes, and drink more in two hours Than the Dutchmen or the Dane in four and twenty. _Pet._ But what is 't? French trash, made of rotten grapes, And dregs and lees of Spain, with Welsh metheglin, A drench to kill a horse! But this pure nectar, Being proper to our climate, is too fine To brook the roughness of the sea: the spirit Of this begets in us quick apprehensions, And active executions; whereas their Gross feeding makes their understanding like it: They can fight, and that's their all. [_They drink._ _Enter_ SANAZARRO _and_ SERVANI. _Sanaz._ Security Dwells about this house, I think; the gate's wide open, And not a servant stirring. See the horses Set up, and clothed. _Serv._ I shall, sir. [_Exit._ _Sanaz._ I'll make bold To press a little further. _Bern._ Who is this, Count Sanazarro? _Pet._ Yes, I know him. Quickly Remove the flagon. _Sanaz._ A good day to you, friends. Nay, do not conceal your physic; I approve it, And, if you please, will be a patient with you. _Pet._ My noble lord. [_Drinks._ _Sanaz._ A health to yours. [_Drinks._] Well done! I see you love yourselves, and I commend you; 'Tis the best wisdom. _Pet._ May it please your honour To walk a turn in the gallery, I'll acquaint My lord with your being here. [_Exit._ _Sanaz._ Tell him I come For a visit only. 'Tis a handsome pile this. [_Exit._ _Cap._ Why here is a brave fellow, and a right one; Nor wealth nor greatness makes him proud. _Bern._ There are Too few of them; for most of our new courtiers, (Whose fathers were familiar with the prices Of oil and corn, with when and where to vent them, And left their heirs rich, from their knowledge that way,) Like gourds shot up in a night, disdain to speak But to cloth of tissue. _Enter_ CHAROMONTE _in a nightgown_, PETRUCHIO _following_. _Char._ Stand you prating, knaves, When such a guest is under my roof! See all The rooms perfumed. This is the man that carries The sway and swing of the court; and I had rather Preserve him mine with honest offices, than---- But I'll make no comparisons. Bid my daughter Trim herself up to the height. Which way went he? _Cap._ To the round gallery. _Char._ I will entertain him As fits his worth and quality, but no further. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTE: [70] _Tramontanes,_] i. e. _strangers_, _barbarians_: so the Italians called, and still call, all who live beyond the Alps, _ultra montes_. In a subsequent speech, the author does not forget to satirize the acknowledged propensity of his countrymen to drinking: "Your _Dane_, your German, and your swag-bellied _Hollander_, are nothing to your Englishman." If Caponi, as well as Iago, be not, however, too severe upon us, it must be confessed that our ancestors were apt scholars, and soon bettered the instructions which they received. Sir Richard Baker (as Mr. Gilchrist observes), treating of the wars in the Low-Countries about the end of the sixteenth century, says, "Here it must not be omitted, that the English (who, of all the dwellers in the northern parts of the world, were hitherto the least drinkers, and deservedly praised for their sobriety) in these Dutch wars learned to be drunkards, and brought the vice so far to overspread the kingdom, that laws were fain to be enacted for repressing it." _Chron._ fol. p. 382.--GIFFORD. SCENE III. _A Gallery in the same._ _Enter_ SANAZARRO. _Sanaz._ I cannot apprehend, yet I have argued All ways I can imagine, for what reasons The great duke does employ me hither; and, What does increase the miracle, I must render A strict and true account, at my return, Of Lidia, this lord's daughter, and describe In what she's excellent, and where defective. 'Tis a hard task: he that will undergo To make a judgment of a woman's beauty, And see through all her plasterings and paintings, Had need of Lynceus' eyes, and with more ease May look, like him, through nine mud walls, than make A true discovery of her. But the intents And secrets of my prince's heart must be Served, and not search'd into. _Enter_ CHAROMONTE. _Char._ Most noble sir, Excuse my age, subject to ease and sloth, That with no greater speed I have presented My service with your welcome. _Sanaz._ 'Tis more fit That I should ask your pardon, for disturbing Your rest at this unseasonable hour. But my occasions carrying me so near Your hospitable house, my stay being short too, Your goodness, and the name of friend, which you Are pleased to grace me with, gave me assurance A visit would not offend. _Char._ Offend, my lord! I feel myself much younger for the favour. How is it with our gracious master? _Sanaz._ He, sir, Holds still his wonted greatness, and confesses Himself your debtor, for your love and care To the prince Giovanni; and had sent Particular thanks by me, had his grace known The quick despatch of what I was design'd to Would have licensed me to see you. _Char._ I am rich In his acknowledgment. _Sanaz._ I have heard Your happiness in a daughter. _Char._ Sits the wind there? [_Aside._ _Sanaz._ Fame gives her out for a rare masterpiece. _Char._ 'Tis a plain village girl, sir, but obedient; That's her best beauty, sir. _Sanaz._ Let my desire To see her find a fair construction from you: I bring no loose thought with me. _Char._ You are that way, My lord, free from suspicion. Her own manners, Without an imposition from me, I hope, will prompt her to it. _Enter_ LIDIA _and_ PETRONELLA. As she is, She comes to make a tender of that service Which she stands bound to pay. _Sanaz._ With your fair leave, I make bold to salute you. _Lid._ Sir, you have it. _Char._ How he falls off! _Lid._ My lord, though silence best becomes a maid, And to be curious to know but what Concerns myself, and with becoming distance, May argue me of boldness, I must borrow So much of modesty, as to inquire Prince Giovanni's health. _Sanaz._ He cannot want What you are pleased to wish him. _Lid._ Would 'twere so! And then there is no blessing that can make A hopeful and a noble prince complete, But should fall on him. O! he was our north star, The light and pleasure of our eyes. _Sanaz._ Where am I? I feel myself another thing! Can charms Be writ on such pure rubies[71]? her lips melt As soon as touch'd! Not those smooth gales that glide O'er happy Araby, or rich Sabæa, Creating in their passage gums and spices, Can serve for a weak simile to express The sweetness of her breath. Such a brave stature Homer bestow'd on Pallas, every limb Proportion'd to it! _Char._ This is strange.--My lord! _Sanaz._ I crave your pardon, and yours, matchless maid, For such I must report you. _Petron._ There's no notice Taken all this while of me. [_Aside._ _Sanaz._ And I must add, If your discourse and reason parallel The rareness of your more than human form, You are a wonder. _Char._ Pray you, my lord, make trial: She can speak, I can assure you; and that my presence May not take from her freedom, I will leave you: For know, my lord, my confidence dares trust her Where, and with whom, she pleases.--Petronella! _Petron._ Yes, my good lord. _Char._ I have employment for you. [_Exeunt_ CHAROMONTE _and_ PETRONELLA. _Lid._ What's your will, sir? _Sanaz._ Madam, you are so large a theme to treat of, And every grace about you offers to me Such copiousness of language, that I stand Doubtful which first to touch at. If I err, As in my choice I may, let me entreat you, Before I do offend, to sign my pardon: Let this, the emblem of your innocence, Give me assurance. _Lid._ My hand join'd to yours, Without this superstition, confirms it. Nor need I fear you will dwell long upon me, The barrenness of the subject yielding nothing That rhetoric, with all her tropes and figures, Can amplify. Yet since you are resolved To prove yourself a courtier in my praise, As I'm a woman (and you men affirm Our sex loves to be flatter'd) I'll endure it. _Enter_ CHAROMONTE _above_. Now, when you please, begin. _Sanaz._ [_turning from her._] If the great duke Made this his end to try my constant temper, Though I am vanquished, 'tis his fault, not mine; For I am flesh and blood, and have affections Like other men. Who can behold the temples, Or holy altars, but the objects work Devotion in him? And I may as well Walk over burning iron with bare feet, And be unscorch'd, as look upon this beauty Without desire, and that desire pursued too, Till it be quench'd with the enjoying those Delights, which to achieve, danger is nothing, And loyalty but a word. _Lid._ I ne'er was proud; Nor can find I am guilty of a thought Deserving this neglect. _Sanaz._ Suppose his greatness Loves her himself, why makes he choice of me To be his agent? It is tyranny To call one pinch'd with hunger to a feast, And at that instant cruelly deny him To taste of what he sees. Allegiance Tempted too far is like the trial of A good sword on an anvil; as that often Flies in pieces without service to the owner, So trust enforced too far proves treachery, And is too late repented. _Lid._ Pray you, sir, Or license me to leave you, or deliver The reasons which invite you to command My tedious waiting on you. _Char._ As I live, I know not what to think on 't. Is 't his pride, Or his simplicity? _Sanaz._ Whither have my thoughts Carried me from myself? In this my dulness, I've lost an opportunity---- [_Turns to her; she falls off._ _Lid._ 'Tis true I was not bred in court, nor live a star there; Nor shine in rich embroideries and pearl, As they that are the mistresses of great fortunes Are every day adorn'd with---- _Sanaz._ Will you vouchsafe Your ear, sweet lady? _Lid._ Yet I may be bold, For my integrity and fame, to rank With such as are more glorious. Though I never Did injury, yet I am sensible When I'm contemn'd and scorn'd. _Sanaz._ Will you please to hear me? _Lid._ O the difference of natures! Giovanni, A prince in expectation, when he lived here, Stole courtesy from heaven[72], and would not to The meanest servant in my father's house Have kept such distance. _Sanaz._ Pray you, do not think me Unworthy of your ear: it was your beauty That turn'd me statue. I can speak, fair lady. _Lid._ And I can hear. The harshness of your courtship Cannot corrupt my courtesy. _Sanaz._ Will you hear me, If I speak of love? _Lid._ Provided you be modest; I were uncivil, else. _Char._ They are come to parley: I must observe this nearer. [_He retires._ _Sanaz._ You are a rare one, And such (but that my haste commands me hence) I could converse with ever. Will you grace me With leave to visit you again? _Lid._ So you, At your return to court, do me the favour To make a tender of my humble service To the prince Giovanni. _Sanaz._ Ever touching Upon that string! [_Aside._] And will you give me hope Of future happiness? _Lid._ That, as I shall find you: The fort that's yielded at the first assault Is hardly worth the taking. _Re-enter_ CHAROMONTE _below_. _Sanaz._ She is a magazine of all perfection, And 'tis death to part from her, yet I must. _Char._ A homely breakfast does attend your lordship, Such as the place affords. _Sanaz._ No; I have feasted Already here; my thanks, and so I leave you: I will see you again.--Till this unhappy hour I was never lost; and what to do, or say, I have not yet determined. [_Aside, and exit._ _Char._ Gone so abruptly! 'Tis very strange. _Lid._ Under your favour, sir, His coming hither was to little purpose, For any thing I heard from him. _Char._ Take heed, Lidia! I do advise you with a father's love, And tenderness of your honour; as I would not Have you too harsh in giving entertainment, So by no means be credulous: for great men, Till they have gain'd their ends, are giants in Their promises, but, those obtain'd, weak pigmies In their performance. And it is a maxim Allow'd among them, so they may deceive, They may swear any thing; for the queen of love, As they hold constantly, does never punish, But smile at, lovers' perjuries[73].--Yet be wise too, And when you are sued to in a noble way, Be neither nice nor scrupulous. _Lid._ All you speak, sir, I hear as oracles; nor will digress From your directions. _Char._ So shall you keep Your fame untainted. _Lid._ As I would my life, sir. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [71] ------------_Can charms Be writ on such pure rubies?_] This, I believe, alludes to a very old opinion, that some sorts of gems (from an inherent sanctity) could not be profaned, or applied to the purposes of magic. The notion took its rise probably from some superstitious ideas respecting the precious stones employed in the breastplate of the high-priest of the Jews.--GIFFORD. [72] _Stole courtesy from heaven._] This is from Shakspeare; and the plain meaning of the phrase is, that the affability and sweetness of Giovanni were of a _heavenly_ kind.--GIFFORD. [73] _Smile at lovers' perjuries._] _Ridet hoc, inquam, Venus ipsa._ It would be as well if the queen of love had been a little more fastidious on this subject. Her facility, I fear, has done much mischief, as lovers of all ages have availed themselves of it: but she had it from her father, whose laxity of principle is well known: ------------_perjuria ridet amantûm Jupiter._ GIFFORD. ACT III. SCENE I. _Florence. An Anteroom in the Palace._ _Enter_ SANAZARRO _and Servant_. _Sanaz._ Leave the horses with my grooms; but be you careful, With your best diligence and speed, to find out The prince, and humbly, in my name, entreat I may exchange some private conference with him Before the great duke know of my arrival. _Serv._ I haste, my lord. _Sanaz._ Here I'll attend his coming: And see you keep yourself, as much as may be, Conceal'd from all men else. _Serv._ To serve your lordship, I wish I were invisible. [_Exit._ _Sanaz._ I am driven Into a desperate strait, and cannot steer A middle course; and of the two extremes Which I must make election of, I know not Which is more full of horror. Never servant Stood more engaged to a magnificent master, Than I to Cozimo: and all those honours And glories by his grace conferr'd upon me, Or by my prosperous services deserved, If now I should deceive his trust, and make A shipwreck of my loyalty, are ruin'd. And, on the other side, if I discover Lidia's divine perfections, all my hopes In her are sunk, never to be buoy'd up: For 'tis impossible, but, as soon as seen, She must with adoration be sued to. A hermit at his beads but looking on her At this object would take fire. Nor is the duke Such an Hippolytus, but that this Phædra, But seen, must force him to forsake the groves And Dian's huntmanship, proud to serve under Venus' soft ensigns. No, there is no way For me to hope fruition of my ends, But to conceal her beauties;--and how that May be effected is as hard a task As with a veil to cover the sun's beams, Or comfortable light. Three years the prince Lived in her company, and Contarino, The secretary, hath possess'd[74] the duke What a rare piece she is:--but he's my creature, And may with ease be frighted to deny What he hath said: and if my long experience, With some strong reasons I have thought upon, Cannot o'er-reach a youth, my practice yields me But little profit. _Enter_ GIOVANNI _with the Servant_. _Giov._ You are well return'd, sir. _Sanaz._ Leave us.--[_Exit Servant._] When that your grace shall know the motives That forced me to invite you to this trouble, You will excuse my manners. _Giov._ Sir, there needs not This circumstance between us. You are ever My noble friend. _Sanaz._ You shall have further cause To assure you of my faith and zeal to serve you: And when I have committed to your trust (Presuming still on your retentive silence) A secret of no less importance than My honour, nay, my head, it will confirm What value you hold with me. _Giov._ Pray you, believe, sir, What you deliver to me shall be lock'd up In a strong cabinet, of which you yourself Shall keep the key; for here I pawn my honour, Which is the best security I can give yet, It shall not be discover'd. _Sanaz._ This assurance Is more than I with modesty could demand From such a paymaster; but I must be sudden; And, therefore, to the purpose. Can your excellence, In your imagination, conceive On what design, or whither, the duke's will Commanded me hence last night? _Giov._ No, I assure you; And it had been a rudeness to inquire Of that I was not call'd to. _Sanaz._ Grant me hearing, And I will make you truly understand It only did concern you. _Giov._ Me, my lord! _Sanaz._ You, in your present state and future fortunes; For both lie at the stake. _Giov._ You much amaze me. Pray you, resolve this riddle. _Sanaz._ You know the duke, If he die issueless, as yet he is, Determines you his heir. _Giov._ It hath pleased his highness Oft to profess so much. _Sanaz._ But say he should Be won to prove a second wife, on whom He may beget a son, how, in a moment, Will all those glorious expectations, which Render you reverenced and remarkable, Be in a moment blasted, howe'er you are His much-loved sister's son! _Giov._ I must bear it With patience, and in me it is a duty That I was born with; and 'twere much unfit For the receiver of a benefit To offer, for his own ends, to prescribe Laws to the giver's pleasure. _Sanaz._ Sweetly answer'd, And like your noble self. This your rare temper So wins upon me, that I would not live (If that by honest arts I can prevent it) To see your hopes made frustrate. And but think How you shall be transform'd from what you are, Should this (as Heaven avert it!) ever happen. It must disturb your peace: for whereas now, Being, as you are, received for the heir-apparent, You are no sooner seen but wonder'd at; The signiors making it a business to Inquire how you have slept; and, as you walk The streets of Florence, the glad multitude In throngs press but to see you; and, with joy, The father, pointing with his finger, tells His son, This is the prince, the hopeful prince, That must hereafter rule, and you obey him.-- Great ladies beg your picture, and make love To that, despairing to enjoy the substance.-- And but the last night, when 'twas only rumour'd That you were come to court, as if you had By sea pass'd hither from another world, What general shouts and acclamations follow'd! The bells rang loud, the bonfires blazed, and such As loved not wine, carousing to your health, Were drunk, and blush'd not at it. And is this A happiness to part with? _Giov._ I allow these As flourishes of fortune, with which princes Are often soothed; but never yet esteem'd them For real blessings. _Sanaz._ Yet all these were paid To what you may be, not to what you are; For if the Great Duke but show to his servants A son of his own, you shall, like one obscure, Pass unregarded. _Giov._ I confess, command Is not to be contemn'd, and if my fate Appoint me to it, as I may, I'll bear it With willing shoulders. But, my lord, as yet, You've told me of a danger coming towards me, But have not named it. _Sanaz._ That is soon deliver'd. Great Cozimo, your uncle, as I more Than guess, for 'tis no frivolous circumstance That does persuade my judgment to believe it, Purposes to be married. _Giov._ Married, sir! With whom, and on what terms? pray you, instruct me. _Sanaz._ With the fair Lidia. _Giov._ Lidia! _Sanaz._ The daughter Of signior Charomonte. _Giov._ Pardon me Though I appear incredulous; for, on My knowledge, he ne'er saw her. _Sanaz._ That is granted: But Contarino hath so sung her praises, And given her out for such a masterpiece, That he's transported with it, sir:--and love Steals sometimes through the ear into the heart, As well as by the eye. The duke no sooner Heard her described, but I was sent in post To see her, and return my judgment of her. _Giov._ And what's your censure[75]? _Sanaz._ 'Tis a pretty creature. _Giov._ She's very fair. _Sanaz._ Yes, yes, I have seen worse faces. _Giov._ Her limbs are neatly form'd. _Sanaz._ She hath a waist Indeed sized to love's wish. _Giov._ A delicate hand too. _Sanaz._ Then for a leg and foot-- _Giov._ And there I leave you, For I presumed no further. _Sanaz._ As she is, sir, I know she wants no gracious part that may Allure the duke; and, if he only see her, She is his own; he will not be denied, And then you are lost: yet, if you'll second me, (As you have reason, for it most concerns you,) I can prevent all yet. _Giov._ I would you could, A noble way. _Sanaz._ I will cry down her beauties; Especially the beauties of her mind, As much as Contarino hath advanced them; And this, I hope, will breed forgetfulness, And kill affection in him: but you must join With me in my report, if you be question'd. _Giov._ I never told a lie yet; and I hold it In some degree blasphémous[76] to dispraise What's worthy admiration: yet, for once, I will dispraise a little, and not vary From your relation. _Sanaz._ Be constant in it. _Enter_ ALPHONSO. _Alph._ My lord, the duke hath seen your man, and wonders _Enter_ COZIMO, HIPPOLITO, CONTARINO, _and Attendants._ You come not to him. See, if his desire To have conference with you hath not brought him hither In his own person! _Coz._ They are comely coursers, And promise swiftness. _Cont._ They are, of my knowledge, Of the best race in Naples. _Coz._ You are, nephew, As I hear, an excellent horseman, and we like it: 'Tis a fair grace in a prince. Pray you, make trial Of their strength and speed; and, if you think them fit For your employment, with a liberal hand Reward the gentleman that did present them From the viceroy of Naples. _Giov._ I will use My best endeavour, sir. _Coz._ Wait on my nephew. [_Exeunt_ GIOVANNI, ALPHONSO, HIPPOLITO, _and Attendants._ Nay, stay you, Contarino:--be within call; It may be we shall use you. [_Exit_ CONTARINO.] You have rode hard, sir, And we thank you for it: every minute seems Irksome, and tedious to us, till you have Made your discovery. Say, friend, have you seen This phoenix of our age? _Sanaz._ I have seen a maid, sir; But, if that I have judgment, no such wonder As she was deliver'd to you. _Coz._ This is strange. _Sanaz._ But certain truth. It may be, she was look'd on With admiration in the country, sir; But, if compared with many in your court, She would appear but ordinary. _Coz._ Contarino Reports her otherwise. _Sanaz._ Such as ne'er saw swans May think crows beautiful. _Coz._ How is her behaviour? _Sanaz._ 'Tis like the place she lives in. _Coz._ How her wit, Discourse, and entertainment? _Sanaz._ Very coarse; I would not willingly say poor, and rude: But, had she all the beauties of fair women, The dulness of her soul would fright me from her. _Coz._ You are curious, sir. I know not what to think on 't.-- [_Aside._ Contarino! _Re-enter_ CONTARINO. _Cont._ Sir. _Coz._ Where was thy judgment, man, To extol a virgin Sanazarro tells me Is nearer to deformity? _Sanaz._ I saw her, And curiously perused her; and I wonder That she, that did appear to me, that know What beauty is, not worthy the observing, Should so transport you. _Cont._ Troth, my lord, I thought then---- _Coz._ Thought! Didst thou not affirm it? _Cont._ I confess, sir, I did believe so then; but now I hear My lord's opinion to the contrary, I am of another faith: for 'tis not fit That I should contradict him. I am dim, sir; But he's sharp-sighted. _Sanaz._ This is to my wish. [_Aside._ _Coz._ We know not what to think of this; yet would not _Re-enter_ GIOVANNI, HIPPOLITO, _and_ ALPHONSO. Determine rashly of it. [_Aside._]--How do you like My nephew's horsemanship? _Hip._ In my judgment, sir, It is exact and rare. _Alph._ And, to my fancy, He did present great Alexander mounted On his Bucephalus. _Coz._ You are right, courtiers, And know it is your duty to cry up All actions of a prince. _Sanaz._ Do not betray Yourself, you're safe; I have done my part. [_Aside to_ GIOVANNI. _Giov._ I thank you; Nor will I fail. _Coz._ What's your opinion, nephew, Of the horses? _Giov._ Two of them are, in my judgment, The best I ever back'd; I mean the roan, sir, And the brown bay: but for the chestnut-colour'd, Though he be full of metal, hot, and fiery, He treads weak in his pasterns. _Coz._ So: come nearer; This exercise hath put you into a sweat; Take this and dry it: and now I command you To tell me truly what's your censure of Charomonte's daughter, Lidia. _Giov._ I am, sir, A novice in my judgment of a lady; But such as 'tis, your grace shall have it freely. I would not speak ill of her, and am sorry, If I keep myself a friend to truth, I cannot Report her as I would, so much I owe Her reverend father: but I'll give you, sir, As near as I can, her character in little. She's of a goodly stature, and her limbs Not disproportion'd; for her face, it is Far from deformity; yet they flatter her, That style it excellent: her manners are Simple and innocent; but her discourse And wit deserve my pity, more than praise: At the best, my lord, she is a handsome picture, And, that said, all is spoken. _Coz._ I believe you; I ne'er yet found you false. _Giov._ Nor ever shall, sir.-- Forgive me, matchless Lidia! too much love, And jealous fear to lose thee, do compel me, Against my will, my reason, and my knowledge, To be a poor detractor of that beauty, Which fluent Ovid, if he lived again, Would want words to express. [_Aside._ _Coz._ Pray you, make choice of The richest of our furniture for these horses, [_To_ SANAZARRO. And take my nephew with you; we in this Will follow his directions. _Giov._ Could I find now The princess Fiorinda, and persuade her To be silent in the suit that I moved to her, All were secure. _Sanaz._ In that, my lord, I'll aid you. _Coz._ We will be private; leave us. [_Exeunt all but_ COZIMO. All my studies And serious meditations aim no further Than this young man's good. He was my sister's son, And she was such a sister, when she lived, I could not prize too much; nor can I better Make known how dear I hold her memory, Than in my cherishing the only issue Which she hath left behind her. Who's that? _Enter_ FIORINDA. _Fior._ Sir. _Coz._ My fair charge! you are welcome to us. _Fior._ I have found it, sir. _Coz._ All things go well in Urbin. _Fior._ Your gracious care to me, an orphan, frees me From all suspicion that my jealous fears Can drive into my fancy. _Coz._ The next summer, In our own person, we will bring you thither, And seat you in your own. _Fior._ When you think fit, sir. But, in the mean time, with your highness' pardon, I am a suitor to you. _Coz._ Name it, madam, With confidence to obtain it. _Fior._ That you would please To lay a strict command on Charomonte, To bring his daughter Lidia to the court: And pray you, think, sir, that 'tis not my purpose To employ her as a servant, but to use her As a most wish'd companion. _Coz._ Ha! your reason? _Fior._ The hopeful prince, your nephew, sir, hath given her To me for such an abstract of perfection In all that can be wish'd for in a virgin, As beauty, music, ravishing discourse, Quickness of apprehension, with choice manners And learning too, not usual with women, That I am much ambitious (though I shall Appear but as a foil to set her off) To be by her instructed, and supplied In what I am defective. _Coz._ Did my nephew Seriously deliver this? _Fior._ I assure your grace, With zeal and vehemency; and, even when, With his best words, he strived to set her forth, (Though the rare subject made him eloquent,) He would complain, all he could say came short Of her deservings. _Coz._ Pray you have patience. [_Walks aside._ This was strangely carried.--Ha! are we trifled with? Dare they do this? Is Cozimo's fury, that Of late was terrible, grown contemptible? Well; we will clear our brows, and undermine Their secret works, though they have digg'd like moles, And crush them with the tempest of my wrath When I appear most calm. He is unfit To command others that knows not to use it[77], And with all rigour: yet my stern looks shall not Discover my intents; for I will strike When I begin to frown.----You are the mistress Of that you did demand. _Fior._ I thank your highness; But speed in the performance of the grant Doubles the favour, sir. _Coz._ You shall possess it Sooner than you expect:---- Only be pleased to be ready, when my secretary Waits on you, to take the fresh air. My nephew, And my bosom friend, so to cheat me! 'tis not fair. [_Aside._ _Re-enter_ GIOVANNI _and_ SANAZARRO. _Sanaz._ Where should this princess be? nor in her lodgings, Nor in the private walks, her own retreat, Which she so much frequented! _Giov._ By my life, She's with the duke! and I much more than fear Her forwardness to prefer my suit hath ruin'd What with such care we built up. _Coz._ Have you furnish'd Those coursers, as we will'd you? _Sanaz._ There's no sign Of anger in his looks. _Giov._ They are complete, sir. _Coz._ 'Tis well: to your rest. Soft sleeps wait on you, madam. To-morrow, with the rising of the sun, Be ready to ride with us.--They with more safety Had trod on fork-tongued adders, than provoked me. [_Aside, and exit._ _Fior._ I come not to be thank'd, sir, for the speedy Performance of my promise touching Lidia: It is effected. _Sanaz._ We are undone. [_Aside._ _Fior._ The duke No sooner heard me with my best of language Describe her excellencies, as you taught me, But he confirm'd it.--You look sad, as if You wish'd it were undone. _Giov._ No, gracious madam, I am your servant for 't. _Fior._ Be you as careful For what I moved to you.--Count Sanazarro, Now I perceive you honour me, in vouchsafing To wear so slight a favour. _Sanaz._ 'Tis a grace I am unworthy of. _Fior._ You merit more, In prizing so a trifle. Take this diamond; I'll second what I have begun; for know, Your valour hath so won upon me, that 'Tis not to be resisted: I have said, sir, And leave you to interpret it. [_Exit._ _Sanaz._ This to me Is wormwood. 'Tis apparent we are taken In our own noose. What's to be done? _Giov._ I know not. And 'tis a punishment justly fallen upon me, For leaving truth, a constant mistress, that Ever protects her servants, to become A slave to lies and falsehood. What excuse Can we make to the duke, what mercy hope for, Our packing[78] being laid open? _Sanaz._ 'Tis not to Be question'd but his purposed journey is To see fair Lidia. _Giov._ And to divert him Impossible. _Sanaz._ There's now no looking backward. _Giov._ And which way to go on with safety, not To be imagined. _Sanaz._ Give me leave: I have An embryon in my brain, which, I despair not, May be brought to form and fashion, provided You will be open-breasted. _Giov._ 'Tis no time now, Our dangers being equal, to conceal A thought from you. _Sanaz._ What power hold you o'er Lidia? Do you think that, with some hazard of her life, She would prevent your ruin? _Giov._ I presume so: If, in the undertaking it, she stray not From what becomes her innocence; and to that 'Tis far from me to press her: I myself Will rather suffer. _Sanaz._ 'Tis enough; this night Write to her by your servant Calandrino, As I shall give directions; my man _Enter_ CALANDRINO, _fantastically dressed._ Shall bear him company. See, sir, to my wish He does appear; but much transform'd from what He was when he came hither. _Cal._ I confess I am not very wise, and yet I find A fool, so he be parcel knave, in court May flourish and grow rich. _Giov._ Calandrino. _Cal._ Peace! I am in contemplation. _Giov._ Do not you know me? _Cal._ I tell thee, no; on forfeit of my place, I must not know myself, much less my father, But by petition; that petition lined too With golden birds, that sing to the tune of profit, Or I am deaf. _Giov._ But you've your sense of feeling. [_Offering to strike him._ _Sanaz._ Nay, pray you, forbear. _Cal._ I have all that's requisite To the making up of a signior: my spruce ruff, My hooded cloak, long stocking, and paned hose, My case of toothpicks, and my silver fork[79]; To convey an olive neatly to my mouth;-- And, what is all in all, my pockets ring A golden peal. O that the peasants in the country, My quondam fellows, but saw me as I am, How they would admire and worship me! _Giov._ As they shall; For instantly you must thither. Cal. _My grand signior, Vouchsafe a beso las manos[80], and a cringe Of the last edition._ _Giov._ You must ride post with letters This night to Lidia. _Cal._ An it please your grace, Shall I use my coach, or footcloth mule? _Sanaz._ You widgeon, You are to make all speed; think not of pomp. _Giov._ Follow for your instructions, sirrah. _Cal._ I have One suit to you, my good lord. _Sanaz._ What is 't? _Cal._ That you would give me A subtile court-charm, to defend me from The infectious air of the country. _Giov._ What's the reason? _Cal._ Why, as this court-air taught me knavish wit, By which I am grown rich, if that again Should turn me fool and honest, vain hopes farewell! For I must die a beggar. _Sanaz._ Go to, sirrah, You'll be whipt for this. _Giov._ Leave fooling, and attend us. [_Exeunt_[81]. FOOTNOTES: [74] _Possessed_,] i. e. _informed_. [75] _Censure_,] i. e. _judgment_. [76] _Blasphémous._] So the word was usually accented in Massinger's time, and with strict regard to its Greek derivation. [77] ------------_that knows not to use it_,] i. e. his _command_, authority: the expression is harsh, but is not uncommon in the writers of Massinger's time.--GIFFORD. [78] _Packing_,] i. e. _insidious contrivance_: so the word is used by Shakspeare, and others. [79] Cal. _I have all that's requisite To the making up of a signior: my spruce ruff, My hooded cloak, long stocking, and paned hose, My case of toothpicks, and my silver fork._] Calandrino is very correct in his enumeration of the articles which in his time made up a complete signior: and which are frequently introduced with evident marks of disapprobation and ridicule by our old poets. The ruff, cloak, and long stocking, are sufficiently familiar: _hose_ are breeches: _paned hose_ are breeches composed of small squares or pannels. _Toothpicks_, the next accompaniment of state, were newly imported from Italy, as were _forks_; the want of which our ancestors supplied, as well as they could, with their fingers.--GIFFORD. [80] Cal. _My grand signior, Vouchsafe a beso las manos_, &c.] This is the phrase in which Calandrino supposes his "quondam fellows" will address him. In Massinger's time these tags of politeness were in everybody's mouth, and better understood than they are at this day.--GIFFORD. [81] I have restricted myself to as few remarks as possible on the beauties of the author, but I cannot forbear observing, on the present occasion, that the act we have just finished, for language, sentiment, surprising yet natural turns, and general felicity of conduct, is scarcely to be paralleled in any drama with which I am acquainted.--GIFFORD. ACT IV. SCENE I. _The Country. A Hall in_ CHAROMONTE'_s House_. _Enter_ CHAROMONTE _and_ LIDIA. _Char._ Daughter, I have observed, since the prince left us, (Whose absence I mourn with you,) and the visit Count Sanazarro gave us, you have nourish'd Sad and retired thoughts, and parted with That freedom and alacrity of spirit With which you used to cheer me. _Lid._ For the count, sir, All thought of him does with his person die; But I confess ingenuously, I cannot So soon forget the choice and chaste delights, The courteous conversation of the prince, And without stain, I hope, afforded me, When he made this house a court. _Char._ It is in us To keep it so without him. Want we know not, And all we can complain of, Heaven be praised for 't, Is too much plenty; and we will make use of _Enter_ CAPONI, BERNARDO, PETRUCHIO, _and other Servants_. All lawful pleasures.--How now, fellows! when Shall we have this lusty dance? _Cap._ In the afternoon, sir. 'Tis a device, I wis, of my own making, And such a one, as shall make your signiorship know I have not been your butler for nothing, but Have crotchets in my head. We'll trip it tightly, And make my sad young mistress merry again, Or I'll forswear the cellar. _Bern._ If we had Our fellow Calandrino here, to dance His part, we were perfect. _Pet._ O! he was a rare fellow; But I fear the court hath spoil'd him. _Cap._ When I was young, I could have cut a caper on a pinnacle; But now I am old and wise.--Keep your figure fair, And follow but the sample I shall set you, The duke himself will send for us, and laugh at us; And that were credit. _Enter_ CALANDRINO. _Lid._ Who have we here? _Cal._ I find What was brawn in the country, in the court grows tender. The bots on these jolting jades! I am bruised to jelly. A coach for my money! _Char._ Calandrino! 'tis he. _Cal._ Now to my postures.--Let my hand have the honour To convey a kiss from my lips to the cover of Your foot, dear signior. _Char._ Fie! you stoop too low, sir. _Cal._ The hem of your vestment, lady: your glove is for princes; Nay, I have conn'd my distances. _Lid._ 'Tis most courtly. _Cap._ Fellow Calandrino! _Cal._ Signior de Caponi, Grand botelier of the mansion. _Bern._ How is 't, man? [_Claps him on the shoulder._ _Cal._ Be not so rustic in your salutations. Signior Bernardo, master of the accounts. Signior Petruchio, may you long continue Your function in the chamber! _Cap._ When shall we learn Such gambols in our villa? _Lid._ Sure he's mad. _Char._ 'Tis not unlike, for most of such mushrooms are so. What news at court? _Cal._ _Basta!_ they are mysteries. And not to be reveal'd. With your favour, signior, I am, in private, to confer awhile With this signora: but I'll pawn my honour, That neither my terse language, nor my habit, Howe'er it may convince, nor my new shrugs, Shall render her enamour'd. _Char._ Take your pleasure; A little of these apish tricks may pass, Too much is tedious. [_Exit._ _Cal._ The prince, in this paper, Presents his service. Nay, it is not courtly To see the seal broke open; so I leave you.-- Signiors of the villa, I'll descend to be Familiar with you. _Cap._ Have you forgot to dance? _Cal._ No, I am better'd. _Pet._ Will you join with us? _Cal._ As I like the project. Let me warm my brains first with the richest grape, And then I'm for you. _Cap._ We will want no wine. [_Exeunt all but_ LIDIA. _Lid._ That this comes only from the best of princes, With a kind of adoration does command me To entertain it; and the sweet contents [_Kissing the letter._ That are inscribed here by his hand must be Much more than musical to me. All the service Of my life at no part can deserve this favour. O, what a virgin longing I feel on me To unrip the seal, and read it! yet, to break What he hath fastened, rashly, may appear A saucy rudeness in me.--I must do it, (Nor can I else learn his commands, or serve them,) But with such reverence, as I would open Some holy writ, whose grave instructions beat down Rebellious sins, and teach my better part How to mount upward.--So, [_opens the letter_] 'tis done, and I With eagle's eyes will curiously peruse it. [_Reads._ _Chaste Lidia, the favours are so great On me by you conferr'd, that to entreat The least addition to them, in true sense May argue me of blushless impudence. But, such are my extremes, if you deny A further grace, I must unpitied die. Haste cuts off circumstance. As you're admired For beauty; the report of it hath fired The duke my uncle, and, I fear, you'll prove, Not with a sacred, but unlawful love. If he see you as you are, my hoped-for light Is changed into an everlasting night; How to prevent it, if your goodness find, You save two lives, and me you ever bind, The honourer of your virtues_, GIOVANNI. Were I more deaf than adders, these sweet charms Would through my ears find passage to my soul, And soon enchant it. To save such a prince, Who would not perish? Virtue in him must suffer, And piety be forgotten. The duke's passion, Though it raged more than Tarquin's, shall not reach me. All quaint inventions of chaste virgins aid me! My prayers are heard; I have 't. The duke ne'er saw me-- Or, if that fail, I am again provided-- But for the servants!--They will take what form I please to put upon them. Giovanni, Be safe; thy servant Lidia assures it. Let mountains of afflictions fall on me, Their weight is easy, so I set thee free. [_Exit._ SCENE II. _Another Room in the same._ _Enter_ COZIMO, GIOVANNI, SANAZARRO, CHAROMONTE, _and Attendants_. _Sanaz._ Are you not tired with travel, sir? _Coz._ No, no; I am fresh and lusty. _Char._ This day shall be ever A holiday to me, that brings my prince Under my humble roof. [_Weeps._ _Giov._ See, sir, my good tutor Sheds tears for joy. _Coz._ Dry them up, Charomonte; And all forbear the room, while we exchange Some private words together. _Giov._ O, my lord, How grossly have we overshot ourselves! _Sanaz._ In what, sir? _Giov._ In forgetting to acquaint My guardian with our purpose: all that Lidia Can do avails us nothing, if the duke Find out the truth from him. _Sanaz._ 'Tis now past help, And we must stand the hazard:--hope the best, sir. [_Exeunt_ GIOVANNI, SANAZARRO, _and Attendants_. _Char._ My loyalty doubted, sir! _Coz._ 'Tis more. Thou hast Abused our trust, and in a high degree Committed treason. _Char._ Treason! 'Tis a word My innocence understands not. Were my breast Transparent, and my thoughts to be discern'd, Not one spot shall be found to taint the candour Of my allegiance: and I must be bold To tell you, sir, (for he that knows no guilt Can know no fear,) 'tis tyranny to o'ercharge An honest man; and such, till now, I've lived, And such, my lord, I'll die. _Coz._ Sir, do not flatter Yourself with hope, these great and glorious words, Which every guilty wretch, as well as you, That's arm'd with impudence, can with ease deliver, And with as full a mouth, can work on us: Nor shall gay flourishes of language clear What is in fact apparent. _Char._ Fact! what fact? You, that know only what it is, instruct me, For I am ignorant. _Coz._ This, then, sir: We gave up, On our assurance of your faith and care, Our nephew Giovanni, nay, our heir In expectation, to be train'd up by you As did become a prince. _Char._ And I discharged it: Is this the treason? _Coz._ Take us with you, sir[82]. And, in respect we knew his youth was prone To women, and that, living in our court, He might make some unworthy choice, before His weaker judgment was confirm'd, we did Remove him from it; constantly presuming, You, with your best endeavours, rather would Have quench'd those heats in him, than light a torch, As you have done, to his looseness. _Char._ I! my travail Is ill requited, sir; for, by my soul, I was so curious that way, that I granted Access to none could tempt him; nor did ever One syllable, or obscene accent, touch His ear, that might corrupt him. _Coz._ No! Why, then, With your allowance, did you give free way To all familiar privacy between My nephew and your daughter? Or why did you (Had you no other ends in 't but our service) Read to them, and together, as they had been Scholars of one form, grammar, rhetoric, Philosophy, story[83], and interpret to them The close temptations of lascivious poets? Or wherefore, for we still had spies upon you, Was she still present, when, by your advice, He was taught the use of his weapon, horsemanship, Nay, wrestling, but to fan a love in her? And then, forsooth, his exercises ended, A fair pretence of recreation for him, (When Lidia was instructed in those graces That add to beauty,) he, brought to admire her, Must hear her sing, while to her voice her hand Made ravishing music; and, this applauded, dance A light lavolta[84] with her. _Char._ Have you ended All you can charge me with? _Coz._ Nor stopt you there, But they must unattended walk into The silent groves, and hear the amorous birds Warbling their wanton notes; here, a sure shade Of barren sicamores, which the all-seeing sun Could not pierce through; near that, an arbour hung With spreading eglantine; there, a bubbling spring Watering a bank of hyacinths and lilies; With all allurements that could move to love. And could this, Charomonte, (should I grant They had been equals both in birth and fortune,) Become your gravity? nay, 'tis clear as air, That your ambitious hopes to match your daughter Into our family, gave connivance to it: And this, though not in act, in the intent I call high treason. _Char._ Hear my just defence, sir; And, though you are my prince, it will not take from Your greatness, to acknowledge with a blush, In this my accusation you have been More sway'd by spleen, and jealous suppositions, Than certain grounds of reason. You had a father, (Blest be his memory!) that made frequent proofs Of my loyalty and faith, and, would I boast The dangers I have broke through in his service, I could say more. Nay, you yourself, dread sir, Whenever I was put unto the test, Found me true gold, and not adulterate metal; And am I doubted now? _Coz._ This is from the purpose. _Char._ I will come to it, sir: Your grace well knew, Before the prince's happy presence made My poor house rich, the chiefest blessing which I gloried in, though now it prove a curse, Was an only daughter. Nor did you command me, As a security to your future fears, To cast her off: which had you done, howe'er She was the light of my eyes, and comfort of My feeble age, so far I prized my duty Above affection, she now had been A stranger to my care. But she is fair! Is that her fault, or mine? Did ever father Hold beauty in his issue for a blemish? You may, if you think fit, before my face, In recompense of all my watchings for you, With burning corrosives transform her to An ugly leper. This I will rather suffer, sir, Than live suspected by you. _Coz._ Let not passion Carry you beyond your reason. _Char._ I am calm, sir; Yet you must give me leave to grieve I find My actions misinterpreted. Alas! sir, Was Lidia's desire to serve the prince Call'd an offence? or did she practise to Seduce his youth, because with her best zeal And fervour she endeavour'd to attend him? 'Tis a hard construction. Though she be my daughter, I may thus far speak her: from her infancy She was ever civil, her behaviour nearer Simplicity than craft; and malice dares not Affirm, in one loose gesture, or light language, She gave a sign she was in thought unchaste. I'll fetch her to you, sir; and but look on her With equal eyes, you must in justice grant That your suspicion wrongs her. _Coz._ It may be; But I must have stronger assurance of it Than passionate words: and, not to trifle time, As we came unexpected to your house, We will prevent all means that may prepare her How to answer that with which we come to charge her. And howsoever it may be received As a foul breach to hospitable rites, On thy allegiance and boasted faith, Nay, forfeit of thy head, we do confine thee Close prisoner to thy chamber till all doubts Are clear'd that do concern us. _Char._ I obey, sir, And wish your grace had followed my hearse To my sepulchre, my loyalty unsuspected, Rather than now----But I am silent, sir, And let that speak my duty[85]. [_Exit._ I can't perceive the deficiency _Coz._ If this man Be false, disguised treachery ne'er put on A shape so near to truth. Within, there! _Re-enter_ GIOVANNI _and_ SANAZARRO, _ushering in_ PETRONELLA. CALANDRINO _and others setting forth a Banquet_. _Sanaz._ Sir. _Coz._ Bring Lidia forth. _Giov._ She comes, sir, of herself, To present her service to you. _Coz._ Ha! This personage Cannot invite affection. _Sanaz._ See you keep state. _Petron._ I warrant you. _Coz._ The manners of her mind Must be transcendent, if they can defend Her rougher outside. May we with your liking Salute you, lady? _Petron._ Let me wipe my mouth, sir, With my cambric handkerchief, and then have at you. _Coz._ Can this be possible? _Sanaz._ Yes, sir; you will find her Such as I gave her to you. _Petron._ Will your dukeship Sit down and eat some sugar-plums? Here's a castle Of march-pane[86] too; and this quince-marmalade was Of my own making; all summ'd up together, Did cost the setting on: and here is wine too, As good as e'er was tapp'd. I'll be your taster, For I know the fashion. [_Drinks all off._]--Now you must do me right, sir; You shall nor will nor choose. _Giov._ She's very simple. _Coz._ Simple! 'tis worse. Do you drink thus often, lady? _Petron._ Still when I am thirsty, and eat when I am hungry: Such junkets come not every day. Once more to you, With a heart and a half, i' faith. _Coz._ Pray you, pause a little. _Petron._ Then I'll drink for you. _Coz._ I'll find you out a pledge That shall supply my place: what think you of This complete signior? You are a Juno, And in such state must feast this Jupiter: What think you of him? _Petron._ I desire no better. _Coz._ And you will undertake this service for me? You are good at the sport. _Cal._ Who, I? a piddler, sir. _Coz._ Nay, you shall sit enthroned, and eat and drink As you were a duke. _Cal._ If your grace will have me, I'll eat and drink like an emperor. _Coz._ Take your place, then: [CALANDRINO _takes the duke's chair_. We are amazed. _Giov._ This is gross; nor can the imposture But be discover'd. _Sanaz._ The duke is too sharp-sighted To be deluded thus. _Cal._ Nay, pray you eat fair; Or divide, and I will choose. Cannot you use Your fork, as I do? Gape, and I will feed you. [_Feeds her._ Gape wider yet; this is courtlike. _Petron._ To choke daws with:---- I like it not. _Cal._ But you like this? _Petron._ Let it come, boy. [_They drink._ _Coz._ What a sight is this! We could be angry with you. How much you did belie her when you told us She was only simple! this is barbarous rudeness, Beyond belief. _Giov._ I would not speak her, sir, Worse than she was. _Sanaz._ And I, my lord, chose rather To deliver her better parted[87] than she is, Than to take from her. _Enter_ CAPONI, _with his fellow-servants for the dance_. _Cap._ Ere I'll lose my dance, I'll speak to the purpose. I am, sir, no prologue; But in plain terms must tell you we are provided Of a lusty hornpipe. _Coz._ Prithee let us have it, For we grow dull. _Cap._ But to make up the medley, For it is of several colours, we must borrow Your grace's ghost here. _Cal._ Pray you, sir, depose me; It will not do else. I am, sir, the engine [_Rises, and resigns his chair._ By which it moves. _Petron._ I will dance with my duke too; I will not out. _Coz._ Begin then.--[_They dance._]--There's more in this Than yet I have discover'd. Some Oedipus Resolve this riddle. _Petron._ Did I not foot it roundly? [_Falls._ _Coz._ As I live, stark drunk! away with her. We'll reward you [_Exeunt Servants with_ PETRONELLA. When you have cool'd yourselves in the cellar. _Cap._ Heaven preserve you! _Coz._ We pity Charomonte's wretched fortune In a daughter, nay, a monster. Good old man!-- The place grows tedious; our remove shall be With speed: we'll only, in a word or two, Take leave, and comfort him. _Sanaz._ 'Twill rather, sir, Increase his sorrow, that you know his shame; Your grace may do it by letter. _Coz._ Who sign'd you A patent to direct us? Wait our coming, In the garden. _Giov._ All will out. _Sanaz._ I more than fear it. [_Exeunt_ GIOVANNI _and_ SANAZARRO. _Coz._ These are strange chimeras to us: what to judge of 't, Is past our apprehension. One command Charomonte to attend us. [_Exit an Attendant._] Can it be That Contarino could be so besotted, As to admire this prodigy! or her father To dote upon it! Or does she personate, For some ends unknown to us, this rude behaviour, Which, in the scene presented, would appear Ridiculous and impossible?--O, you are welcome. _Enter_ CHAROMONTE. We now acknowledge the much wrong we did you In our unjust suspicion. We have seen The wonder, sir, your daughter. _Char._ And have found her Such as I did report her. What she wanted In courtship[88], was, I hope, supplied in civil And modest entertainment. _Coz._ Pray you, tell us, And truly, we command you--Did you never Observe she was given to drink? _Char._ To drink, sir! _Coz._ Dare you trust your own eyes, if you find her now More than distemper'd? _Char._ I will pull them out, sir, If your grace can make this good. And if you please To grant me liberty, as she is I'll fetch her, And in a moment. _Coz._ Look you do, and fail not, On the peril of your head. _Char._ Drunk!--She disdains it. [_Exit._ _Coz._ Such contrarieties were never read of. Charomonte is no fool; nor can I think His confidence built on sand. We are abused, 'Tis too apparent. _Re-enter_ CHAROMONTE, _with_ LIDIA. _Lid._ I am indisposed, sir; And that life you once tender'd, much endanger'd In forcing me from my chamber. _Char._ Here she is, sir; Suddenly sick, I grant; but sure, not drunk: Speak to my lord the duke. _Lid._ All is discover'd. [_Kneels._ _Coz._ Is this your only daughter? _Char._ And my heir, sir; Nor keep I any woman in my house (Unless for sordid offices) but one I do maintain, trimm'd up in her cast habits, To make her sport: and she, indeed, loves wine, And will take too much of it; and, perhaps, for mirth, She was presented to you. _Coz._ It shall yield No sport to the contrivers. 'Tis too plain now. Her presence does confirm what Contarino Deliver'd of her; nor can sickness dim The splendour of her beauties: being herself, then, She must exceed his praise. _Lid._ Will your grace hear me? I'm faint, and can say little. _Coz._ Here are accents Whose every syllable is musical! Pray you, let me raise you, and awhile rest here. False Sanazarro, treacherous Giovanni! But stand we talking!---- _Char._ Here's a storm soon raised. _Coz._ As thou art our subject, Charomonte, swear To act what we command. _Char._ That is an oath I long since took. _Coz._ Then, by that oath we charge thee, Without excuse, denial, or delay, To apprehend, and suddenly, Sanazarro, And our ingrateful nephew. We have said it. Do it without reply, or we pronounce thee, Like them, a traitor to us. See them guarded In several lodgings, and forbid access To all, but when we warrant. Is our will Heard sooner than obey'd? _Char._ These are strange turns; But I must not dispute them. [_Exit._ _Coz._ Be severe in 't.-- O my abused lenity! from what height Is my power fall'n! _Lid._ O me most miserable! That, being innocent, makes others guilty. Most gracious prince---- _Coz._ Pray you rise, and then speak to me. _Lid._ My knees shall first be rooted in this earth, And, Myrrha-like, I'll grow up to a tree, Dropping perpetual tears of sorrow, which Harden'd by the rough wind, and turn'd to amber, Unfortunate virgins like myself shall wear, Before I'll make petition to your greatness, But with such reverence, my hands held up thus, As I would do to heaven. You princes are As gods on earth to us, and to be sued to With such humility, as his deputies May challenge from their vassals. _Coz._ Here's that form Of language I expected; pray you, speak: What is your suit? _Lid._ That you look upon me As an humble thing, that millions of degrees Is placed beneath you: for what am I, dread sir, Or what can fall in the whole course of my life, That may be worth your care, much less your trouble? As the lowly shrub is to the lofty cedar, Or a molehill to Olympus, if compared, I am to you, sir. Or, suppose the prince, (Which cannot find belief in me,) forgetting The greatness of his birth and hopes, hath thrown An eye of favour on me, in me punish, That am the cause, the rashness of his youth. Shall the queen of the inhabitants of the air, The eagle, that bears thunder on her wings, In her angry mood destroy her hopeful young, For suffering a wren to perch too near them? Such is our disproportion. _Coz._ With what fervour She pleads against herself! _Lid._ For me, poor maid, I know the prince to be so far above me, That my wishes cannot reach him. Yet I am So much his creature, that, to fix him in Your wonted grace and favour, I'll abjure His sight for ever, and betake myself To a religious life, (where in my prayers I may remember him,) and ne'er see man more, But my ghostly father. Will you trust me, sir? In truth I'll keep my word; or, if this fail, A little more of fear what may befall him Will stop my breath for ever. _Coz._ Had you thus argued [_Raises her._ As you were yourself, and brought as advocates Your health and beauty to make way for you, No crime of his could put on such a shape But I should look with the eyes of mercy on it. What would I give to see this diamond In her perfect lustre, as she was before The clouds of sickness dimm'd it! Yet, take comfort; And, as you would obtain remission for His treachery to me, cheer your drooping spirits, And call the blood again into your cheeks, And then plead for him; and in such a habit As in your highest hopes you would put on, If we were to receive you for our bride. _Lid._ I'll do my best, sir. _Coz._ And that best will be A crown of all felicity to me. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [82] _Take us with you, sir._] i. e. _understand our meaning fully, before you form your conclusions_: this expression is common to all our old writers. [83] _Story_,] i. e. _history_. The two words were formerly synonymous. [84] _Lavolta_,] i. e. _the waltz_. This dance, originally imported from Italy, was a great favourite with our ancestors. [85] This scene is exquisitely written. It must, however, be confessed, that Charomonte's justification of himself is less complete than might be expected from one who had so good a cause to defend.--GIFFORD. [86] _March-pane_,] a cake composed of sugar and almonds. [87] _Parted_,] i. e. _gifted_ or _endowed with parts_. It seems to have been the opinion of Massinger and his fellow dramatists, that no play could succeed without the admission of some kind of farcical interlude among the graver scenes. If the dramas of our author be intimately considered, few will be found without some extraneous mummery of this description; and, indeed, nothing but a persuasion of the nature which I have just mentioned could give birth to the poor mockery before us. As a trick, it is so gross and palpable, that the duke could not have been deceived by it for a moment; (to do him justice, he frequently hints his suspicions;) and as a piece of humour, it is so low, and even disagreeable, that I cannot avoid regretting a proper regard for his characters had not prevented the author from adopting it on the present occasion.--GIFFORD. [88] _Courtship_,] i. e. _the grace and elegance of a court_. ACT V. SCENE I. _The same. An upper Chamber in_ CHAROMONTE'_s House_. _Enter_ SANAZARRO. _Sanaz._ 'Tis proved in me: the curse of human frailty, Adding to our afflictions, makes us know What's good; and yet our violent passions force us To follow what is ill. Reason assured me It was not safe to shave a lion's skin; And that to trifle with a sovereign was To play with lightning: yet imperious beauty, Treading upon the neck of understanding, Compell'd me to put off my natural shape Of loyal duty, to disguise myself In the adulterate and cobweb-mask Of disobedient treachery. Where is now My borrow'd greatness, or the promised lives Of following courtiers echoing my will? In a moment vanish'd! Power that stands not on Its proper base, which is peculiar only To absolute princes, falls or rises with Their frown or favour. The great duke, my master, (Who almost changed me to his other self,) No sooner takes his beams of comfort from me, But I, as one unknown, or unregarded, Unpitied suffer. Who makes intercession To his mercy for me now? who does remember The service I have done him? not a man: And such as spake no language but my lord The favourite of Tuscany's grand duke, Deride my madness.--Ha! what noise of horses? [_He looks out at the back window._ A goodly troop! This back part of my prison Allows me liberty to see and know them. Contarino! yes, 'tis he, and Lodovico[89]: And the duchess Fiorinda, Urbin's heir, A princess I have slighted: yet I wear Her favours; and, to teach me what I am, She whom I scorn'd can only mediate for me. This way she makes, yet speak to her I dare not; And how to make suit to her is a task Of as much difficulty.--Yes, thou blessed pledge [_Takes off the ring._ Of her affection, aid me! This supplies The want of pen and ink; and this, of paper. [_Takes a pane of glass._ It must be so; and I in my petition Concise and pithy. [_Exit._ FOOTNOTE: [89] _Lodovico_,] i. e. _Lodovico Hippolito_. SCENE II. _The Court before_ CHAROMONTE'_s House_. _Enter_ CONTARINO, _leading in_ FIORINDA, ALPHONSO, HIPPOLITO, HIERONIMO, _and_ CALAMINTA. _Fior._ 'Tis a goodly pile, this. _Hier._ But better by the owner. _Alph._ But most rich In the great states[90] it covers. _Fior._ The duke's pleasure Commands us hither. _Cont._ Which was laid on us To attend you to it. _Hip._ Signior Charomonte, To see your excellence his guest, will think Himself most happy. _Fior._ Tie my shoe.--[_The pane falls down._]--What's that? A pane thrown from the window, no wind stirring! _Calam._ And at your feet too fall'n:--there's something writ on 't. _Cont._ Some courtier, belike, would have it known He wore a diamond. _Calam._ Ha! it is directed To the princess Fiorinda. _Fior._ We will read it. [_Reads._ _He, whom you pleased to favour, is cast down Past hope of rising, by the great duke's frown, If, by your gracious means, he cannot have A pardon;--and that got, he lives your slave. Of men the most distressed_, SANAZARRO. Of me the most beloved; and I will save thee, Or perish with thee. Sure, thy fault must be Of some prodigious shape, if that my prayers And humble intercession to the duke _Enter_ COZIMO _and_ CHAROMONTE. Prevail not with him. Here he comes; delay Shall not make less my benefit. _Coz._ What we purpose Shall know no change, and therefore move we not: We were made as properties, and what we shall Determine of them cannot be call'd rigour, But noble justice. When they proved disloyal, They were cruel to themselves. The prince that pardons The first affront offer'd to majesty, Invites a second, rendering that power Subjects should tremble at, contemptible. Ingratitude is a monster, Carolo, To be strangled in the birth, not to be cherish'd. Madam, you're happily met with. _Fior._ Sir, I am An humble suitor to you; and the rather Am confident of a grant, in that your grace, When I made choice to be at your devotion, Vow'd to deny me nothing. _Coz._ To this minute We have confirm'd it. What's your boon? _Fior._ It is, sir, That you, in being gracious to your servant, The ne'er sufficiently praised Sanazarro, That now under your heavy displeasure suffers, Would be good unto yourself. His services, So many, and so great, (your storm of fury Calm'd by your better judgment,) must inform you Some little slip, for sure it is no more, From his loyal duty, with your justice cannot Make foul his fair deservings. Great sir, therefore, Look backward on his former worth, and turning Your eye from his offence, what 'tis I know not, And, I am confident, you will receive him Once more into your favour. _Coz._ You say well, You are ignorant in the nature of his fault; Which when you understand, as we'll instruct you, Your pity will appear a charity, It being conferr'd on an unthankful man, To be repented. He's a traitor, madam, To you, to us, to gratitude; and in that All crimes are comprehended. _Fior._ If his offence Aim'd at me only, whatsoe'er it is, 'Tis freely pardon'd. _Coz._ This compassion in you Must make the colour of his guilt more ugly. The honours we have hourly heap'd upon him, The titles, the rewards, to the envy of The old nobility, as the common people, We now forbear to touch at, and will only Insist on his gross wrongs to you. You were pleased, Forgetting both yourself and proper greatness, To favour him, nay, to court him to embrace A happiness, which, on his knees, with joy He should have sued for. Who repined not at The grace you did him? yet, in recompense Of your large bounties, the disloyal wretch Makes you a stale; and, what he might be by you, Scorn'd and derided, gives himself up wholly To the service of another. If you can Bear this with patience, we must say you have not The bitterness of spleen, or ireful passions Familiar to women. Pause upon it, And when you seriously have weigh'd his carriage, Move us again, if your reason will allow it, His treachery known: and then, if you continue An advocate for him, we perhaps, because We would deny you nothing, may awake Our sleeping mercy. Carolo! _Char._ My lord. [_They talk aside._ _Fior._ To endure a rival that were equal to me, Cannot but speak my poverty of spirit; But an inferior, more: yet true love must not Know or degrees, or distances. Lidia may be As far above me in her form, as she Is in her birth beneath me; and what I In Sanazarro liked, he loves in her. But, if I free him now, the benefit Being done so timely, and confirming too My strength and power, my soul's best faculties being Bent wholly to preserve him, must supply me With all I am defective in, and bind him My creature ever. It must needs be so, Nor will I give it o'er thus. _Coz._ Does your nephew Bear his restraint so constantly[91], as you Deliver it to us? _Char._ In my judgment, sir, He suffers more for his offence to you, Than in his fear of what can follow it. For he is so collected, and prepared To welcome that you shall determine of him, As if his doubts and fears were equal to him. And sure he's not acquainted with much guilt, That more laments the telling one untruth, Under your pardon still, for 'twas a fault, sir, Than others, that pretend to conscience, do Their crying secret sins. _Coz._ No more; this gloss Defends not the corruption of the text. Urge it no more. [CHAROMONTE _and the others talk aside_. _Fior._ I once more must make bold, sir, To trench upon your patience. I have Consider'd my wrongs duly: yet that cannot Divert my intercession for a man Your grace, like me, once favour'd. I am still A suppliant to you, that you would vouchsafe The hearing his defence, and that I may, With your allowance, see and comfort him. Then, having heard all that he can allege In his excuse, for being false to you, Censure him as you please. _Coz._ You will o'ercome; There's no contending with you. Pray you, enjoy What you desire, and tell him, he shall have A speedy trial; in which, we will forbear To sit a judge, because our purpose is To rise up his accuser. _Fior._ All increase Of happiness wait on Cozimo! [_Exeunt_ FIORINDA _and_ CALAMINTA. _Alph._ Was it no more? _Char._ My honour's pawn'd for it. _Cont._ I'll second you. _Hip._ Since it is for the service and the safety Of the hopeful prince, fall what can fall, I'll run The desperate hazard. _Hier._ He's no friend to virtue That does decline it. [_They all come forward and kneel._ _Coz._ Ha! what sue you for? Shall we be ever troubled? Do not tempt That anger may consume you. _Char._ Let it, sir: The loss is less, though innocents we perish, Than that your sister's son should fall, unheard, Under your fury. Shall we fear to entreat That grace for him, that are your faithful servants, Which you vouchsafe the count, like us a subject? _Coz._ Did not we vow, till sickness had forsook Thy daughter Lidia, and she appear'd In her perfect health and beauty to plead for him, We were deaf to all persuasion? _Char._ And that hope, sir, Hath wrought a miracle. She is recover'd, And, if you please to warrant her, will bring The penitent prince before you. _Coz._ To enjoy Such happiness, what would we not dispense with? _Alph. Hip. Hier._ We all kneel for the prince. _Cont._ Nor can it stand With your mercy, that are gracious to strangers, To be cruel to your own. _Coz._ But art thou certain I shall behold her at the best? _Char._ If ever She was handsome, as it fits not me to say so, She is now much better'd. _Coz._ Rise; thou art but dead, If this prove otherwise. Lidia, appear, And feast an appetite almost pined to death With longing expectation to behold Thy excellencies: thou, as beauty's queen, Shalt censure[92] the detractors. Let my nephew Be led in triumph under her command; We'll have it so; and Sanazarro tremble To think whom he hath slander'd. We'll retire Ourselves a little, and prepare to meet A blessing, which imagination tells us We are not worthy of: and then come forth, But with such reverence, as if I were Myself the priest, the sacrifice my heart, To offer at the altar of that goodness That must or kill or save me. [_Exit._ _Char._ Are not these Strange gambols in the duke? _Alph._ Great princes have, Like meaner men, their weakness. _Hip._ And may use it Without control or check. _Cont._ 'Tis fit they should; Their privilege were less else, than their subjects'. _Hier._ Let them have their humours; there's no crossing them. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [90] _States_,] i. e. _statesmen_, _men of power_. A common acceptation of the word. [91] _So constantly_,] i. e. _with such constancy_. [92] _Censure._] It has been already observed, that this word is used by our old writers, where we should now use _judge_, and with the same latitude of meaning through its various acceptations.--GIFFORD. SCENE III. _A State-room in the same._ _Enter_ FIORINDA, SANAZARRO, _and_ CALAMINTA. _Sanaz._ And can it be, your bounties should fall down In showers on my ingratitude, or the wrongs Your greatness should revenge, teach you to pity? What retribution can I make, what service Pay to your goodness, that, in some proportion, May to the world express I would be thankful? Since my engagements are so great, that all My best endeavours to appear your creature Can but proclaim my wants, and what I owe To your magnificence. _Fior._ All debts are discharged In this acknowledgment: yet, since you please I shall impose some terms of satisfaction For that which you profess yourself obliged for, They shall be gentle ones, and such as will not, I hope, afflict you. _Sanaz._ Make me understand, Great princess, what they are, and my obedience Shall, with all cheerful willingness, subscribe To what you shall command. _Fior._ I will bind you to Make good your promise. First, I then enjoin you To love a lady, that, a noble way, Truly affects you; and that you would take To your protection and care the dukedom Of Urbin, which no more is mine, but yours. And that, when you have full possession of My person as my fortune, you would use me, Not as a princess, but instruct me in The duties of an humble wife, for such, The privilege of my birth no more remember'd, I will be to you. This consented to, All injuries are forgotten. _Sanaz._ I am wretched, In having but one life to be employ'd As you please to dispose it. And, believe it, If it be not already forfeited To the fury of my prince, as 'tis your gift, With all the faculties of my soul I'll study, In what I may, to serve you. _Fior._ I am happy _Enter_ GIOVANNI _and_ LIDIA. In this assurance. What sweet lady's this? _Sanaz._ 'Tis Lidia, madam, she---- _Fior._ I understand you. Nay, blush not; by my life, she is a rare one! And, if I were your judge, I would not blame you To like and love her. But, sir, you are mine now; And I presume so on your constancy, That I dare not be jealous. _Sanaz._ All thoughts of her Are in your goodness buried. _Lid._ Pray you, sir, Be comforted; your innocence should not know What 'tis to fear; and if that you but look on The guards that you have in yourself, you cannot. The duke's your uncle, sir, and, though a little Incensed against you, when he sees your sorrow, He must be reconciled. What rugged Tartar, Or cannibal, though bathed in human gore, But, looking on your sweetness, would forget His cruel nature, and let fall his weapon, Though then aim'd at your throat? _Giov._ O Lidia, Of maids the honour, and your sex's glory! It is not fear to die, but to lose you, That brings this fever on me. I will now Discover to you, that which, till this minute, I durst not trust the air with. Ere you knew What power the magic of your beauty had, I was enchanted by it, liked, and loved it, My fondness still increasing with my years; And, flatter'd by false hopes, I did attend Some blessed opportunity to move The duke with his consent to make you mine: But now, such is my star-cross'd destiny, When he beholds you as you are, I may As well entreat him give away his crown, As to part from a jewel of more value. Yet, howsoever, when you are his duchess, And I am turn'd into forgotten dust, Pray you, love my memory:--I should say more, But I'm cut off. _Enter_ COZIMO, CHAROMONTE, CONTARINO, HIERONIMO, HIPPOLITO, _and_ ALPHONSO. _Sanaz._ The duke! That countenance, once, When it was clothed in smiles, show'd like an angel's, But, now 'tis folded up in clouds of fury, 'Tis terrible to look on. _Lid._ Sir. _Coz._ A while Silence your musical tongue, and let me feast My eyes with the most ravishing object that They ever gazed on. There's no miniature In her fair face, but is a copious theme Which would, discoursed at large of, make a volume. What clear arch'd brows! what sparkling eyes! the lilies Contending with the roses in her cheeks, Who shall most set them off. What ruby lips!-- Or unto what can I compare her neck, But to a rock of crystal? every limb Proportion'd to love's wish, and in their neatness Add lustre to the riches of her habit, Not borrow from it. _Lid._ You are pleased to show, sir, The fluency of your language, in advancing A subject much unworthy. _Coz._ How! unworthy? By all the vows which lovers offer at The Cyprian goddess' altars, eloquence Itself presuming, as you are, to speak you, Would be struck dumb!--And what have you deserved then, [GIOVANNI _and_ SANAZARRO _kneel_. (Wretches, you kneel too late,) that have endeavour'd To spout the poison of your black detraction On this immaculate whiteness? Was it malice To her perfections? or---- _Fior._ Your highness promised A gracious hearing to the count. _Lid._ And prince too: Do not make void so just a grant. _Coz._ We will not: Yet, since their accusation must be urged, And strongly, ere their weak defence have hearing, We seat you here, as judges, to determine Of your gross wrongs and ours. [_Seats the Ladies in the chairs of state._] And now, remembering Whose deputies you are, be neither sway'd Or with particular spleen, or foolish pity, For neither can become you. _Char._ There's some hope yet, Since they have such gentle judges. _Coz._ Rise, and stand forth, then, And hear, with horror to your guilty souls, What we will prove against you. Could this princess, Thou enemy to thyself, [_To_ SANAZARRO.] stoop her high flight Of towering greatness to invite thy lowness To look up to it, and with nimble wings Of gratitude couldst thou forbear to meet it? Were her favours boundless in a noble way, And warranted by our allowance, yet, In thy acceptation, there appear'd no sign Of a modest thankfulness? _Fior._ Pray you, forbear To press that further; 'tis a fault we have Already heard, and pardon'd. _Coz._ We will then Pass over it, and briefly touch at that Which does concern ourself; in which both being Equal offenders, what we shall speak points Indifferently at either. How we raised thee, Forgetful Sanazarro! of our grace, To a full possession of power and honours, It being too well known, we'll not remember. And what thou wert, rash youth, in expectation, [_To_ GIOVANNI. And from which headlong thou hast thrown thyself, Not Florence, but all Tuscany, can witness With admiration. To assure thy hopes, We did keep constant to a widow'd bed, And did deny ourself those lawful pleasures Our absolute power and height of blood allow'd us; Made both, the keys that open'd our heart's secrets, And what you spake, believed as oracles: But you, in recompense of this, to him That gave you all, to whom you owed your being, With treacherous lies endeavour'd to conceal This jewel from our knowledge, which ourself Could only lay just claim to. _Giov._ 'Tis most true, sir. _Sanaz._ We both confess a guilty cause. _Coz._ Look on her. Is this a beauty fit to be embraced By any subject's arms? can any tire Become that forehead but a diadem? Or, should we grant your being false to us Could be excused, your treachery to her, In seeking to deprive her of that greatness (Her matchless worth consider'd) she was born to, Must ne'er find pardon. We have spoken, ladies, Like a rough orator, that brings more truth Than rhetoric to make good his accusation; And now expect your sentence. [_The Ladies descend from the state[93]._ _Lid._ In your birth, sir, You were mark'd out the judge of life and death, And we, that are your subjects, to attend, With trembling fear, your doom. _Fior._ We do resign This chair, as only proper to yourself. _Giov._ And, since injustice we are lost, we fly Unto your saving mercy. [_All kneeling._ _Sanaz._ Which sets off A prince much more than rigour. _Char._ And becomes him, When 'tis express'd to such as fell by weakness, That being a twin-born brother to affection, Better than wreaths of conquest. _Hier. Hip. Cont. Alph._ We all speak Their language, mighty sir. _Coz._ You know our temper, And therefore with more boldness venture on it: And, would not our consent to your demands Deprive us of a happiness hereafter Ever to be despair'd of, we, perhaps, Might hearken nearer to you; and could wish With some qualification, or excuse, You might make less the mountains of your crimes, And so invite our clemency to feast with you. But you, that knew with what impatiency Of grief we parted from the fair Clarinda, Our duchess, (let her memory still be sacred!) And with what imprecations on ourself We vow'd, not hoping e'er to see her equal, Ne'er to make trial of a second choice, If nature framed not one that did excel her, As this maid's beauty prompts us that she does:-- And yet, with oaths then mix'd with tears, upon Her monument we swore our eye should never Again be tempted;--'tis true, and those vows Are register'd above, something here tells me.-- Carolo, thou heard'st us swear. _Char._ And swear so deeply, That if all women's beauties were in this, (As she's not to be named with the dead duchess,) Nay, all their virtues bound up in one story, (Of which mine is scarce an epitome,) If you should take her as a wife, the weight Of your perjuries would sink you. If I durst, I had told you this before. _Coz._ 'Tis strong truth, Carolo: And yet what was necessity in us Cannot free them from treason. _Char._ There's your error: The prince, in care to have you keep your vows Made unto Heaven, vouchsafed to love my daughter[94]. Surely Massinger intended that his characters should here be understood as speaking the truth. The contrivance by which he exculpates Giovanni is a clumsy one; but he was anxious to conclude his play, and took the first that suggested itself. Awkward as it may appear to the reader, it has, perhaps, quite enough dramatic probability to satisfy an audience _Lid._ He told me so, indeed, sir. _Fior._ And the count Averr'd as much to me. _Cos._ You all conspire, To force our mercy from us. _Char._ Which given up, To aftertimes preserves you unforsworn: An honour which will live upon your tomb When your greatness is forgotten. _Coz._ Though we know All this is practice[95], and that both are false, Such reverence we will pay to dead Clarinda, And to our serious oaths, that we are pleased With our own hand to blind our eyes, and not Know what we understand. Here, Giovanni, We pardon thee; and take from us, in this, More than our dukedom: love her. As I part With her, all thoughts of women fly fast from us. Sanazarro, we forgive you: in your service To this princess, merit it. Yet let not others That are in trust and grace, as you have been, By the example of our lenity, Presume upon their sovereign's clemency. _Enter_ CALANDRINO _and_ PETRONELLA. _All._ Long live great Cozimo! _Cal._ Sure the duke is In the giving vein, they are so loud. Come on, spouse; We have heard all, and we will have our boon too. _Coz._ What is it? _Cal._ That your grace, in remembrance of My share in a dance, and that I play'd your part When you should have drunk hard, would get this signior's grant To give this damsel to me in the church, For we are contracted. In it you shall do Your dukedom pleasure. _Coz._ How? _Cal._ Why, the whole race Of such as can act naturally fools' parts Are quite worn out; and they that do survive Do only zany us: and we will bring you, If we die not without issue, of both sexes Such chopping mirth-makers, as shall preserve Perpetual cause of sport, both to your grace And your posterity, that sad melancholy Shall ne'er approach you. _Coz._ We are pleased in it, And will pay her portion.----[_Comes forward._ _May the passage prove, Of what's presented, worthy of your love And favour, as was aim'd; and we have all That can in compass of our wishes fall._ [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [93] _The state_,] i. e. _the raised platform on which the chairs were placed_. [94] _The prince, in care to have you keep your vows Made unto Heaven, vouchsafed to love my daughter._] This attempt to impose upon the great duke is more deplorable than the former. It has falsehood and improbability written on its face. The duke, indeed, is not deceived by it; but surely the author showed a strange want of judgment in this gratuitous degradation of three of his most estimable characters.--GIFFORD. [95] _Practice_,] i. e. _artifice, or insidious combination_. THE BONDMAN. The Bondman was performed, as we learn from the Office-book of Sir Henry Herbert, Master of the Revels, at the Cockpit in Drury-lane, December 3, 1623. It was printed the following year, and again in 1638. The main incident of the plot is taken from the life of Timoleon, as related by Plutarch. The revolt and subsequent reduction of the slaves to their duty may have been taken either from Herodotus or Justin, or Purchas's Pilgrim. The artifice by which they are quelled is silly and unnatural, and its introduction degrades a very beautifully managed plot. The play was revived in 1660 by Betterton, who played Pisander; and several alterations of it have since been produced, but without success. Our author never writes with more effect than when he combines his own fancy with real history; and in The Bondman he has produced a piece which is, with few exceptions, at once stately and playful, impressive and tender. He matures the love under the cover of the history; till at length the interest changes, and the history becomes subordinate to the love. The characters are drawn with much variety and interest. The modest gravity and self-command of Timoleon well agrees with the ancient descriptions of the man from whose mouth _nihil unquam insolens, neque gloriosum exiit_. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, MY SINGULAR GOOD LORD, PHILIP, EARL OF MONTGOMERY, KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, &C. RIGHT HONOURABLE, However I could never arrive at the happiness to be made known to your lordship, yet a desire, born with me, to make a tender of all duties and service to the noble family of the Herberts, descended to me as an inheritance from my dead father, Arthur Massinger. Many years he happily spent in the service of your honourable house, and died a servant to it; leaving his to be ever most glad and ready to be at the command of all such as derive themselves from his most honoured master, your lordship's most noble father. The consideration of this encouraged me (having no other means to present my humblest service to your honour) to shroud this trifle under the wings of your noble protection; and I hope, out of the clemency of your heroic disposition, it will find, though perhaps not a welcome entertainment, yet, at the worst, a gracious pardon. When it was first acted, your lordship's liberal suffrage taught others to allow it for current, it having received the undoubted stamp of your lordship's allowance: and if in the perusal of any vacant hour, when your honour's more serious occasions shall give you leave to read it, it answer, in your lordship's judgment, the report and opinion it had upon the stage, I shall esteem my labours not ill employed, and, while I live, continue the humblest of those that truly honour your lordship, PHILIP MASSINGER. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. TIMOLEON, _the general, of Corinth_. ARCHIDAMUS, _prætor of Syracusa_. DIPHILUS, _a senator of Syracusa_. CLEON, _a fat foolish lord_. MARULLO, _the Bondman_ (_i. e._ PISANDER, _a gentleman of Thebes, disguised as a slave_). POLIPHRON, _friend to_ MARULLO, _also disguised as a slave_. LEOSTHENES, _a gentleman of Syracusa, enamoured of_ CLEORA. ASOTUS, _a foolish lover, and the son of_ CLEON. TIMAGORAS, _the son of_ ARCHIDAMUS. GRACCULO, } _slaves._ CIMBRIO, } _A Gaoler._ CLEORA, _daughter of_ ARCHIDAMUS. CORISCA, _a proud lady, wife to_ CLEON. OLYMPIA, _a rich widow_. TIMANDRA, _slave to_ CLEORA (_i. e._ STATILIA, _sister to_ PISANDER). ZANTHIA, _slave to_ CORISCA. _Other Slaves, Soldiers, Officers, Senators._ SCENE, Syracuse, and the adjacent country. THE BONDMAN. ACT I. SCENE I. _The Camp of_ TIMOLEON, _near Syracuse_. _Enter_ TIMAGORAS _and_ LEOSTHENES. _Timag._ Why should you droop, Leosthenes, or despair My sister's favour? What, before, you purchased By courtship and fair language, in these wars (For from her soul you know she loves a soldier) You may deserve by action. _Leost._ Good Timagoras, When I have said my friend, think all is spoken That may assure me yours; and pray you believe, The dreadful voice of war that shakes the city, The thundering threats of Carthage, nor their army Raised to make good those threats, affright not me.-- If fair Cleora were confirm'd his prize That has the strongest arm and sharpest sword, I'd court Bellona in her horrid trim, As if she were a mistress; and bless fortune, That offers my young valour to the proof, How much I dare do for your sister's love. But, when that I consider how averse Your noble father, great Archidamus, Is, and hath ever been, to my desires, Reason may warrant me to doubt and fear, What seeds soever I sow in these wars Of noble courage, his determinate will May blast, and give my harvest to another, That never toil'd for it. _Timag._ Prithee, do not nourish These jealous thoughts; I am thine, (and pardon me, Though I repeat it,) thy Timagoras, That, for thy sake, when the bold Theban sued, Far-famed Pisander, for my sister's love, Sent him disgraced and discontented home. I wrought my father then; and I, that stopp'd not In the career of my affection to thee, When that renowned worthy, that brought with him High birth, wealth, courage, as feed advocates To mediate for him; never will consent A fool, that only has the shape of man, Asotus, though he be rich Cleon's heir, Shall bear her from thee. _Leost._ In that trust I love. _Timag._ Which never shall deceive you. _Enter_ MARULLO. _Mar._ Sir, the general, Timoleon, by his trumpets hath given warning For a remove. _Timag._ 'Tis well; provide my horse. _Mar._ I shall, sir. [_Exit._ _Leost._ This slave has a strange aspect. _Timag._ Fit for his fortune; 'tis a strong-limb'd knave: My father bought him for my sister's litter. O pride of women! Coaches are too common-- They surfeit in the happiness of peace, And ladies think they keep not state enough, If, for their pomp and ease[96], they are not borne In triumph on men's shoulders. _Leost._ Who commands The Carthaginian fleet? _Timag._ Gisco's their admiral, And 'tis our happiness; a raw young fellow, One never train'd in arms, but rather fashion'd To tilt with ladies' lips, than crack a lance; Ravish a feather from a mistress' fan[97], And wear it as a favour. A steel helmet, Made horrid with a glorious plume, will crack His woman's neck. _Leost._ No more of him.--The motives, That Corinth gives us aid? _Timag._ The common danger; For Sicily being afire, she is not safe: It being apparent that ambitious Carthage, That, to enlarge her empire, strives to fasten An unjust gripe on us that live free lords Of Syracusa, will not end, till Greece Acknowledge her their sovereign. _Leost._ I am satisfied. What think you of our general? _Timag._ He's a man [_Trumpets within._ Of strange and reserved parts; but a great soldier. His trumpets call us, I'll forbear his character: To-morrow, in the senate-house, at large He will express himself. _Leost._ I'll follow you. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [96] _If, for their pomp and ease_, &c.] Mr. Gilchrist thinks (and I believe rightly) that Massinger, who evidently regarded the Duke of Buckingham with no favourable eye, here reflects on the use of sedan-chairs, which his grace first introduced, from Spain, about this period. They were carried, as Massinger says, "on men's shoulders," and the novelty provoked no small displeasure against the favourite, who, in thus employing his servants, was charged, by the writers of those times, with "degrading Englishmen into slaves and beasts of burden, to gratify his inordinate vanity."--GIFFORD. [97] _Fan._] The fan of our ancestors was not at all in the shape of the implement now used under the same name, but more like a hand-skreen. It had a roundish handle, and was frequently composed of feathers. SCENE II. _Syracuse. The Senate-house._ _Enter_ ARCHIDAMUS, CLEON, DIPHILUS, OLYMPIA, CORISCA, CLEORA, _and_ ZANTHIA. _Archid._ So careless we have been, my noble lords, In the disposing of our own affairs, And ignorant in the art of government, That now we need a stranger to instruct us. Yet we are happy that our neighbour Corinth, Pitying the unjust gripe Carthage would lay On Syracusa, hath vouchsafed to lend us Her man of men, Timoleon, to defend Our country and our liberties. _Diph._ 'Tis a favour We are unworthy of, and we may blush Necessity compels us to receive it. _Archid._ O shame! that we, that are a populous nation, Engaged to liberal nature for all blessings An island can bring forth; we, that have limbs, And able bodies; shipping, arms, and treasure, The sinews of the war, now we are call'd To stand upon our guard, cannot produce One fit to be our general. _Cleon._ I am old and fat; I could say something, else. _Archid._ We must obey The time and our occasions; ruinous buildings, Whose bases and foundations are infirm, Must use supporters: we are circled round With danger; o'er our heads, with sail-stretch'd wings, Destruction hovers, and a cloud of mischief Ready to break upon us; no hope left us That may divert it, but our sleeping virtue, Roused up by brave Timoleon. _Cleon._ When arrives he? _Diph._ He is expected every hour. _Archid._ The braveries[98] Of Syracusa, among whom my son, Timagoras, Leosthenes, and Asotus, Your hopeful heir, lord Cleon, two days since Rode forth to meet him, and attend him to The city; every minute we expect To be bless'd with his presence. [_Shouts within; then a flourish of trumpets._ _Cleon._ What shout's this? _Diph._ 'Tis seconded with loud music. _Archid._ Which confirms His wish'd-for entrance. Let us entertain him With all respect, solemnity, and pomp, A man may merit, that comes to redeem us From slavery and oppression. _Cleon._ I'll lock up My doors, and guard my gold: these lads of Corinth Have nimble fingers, and I fear them more, Being within our walls, than those of Carthage; They are far off. _Archid._ And, ladies, be it your care To welcome him and his followers with all duty: For rest resolved, their hands and swords must keep you In that full height of happiness you live; A dreadful change else follows. [_Exeunt_ ARCHIDAMUS, CLEON, _and_ DIPHILUS. _Olymp._ We are instructed. _Coris._ Musing, Cleora? _Olymp._ She's studying how to entertain these strangers, And to engross them to herself. _Cleor._ No, surely. _Olymp._ No more; they come. _Flourish of trumpets. Enter_ TIMAGORAS, LEOSTHENES, ASOTUS, TIMOLEON _in black, led in by_ ARCHIDAMUS, DIPHILUS, _and_ CLEON; _followed by_ MARULLO, GRACCULO, CIMBRIO, _and other Slaves_. _Archid._ It is your seat: which, with a general suffrage, [_Offering_ TIMOLEON _the state_[99]. As to the supreme magistrate, Sicily tenders, And prays Timoleon to accept. _Timol._ Such honours To one ambitious of rule[100] or titles, Whose heaven on earth is placed in his command, And absolute power o'er others, would with joy, And veins swollen high with pride, be entertain'd. They take not me; for I have ever loved An equal freedom, and proclaim'd all such As would usurp on others' liberties Rebels to nature, to whose bounteous blessings All men lay claim as true legitimate sons: But such as have made forfeit of themselves By vicious courses, and their birthright lost, 'Tis not injustice they are mark'd for slaves, To serve the virtuous. For myself, I know Honours and great employments are great burdens, And must require an Atlas to support them. He that would govern others, first should be The master of himself, richly endued With depth of understanding, height of courage, And those remarkable graces which I dare not Ascribe unto myself. _Archid._ Sir, empty men Are trumpets of their own deserts; but you, That are not in opinion, but in proof, Really good, and full of glorious parts, Leave the report of what you are to fame, Which, from the ready tongues of all good men, Aloud proclaims you. _Diph._ Besides, you stand bound, Having so large a field to exercise Your active virtues offer'd you, to impart Your strength to such as need it. _Timol._ 'Tis confess'd; And, since you'll have it so, such as I am, For you, and for the liberty of Greece, I am most ready to lay down my life: But yet consider, men of Syracusa, Before that you deliver up the power, Which yet is yours, to me,--to whom 'tis given; To an impartial man, with whom nor threats Nor prayers shall prevail; for I must steer An even course. _Archid._ Which is desired of all. _Timol._ Timophanes, my brother[101], for whose death I am tainted in the world, and foully tainted; In whose remembrance I have ever worn, In peace and war, this livery of sorrow; Can witness for me how much I detest Tyrannous usurpation. With grief I must remember it; for when no persuasion Could win him to desist from his bad practice, To change the aristocracy of Corinth Into an absolute monarchy, I chose rather To prove a pious and obedient son To my country, my best mother[102], than to lend Assistance to Timophanes, though my brother, That, like a tyrant, strove to set his foot Upon the city's freedom. _Timag._ 'Twas a deed Deserving rather trophies than reproof. _Leost._ And will be still remember'd to your honour, If you forsake not us. _Diph._ If you free Sicily From barbarous Carthage' yoke[103], it will be said In him you slew a tyrant. _Archid._ But, giving way To her invasion, not vouchsafing us That fly to your protection aid and comfort, 'Twill be believed that, for your private ends, You kill'd a brother. _Timol._ As I then proceed, To all posterity may that act be crown'd With a deserved applause, or branded with The mark of infamy.--Stay yet: ere I take This seat of justice, or engage myself To fight for you abroad, or to reform Your state at home, swear all upon my sword, And call the gods of Sicily to witness The oath you take, that whatsoe'er I shall Propound for safety of your commonwealth, Not circumscribed or bound in, shall by you Be willingly obey'd. _Archid. Diph. Cleon._ So may we prosper, As we obey in all things! _Timag. Leost. Asot._ And observe All your commands as oracles! _Timol._ Do not repent it. [_Takes the state._ _Olymp._ He ask'd not our consent. _Coris._ He's a clown, I warrant him. _Olymp._ He thinks women No part of the republic. _Coris._ He shall find We are a commonwealth. _Cleo._ The less your honour. _Timol._ First, then, a word or two, but without bitterness, (And yet mistake me not, I am no flatterer,) Concerning your ill government of the state; In which the greatest, noblest, and most rich, Stand, in the first file, guilty. _Cleon._ Ha! how's this? _Timol._ You have not, as good patriots should do, studied The public good, but your particular ends; Factious among yourselves, preferring such To offices and honours, as ne'er read The elements of saving policy, But deeply skill'd in all the principles That usher to destruction. _Leost._ Sharp! _Timag._ The better. _Timol._ Your senate-house, which used not to admit A man, however popular, to stand At the helm of government, whose youth was not Made glorious by action; whose experience, Crown'd with gray hairs, gave warrant to his counsels, Heard and received with reverence; is now fill'd With green heads, that determine of the state Over their cups, or when their sated lusts Afford them leisure; or supplied by those Who, rising from base arts and sordid thrift, Are eminent for their wealth, not for their wisdom: Which is the reason that to hold a place In council, which was once esteem'd an honour, And a reward for virtue, hath quite lost Lustre and reputation, and is made A mercenary purchase. _Timag._ He speaks home. _Leost._ And to the purpose. _Timol._ From whence it proceeds, That the treasure of the city is engross'd By a few private men, the public coffers Hollow with want; and they, that will not spare One talent for the common good, to feed The pride and bravery of their wives, consume, In plate, in jewels, and superfluous slaves, What would maintain an army. _Coris._ Have at us! _Olymp._ We thought we were forgot. _Cleo._ But it appears You will be treated of. _Timol._ Yet, in this plenty, And fat of peace, your young men ne'er were train'd In martial discipline; and your ships unrigg'd Rot in the harbour: no defence prepared, But thought unuseful; as if that the gods, Indulgent to your sloth, had granted you A perpetuity of pride and pleasure, No change fear'd or expected. Now you find That Carthage, looking on your stupid sleeps And dull security, was invited to Invade your territories. _Archid._ You have made us see, sir, To our shame, the country's sickness: now from you, As from a careful and a wise physician, We do expect the cure. _Timol._ Old fester'd sores Must be lanced to the quick, and cauterized; Which borne with patience, after I'll apply Soft unguents. For the maintenance of the war, It is decreed all moneys in the hand Of private men shall instantly be brought To the public treasury. _Timag._ This bites sore. _Cleon._ The cure Is worse than the disease; I'll never yield to 't: What could the enemy, though victorious, Inflict more on us? All that my youth hath toil'd for, Purchased with industry, and preserved with care, Forced from me in a moment! _Diph._ This rough course Will never be allow'd of. _Timol._ O blind men! If you refuse the first means that is offer'd To give you health, no hope's left to recover Your desperate sickness. Do you prize your muck Above your liberties? and rather choose To be made bondmen, than to part with that To which already you are slaves? Or can it Be probable, in your flattering apprehensions, You can capitulate with the conquerors, And keep that yours which they come to possess, And, while you kneel in vain, will ravish from you? --But take your own ways; brood upon your gold. Sacrifice to your idol, and preserve The prey entire, and merit the report Of careful stewards: yield a just account To your proud masters, who, with whips of iron, Will force you to give up what you conceal, Or tear it from your throats: adorn your walls With Persian hangings wrought of gold and pearl; Cover the floors on which they are to tread With costly Median silks; perfume the rooms With cassia and amber, where they are To feast and revel; while, like servile grooms, You wait upon their trenchers: feed their eyes With massy plate, until your cupboards crack With the weight that they sustain; and, to perfect Their entertainment, offer up your sons And able men for slaves; while you, that are Unfit for labour, are spurn'd out to starve, Unpitied, in some desert, no friend by, Whose sorrow may spare one compassionate tear In the remembrance of what once you were. _Leost._ The blood turns. _Timag._ Observe how old Cleon shakes, As if in picture he had shown him what He was to suffer. _Coris._ I am sick: the man Speaks poniards and diseases. _Olymp._ O my doctor! I never shall recover. _Cleo._ [_coming forward._] If a virgin, Whose speech was ever yet usher'd with fear, One knowing modesty and humble silence To be the choicest ornaments of our sex, In the presence of so many reverend men Struck dumb with terror and astonishment, Presume to clothe her thought in vocal sounds, Let her find pardon. First to you, great sir, A bashful maid's thanks, and her zealous prayers Wing'd with pure innocence, bearing them to heaven, For all prosperity that the gods can give To one whose piety must exact their care, Thus low I offer. _Timol._ 'Tis a happy omen. Rise, blest one, and speak boldly. On my virtue, I am thy warrant from so clear a spring Sweet rivers ever flow. _Cleo._ Then, thus to you, My noble father, and these lords, to whom I next owe duty: no respect forgotten To you, my brother, and these bold young men, (Such I would have them,) that are, or should he, The city's sword and target of defence. To all of you I speak; and, if a blush Steal on my cheeks, it is shown to reprove Your paleness, willingly I would not say, Your cowardice or fear: Think you all treasure Hid in the bowels of the earth, or shipwreck'd In Neptune's wat'ry kingdom, can hold weight, When liberty and honour fill one scale, Triumphant Justice sitting on the beam? Or dare you but imagine that your gold is Too dear a salary for such as hazard Their blood and lives in your defence? For me, An ignorant girl, bear witness, heaven! so far I prize a soldier, that, to give him pay, With such devotion as our flamens offer Their sacrifices at the holy altar, I do lay down these jewels, will make sale Of my superfluous wardrobe, to supply The meanest of their wants. [_Lays down her jewels, &c. the rest follow her example._ _Timol._ Brave masculine spirit! _Diph._ We are shown, to our shame, what we in honour Should have taught others. _Archid._ Such a fair example Must needs be follow'd. _Timag._ Ever my dear sister, But now our family's glory! _Leost._ Were she deform'd, The virtues of her mind would force a stoic To sue to be her servant. _Cleon._ I must yield; And, though my heart-blood part with it, I will Deliver in my wealth. _Asot._ I would say something; But, the truth is, I know not what. _Timol._ We have money; And men must now be thought on. _Archid._ We can press Of labourers in the country, men inured To cold and heat, ten thousand. _Diph._ Or, if need be, Enrol our slaves, lusty and able varlets, And fit for service. _Cleon._ They shall go for me; I will not pay and fight too. _Cleo._ How! your slaves? O stain of honour!----Once more, sir, your pardon; And, to their shames, let me deliver what I know in justice you may speak. _Timol._ Most gladly: I could not wish my thoughts a better organ Than your tongue, to express them. _Cleo._ Are you men! (For age may qualify, though not excuse, The backwardness of these,) able young men! Yet, now your country's liberty's at the stake, Honour and glorious triumph made the garland For such as dare deserve them; a rich feast Prepared by Victory, of immortal viands, Not for base men, but such as with their swords Dare force admittance, and will be her guests: And can you coldly suffer such rewards To be proposed to labourers and slaves? While you, that are born noble, to whom these, Valued at their best rate, are next to horses, Or other beasts of carriage, cry aim[104]! Like idle lookers on, till their proud worth Make them become your masters! _Timol._ By my hopes, There's fire and spirit enough in this to make Thersites valiant. _Cleo._ No; far, far be it from you: Let these of meaner quality contend Who can endure most labour; plough the earth, And think they are rewarded when their toil Brings home a fruitful harvest to their lords; Let them prove good artificers, and serve you For use and ornament, but not presume To touch at what is noble. If you think them Unworthy to taste of those cates you feed on, Or wear such costly garments, will you grant them The privilege and prerogative of great minds, Which you were born to? Honour won in war, And to be styled preservers of their country, Are titles fit for free and generous spirits, And not for bondmen. Had I been born a man, And such ne'er-dying glories made the prize To bold heroic courage, by Diana, I would not to my brother, nay, my father, Be bribed to part with the least piece of honour I should gain in this action! _Timol._ She's inspired, Or in her speaks the genius of your country, To fire your blood in her defence: I am rapt With the imagination. Noble maid, Timoleon is your soldier, and will sweat Drops of his best blood, but he will bring home Triumphant conquest to you. Let me wear Your colours, lady; and though youthful heats, That look no further than your outward form, Are long since buried in me; while I live, I am a constant lover of your mind, That does transcend all precedents. _Cleo._ 'Tis an honour, [_Gives her scarf._ And so I do receive it. _Leost._ I am for the journey. _Timag._ May all diseases sloth and luxury bring Fall upon him that stays at home! _Archid._ Though old, I will be there in person. _Diph._ So will I: Methinks I am not what I was; her words Have made me younger, by a score of years, Than I was when I came hither. _Cleon._ I shall never Make a good soldier, and therefore desire To be excused at home. _Asot._ 'Tis my suit too. _Timol._ Have your desires; you would be burthens to us.-- Lead, fairest, to the temple; first we'll pay A sacrifice to the gods for good success: For all great actions the wish'd course do run, That are, with their allowance, well begun. [_Exeunt all but_, MAR. GRAC. _and_ CIMB. _Mar._ Stay, Cimbrio and Gracculo. _Cimb._ The business? _Mar._ Meet me to-morrow night near to the grove, Neighbouring the east part of the city. _Grac._ Well. _Mar._ And bring the rest of our condition with you: I've something to impart may break our fetters, If you dare second me. _Cimb._ We'll not fail. _Grac._ A cart-rope Shall not bind me at home. _Mar._ Think on 't, and prosper. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [98] _The braveries_,] i. e. _the gay and fashionable gallants of the town_. [99] _The state._] This was a raised platform, on which was placed a chair with a canopy over it. The word occurs perpetually in our old writers. It is used by Dryden, but seems to have been growing obsolete while he was writing: in the first edition of Mac Fleckno, the monarch is placed on a _state_; in the subsequent ones, he is seated like his fellow kings, on a throne: it occurs also, and I believe for the last time, in Swift: "As she affected not the grandeur of a _state_ with a canopy, she thought there was no offence in an elbow chair."--_Hist. of John Bull_, c. i.--GIFFORD. [100] --------_Such honours To one ambitious of rule_, &c.] Massinger has here finely drawn the character of Timoleon, and been very true to history. He was descended from one of the noblest families in Corinth, loved his country passionately, and discovered upon all occasions a singular humanity of temper, except against tyrants and bad men. He was an excellent captain; and as in his youth he had all the maturity of age, in age he had all the fire and courage of the most ardent youth.--COXETER. [101] Timol. _Timophanes, my brother_, &c.] Timoleon had an elder brother, called Timophanes, whom he tenderly loved, as he had demonstrated in a battle, in which he covered him with his body, and saved his life at the great danger of his own. But his country was still dearer to him. That brother having made himself tyrant of it, so black a crime gave him the sharpest affliction. He made use of all possible means to bring him back to his duty: kindness, friendship, affection, remonstrances, and even menaces. But finding all his endeavours ineffectual, and that nothing could prevail upon a heart abandoned to ambition he caused his brother to be assassinated by two of his friends and intimates, and thought that upon such an occasion the laws of nature ought to give place to those of his country.--COXETER. [102] _To my country, my best mother._] In this expression Timoleon alludes to the conduct of his natural mother, who would never see him after the assassination of his brother, and always, as Cornelius Nepos informs us, called him _fratricidam, impiumque_.--GIFFORD. [103] Diph. _If you free Sicily From barbarous Carthage' yoke_, &c.] This speech and the next are literally from Plutarch. Massinger has in this instance adhered more closely to his story than usual.--GIFFORD. [104] _Cry aim!_] i. e. _encourage them_, as the bystanders do those who are about to shoot at a trial of skill in archery. ACT II. SCENE I. _The same. A Room in_ ARCHIDAMUS'_s House_. _Enter_ ARCHIDAMUS, TIMAGORAS, LEOSTHENES, _with gorgets; and_ MARULLO. _Archid._ So, so, 'tis well: how do I look? _Mar._ Most sprightfully. _Archid._ I shrink not in the shoulders; though I'm old I'm tough, steel to the back; I have not wasted My stock of strength in featherbeds: here's an arm too; There's stuff in 't, and I hope will use a sword As well as any beardless boy of you all. _Timag._ I'm glad to see you, sir, so well prepared To endure the travail of the war. _Archid._ Go to, sirrah! I shall endure, when some of you keep your cabins, For all your flaunting feathers; nay, Leosthenes, You are welcome too[105], all friends and fellows now. _Leost._ Your servant, sir. _Archid._ Pish! leave these compliments, They stink in a soldier's mouth; I could be merry, For, now my gown's off, farewell gravity[106]! I fear ye, when you come to the test.--Old stories tell us, There's a month call'd October[107], which brings in Cold weather; there are trenches too, 'tis rumour'd, In which to stand all night to the knees in water, In gallants breeds the toothach; there's a sport too, Named _lying perdue_, do you mark me? 'tis a game Which you must learn to play at: now in these seasons, And choice variety of exercises, (Nay, I come to you,) and fasts, not for devotion, Your rambling youngster feels strange alterations; And in a frosty morning.----O welcome! welcome! _Enter_ DIPHILUS _and_ CLEORA. You have cut off my discourse; but I will perfect My lecture in the camp. _Diph._ Come, we are stay'd for; The general's afire for a remove, And longs to be in action. _Archid._ 'Tis my wish too. We must part--nay, no tears, my best Cleora; I shall melt too, and that were ominous. Millions of blessings on thee! All that's mine I give up to thy charge; and, sirrah, look [_To_ MARULLO. You with that care and reverence observe her, Which you would pay to me.--A kiss; farewell, girl! _Diph._ Peace wait upon you, fair one! [_Exeunt_ ARCHIDAMUS, DIPHILUS, _and_ MARULLO. _Timag._ 'Twere impertinence To wish you to be careful of your honour, That ever keep in pay a guard about you Of faithful virtues: farewell!--Friend, I leave you To wipe our kisses off; I know that lovers Part with more circumstance and ceremony: Which I give way to. [_Exit._ _Leost._ 'Tis a noble favour, For which I ever owe you. We are alone; But how I should begin, or in what language Speak the unwilling word of parting from you, I am yet to learn. _Cleo._ And still continue ignorant; For I must be most cruel to myself, If I should teach you. _Leost._ Yet it must be spoken, Or you will chide my slackness. You have fired me With the heat of noble action to deserve you; And the least spark of honour that took life From your sweet breath, still fann'd by it and cherish'd, Must mount up in a glorious flame, or I Am much unworthy. _Cleo._ May it not burn here[108], And, as a seamark, serve to guide true lovers Safe from the rocks of passion to the harbour Of pure affection? rising up an example Which aftertimes shall witness, to our glory, First took from us beginning. _Leost._ 'Tis a happiness My duty to my country, and mine honour Cannot consent to; besides, add to these, It was your pleasure, fortified by persuasion, And strength of reason, for the general good, That I should go. _Cleo._ Alas! I then was witty To plead against myself; and mine eye, fix'd Upon the hill of honour, ne'er descended To look into the vale of certain dangers, Through which you were to cut your passage to it. _Leost._ I'll stay at home, then. _Cleo._ No, that must not be; For so, to serve my own ends, and to gain A petty wreath myself, I rob you of A certain triumph, which must fall upon you, Or Virtue's turn'd a handmaid to blind Fortune. How is my soul divided! to confirm you In the opinion of the world, most worthy To be beloved, (with me you're at the height, And can advance no further,) I must send you To court the goddess of stern war, who, if She see you with my eyes, will ne'er return you, But grow enamour'd of you. _Leost._ Sweet, take comfort! And what I offer you, you must vouchsafe me, Or I am wretched. All the dangers that I can encounter in the war are trifles; My enemies abroad to be contemn'd: The dreadful foes, that have the power to hurt me, I leave at home with you. _Cleo._ With me! _Leost._ Nay, in you, In every part about you, they are arm'd To fight against me. _Cleo._ Where? _Leost._ There's no perfection That you are mistress of, but musters up A legion against me, and all sworn To my destruction. _Cleo._ This is strange! _Leost._ But true, sweet; Excess of love can work such miracles! Upon this ivory forehead are intrench'd Ten thousand rivals, and these suns command Supplies from all the world, on pain to forfeit Their comfortable beams; these ruby lips, A rich exchequer to assure their pay: This hand, Sibylla's golden bough to guard them Through hell, and horror, to the Elysian springs; Which who'll not venture for? and, should I name Such as the virtues of your mind invite, Their numbers would be infinite. _Cleo._ Can you think I may be tempted? _Leost._ You were never proved[109]. For me, I have conversed with you no further Than would become a brother. I ne'er tuned Loose notes to your chaste ears; or brought rich presents For my artillery, to batter down The fortress of your honour; I never practised The cunning and corrupting arts they study, That wander in the wild maze of desire; Honest simplicity and truth were all The agents I employ'd; and when I came To see you, it was with that reverence As I beheld the altars of the gods: And Love, that came along with me, was taught To leave his arrows and his torch behind, Quench'd in my fear to give offence. _Cleo._ And 'twas That modesty that took me, and preserves me, Like a fresh rose, in mine own natural sweetness; Which, sullied with the touch of impure hands, Loses both scent and beauty. _Leost._ But, Cleora, When I am absent, as I must go from you, (Such is the cruelty of my fate,) and leave you, Unguarded, to the violent assaults Of loose temptations; when the memory Of my so many years of love and service Is lost in other objects; when you are courted By such as keep a catalogue of their conquests, Won upon credulous virgins; when nor father Is here to owe[110] you, brother to advise you, Nor your poor servant by, to keep such off, By love instructed how to undermine, And blow your constancy up; when your weak senses, At once assaulted, shall conspire against you, And play the traitors to your soul, your virtue; How can you stand? 'Faith, though you fall, and I The judge, before whom you then stood accused, I should acquit you. _Cleo._ Will you then confirm That love and jealousy, though of different natures, Must of necessity be twins; the younger Created only to defeat the elder, And spoil him of his birthright[111]? 'tis not well. But being to part, I will not chide, I will not; Nor with one syllable or tear, express How deeply I am wounded with the arrows Of your distrust: but when that you shall hear, At your return, how I have borne myself, And what an austere penance I take on me, To satisfy your doubts; when, like a vestal, I show you, to your shame, the fire still burning, Committed to my charge by true affection, The people joining with you in the wonder; When, by the glorious splendour of my sufferings, The prying eyes of jealousy are struck blind, The monster too that feeds on fears e'en starved For want of seeming matter to accuse me; Expect, Leosthenes, a sharp reproof From my just anger. _Leost._ What will you do? _Cleo._ Obey me, Or from this minute you are a stranger to me; And do 't without reply. All-seeing sun, Thou witness of my innocence, thus I close Mine eyes against thy comfortable light, 'Till the return of this distrustful man! Now bind them sure;--nay, do 't: [_He binds her eyes with her scarf._] If, uncompell'd, I loose this knot, until the hands that made it Be pleased to untie it, may consuming plagues Fall heavy on me! pray you guide me to your lips. This kiss, when you come back, shall be a virgin To bid you welcome; nay, I have not done yet: I will continue dumb, and, you once gone, No accent shall come from me. Now to my chamber, My tomb, if you miscarry: there I'll spend My hours in silent mourning, and thus much Shall be reported of me to my glory, And you confess it, whether I live or die, My constancy triumphs o'er your jealousy. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [105] ------------_nay, Leosthenes, You are welcome too_, &c.] It should be remembered that Archidamus is, with great judgment, represented in the first scene as averse to the marriage of Leosthenes with his daughter.--GIFFORD. [106] _For, now my gown's off, farewell gravity!_] This is said to have been a frequent expression with the great but playful Sir Thomas More, who was never so happy as when he shook off the pomp of office. Fuller tells a similar story of Lord Burleigh.--GIFFORD. [107] _There's a month call'd_ October, &c.] This pleasant old man forgets that he is talking of Sicily, where October is the most delightful month of the year. All our old poets loved and thought only of their country. Whatever region was the subject, England was the real theme: their habits, customs, peculiarities were all derived from thence. This, though it must condemn them as historians, may save them as patriots: and, indeed, it is not much to be regretted that they should overlook manners, with which they were very imperfectly acquainted, in favour of those with which they were hourly conversant--at least it would be ungrateful in us, who profit so much by their minute descriptions, to be offended at their disregard of "the proper _costumi_."--GIFFORD. [108] _Here_,] i. e. _in Syracuse_. [109] Leost. _You were never proved._] The whole of this scene is eminently beautiful; yet I cannot avoid recommending to the reader's particular notice the speech which follows. Its rhythm is so perfect, that it drops on the ear like the sweetest melody.--GIFFORD. [110] _Owe_,] i. e. _own_. [111] _And spoil him of his birthright?_] This is a happy allusion to the history of Jacob and Esau. It is the more so, for being void of all profaneness; to which, indeed, Massinger had no tendency.--GIFFORD. SCENE II. _The same. A Room in_ CLEON'_s House_. _Enter_ ASOTUS, _driving in_ GRACCULO. _Asot._ You slave! you dog! down, cur! _Grac._ Hold, good young master, For pity's sake! _Asot._ Now am I in my kingdom:-- Who says I am not valiant? I begin To frown again: quake, villain! _Grac._ So I do, sir; Your looks are agues to me. _Asot._ Are they so, sir! 'Slight, if I had them at this bay that flout me, And say I look like a sheep and an ass, I'd make them Feel that I am a lion. _Grac._ Do not roar, sir, As you are a valiant beast: but do you know Why you use me thus? _Asot._ I'll beat thee a little more, Then study for a reason. O! I have it: One brake a jest on me, and then I swore, (Because I durst not strike him,) when I came home, That I would break thy head. _Grac._ Plague on his mirth! I am sure I mourn for 't. _Asot._ Remember too, I charge you, To teach my horse good manners yet; this morning, As I rode to take the air, the untutor'd jade Threw me, and kick'd me. _Grac._ I thank him for 't. [_Aside._ _Asot._ What's that? _Grac._ I say, sir, I will teach him to hold his heels, If you will rule your fingers. _Asot._ I'll think upon 't. _Grac._ I am bruised to jelly: better be a dog, Than slave to a fool or coward. [_Aside._ _Asot._ Here's my mother, _Enter_ CORISCA _and_ ZANTHIA. She is chastising too: how brave we live, That have our slaves to beat, to keep us in breath When we want exercise! _Coris._ Careless creature, [_Striking her._ Look to 't; if a curl fall, or wind or sun Take my complexion off, I will not leave One hair upon thine head. _Grac._ Here's a second show Of the family of pride! [_Aside._ _Coris._ Fie on these wars! I'm starved for want of action. When were you with Your mistress, fair Cleora? _Asot._ Two days sithence; But she's so coy, forsooth, that ere I can Speak a penn'd speech I have bought and studied for her, Her woman calls her away. _Coris._ Here's a dull thing! _Zant._ Madam, my lord. _Enter_ CLEON. _Cleon._ Where are you, wife? I fain would go abroad, But cannot find my slaves that bear my litter; I am tired. Your shoulder, son;--nay, sweet, thy hand too: A turn or two in the garden, and then to supper, And so to bed. _Asot._ Never to rise, I hope, more. [_Aside._ [_Exeunt._ SCENE III. _A Grove near the Walls of Syracuse._ _Enter_ MARULLO _and_ POLIPHRON. _A Table set out with Wine, &c._ _Mar._ 'Twill take, I warrant thee. _Poliph._ You may do your pleasure; But, in my judgment, better to make use of The present opportunity. _Mar._ No more. _Poliph._ I am silenced. _Mar._ More wine; prithee drink hard, friend, And when we're hot, whatever I propound, _Enter_ CIMBRIO, GRACCULO, _and other Slaves._ Second with vehemence.--Men of your words, all welcome! Slaves use no ceremony; sit down; here's a health. _Poliph._ Let it run round; fill every man his glass. _Grac._ We look for no waiters;--this is wine! _Mar._ The better, Strong, lusty wine: drink deep; this juice will make us As free as our lords. [_Drinks._ _Grac._ But if they find we taste it, We are condemn'd to the quarry during life, Without hope of redemption. _Mar._ Pish! for that We'll talk anon: another rouse[112]! we lose time; [_Drinks._ When our low blood's wound up a little higher, I'll offer my design; nay, we are cold yet; These glasses contain nothing:--do me right, [_Takes the bottle._ As e'er you hope for liberty. 'Tis done bravely: How do you feel yourselves now? _Cimb._ I begin To have strange conundrums in my head. _Grac._ And I To loathe base water. I would be hang'd in peace now For one month of such holidays. _Mar._ An age, boys, And yet defy the whip; if you are men, Or dare believe you have souls. _Cimb._ We are no brokers. _Mar._ Our lords are no gods-- _Grac._ They are devils to us, I am sure. _Mar._ But subject to Cold, hunger, and diseases. _Grac._ In abundance. _Mar._ Equal Nature fashion'd us All in one mould. The bear serves not the bear, Nor the wolf the wolf; 'twas odds of strength in tyrants That pluck'd the first link from the golden chain With which that THING OF THINGS[113] bound in the world. Why then, since we are taught, by their examples, To love our liberty, if not command, Should the strong serve the weak, the fair, deform'd ones? Or such as know the cause of things pay tribute To ignorant fools? All's but the outward gloss, And politic form, that does distinguish us.-- Cimbrio, thou art a strong man; if, in place Of carrying burthens, thou hadst been train'd up In martial discipline, thou might'st have proved A general, fit to lead and fight for Sicily, As fortunate as Timoleon. _Cimb._ A little fighting Will serve a general's turn. _Mar._ Thou, Gracculo, Hast fluency of language, quick conceit; And, I think, cover'd with a senator's robe, Formally set on the bench, thou wouldst appear As brave a senator. _Grac._ Would I had lands, Or money to buy a place! and if I did not Sleep on the bench with the drowsiest of them, Play with my chain, look on my watch, and wear A state beard, with my barber's help, rank with them In their most choice peculiar gifts, degrade me, And put me to drink water again, which, now I have tasted wine, were poison! _Mar._ 'Tis spoke nobly, And like a gownman: none of these, I think too, But would prove good burghers. _Grac._ Hum! the fools are modest; I know their insides: here's an ill-faced fellow, (But that will not be seen in a dark shop;) If he did not in a month learn to outswear, In the selling of his wares, the cunning'st tradesman In Syracuse, I have no skill. Here's another; Observe but what a cozening look he has!-- Hold up thy head, man! If, for drawing gallants Into mortgages for commodities[114], cheating heirs With your new counterfeit gold thread, and gumm'd velvets, He does not transcend all that went before him, Call in his patent. _Mar._ Is 't not pity, then, Men of such eminent virtues should be slaves? _Cimb._ Our fortune. _Mar._ 'Tis your folly: daring men Command and make their fates. Say, at this instant, I mark'd you out a way to liberty; Possess'd you of those blessings our proud lords So long have surfeited in; and, what is sweetest, Arm you with power, by strong hand to revenge Your stripes, your unregarded toil, the pride, The insolence, of such as tread upon Your patient sufferings; fill your famish'd mouths With the fat and plenty of the land; redeem you From the dark vale of servitude, and seat you Upon a hill of happiness; what would you do To purchase this, and more? _Grac._ Do! any thing: To burn a church or two, and dance by the light on 't, Were but a May-game. _Poliph._ I have a father living; But if the cutting of his throat could work this, He should excuse me. _Cimb._ 'Slight! I would cut mine own, Rather than miss it; so I might but have A taste on 't ere I die. _Mar._ Be resolute men; You shall run no such hazard, nor groan under The burden of such crying sins. _Poliph._ Do not torment us With expectation. _Mar._ Thus, then:--Our proud masters, And all the able freemen of the city, Are gone unto the wars---- _Poliph._ Observe but that. _Mar._ Old men, and such as can make no resistance, Are only left at home---- _Grac._ And the proud young fool, My master--if this take, I'll hamper him. _Mar._ Their arsenal, their treasure, 's in our power, If we have hearts to seize them. If our lords fall In the present action, the whole country's ours: Say they return victorious, we have means To keep the town against them; at the worst, To make our own conditions. If you dare break up Their iron chests, banquet in their rich halls, And carve yourselves of all delights and pleasures You have been barr'd from, with one voice cry with me, Liberty! liberty! _All._ Liberty! liberty! _Mar._ Go, then, and take possession: use all freedom; But shed no blood. [_Exeunt Slaves._]--So, this is well begun; But not to be commended till 't be done. [_Exit._ FOOTNOTES: [112] _Rouse_,] i. e. _full glass_, _bumper_. [113] _That_ THING OF THINGS.] A literal translation, as Mr. M. Mason observes, of ENS ENTIUM. I know not where Pisander acquired his revolutionary philosophy: his golden chain, perhaps, he found in Homer.--GIFFORD. [114] _For commodities_, &c.] i. e. _for wares_, of which the needy borrower made what he could. Our old writers are extremely pleasant on the heterogeneous articles which the usurers of their days forced on the necessity of the thoughtless spendthrift in lieu of the money for which he had rashly signed. Fielding has imitated them in his Miser, without adding much to their humour; and Foote, in The Minor, has servilely followed his example. The spectators of those scenes probably thought that the writers had gone beyond real life, and drawn on imagination for their amusement: but transactions (not altogether proper, perhaps, to be specified here) have actually taken place in our own times, which leave their boldest conceptions at an humble distance; and prove, beyond a doubt, that, in the arts of raising money, the invention of the most fertile poet must yield to that of the meanest scrivener.--GIFFORD. ACT III. SCENE I. _The same. A Gallery in_ ARCHIDAMUS'_s House_. _Enter_ MARULLO _and_ TIMANDRA. _Mar._ Why, think you that I plot against myself[115]? Fear nothing, you are safe: these thick-skinn'd slaves, I use as instruments to serve my ends, Pierce not my deep designs; nor shall they dare To lift an arm against you. _Timand._ With your will. But turbulent spirits, raised beyond themselves With ease, are not so soon laid; they oft prove Dangerous to him that call'd them up. _Mar._ 'Tis true, In what is rashly undertook. Long since I have consider'd seriously their natures, Proceeded with mature advice, and know I hold their will and faculties in more awe Than I can do my own. Now, for their licence, And riot in the city, I can make A just defence and use: it may appear, too, A politic prevention of such ills As might, with greater violence and danger, Hereafter be attempted; though some smart for 't, It matters not:--however, I'm resolved; And sleep you with security. Holds Cleora Constant to her rash vow? _Timand._ Beyond belief; To me, that see her hourly, it seems a fable. By signs I guess at her commands, and serve them With silence; such her pleasure is, made known By holding her fair hand thus. She eats little, Sleeps less, as I imagine; once a day I lead her to this gallery, where she walks Some half a dozen turns, and, having offer'd To her absent saint a sacrifice of sighs, She points back to her prison. _Mar._ Guide her hither, And make her understand the slaves' revolt; And, with your utmost eloquence, enlarge Their insolence, and wrongs done in the city. Forget not, too, I am their chief, and tell her You strongly think my extreme dotage on her, As I'm Marullo, caused this sudden uproar, To gain possession of her. _Timand._ Punctually I will discharge my part. [_Exit._ _Enter_ POLIPHRON. _Poliph._ O, sir, I sought you: There's such variety of all disorders Among the slaves; answer'd with crying, howling, By the citizens and their wives; such a confusion, In a word, not to tire you, as I think The like was never read of. _Mar._ This is some Revenge for my disgrace. _Poliph._ But, sir, I fear, If your authority restrain them not, They'll fire the city, or kill one another, They are so apt to outrage; neither know I Whether you wish it, and came therefore to Acquaint you with so much. _Mar._ I will among them; But must not long be absent. _Poliph._ At your pleasure. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTE: [115] Mar. _Why, think you that I plot against myself?_] The plot opens here with wonderful address; and the succeeding conference, or rather scene, between Pisander and Cleora, is inimitably beautiful.--GIFFORD. SCENE II. _The same. A Room in the same._ _Shouts within. Enter_ CLEORA _and_ TIMANDRA. _Timand._ They are at our gates: my heart! affrights and horrors Increase each minute. No way left to save us, No flattering hope to comfort us, or means, But miracle, to redeem us from base wrongs And lawless rapine! Are there gods, yet suffer Such innocent sweetness to be made the spoil Of brutish violence? And, of these rebel slaves, He that should offer up his life to guard you, Marullo, cursed Marullo, your own bondman, Purchased to serve you, and fed by your favours-- Nay, start not: it is he; he, the grand captain Of these libidinous beasts, that have not left One cruel act undone that barbarous conquest Yet ever practised in a captive city; He, doting on your beauty, and to have fellows In his foul sin, hath raised these mutinous slaves. Wring not your hands, 'tis bootless; use the means That may preserve you. 'Tis no crime to break A vow when you are forced to it; show your face, And with the majesty of commanding beauty Strike dead his loose affections: if that fail, Give liberty to your tongue, and use entreaties: There cannot be a breast of flesh and blood, Or heart so made of flint, but must receive Impression from your words; or eyes so stern, But, from the clear reflection of your tears, Must melt, and bear them company. Will you not Do these good offices to yourself? poor I, then, Can only weep your fortune.--Here he comes. _Enter_ MARULLO, _speaking at the door_. _Mar._ He that advances A foot beyond this comes upon my sword: You have had your ways, disturb not mine. _Timand._ Speak gently; Her fears may kill her else. _Mar._ Now Love inspire me! Still shall this canopy of envious night Obscure my suns of comfort? and those dainties Of purest white and red, which I take in at My greedy eyes, denied my famish'd senses?-- The organs of your hearing yet are open; And you infringe no vow, though you vouchsafe To give them warrant to convey unto Your understanding parts the story of A tortured and despairing lover, whom Not fortune but affection marks your slave:-- Shake not, best lady! for, believe 't, you are As far from danger as I am from force: All violence I shall offer tends no further Than to relate my sufferings, which I dare not Presume to do, till, by some gracious sign, You show you are pleased to hear me. _Timand._ If you are, Hold forth your right hand. [CLEORA _holds forth her right hand._ _Mar._ So, 'tis done; and I With my glad lips seal humbly on your robe My soul's thanks for the favour: I forbear To tell you who I am, what wealth, what honours I made exchange of, to become your servant: And though I knew worthy Leosthenes (For sure he must be worthy, for whose love You have endured so much) to be my rival, When rage and jealousy counsell'd me to kill him, Which then I could have done with much more ease, Than now, in fear to grieve you, I dare speak it, Love, seconded with duty, boldly told me The man I hated, fair Cleora favour'd; And that was his protection. [CLEORA _bows._ _Timand._ See, she bows Her head in sign of thankfulness. _Mar._ He removed by The occasion of the war, (my fires increasing By being closed and stopp'd up,) frantic affection Prompted me to do something in his absence That might deliver you into my power, Which you see is effected: and even now, When my rebellious passions chide my dulness, And tell me how much I abuse my fortunes, Now it is in my power to bear you hence, [CLEORA _starts._ (Nay, fear not, madam; true love is a servant, But brutish lust a tyrant,) only thus much Be pleased I may speak in my own dear cause; And think it worthy your consideration, (I have loved truly, cannot say deserved, Since duty must not take the name of merit,) That I so far prize your content, before All blessings that my hope can fashion to me, That willingly I entertain despair, And, for your sake, embrace it; for I know, This opportunity lost, by no endeavour The like can be recover'd. To conclude, Forget not that I lose myself to save you: For what can I expect but death and torture, The war being ended? and, what is a task Would trouble Hercules to undertake, I do deny you to myself, to give you, A pure unspotted present, to my rival. I have said: if it distaste not, best of virgins! Reward my temperance with some lawful favour, Though you contemn my person. [CLEORA _kneels, then pulls off her glove, and offers her hand to_ MARULLO. _Timand._ See, she kneels, And seems to call upon the gods to pay The debt she owes your virtue: to perform which, As a sure pledge of friendship, she vouchsafes you Her fair right hand. _Mar._ I am paid for all my sufferings. Now, when you please, pass to your private chamber: My love and duty, faithful guards, shall keep you From all disturbance; and when you are sated With thinking of Leosthenes, as a fee Due to my service, spare one sigh for me. [_Exeunt._ CLEORA _makes a low courtesy as she goes off._ SCENE III. _The same. A Room in_ CLEON'_s House_. _Enter_ GRACCULO, _leading_ ASOTUS _in an ape's habit, with a chain about his neck_; ZANTHIA _in_ CORISCA'_s clothes, she bearing up her train_. _Grac._ Come on, sir. _Asot._ Oh! _Grac._ Do you grumble? you were ever A brainless ass; but if this hold, I'll teach you To come aloft and do tricks like an ape. Your morning's lesson: if you miss---- _Asot._ O no, sir. _Grac._ What for the Carthaginians? [ASOTUS _makes moppes_[116].] A good beast. What for ourself, your lord[117]? [_Dances._] Exceeding well. There's your reward. [_Gives him an apple._]--Not kiss your paw! So, so, so. _Zant._ Was ever lady, the first day of her honour, So waited on by a wrinkled crone? She looks now, Without her painting, curling, and perfumes, Like the last day of January. Further off! So--stand there like an image; if you stir, Till, with a quarter of a look, I call you, You know what follows. _Coris._ O, what am I fallen to! But 'tis a punishment for my cruel pride, Justly return'd upon me. _Grac._ How dost thou like Thy ladyship, Zanthia? _Zant._ Very well; and bear it With as much state as your lordship. _Grac._ Give me thy hand: Let us, like conquering Romans, walk in triumph[118], Our captives following; then mount our tribunals, And make the slaves our footstools. _Zant._ Fine, by Jove! Are your hands clean, minion? _Coris._ Yes, forsooth. _Zant._ Fall off then. She and I have changed our parts; She does what she forced me to do in her reign, And I must practise it in mine. _Grac._ 'Tis justice: O! here come more. _Enter_ CIMBRIO, CLEON, POLIPHRON, _and_ OLYMPIA. _Cimb._ Discover to a drachma, Or I will famish thee. _Cleon._ O! I am pined already. _Poliph._ Spare the old jade, he's founder'd. _Grac._ Cut his throat then, And hang him out for a scarecrow. _Poliph._ You have all your wishes In your revenge, and I have mine. You see I use no tyranny: once I was her slave, And in requital of her courtesies, Having made one another free, we are married: And, if you wish us joy, join with us in A dance at our wedding. _Grac._ Agreed; for I have thought of A most triumphant one, which shall express We are lords, and these our slaves. _Poliph._ But we shall want A woman. _Grac._ No, here's Jane-of-apes shall serve[119]; Carry your body swimming.--Where's the music? _Poliph._ I have placed it in yon window. _Grac._ Begin then sprightly. [_Music, and then a dance._ _Enter_ MARULLO _behind_. _Poliph._ Well done on all sides! I have prepared a banquet; Let's drink and cool us. _Grac._ A good motion. _Cimb._ Wait here; You have been tired with feasting, learn to fast now. _Grac._ I'll have an apple for jack, and may be some scraps May fall to your share. [_Exeunt_ GRAC. ZANT. CIMB. POLIPH. _and_ OLYMP. _Coris._ Whom can we accuse But ourselves, for what we suffer? Thou art just, Thou all-creating Power! and misery Instructs me now, that yesterday acknowledged No deity beyond my pride and pleasure, There is a heaven above us, that looks down With the eyes of justice, upon such as number Those blessings freely given, in the accompt Of their poor merits: else it could not be, Now miserable I, to please whose palate The elements were ransack'd, yet complain'd Of nature, as not liberal enough In her provision of rarities To soothe my taste, and pamper my proud flesh, Should wish in vain for bread. _Cleon._ Yes, I do wish too, For what I fed my dogs with. _Coris._ I, that forgot I was made of flesh and blood, and thought the silk Spun by the diligent worm out of their entrails, Too coarse to clothe me, and the softest down Too hard to sleep on; that disdain'd to look On virtue being in rags, that from my servants Expected adoration, am made justly The scorn of my own bondwoman. _Cleon._ I know I cannot Last long, that's all my comfort. _Mar._ What a true mirror Were this sad spectacle for secure greatness! Here they, that never see themselves, but in The glass of servile flattery, might behold The weak foundation upon which they build Their trust in human frailty. Happy are those, That knowing, in their births, they are subject to Uncertain change, are still prepared, and arm'd For either fortune: a rare principle, And, with much labour, learn'd in wisdom's school! For, as these bondmen, by their actions, show That their prosperity, like too large a sail For their small bark of judgment, sinks them with A fore-right gale of liberty, ere they reach The port they long to touch at: so these wretches, Swollen with the false opinion of their worth, And proud of blessings left them, not acquired; That did believe they could with giant arms Fathom the earth, and were above their fates, Those borrow'd helps, that did support them, vanish'd, Fall of themselves, and by unmanly suffering Betray their proper weakness, and make known Their boasted greatness was lent, not their own. _Cleon._ O for some meat! they sit long. _Coris._ We forgot, When we drew out intemperate feasts till midnight; Their hunger was not thought on, nor their watchings; Nor did we hold ourselves served to the height, But when we did exact and force their duties Beyond their strength and power. _Asot._ We pay for 't now: _Re-enter_ POLIPHRON, CIMBRIO, GRACCULO, ZANTHIA, _and_ OLYMPIA, _drunk and quarrelling_. _Cimb._ Do not hold me: Not kiss the bride! _Poliph._ No, sir. _Mar._ [_coming forward_] Hold! _Zant._ Here's Marullo. _Olymp._ He's your chief. _Mar._ Take heed; I've news will cool this heat, and make you Remember what you were. _Cimb._ How! _Mar._ Send off these, And then I'll tell you. [_Exeunt_ CLEON, ASOT. ZANT. OLYMP. _and_ CORIS. _Cimb._ What would you impart? _Mar._ What must invite you To stand upon your guard, and leave your feasting; Our masters are victorious. _All._ How! _Mar._ Within A day's march of the city, flesh'd with spoil, And proud of conquest; the armado sunk, The Carthaginian admiral, hand to hand, Slain by Leosthenes. _Cimb._ I feel the whip Upon my back already. _Grac._ Every man Seek a convenient tree, and hang himself. _Poliph._ Better die once, than live an age to suffer New tortures every hour. _Cimb._ Say, we submit, And yield us to their mercy?-- _Mar._ Can you flatter Yourselves with such false hopes? Or dare you think That your imperious lords, that never fail'd To punish with severity petty slips In your neglect of labour, may be won To pardon those licentious outrages Which noble enemies forbear to practise Upon the conquer'd? We have gone too far To think now of retiring; in our courage, And daring, lies our safety: if you are not Slaves in your abject minds, as in your fortunes, Since to die is the worst, better expose Our naked breasts to their keen swords, and sell Our lives with the most advantage, than to trust In a forestall'd remission, or yield up Our bodies to the furnace of their fury, Thrice heated with revenge. _Grac._ You led us on. _Cimb._ And 'tis but justice you should bring us off. _Grac._ And we expect it. _Mar._ Hear then, and obey me; And I will either save you, or fall with you. Man the walls strongly, and make good the ports; Boldly deny their entrance, and rip up Your grievances, and what compell'd you to This desperate course: if they disdain to hear Of composition, we have in our powers Their aged fathers, children, and their wives, Who, to preserve themselves, must willingly Make intercession for us. 'Tis not time now To talk, but do: a glorious end, or freedom, Is now proposed us; stand resolved for either, And, like good fellows, live or die together. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [116] _Moppes_,] i. e. the quick and grinning motions of the teeth and lips which apes make when they are irritated. [117] _What for ourself, your lord?_] Here Asotus must be supposed to leap, or rather tumble, in token of obedience. Our ancestors certainly excelled us in the education which they bestowed on their animals. Banks's horse far surpassed all that have been brought up in the academy of Mr. Astley; and the apes of these days are mere clowns to their progenitors. The apes of Massinger's time were gifted with a pretty smattering of politics and philosophy. The widow Wild had one of them: "He would _come over_ for all my friends, but was the dogged'st thing to my enemies! he would sit upon his tail before them, and frown like John-a-napes when the pope is named." _The Parson's Wedding._--GIFFORD. [118] _Let us, like conquering Romans, walk in triumph._] Gracculo speaks in the spirit of prophecy; for the _conquering Romans_ were at this time struggling with their neighbours for a few miserable huts to hide their heads in; and if any _captives followed_, or rather preceded, their _triumphs_, it was a herd of stolen beeves.--GIFFORD. [119] _Jane-of-apes_;] Meaning Corisca: he plays upon _Jack-an-apes_, the name he had given to Asotus.--GIFFORD. SCENE IV. _The Country near Syracuse. The Camp of_ TIMOLEON. _Enter_ LEOSTHENES _and_ TIMAGORAS. _Timag._ I am so far from envy, I am proud You have outstripp'd me in the race of honour. O 'twas a glorious day, and bravely won! Your bold performance gave such lustre to Timoleon's wise directions, as the army Rests doubtful, to whom they stand most engaged For their so great success. _Leost._ The gods first honour'd, The glory be the general's; 'tis far from me To be his rival. _Timag._ You abuse your fortune, To entertain her choice and gracious favours With a contracted brow; plumed Victory Is truly painted with a cheerful look, Equally distant from proud insolence, And base dejection. _Leost._ O Timagoras, You only are acquainted with the cause That loads my sad heart with a hill of lead; Whose ponderous weight, neither my new-got honour, Assisted by the general applause The soldier crowns it with, nor all war's glories, Can lessen or remove: and, would you please, With fit consideration, to remember How much I wrong'd Cleora's innocence With my rash doubts; and what a grievous penance She did impose upon her tender sweetness, To pluck away the vulture, jealousy, That fed upon my liver; you cannot blame me, But call it a fit justice on myself, Though I resolve to be a stranger to The thought of mirth or pleasure. _Timag._ You have redeem'd The forfeit of your fault with such a ransom Of honourable action, as my sister Must of necessity confess her sufferings, Weigh'd down by your fair merits; and, when she views you, Like a triumphant conqueror, carried through The streets of Syracusa, the glad people Pressing to meet you, and the senators Contending who shall heap most honours on you; The oxen, crown'd with garlands, led before you, Appointed for the sacrifice; and the altars Smoking with thankful incense to the gods: The soldiers chanting loud hymns to your praise, The windows fill'd with matrons and with virgins, Throwing upon your head, as you pass by, The choicest flowers, and silently invoking The queen of love, with their particular vows, To be thought worthy of you; can Cleora (Though, in the glass of self-love, she behold Her best deserts) but with all joy acknowledge What she endured was but a noble trial You made of her affection? and her anger, Rising from your too amorous cares, soon drench'd In Lethe, and forgotten. _Leost._ If those glories You so set forth were mine, they might plead for me; But I can lay no claim to the least honour Which you, with foul injustice, ravish from her. Her beauty in me wrought a miracle, Taught me to aim at things beyond my power, Which her perfections purchased, and gave to me From her free bounties; she inspired me with That valour which I dare not call mine own; And, from the fair reflection of her mind, My soul received the sparkling beams of courage. She, from the magazine of her proper goodness, Stock'd me with virtuous purposes; sent me forth To trade for honour; and, she being the owner Of the bark of my adventures, I must yield her A just account of all, as fits a factor. And, howsoever others think me happy, And cry aloud, I have made a prosperous voyage; One frown of her dislike at my return, Which, as a punishment for my fault, I look for, Strikes dead all comfort. _Timag._ Tush! these fears are needless; She cannot, must not, shall not, be so cruel. A free confession of a fault wins pardon, But, being seconded by desert, commands it. The general is your own, and, sure, my father Repents his harshness; for myself, I am Ever your creature.--One day shall be happy In your triumph, and your marriage. _Leost._ May it prove so, With her consent and pardon. _Timag._ Ever touching On that harsh string! She is your own, and you Without disturbance seize on what's your due. [_Exeunt._ ACT IV. SCENE I. _Syracuse. A Room in_ ARCHIDAMUS'_s House_. _Enter_ MARULLO _and_ TIMANDRA. _Mar._ She has her health, then? _Timand._ Yes, sir; and as often As I speak of you, lends attentive ear To all that I deliver; nor seems tired, Though I dwell long on the relation of Your sufferings for her, heaping praise on praise On the unequall'd temperance, and command You hold o'er your affections. _Mar._ To my wish: Have you acquainted her with the defeature[120] Of the Carthaginians, and with what honours Leosthenes comes crown'd home with? _Timand._ With all care. _Mar._ And how does she receive it? _Timand._ As I guess, With a seeming kind of joy; but yet appears not Transported, or proud of his happy fortune. But when I tell her of the certain ruin You must encounter with at their arrival In Syracusa, and that death, with torments, Must fall upon you, which you yet repent not, Esteeming it a glorious martyrdom, And a reward of pure unspotted love, Preserved in the white robe of innocence, Though she were in your power; and, still spurr'd on By powerful love, you rather chose to suffer The fury of your lord, than that she should Be grieved or tainted in her reputation---- _Mar._ Pities she my misfortune? _Timand._ She express'd All signs of sorrow which, her vow observed, Could witness a grieved heart. At the first hearing, She fell upon her face, rent her fair hair, Her hands held up to heaven, and vented sighs, In which she silently seem'd to complain Of heaven's injustice. _Mar._ 'Tis enough: wait carefully, And, on all watch'd occasions, continue Speech and discourse of me: 'tis time must work her. _Timand._ I'll not be wanting, but still strive to serve you. [_Exit._ _Enter_ POLIPHRON. _Mar._ Now, Poliphron, the news? _Poliph._ The conquering army Is within ken. _Mar._ How brook the slaves the object? _Poliph._ Cheerfully yet; they do refuse no labour, And seem to scoff at danger; 'tis your presence That must confirm them: with a full consent You are chosen to relate the tyranny Of our proud masters; and what you subscribe to, They gladly will allow of, or hold out To the last man. _Mar._ I'll instantly among them. If we prove constant to ourselves, good fortune Will not, I hope, forsake us. _Poliph._ 'Tis our best refuge. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTE: [120] _Defeature_,] i. e. _defeat_. The two words were used indiscriminately by our old writers. SCENE II. _Before the Walls of Syracuse._ _Enter_ TIMOLEON, ARCHIDAMUS, DIPHILUS, LEOSTHENES, TIMAGORAS, _and Soldiers_. _Timol._ Thus far we are return'd victorious; crown'd With wreaths triumphant, (famine, blood, and death, Banish'd your peaceful confines,) and bring home Security and peace. 'Tis therefore fit That such as boldly stood the shock of war, And with the dear expense of sweat and blood Have purchased honour, should with pleasure reap The harvest of their toil: and we stand bound, Out of the first file of the best deservers, (Though all must be consider'd to their merits,) To think of you, Leosthenes, that stand, And worthily, most dear in our esteem, For your heroic valour. _Archid._ When I look on The labour of so many men and ages, This well-built city, not long since design'd To spoil and rapine, by the favour of The gods, and you, their ministers, preserved, I cannot, in my height of joy, but offer These tears for a glad sacrifice. _Diph._ Sleep the citizens? Or are they overwhelm'd with the excess Of comfort that flows to them? _Leost._ We receive A silent entertainment. _Timag._ I long since Expected that the virgins and the matrons, The old men striving with their age, the priests, Carrying the images of their gods before them, Should have met us with procession.--Ha! the gates Are shut against us! _Archid._ And, upon the walls, Arm'd men seem to defy us! _Enter above, on the Walls_, MARULLO, POLIPHRON, CIMBRIO, GRACCULO, _and other Slaves_. _Diph._ I should know These faces: they are our slaves. _Timag._ The mystery, rascals! Open the ports, and play not with an anger That will consume you. _Timol._ This is above wonder. _Archid._ Our bondmen stand against us! _Grac._ Some such things We were in man's remembrance. The slaves are turn'd Lords of the town, or so--nay, be not angry: Perhaps, upon good terms, giving security You will be quiet men, we may allow you Some lodgings in our garrets or outhouses: Your great looks cannot carry it. _Cimb._ The truth is, We have been bold to rifle your rich chests, Been busy with your wardrobes. _Timag._ Can we endure this? _Leost._ O my Cleora! _Grac._ A caudle for the gentleman; He'll die o' the pip else. _Timag._ Scorn'd too! are you turn'd stone? Hold parley with our bondmen! force our entrance, Then, villains, expect---- _Timol._ Hold! You wear men's shapes, And if, like men, you have reason, show a cause That leads you to this desperate course, which must end In your destruction. _Grac._ That, as please the Fates; But we vouchsafe----Speak, captain. _Timag._ Hell and furies! _Archid._ Bay'd by our own curs! _Cimb._ Take heed you be not worried. _Poliph._ We are sharp set. _Cimb._ And sudden. _Mar._ Briefly thus, then, Since I must speak for all--Your tyranny Drew us from our obedience. Happy those times When lords were styled fathers of families, And not imperious masters! when they number'd Their servants almost equal with their sons, Or one degree beneath them! when their labours Were cherish'd and rewarded, and a period Set to their sufferings; when they did not press Their duties or their wills, beyond the power And strength of their performance! all things order'd With such decorum, as[121] wise lawmakers, From each well-govern'd private house derived The perfect model of a commonwealth. Humanity then lodged in the hearts of men, And thankful masters carefully provided For creatures wanting reason. The noble horse, That, in his fiery youth, from his wide nostrils Neigh'd courage to his rider, and brake through Groves of opposed pikes, bearing his lord Safe to triumphant victory; old or wounded, Was set at liberty, and freed from service. The Athenian mules, that from the quarry drew Marble, hew'd for the temples of the gods, The great work ended, were dismiss'd, and fed At the public cost; nay, faithful dogs have found Their sepulchres; but man, to man more cruel, Appoints no end to the sufferings of his slave; Since pride stepp'd in and riot, and o'erturn'd This goodly frame of concord, teaching masters To glory in the abuse of such as are Brought under their command; who, grown unuseful, Are less esteem'd than beasts.--This you have practised, Practised on us with rigour; this hath forced us To shake our heavy yokes off; and, if redress Of these just grievances be not granted us, We'll right ourselves, and by strong hand defend What we are now possess'd of. _Grac._ And not leave One house unfired. _Cimb._ Or throat uncut of those We have in our power. _Poliph._ Nor will we fall alone; You shall buy us dearly. _Timag._ O the gods! Unheard-of insolence! _Timol._ What are your demands? _Mar._ A general pardon[122] first, for all offences Committed in your absence. Liberty To all such as desire to make return Into their countries; and, to those that stay, A competence of land freely allotted To each man's proper use, no lord acknowledged: Lastly, with your consent, to choose them wives Out of your families. _Timag._ Let the city sink first. _Leost._ And ruin seize on all, ere we subscribe To such conditions. _Archid._ Carthage, though victorious, Could not have forced more from us. _Leost._ Scale the walls; Capitulate after. _Timol._ He that wins the top first Shall wear a mural wreath. [_Exeunt._ _Mar._ Each to his place. [_Flourish and alarms._ Or death or victory! Charge them home, and fear not. [_Exeunt_ MARULLO _and Slaves_. _Re-enter_ TIMOLEON, ARCHIDAMUS, _and Senators_. _Timol._ We wrong ourselves, and we are justly punish'd, To deal with bondmen, as if we encounter'd An equal enemy. _Archid._ They fight like devils; And run upon our swords, as if their breasts Were proof beyond their armour. _Re-enter_ LEOSTHENES _and_ TIMAGORAS. _Timag._ Make a firm stand. The slaves, not satisfied they have beat us off, Prepare to sally forth. _Timol._ They are wild beasts, And to be tamed by policy. Each man take A tough whip in his hand, such as you used To punish them with, as masters: in your looks Carry severity and awe: 'twill fright them More than your weapons. Savage lions fly from The sight of fire; and these, that have forgot That duty you ne'er taught them with your swords, When, unexpected, they behold those terrors Advanced aloft, that they were made to shake at, 'Twill force them to remember what they are, And stoop to due obedience. _Archid._ Here they come. _Enter from the City_, CIMBRIO, GRACCULO, _and other Slaves_. _Cimb._ Leave not a man alive; a wound's but a flea-biting, To what we suffer'd, being slaves. _Grac._ O, my heart! Cimbrio, what do we see? the whip! our masters! _Timag._ Dare you rebel, slaves! [_The Senators shake their whips, the Slaves throw away their weapons, and run off[123]._ _Cimb._ Mercy! mercy! where Shall we hide us from their fury? _Grac._ Fly, they follow. O, we shall be tormented! _Timol._ Enter with them, But yet forbear to kill them: still remember They are part of your wealth; and being disarm'd, There is no danger. _Archid._ Let us first deliver Such as they have in fetters, and at leisure Determine of their punishment. _Leost._ Friend, to you I leave the disposition of what's mine: I cannot think I am safe without your sister, She is only worth my thought; and, till I see What she has suffer'd, I am on the rack, And Furies my tormentors. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [121] _As_ is, in this passage, an ellipsis of _that_, as usual. Some of the incidents mentioned in this speech, Massinger derived from Plutarch--GIFFORD. [122] Mar. _A general pardon_, &c.] It is evident, from the unreasonable nature of these demands, that Pisander does not wish them to be accepted. The last article, indeed, has a reference to himself, but he seems desirous of previously trying the fortune of arms. See, however, the next scene, and his defence in the last act.--GIFFORD. [123] Herodotus relates this tale, and Justin repeats it. Massinger may have taken it from Purchas's Pilgrims, a book that formed the delight of our ancestors; and in which it is said, that the Boiards of Noviorogod reduced their slaves, who had seized the town, by the whip, just as the Scythians are said to have done theirs. SCENE III. _Syracuse. A Room in_ ARCHIDAMUS'_s House_. _Enter_ MARULLO _and_ TIMANDRA. _Mar._ I know I am pursued; nor would I fly, Although the ports were open, and a convoy Ready to bring me off: the baseness of These villains, from the pride of all my hopes, Hath thrown me to the bottomless abyss Of horror and despair: had they stood firm, I could have bought Cleora's free consent With the safety of her father's life, and brother's; And forced Leosthenes to quit his claim, And kneel a suitor for me. _Timand._ You must not think What might have been, but what must now be practised, And suddenly resolve. _Mar._ All my poor fortunes Are at the stake, and I must run the hazard. Unseen, convey me to Cleora's chamber; For in her sight, if it were possible, I would be apprehended: do not inquire The reason why, but help me. [_Knocking within._ _Timand._ Make haste,--one knocks. [_Exit_ MARULLO. Jove turn all to the best! _Enter_ LEOSTHENES. You are welcome, sir. _Leost._ Thou giv'st it in a heavy tone. _Timand._ Alas! sir, We have so long fed on the bread of sorrow, Drinking the bitter water of afflictions, Made loathsome too by our continued fears, Comfort 's a stranger to us. _Leost._ Fears! your sufferings:--[124] For which I am so overgone with grief, I dare not ask, without compassionate tears, The villain's name that robb'd thee of thy honour: For being train'd up in chastity's cold school, And taught by such a mistress as Cleora, 'Twere impious in me to think Timandra Fell with her own consent. _Timand._ How mean you, fell, sir? I understand you not. _Leost._ I would thou didst not, Or that I could not read upon thy face, In blushing characters, the story of Libidinous rape: confess it, for you stand not Accountable for a sin, against whose strength Your o'ermatch'd innocence could make no resistance; Under which odds, I know, Cleora fell too, Heaven's help in vain invoked; the amazed sun Hiding his face behind a mask of clouds, Nor daring to look on it! In her sufferings All sorrow's comprehended: what Timandra, Or the city, has endured, her loss consider'd, Deserves not to be named. _Timand._ Pray you, do not bring, sir, In the chimeras of your jealous fears, New monsters to affright us. _Leost._ O, Timandra, That I had faith enough but to believe thee! I should receive it with a joy beyond Assurance of Elysian shades hereafter, Or all the blessings, in this life, a mother Could wish her children crown'd with--but I must not Credit impossibilities; yet I strive To find out that whose knowledge is a curse, And ignorance a blessing. Come, discover What kind of look he had that forced thy lady, (Thy ravisher I will inquire at leisure), That when, hereafter, I behold a stranger But near him in aspect, I may conclude, Though men and angels should proclaim him honest, He is a hell bred villain. _Timand._ You are unworthy To know she is preserved, preserved untainted: Sorrow, but ill bestow'd, hath only made A rape upon her comforts in your absence. Come forth, dear madam. [_Leads in_ CLEORA. _Leost._ Ha! [_Kneels._ _Timand._ Nay, she deserves The bending of your heart; that, to content you, Has kept a vow, the breach of which a Vestal, Though the infringing it had call'd upon her A living funeral,[125] must of force have shrunk at. No danger could compel her to dispense with Her cruel penance, though hot lust came arm'd To seize upon her; when one look or accent Might have redeem'd her. _Leost._ Might! O do not show me A beam of comfort, and straight take it from me. The means by which she was freed? speak, O speak quickly; Each minute of delay 's an age of torment; O speak, Timandra. _Timand._ Free her from her oath; Herself can best deliver it. _Leost._ O blest office! [_Unbinds her eyes._ Never did galley-slave shake off his chains, Or look'd on his redemption from the oar, With such true feeling of delight, as now I find myself possessed of.--Now I behold True light indeed; for, since these fairest stars, Cover'd with clouds of your determinate will, Denied their influence to my optic sense, The splendour of the sun appear'd to me But as some little glimpse of his bright beams Convey'd into a dungeon, to remember[126] The dark inhabitants there, how much they wanted. Open these long-shut lips, and strike mine ears With music more harmonious than the spheres Yield in their heavenly motions: and if ever A true submission for a crime acknowledged May find a gracious hearing, teach your tongue, In the first sweet articulate sounds it utters, To sign my wish'd-for pardon. _Cleo._ I forgive you. _Leost._ How greedily I receive this! Stay, best lady, And let me by degrees ascend the height Of human happiness! all at once deliver'd, The torrent of my joys will overwhelm me:-- So! now a little more; and pray excuse me, If, like a wanton epicure, I desire The pleasant taste these cates of comfort yield me, Should not too soon be swallow'd. Have you not, By your unspotted truth I do conjure you To answer truly, suffer'd in your honour, By force, I mean, for in your will I free you, Since I left Syracusa? _Cleo._ I restore This kiss, so help me goodness! which I borrow'd, When I last saw you. _Leost._ Miracle of virtue! One pause more, I beseech you: I am like A man whose vital spirits consumed and wasted With a long and tedious fever, unto whom Too much of a strong cordial, at once taken, Brings death, and not restores him. Yet I cannot Fix here; but must inquire the man to whom I stand indebted for a benefit, Which to requite at full, though in this hand I grasp all sceptres the world's empire bows to, Would leave me a poor bankrupt. Name him, lady; If of a mean estate, I'll gladly part with My utmost fortunes to him; but if noble, In thankful duty study how to serve him; Or if of higher rank, erect him altars, And as a god adore him. _Cleo._ If that goodness, And noble temperance, the queen of virtues, Bridling rebellious passions, to whose sway, Such as have conquer'd nations have lived slaves, Did ever wing great minds to fly to heaven, He, that preserved mine honour, may hope boldly To fill a seat among the gods, and shake off Our frail corruption. _Leost._ Forward. _Cleo._ Or if ever The Powers above did mask in human shapes, To teach mortality, not by cold precepts Forgot as soon as told, but by examples, To imitate their pureness, and draw near To their celestial natures, I believe He's more than man. _Leost._ You do describe a wonder. _Cleo._ Which will increase, when you shall understand He was a lover. _Leost._ Not yours, lady? _Cleo._ Yes; Loved me, Leosthenes; nay, more, so doted, (If e'er affections scorning gross desires May without wrong be styled so,) that he durst not, With an immodest syllable or look, In fear it might take from me, whom he made The object of his better part, discover I was the saint he sued to. _Leost._ A rare temper! _Cleo._ I cannot speak it to the worth: all praise I can bestow upon it will appear Envious detraction. Not to rack you further, Yet make the miracle full, though, of all men, He hated you, Leosthenes, as his rival, So high yet he prized my content, that, knowing You were a man I favour'd, he disdain'd not, Against himself, to serve you. _Leost._ You conceal still The owner of these excellencies. _Cleo._ 'Tis Marullo, My father's bondman. _Leost._ Ha, ha, ha! _Cleo._ Why do you laugh? _Leost._ To hear the labouring mountain of your praise Deliver'd of a mouse. _Cleo._ The man deserves not This scorn, I can assure you. _Leost._ Do you call What was his duty, merit? _Cleo._ Yes, and place it As high in my esteem, as all the honours Descended from your ancestors, or the glory, Which you may call your own, got in this action, In which, I must confess, you have done nobly; And I could add, as I desired, but that I fear 't would make you proud. _Leost._ Why, lady, can you Be won to give allowance, that your slave Should dare to love you? _Cleo._ The immortal gods Accept the meanest altars, that are raised By pure devotions; and sometimes prefer An ounce of frankincense, honey, or milk, Before whole hecatombs, or Sabæan gums, Offer'd in ostentation.--Are you sick Of your old disease? I'll fit you. [_Aside._ _Leost._ You seem moved. _Cleo._ Zealous, I grant, in the defence of virtue. Why, good Leosthenes, though I endured A penance for your sake, above example; I have not so far sold myself, I take it, To be at your devotion, but I may Cherish desert in others, where I find it. How would you tyrannize, if you stood possess'd of That which is only yours in expectation, That now prescribe such hard conditions to me? _Leost._ One kiss, and I am silenced. _Cleo._ I vouchsafe it; Yet, I must tell you 'tis a favour that Marullo, when I was his, not mine own, Durst not presume to ask: no; when the city Bow'd humbly to licentious violence, And when I was, of men and gods forsaken, Deliver'd to his power, he did not press me To grace him with one look or syllable, Or urged the dispensation of an oath Made for your satisfaction:--the poor wretch, Having related only his own sufferings, And kiss'd my hand, which I could not deny him, Defending me from others, never since Solicited my favours. _Leost._ Pray you, end: The story does not please me. _Cleo._ Well, take heed Of doubts and fears;--for know, Leosthenes, A greater injury cannot be offer'd To innocent chastity, than unjust suspicion. I love Marullo's fair mind, not his person; Let that secure you. And I here command you, If I have any power in you, to stand Between him and all punishment, and oppose His temperance to his folly: if you fail---- No more; I will not threaten. [_Exit._ _Leost._ What a bridge Of glass I walk upon, over a river Of certain ruin, mine own weighty fears Cracking what should support me! and those helps, Which confidence lends to others, are from me Ravish'd by doubts, and wilful jealousy. [_Exit._ FOOTNOTES: [124] Leost. _Fears! your sufferings_:--] The character of Leosthenes is every where preserved with great nicety. His jealous disposition breaks out in this scene with peculiar beauty.--GIFFORD. [125] _Though the infringing it had call'd upon her A living funeral_, &c.] The poet alludes to the manner in which the Vestals, who had broken their vow of chastity, were punished. They had literally a _living funeral_, being plunged alive into a subterraneous cavern, of which the opening was immediately closed upon them, and walled up. The confusion of countries and customs may possibly strike the critical reader; but of this, as I have already observed, our old dramatists were either not aware or not solicitous.--GIFFORD. [126] _To remember_,] i. e. _to remind_, in which sense it frequently occurs in our old writers. SCENE IV. _Another Room in the same._ _Enter_ TIMAGORAS, CLEON, ASOTUS, CORISCA, _and_ OLYMPIA. _Cleon._ But are you sure we are safe? _Timag._ You need not fear; They are all under guard, their fangs pared off: The wounds their insolence gave you, to be cured With the balm of your revenge. _Asot._ And shall I be The thing I was born, my lord? _Timag._ The same wise thing. 'Slight, what a beast they have made thee! Afric never Produced the like. _Asot._ I think so:--nor the land Where apes and monkeys grow, like crabs and walnuts, On the same tree. Not all the catalogue Of conjurers or wise women bound together Could have so soon transform'd me, as my rascal Did with his whip; for not in outside only, But in my own belief, I thought myself As perfect a baboon---- _Timag._ An ass thou wert ever. _Asot._ And would have given one leg, with all my heart, For good security to have been a man After three lives, or one and twenty years, Though I had died on crutches. _Cleon._ Never varlets So triumph'd o'er an old fat man: I was famish'd. _Timag._ Indeed you are fallen away. _Asot._ Three years of feeding On cullises and jelly, though his cooks Lard all he eats with marrow, or his doctors Pour in his mouth restoratives as he sleeps, Will not recover him. _Timag._ But your ladyship looks Sad on the matter, as if you had miss'd Your ten-crown amber possets, good to smooth The cutis, as you call it. _Coris._ Pray you, forbear; I am an alter'd woman. _Timag._ So it seems; A part of your honour's ruff stands out of rank too. _Coris._ No matter, I have other thoughts. _Timag._ O strange! Not ten days since it would have vex'd you more Than the loss of your good name. _Enter_ LEOSTHENES _and_ DIPHILUS _with a Guard_. How now, friend! Looks our Cleora lovely? _Leost._ In my thoughts, sir. _Timag._ But why this guard? _Diph._ It is Timoleon's pleasure: The slaves have been examined, and confess Their riot took beginning from your house; And the first mover of them to rebellion Your slave Marullo. [_Exeunt_ DIPH. _and Guard_. _Leost._ Ha! I more than fear. _Timag._ They may search boldly. _Enter_ TIMANDRA, _speaking to the Guard within_. _Timand._ You are unmanner'd grooms. To pry into my lady's private lodgings: There's no Marullos there. _Re-enter_ DIPHILUS, _and Guard, with_ MARULLO. _Timag._ Now I suspect too. Where found you him? _Diph._ Close hid in your sister's chamber. _Timag._ Is that the villain's sanctuary? _Leost._ This confirms All she deliver'd, false. _Timag._ But that I scorn To rust my good sword in thy slavish blood, Thou now wert dead. _Mar._ He's more a slave than fortune Or misery can make me, that insults Upon unweapon'd innocence. _Timag._ Prate you, dog? _Mar._ Curs snap at lions in the toil, whose looks Frighted them, being free. _Timag._ As a wild beast, Drive him before you. _Mar._ O divine Cleora! _Leost._ Darest thou presume to name her? _Mar._ Yes, and love her; And may say, have deserved her. _Timag._ Stop his mouth, Load him with irons too. [_Exit Guard with_ MARULLO. _Cleon._ I am deadly sick To look on him. _Asot._ If he get loose, I know it, I caper like an ape again: I feel The whip already. _Timand._ This goes to my lady. [_Exit._ _Timag._ Come, cheer you, sir; we'll urge his punishment To the full satisfaction of your anger. _Leost._ He is not worth my thoughts. No corner left In all the spacious rooms of my vex'd heart, But is fill'd with Cleora: and the rape She has done upon her honour, with my wrong, The heavy burden of my sorrow's song. [_Exeunt._ ACT V. SCENE I. _The same. A Room in_ ARCHIDAMUS'_s House_. _Enter_ ARCHIDAMUS _and_ CLEORA. _Archid._ Thou art thine own disposer. Were his honours And glories centupled, as I must confess, Leosthenes is most worthy, yet I will not, However I may counsel, force affection. _Cleo._ It needs not, sir; I prize him to his worth, Nay, love him truly; yet would not live slaved To his jealous humours: since, by the hopes of heaven, As I am free from violence, in a thought I am not guilty. _Archid._ 'Tis believed, Cleora; And much the rather, our great gods be praised for 't! In that I find, beyond my hopes, no sign Of riot in my house, but all things order'd, As if I had been present. _Cleo._ May that move you To pity poor Marullo! _Archid._ 'Tis my purpose To do him all the good I can, Cleora; But this offence, being against the state, Must have a public trial. In the mean time, Be careful of yourself, and stand engaged No further to Leosthenes, than you may Come off with honour; for, being once his wife, You are no more your own, nor mine, but must Resolve to serve, and suffer his commands, And not dispute them:--ere it be too late, Consider it duly. I must to the senate. [_Exit._ _Cleo._ I am much distracted: in Leosthenes I can find nothing justly to accuse, But his excess of love, which I have studied To cure with more than common means; yet still It grows upon him. And, if I may call My sufferings merit, I stand bound to think on Marullo's dangers--though I save his life, His love is unrewarded:--I confess, Both have deserved me; yet, of force, must be Unjust to one; such is my destiny.-- _Enter_ TIMANDRA. How now! whence flow these tears? _Timand._ I have met, madam, An object of such cruelty, as would force A savage to compassion. _Cleo._ Speak, what is it? _Timand._ Men pity beasts of rapine, if o'ermatch'd, Though baited for their pleasure: but these monsters Upon a man that can make no resistance, Are senseless in their tyranny. Let it be granted Marullo is a slave, he's still a man; A capital offender, yet in justice Not to be tortured, till the judge pronounce His punishment. _Cleo._ Where is he? _Timand._ Dragg'd to prison With more than barbarous violence; spurn'd and spit on By the insulting officers, his hands Pinion'd behind his back; loaden with fetters: Yet, with a saint-like patience, he still offers His face to their rude buffets. _Cleo._ O my grieved soul!-- By whose command? _Timand._ It seems, my lord your brother's, For he's a looker-on: and it takes from Honour'd Leosthenes to suffer it, For his respect to you, whose name in vain The grieved wretch loudly calls on. _Cleo._ By Diana, 'Tis base in both; and to their teeth I'll tell them That I am wrong'd in 't. [_Going forth._ _Timand._ What will you do? _Cleo._ In person Visit and comfort him. _Timand._ That will bring fuel To the jealous fires which burn too hot already In lord Leosthenes. _Cleo._ Let them consume him! I am mistress of myself. Where cruelty reigns, There dwells nor love nor honour. [_Exit._ _Timand._ So! it works. Though hitherto I have run a desperate course To serve my brother's purposes, now 'tis fit _Enter_ LEOSTHENES _and_ TIMAGORAS. I study mine own ends. They come:--assist me In these my undertakings, Love's great patron, As my intents are honest! _Leost._ 'Tis my fault[127]: Distrust of other springs, Timagoras, From diffidence in ourselves: but I will strive, With the assurance of my worth and merits, To kill this monster, jealousy. _Timag._ 'Tis a guest, In wisdom, never to be entertain'd On trivial probabilities; but, when He does appear in pregnant proofs, not fashion'd By idle doubts and fears to be received: They make their own wrongs that are too secure, As well as such as give them growth and being From mere imagination. Though I prize Cleora's honour equal with mine own, And know what large additions of power This match brings to our family, I prefer Our friendship, and your peace of mind, so far Above my own respects, or hers, that if She hold not her true value in the test, 'Tis far from my ambition, for her cure, That you should wound yourself. _Timand._ This argues for me. [_Aside._ _Timag._ Why she should be so passionate for a bondman, Falls not in compass of my understanding, But for some nearer interest; or he raise This mutiny, if he loved her, as, you say, She does confess he did, but to possess The prize he ventured for, to me's a riddle. _Leost._ I have answer'd that objection, in my strong Assurance of her virtue. _Timag._ 'Tis unfit, then, That I should press it further. _Timand._ Now I must Make in, or all is lost. [_Rushes forward distractedly._ _Timag._ What would Timandra? _Leost._ How wild she looks! How is it with thy lady? _Timag._ Collect thyself, and speak. _Timand._ As you are noble, Have pity, or love piety.--Oh! _Leost._ Take breath. _Timag._ Out with it boldly. _Timand._ O, the best of ladies, I fear, is gone for ever. _Leost._ Who, Cleora? _Timag._ Deliver, how? 'Sdeath, be a man, sir!--Speak. _Timand._ Take it then in as many sighs as words, My lady---- _Timag._ What of her? _Timand._ No sooner heard Marullo was imprison'd, but she fell Into a deadly swoon. _Timag._ But she recover'd: Say so, or he will sink too. Hold, sir; fie! This is unmanly. _Timand._ Brought again to life, But with much labour, she awhile stood silent, Yet in that interim vented sighs, as if They labour'd, from the prison of her flesh, To give her grieved soul freedom. On the sudden, Transported on the wings of rage and sorrow, She flew out of the house, and, unattended, Enter'd the common prison. _Leost._ This confirms What but before I fear'd. _Timand._ There you may find her; And, if you love her as a sister---- _Timag._ Damn her! _Timand._ Or you respect her safety as a lover, Procure Marullo's liberty. _Timag._ Impudence Beyond expression! _Timand._ She'll run mad, else, Or do some violent act upon herself: My lord, her father, sensible of her sufferings, Labours to gain his freedom. _Leost._ O, the devil! Has she bewitch'd him too? _Timag._ I'll hear no more. Come, sir, we'll follow her; and if no persuasion Can make her take again her natural form, Which by some powerful spell she has cast off, This sword shall disenchant her. _Leost._ O my heart-strings! [_Exeunt_ LEOSTHENES _and_ TIMAGORAS. _Timand._ I knew 't would take. Pardon me, fair Cleora, Though I appear a traitress; which thou wilt do, In pity of my woes, when I make known My lawful claim, and only seek mine own. [_Exit._ FOOTNOTE: [127] _My fault_:] i. e. _my misfortune_. That the word anciently had this meaning could be proved by many examples; _e. g._ _Marina._ The more my _fault_, To scape his hands, where I was like to die." _Pericles_, Act IV. sc. iii. SCENE II. _A Prison._ MARULLO _discovered in chains_. _Enter_ CLEORA _and Gaoler_. _Cleo._ There's for your privacy. Stay, unbind his hands. _Gaol._ I dare not, madam. _Cleo._ I will buy thy danger: Take more gold;--do not trouble me with thanks; I do suppose it done. [_Exit Gaoler._ _Mar._ My better angel Assumes this shape to comfort me, and wisely; Since, from the choice of all celestial figures, He could not take a visible form so full Of glorious sweetness. [_Kneels._ _Cleo._ Rise. I am flesh and blood, And do partake thy tortures. _Mar._ Can it be, That charity should persuade you to descend So far from your own height, as to vouchsafe To look upon my sufferings? How I bless My fetters now, and stand engaged to fortune For my captivity--no, my freedom, rather! For who dare think that place a prison which You sanctify with your presence? or believe Sorrow has power to use her sting on him That is in your compassion arm'd, and made Impregnable, though tyranny raise at once All engines to assault him? _Cleo._ Indeed virtue, With which you have made evident proofs that you Are strongly fortified, cannot fall, though shaken With the shock of fierce temptations; but still triumphs In spite of opposition. For myself, I may endeavour to confirm your goodness, (A sure retreat, which never will deceive you,) And with unfeigned tears express my sorrow For what I cannot help. _Mar._ Do you weep for me? O, save that precious balm for nobler uses! I am unworthy of the smallest drop Which, in your prodigality of pity, You throw away on me. Ten of these pearls Were a large ransom to redeem a kingdom From a consuming plague, or stop heaven's vengeance, Call'd down by crying sins, though, at that instant, In dreadful flashes falling on the roofs Of bold blasphemers. I am justly punish'd For my intent of violence to such pureness; And all the torments flesh is sensible of, A soft and gentle penance. _Cleo._ Which is ended In this your free confession. _Enter_ LEOSTHENES, _and_ TIMAGORAS _behind_. _Leost._ What an object Have I encounter'd! _Timag._ I am blasted too: Yet hear a little further. _Mar._ Could I expire now, These white and innocent hands closing my eyes thus, 'Twere not to die, but in a heavenly dream To be transported, without the help of Charon, To the Elysian shades. You make me bold; And, but to wish such happiness, I fear, May give offence. _Cleo._ No; for believe 't, Marullo, You've won so much upon me, that I know not That happiness in my gift, but you may challenge. _Leost._ Are you yet satisfied? _Cleo._ Nor can you wish But what my vows will second, though it were Your freedom first, and then in me full power To make a second tender of myself, And you receive the present. By this kiss, From me a virgin bounty, I will practise All arts for your deliverance; and that purchased, In what concerns your further aims, I speak it, Do not despair, but hope---- [TIMAGORAS _and_ LEOSTHENES _come forward_. _Timag._ To have the hangman, When he is married to the cross, in scorn To say, _Gods give you joy_! _Leost._ But look on me, And be not too indulgent to your folly; And then, but that grief stops my speech, imagine What language I should use. _Cleo._ Against thyself: Thy malice cannot reach me. _Timag._ How? _Cleo._ No, brother, Though you join in the dialogue to accuse me: What I have done, I'll justify; and these favours, Which, you presume, will taint me in my honour, Though jealousy use all her eyes to spy out One stain in my behaviour, or envy As many tongues to wound it, shall appear My best perfections. For, to the world, I can in my defence allege such reasons, As my accusers shall stand dumb to hear them; When in his fetters this man's worth and virtues, But truly told, shall shame your boasted glories, Which fortune claims a share in. _Timag._ The base villain Shall never live to hear it. [_Draws his sword._ _Cleo._ Murder! help! Through me, you shall pass to him. _Enter_ ARCHIDAMUS, DIPHILUS, _and Officers_. _Archid._ What's the matter? On whom is your sword drawn? are you a judge? Or else ambitious of the hangman's office, Before it be design'd you?--You are bold, too; Unhand my daughter. _Leost._ She's my valour's prize. _Archid._ With her consent, not otherwise. You may urge Your title in the court; if it prove good, Possess her freely.--Guard him safely off too. _Timag._ You'll hear me, sir? _Archid._ If you have aught to say, Deliver it in public; all shall find A just judge of Timoleon. _Diph._ You must Of force now use your patience. [_Exeunt all but_ TIMAGORAS _and_ LEOSTHENES. _Timag._ Vengeance rather! Whirlwinds of rage possess me: you are wrong'd Beyond a stoic sufferance; yet you stand As you were rooted. _Leost._ I feel something here, That boldly tells me, all the love and service I pay Cleora is another's due, And therefore cannot prosper. _Timag._ Melancholy; Which now you must not yield to. _Leost._ 'Tis apparent: In fact your sister's innocent, however Changed by her violent will. _Timag._ If you believe so, Follow the chase still; and in open court Plead your own interest: we shall find the judge Our friend, I fear not. _Leost._ Something I shall say, But what---- _Timag._ Collect yourself as we walk thither. [_Exeunt._ SCENE III. _The Court of Justice._ _Enter_ TIMOLEON, ARCHIDAMUS, CLEORA; _and Officers_. _Timol._ 'Tis wonderous strange! nor can it fall within The reach of my belief, a slave should be The owner of a temperance which this age Can hardly parallel in freeborn lords, Or kings proud of their purple. _Archid._ 'Tis most true; And, though at first it did appear a fable, All circumstances meet to give it credit; Which works so on me, that I am compell'd To be a suitor, not to be denied, He may have equal hearing. _Cleo._ Sir, you graced me With the title of your mistress[128]; but my fortune Is so far distant from command, that I Lay by the power you gave me, and plead humbly For the preserver of my fame and honour. And pray you, sir, in charity believe, That, since I had ability of speech, My tongue has been so much inured to truth, I know not how to lie. _Timol._ I'll rather doubt The oracles of the gods, than question what Your innocence delivers; and, as far As justice and mine honour can give way, He shall have favour. Bring him in unbound: [_Exeunt Officers._ And though Leosthenes may challenge from me, For his late worthy service, credit to All things he can allege in his own cause, Marullo, so, I think, you call his name, Shall find I do reserve one ear for him, _Enter_ CLEON, ASOTUS, DIPHILUS, OLYMPIA, _and_ CORISCA. To let in mercy. Sit, and take your places; The right of this fair virgin first determined, Your bondmen shall be censured[129]. _Cleon._ With all rigour. We do expect. _Coris._ Temper'd, I say, with mercy. _Enter at one door_ LEOSTHENES _and_ TIMAGORAS; _at the other, Officers with_ MARULLO, _and_ TIMANDRA. _Timol._ Your hand, Leosthenes: I cannot doubt, You, that have been victorious in the war, Should, in a combat fought with words, come off But with assured triumph. _Leost._ My deserts, sir, If, without arrogance, I may style them such, Arm me from doubt and fear. _Timol._ 'Tis nobly spoken. Nor be thou daunted (howsoe'er thy fortune Has mark'd thee out a slave) to speak thy merits: For virtue, though in rags, may challenge more Than vice, set off with all the trim of greatness. _Mar._ I had rather fall under so just a judge, Than be acquitted by a man corrupt, And partial, in his censure. _Archid._ Note his language; It relishes of better breeding than His present state dares promise. _Timol._ I observe it. Place the fair lady in the midst, that both, Looking with covetous eyes upon the prize They are to plead for, may, from the fair object, Teach Hermes eloquence. _Leost._ Am I fallen so low? My birth, my honour, and, what 's dearest to me, My love, and, witness of my love, my service, So undervalued, that I must contend With one, where my excess of glory must Make his o'erthrow a conquest? Shall my fulness Supply defects in such a thing, that never Knew any thing but want and emptiness, Give him a name, and keep it such, from this Unequal competition? If my pride, Or any bold assurance of my worth, Has pluck'd this mountain of disgrace upon me, I am justly punish'd, and submit; but if I have been modest, and esteem'd myself More injured in the tribute of the praise, Which no desert of mine, prized by self-love, Ever exacted, may this cause and minute For ever be forgotten! I dwell long Upon mine anger, and now turn to you, Ungrateful fair one; and, since you are such, 'Tis lawful for me to proclaim myself, And what I have deserved. _Cleo._ Neglect and scorn From me, for this proud vaunt. _Leost._ You nourish, lady, Your own dishonour in this harsh reply, And almost prove what some hold of your sex, You are all made up of passion: for, if reason Or judgment could find entertainment with you, Or that you would distinguish of the objects You look on, in a true glass, not seduced By the false light of your too violent will, I should not need to plead for that which you, With joy, should offer. Is my high birth a blemish? Or does my wealth, which all the vain expense Of women cannot waste, breed loathing in you? The honours I can call mine own, thought scandals? Am I deform'd, or, for my father's sins, Mulcted by nature? If you interpret these As crimes, 'tis fit I should yield up myself Most miserably guilty. But, perhaps, (Which yet I would not credit,) you have seen This gallant pitch the bar, or bear a burden Would crack the shoulders of a weaker bondman. _Cleo._ You are foul-mouth'd. _Archid._ Ill-manner'd too. _Leost._ I speak In the way of supposition, and entreat you, With all the fervour of a constant lover, That you would free yourself from these aspersions, Or any imputation black-tongued slander Could throw on your unspotted virgin whiteness: To which there is no easier way, than by Vouchsafing him your favour; him, to whom, Next to the general, and the gods and fautors[130], The country owes her safety. _Timag._ Are you stupid? 'Slight! leap into his arms, and there ask pardon.-- Oh! you expect your slave's reply; no doubt We shall have a fine oration: I will teach My spaniel to howl in sweeter language, And keep a better method. _Archid._ You forget The dignity of the place. _Diph._ Silence! _Timol._ [_to Marullo._] Speak boldly. _Mar._ 'Tis your authority gives me a tongue; I should be dumb else; and I am secure, I cannot clothe my thoughts, and just defence, In such an abject phrase, but 'twill appear Equal, if not above my low condition. I need no bombast language, stolen from such As make nobility from prodigious terms The hearers understand not; I bring with me No wealth to boast of, neither can I number Uncertain fortune's favours with my merits; I dare not force affection, or presume To censure her discretion, that looks on me As a weak man, and not her fancy's idol. How I have loved, and how much I have suffer'd, And with what pleasure undergone the burden Of my ambitious hopes, (in aiming at The glad possession of a happiness, The abstract of all goodness in mankind Can at no part deserve), with my confession Of mine own wants, is all that can plead for me. But if that pure desires, not blended with Foul thoughts, that, like a river, keeps his course, Retaining still the clearness of the spring From whence it took beginning, may be thought Worthy acceptance; then I dare rise up, And tell this gay man to his teeth, I never Durst doubt her constancy, that, like a rock, Beats off temptations, as that mocks the fury Of the proud waves; nor, from my jealous fears, Question that goodness to which, as an altar Of all perfection, he that truly loved Should rather bring a sacrifice of service, Than raze it with the engines of suspicion: Of which, when he can wash an Æthiop white, Leosthenes may hope to free himself; But, till then, never. _Timag._ Bold, presumptuous villain! _Mar._ I will go further, and make good upon him, I' the pride of all his honours, birth, and fortunes, He's more unworthy than myself. _Leost._ Thou liest. _Timag._ Confute him with a whip, and, the doubt decided, Punish him with a halter. _Mar._ O the gods! My ribs, though made of brass, cannot contain My heart, swollen big with rage. The lie!--a whip!-- Let fury then disperse these clouds, in which I long have march'd disguised; [_Throws off his disguise._] that, when they know Whom they have injured, they may faint with horror Of my revenge, which, wretched men! expect, As sure as fate, to suffer. _Leost._ Ha! Pisander! _Timag._ 'Tis the bold Theban! _Asot._ There's no hope for me then: I thought I should have put in for a share, And borne Cleora from them both; but now, This stranger looks so terrible, that I dare not So much as look on her. _Pisan._ Now as myself, Thy equal at thy best, Leosthenes. For you, Timagoras, praise heaven you were born Cleora's brother; 'tis your safest armour. But I lose time.--The base lie cast upon me, I thus return: Thou art a perjured man, False, and perfidious, and hast made a tender Of love and service to this lady, when Thy soul, if thou hast any, can bear witness, That thou wert not thine own: for proof of this, Look better on this virgin, and consider, This Persian shape laid by[131], and she appearing In a Greekish dress, such as when first you saw her, If she resemble not Pisander's sister, One call'd Statilia? _Leost._ 'Tis the same! My guilt So chokes my spirits, I cannot deny My falsehood, nor excuse it. _Pisan._ This is she, To whom thou wert contracted: this the lady, That, when thou wert my prisoner, fairly taken In the Spartan war, then, begg'd thy liberty, And with it gave herself to thee, ungrateful! _Statil._ No more, sir, I entreat you: I perceive True sorrow in his looks, and a consent To make me reparation in mine honour; And then I am most happy. _Pisan._ The wrong done her Drew me from Thebes, with a full intent to kill thee: But this fair object met me in my fury, And quite disarm'd me. Being denied to have her, By you, my lord Archidamus, and not able To live far from her; love, the mistress of All quaint devices, prompted me to treat With a friend of mine, who, as a pirate, sold me For a slave to you, my lord, and gave my sister, As a present, to Cleora. _Timol._ Strange meanders! _Pisan._ There how I bare myself, needs no relation: But, if so far descending from the height Of my then flourishing fortunes, to the lowest Condition of a man, to have means only To feed my eye with the sight of what I honour'd; The dangers too I underwent, the sufferings; The clearness of my interest, may deserve A noble recompense in your lawful favour; Now 'tis apparent that Leosthenes Can claim no interest in you, you may please To think upon my service. _Cleo._ Sir, my want Of power to satisfy so great a debt Makes me accuse my fortune; but if that, Out of the bounty of your mind, you think A free surrender of myself full payment, I gladly tender it. _Archid._ With my consent too, All injuries forgotten. _Timag._ I will study, In my future service, to deserve your favour, And good opinion. _Leost._ Thus I gladly fee This advocate to plead for me. [_Kissing Statilia._ _Pisan._ You will find me An easy judge. When I have yielded reasons Of your bondmen's falling off from their obedience, Then after, as you please, determine of me. I found their natures apt to mutiny From your too cruel usage, and made trial How far they might be wrought on; to instruct you To look with more prevention and care To what they may hereafter undertake Upon the like occasions. The hurt 's little They have committed; nor was ever cure, But with some pain, effected. I confess, In hope to force a grant of fair Cleora, I urged them to defend the town against you; Nor had the terror of your whips, but that I was preparing for defence elsewhere, So soon got entrance: In this I am guilty; Now, as you please, your censure. _Timol._ Bring them in; And, though you've given me power, I do entreat Such as have undergone their insolence, It may not be offensive, though I study Pity, more than revenge. _Coris._ 'Twill best become you. _Cleon._ I must consent. _Asot._ For me, I'll find a time To be revenged hereafter. _Timol._ And now, the war being ended to our wishes, And such as went the pilgrimage of love, Happy in full fruition of their hopes, 'Tis lawful, thanks paid to the Powers divine, To drown our cares in honest mirth and wine. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [128] Cleo. _Sir, you graced me With the title of your mistress._] This alludes to the request in the first act, that he might be permitted _to wear her colours_. In those days of gallantry, I mean those of Massinger, not of Timoleon, to wear a lady's colours, that is, a scarf, or a riband, taken from her person, was to become her authorized champion and servant.--GIFFORD. [129] _Censured_,] i. e. _judged_. It may be observed, that our ancestors used _censure_ precisely as we now do judgment: sometimes for a quality of the mind, and sometimes for a judicial determination.--GIFFORD. [130] _The gods and fautors_,] in the language of the author means the _favouring gods_. [131] _This Persian shape laid by_,] i. e. the _dress_ of a Persian slave, which Statilia had assumed, with the name of Timandra. _Shape_ is a term borrowed from the tiring-room of the theatres. In the list of dramatis personæ prefixed to _The Virgin Martyr_, Harpax is said to be, "an evil spirit following Theophilus in the _shape_ (habit) of a secretary."--GIFFORD. THE MAID OF HONOUR. THE MAID OF HONOUR.] This tragi-comedy, which was first printed in 1632, was, as the old title-page informs us, very frequently acted "at the Phoenix in Drury-lane, by the Queen's Majesty's servants." It was a great favourite, and with justice, for it has a thousand claims to admiration, and is of the higher order of Massinger's plays. It will not, indeed, be very easy to find in any writer a subject more animated, or characters more variously and pointedly drawn. There is no delay in introducing the business of the drama; and nothing is allowed to interfere with its progress. Indeed this is by far too rapid; and event is precipitated upon event without regard to time or place. But Massinger acts with a liberty which it would be absurd to criticise. Thebes and Athens, Palermo and Sienna, are alike to him; and he must be allowed to transport his agents and their concerns from one to another, as often as the exigencies of his ambulatory plan may require. It is observable, that in this play Massinger has attempted the more difficult part of dramatic writing. He is not content with describing different qualities in his characters; but lays before the reader several differences of the same qualities. The courage of Gonzaga, though by no means inferior to it, is not that of Bertoldo. In the former, it is a fixed and habitual principle, the honourable business of his life. In the latter, it is an irresistible impulse, the instantaneous result of a fiery temper. There is still another remove; and these branches of real courage differ from the poor and forced approaches to valour in Gasparo and Antonio. A broader distinction is used with his two courtiers; and the cold interest of Astutio is fully contrasted with the dazzling and imprudent assumption of Fulgentio. But Camiola herself is the great object that reigns throughout the piece. Every where she animates us with her spirit, and instructs us with her sense. Yet this superiority takes nothing from her softer feelings. Her tears flow with a mingled fondness and regret; and she is swayed by a passion which is only quelled by her greater resolution. The influence of her character is also heightened through the different manner of her lovers; through the mad impatience of the uncontrolled Bertoldo, the glittering pretensions of Fulgentio, and the humble and sincere attachment of Adorni, who nourishes secret desires of a happiness too exalted for him, faithfully performs commands prejudicial to his own views, through the force of an affection which ensures his obedience, and, amidst so much service, scarcely presumes to hint the passion which consumes him. I know not if even signior Sylli is wholly useless here; he serves at least to show her good-humoured toleration of a being hardly important enough for her contempt. In the midst of this just praise of Camiola, there are a few things to be regretted. Reason and religion had forbidden her union with Bertoldo; and she had declared herself unalterable in her purpose. His captivity reverses her judgment, and she determines not only to liberate, but to marry him. Unfortunately too she demands a sealed contract as the condition of his freedom; though Bertoldo's ardour was already known to her, and the generosity of her nature ought to have abstained from so degrading a bargain. But Massinger wanted to hinder the marriage of Aurelia; and, with an infelicity which attends many of his contrivances, he provided a prior contract at the expense of the delicacy, as well as the principles of his heroine. It is well, that the nobleness of the conclusion throws the veil over these blemishes. Her determination is at once natural and unexpected. It answers to the original independence of her character, and she retires with our highest admiration and esteem. It may be observed here, that Massinger was not unknown to Milton. The date of some of Milton's early poems, indeed, is not exactly ascertained; but if the reader will compare the speech of Paulo, with _the Penseroso_, he cannot fail to remark a similarity in the cadences, as well as in the measure and the solemnity of the thoughts. On many other occasions he certainly remembers Massinger, and frequently in his representations of female purity, and the commanding dignity of virtue. A noble lesson arises from the conduct of the principal character. A fixed sense of truth and rectitude gives genuine superiority; it corrects the proud, and abashes the vain, and marks the proper limits between humility and presumption. It also governs itself with the same ascendancy which it establishes over others. When the lawful objects of life cannot be possessed with clearness of honour, it provides a nobler pleasure in rising above their attraction, and creates a new happiness by controlling even innocent desires. TO MY MOST HONOURED FRIENDS, SIR FRANCIS FOLJAMBE, KNT. AND BART. AND SIR THOMAS BLAND, KNT. That you have been, and continued so for many years, since you vouchsafed to own me, patrons to me and my despised studies, I cannot but with all humble thankfulness acknowledge: and living, as you have done, inseparable in your friendship, (notwithstanding all differences, and suits in law arising between you[132],) I held it as impertinent as absurd, in the presentment of my service in this kind, to divide you. A free confession of a debt, in a meaner man, is the amplest satisfaction to his superiors; and I heartily wish that the world may take notice, and from myself, that I had not to this time subsisted, but that I was supported by your frequent courtesies and favours. When your more serious occasions will give you leave, you may please to peruse this trifle, and peradventure find something in it that may appear worthy of your protection. Receive it, I beseech you, as a testimony of his duty who, while he lives, resolves to be truly and sincerely devoted to your service, PHILIP MASSINGER. FOOTNOTE: [132] _Notwithstanding all differences, and suits in late arising between you._] The _suits in law_ subsisting between these fast friends of Massinger--Sir Francis Foljambe, of Walton, in the county of Derby, and Sir Thomas Bland, of Kippax Park, in the county of York--originated in a question as to the right of working some coal-mines.--GILCHRIST. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. ROBERTO, _king of Sicily_. FERDINAND, _duke of Urbin_. BERTOLDO, _the king's natural brother, a knight of Malta_. GONZAGA, _a knight of Malta, general to the duchess of Sienna_. ASTUTIO, _a counsellor of state_. FULGENTIO, _the minion of_ ROBERTO. ADORNI, _a follower of_ CAMIOLA'S _father_. SIGNIOR SYLLI, _a foolish self-lover_. ANTONIO, } GASPARO, } _two rich heirs, city-bred_. PIERIO, _a colonel to_ GONZAGA. RODERIGO, } JACOMO, } _captains to_ GONZAGA. DRUSO, } LIVIO, } _captains to duke_ FERDINAND. _Father_ PAULO, _a priest_, CAMIOLA'_s confessor_. _Ambassador from the duke of Urbin._ _A Bishop._ _A Page._ AURELIA, _duchess of Sienna_. CAMIOLA, _the Maid of Honour_. CLARINDA, _her woman_. _Scout, Soldiers, Gaoler, Attendants, Servants, &c._ SCENE, partly in Sicily, and partly in the Siennese. THE MAID OF HONOUR. ACT I. SCENE I. _Palermo. A State-room in the Palace._ _Enter_ ASTUTIO _and_ ADORNI. _Ador._ Good day to your lordship. _Ast._ Thanks, Adorni. _Ador._ May I presume to ask if the ambassador Employ'd by Ferdinand, the duke of Urbin, Hath audience this morning? _Enter_ FULGENTIO. _Ast._ 'Tis uncertain; For, though a counsellor of state, I am not Of the cabinet council: but there's one, if he please, That may resolve you. _Ador._ I will move him.--Sir! _Ful._ If you've a suit, show water[133], I am blind else. _Ador._ A suit; yet of a nature not to prove The quarry[134] that you hawk for: if your words Are not like Indian wares, and every scruple To be weigh'd and rated, one poor syllable, Vouchsafed in answer of a fair demand, Cannot deserve a fee. _Ful._ It seems you are ignorant, I neither speak nor hold my peace for nothing; And yet, for once, I care not if I answer One single question, gratis. _Ador._ I much thank you. Hath the ambassador audience, sir, to-day? _Ful._ Yes. _Ador._ At what hour? _Ful._ I promised not so much. A syllable you begg'd, my charity gave it; Move me no further. [_Exit._ _Ast._ This you wonder at: With me, 'tis usual. _Ador._ Pray you, sir, what is he? _Ast._ No gentleman, yet a lord. He hath some drops Of the king's blood running in his veins, derived Some ten degrees off. His revenue lies In a narrow compass, the king's ear; and yields him Every hour a fruitful harvest. Men may talk Of three crops in a year in the Fortunate Islands, Or profit made by wool; but, while there are suitors, His sheepshearing, nay, shaving to the quick, Is in every quarter of the moon, and constant. In the time of trussing a point,[135] he can undo, Or make a man: his play or recreation, Is to raise this up, or pull down that; and, though He never yet took orders, makes more bishops In Sicily, than the pope himself. _Enter_ BERTOLDO, GASPARO, ANTONIO, _and a Servant_. _Ador._ Most strange! _Ast._ The presence fills. He in the Malta habit[136] Is the king's natural brother. _Ador._ I understand you. _Bert._ With this jewel Presented to Camiola, prepare, This night, a visit for me. [_Exit Servant._] I shall have Your company, gallants, I perceive, if that The king will hear of war. _Ant._ You are, sir, A knight of Malta, and, as I have heard, Have served against the Turk. _Bert._ 'Tis true. _Ant._ Pray you, show us The difference between the city valour, And service in the field. _Bert._ 'Tis somewhat more Than roaring in a tavern or a brothel, Or to steal a constable[137] from a sleeping watch, Then burn their halberds; or, safe guarded by Your tenant's sons, to carry away a May-pole From a neighbour village. You will not find there Your masters of dependencies[138] to take up A drunken brawl, or, to get you the names Of valiant chevaliers, fellows that will be, For a cloak with thrice-dyed velvet, and a cast suit, Kick'd down the stairs. A knave with a provant sword[139], If you bear not yourself both in and upright, Will slash your scarlets and your plush a new way; Or, with the hilts, thunder about your ears Such music as will make your worships dance To the doleful tune of _Lachrymæ_[140]. _Gasp._ I must tell you In private, as you are my princely friend, I do not like such fiddlers. _Bert._ No! they are useful For your imitation; I remember you, When you came first to the court, and talk'd of nothing But your rents and your entradas[141], ever chiming The golden bells in your pockets; you believed The taking of the wall as a tribute due to Your gaudy clothes; and could not walk at midnight Without a causeless quarrel, as if men Of coarser outsides were in duty bound To suffer your affronts: but, when you had been Cudgell'd well twice or thrice, and from the doctrine Made profitable uses, you concluded, The sovereign means to teach irregular heirs Civility, with conformity of manners, Were two or three sound beatings. _Ant._ I confess They did much good upon me. _Gasp._ And on me: The principles that they read were sound. _Bert._ You'll find The like instructions in the camp. _Ast._ The king! _A flourish. Enter_ ROBERTO, FULGENTIO, _Ambassador, and Attendants_. _Rob._ [_ascends the throne._] We sit prepared to hear. _Amb._ Your majesty Hath been long since familiar, I doubt not, With the desperate fortunes of my lord; and pity Of the much that your confederate hath suffer'd, You being his last refuge, may persuade you Not alone to compassionate, but to lend Your royal aids to stay him in his fall To certain ruin. He, too late, is conscious That his ambition to encroach upon His neighbour's territories, with the danger of His liberty, nay, his life, hath brought in question His own inheritance: but youth, and heat Of blood, in your interpretation, may Both plead and mediate for him. I must grant it An error in him, being denied the favours Of the fair princess of Sienna, (though He sought her in a noble way,) to endeavour To force affection by surprisal of Her principal seat, Sienna. _Rob._ Which now proves The seat of his captivity, not triumph: Heaven is still just. _Amb._ And yet that justice is To be with mercy temper'd, which heaven's deputies Stand bound to minister. The injured duchess, By reason taught, as nature, could not, with The reparation of her wrongs, but aim at A brave revenge; and my lord feels, too late, That innocence will find friends. The great Gonzaga, The honour of his order, (I must praise Virtue, though in an enemy,) he whose fights And conquests hold one number, rallying up Her scatter'd troops, before we could get time To victual or to man the conquer'd city, Sat down before it; and presuming that 'Tis not to be relieved, admits no parley, Our flags of truce hung out in vain: nor will he Lend an ear to composition, but exacts, With the rendering up the town, the goods and lives Of all within the walls, and of all sexes, To be at his discretion. _Rob._ Since injustice In your duke meets this correction, can you press us, With any seeming argument of reason, In foolish pity to decline[142] his dangers, To draw them on ourself? Shall we not be Warn'd by his harms? The league proclaim'd between us Bound neither of us further than to aid Each other, if by foreign force invaded; And so far in my honour I was tied. But since, without our counsel, or allowance, He hath ta'en arms; with his good leave, he must Excuse us if we steer not on a rock We see, and may avoid. Let other monarchs Contend to be made glorious by proud war, And, with the blood of their poor subjects, purchase Increase of empire, and augment their cares In keeping that which was by wrongs extorted, Gilding unjust invasions with the trim Of glorious conquests; we, that would be known The father of our people, in our study And vigilance for their safety, must not change Their ploughshares into swords, and force them from The secure shade of their own vines, to be Scorch'd with the flames of war; or, for our sport, Expose their lives to ruin. _Amb._ Will you, then, In his extremity, forsake your friend? _Rob._ No; but preserve ourself. _Bert._ Cannot the beams Of honour thaw your icy fears? _Rob._ Who's that? _Bert._ A kind of brother, sir, howe'er your subject; Your father's son, and one who blushes that You are not heir to his brave spirit and vigour, As to his kingdom. _Rob._ How's this! _Bert._ Sir, to be His living chronicle, and to speak his praise, Cannot deserve your anger. _Rob._ Where's your warrant For this presumption? _Bert._ Here, sir, in my heart: Let sycophants, that feed upon your favours, Style coldness in you caution, and prefer Your ease before your honour; and conclude, To eat and sleep supinely is the end Of human blessings: I must tell you, sir, Virtue, if not in action, is a vice; And when we move not forward, we go backward[143]: Nor is this peace, the nurse of drones and cowards, Our health, but a disease. _Gasp._ Well urged, my lord. _Ant._ Perfect what is so well begun. _Amb._ And bind My lord your servant. _Rob._ Hair-brain'd fool! what reason Canst thou infer, to make this good? _Bert._ A thousand, Not to be contradicted. But consider Where your command lies: 'tis not, sir, in France, Spain, Germany, Portugal, but in Sicily; An island, sir. Here are no mines of gold Or silver to enrich you; no worm spins Silk in her womb, to make distinction Between you and a peasant, in your habits; No fish lives near our shores, whose blood can dye Scarlet or purple; all that we possess, With beasts we have in common: nature did Design us to be warriors, and to break through Our ring, the sea, by which we are environ'd; And we by force must fetch in what is wanting, Or precious to us. Add to this, we are A populous nation, and increase so fast, That, if we by our providence are not sent Abroad in colonies, or fall by the sword, Not Sicily, though now it were more fruitful Than when 't was styled the granary of great Rome, Can yield our numerous fry bread: we must starve, Or eat up one another. _Ador._ The king hears With much attention. _Ast._ And seems moved with what Bertoldo hath deliver'd. _Bert._ May you live long, sir, The king of peace, so you deny not us The glory of the war; let not our nerves Shrink up with sloth, nor, for want of employment, Make younger brothers thieves: it is their swords, sir, Must sow and reap their harvest. If examples May move you more than arguments, look on England, The empress of the European isles, And unto whom alone ours yields precedence: When did she flourish so, as when she was The mistress of the ocean, her navies Putting a girdle round about the world? When the Iberian quaked, her worthies named; And the fair flower-de-luce grew pale, set by The red rose and the white? Let not our armour Hung up, or our unrigg'd armada, make us Ridiculous to the late poor snakes our neighbours, Warm'd in our bosoms, and to whom again We may be terrible. Rouse us, sir, from the sleep Of idleness, and redeem our mortgaged honours. Your birth, and justly, claims my father's kingdom; But his heroic mind descends to me: I will confirm so much. _Ador._ In his looks he seems To break ope Janus' temple. _Ast._ How these younglings Take fire from him! _Ador._ It works an alteration Upon the king. _Ant._ I can forbear no longer: War, war, my sovereign! _Ful._ The king appears Resolved, and does prepare to speak. _Rob._ Think not Our counsel 's built upon so weak a base, As to be overturn'd, or shaken, with Tempestuous winds of words. As I, my lord, Before resolved you, I will not engage My person in this quarrel; neither press My subjects to maintain it: yet, to show My rule is gentle, and that I have feeling O' your master's sufferings, since these gallants, weary Of the happiness of peace, desire to taste The bitter sweets of war, we do consent That, as adventurers and volunteers, No way compell'd by us, they may make trial Of their boasted valours. _Bert._ We desire no more. _Rob._ 'Tis well; and, but my grant in this, expect not Assistance from me. Govern, as you please, The province you make choice of; for, I vow By all things sacred, if that thou miscarry In this rash undertaking, I will hear it No otherwise than as a sad disaster, Fallen on a stranger; nor will I esteem That man my subject, who, in thy extremes, In purse or person aids thee. Take your fortune: You know me; I have said it. So, my lord, You have my absolute answer. _Amb._ My prince pays, In me, his duty. _Rob._ Follow me, Fulgentio, And you, Astutio. [_Flourish. Exeunt_ ROBERTO, FULGENTIO, ASTUTIO, _and Attendants_. _Gasp._ What a frown he threw, At his departure, on you! _Bert._ Let him keep His smiles for his state flatterer, I care not. _Ant._ Shall we aboard to night? _Amb._ Your speed, my lord, Doubles the benefit. _Bert._ I have a business Requires despatch; some two hours hence I'll meet you. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [133] _Show water_,] i. e. _to clear his sight_. A proverbial periphrasis for a _bribe_, which, in Massinger's days, (though happily not since,) was found to be the only collyrium for the eyes of a courtier.--GIFFORD. [134] _Quarry_,] i. e. _the game sought_. [135] _Trussing a point_,] i. e. _tying the strings that support the hose or breeches_. These strings were tagged, and are therefore called _points_. [136] _The Malta habit._] The dress of the knights of Malta was black, having a cross of white waxed cloth on the left side of their cloak. None were admitted into the order but those who were noble both on the father and mother's side for four generations, unless they were, like Bertoldo, the natural sons of kings and princes. [137] _Or to steal a constable from a sleeping watch._] The _constable_ was the captain of the band; this therefore was to deprive these trusty guardians of the night of their leader.--GIFFORD. [138] _Masters of dependencies._] They were a set of needy bravoes, who undertook to ascertain the authentic grounds of a quarrel, and in some cases to settle it, for the timorous or unskilful. In the punctilious days of our author, all matters relative to duelling were arranged, in set treatises, with a gravity that, in a business less serious, would be infinitely ridiculous. Troops of disbanded soldiers, or rather of such as pretended to be so, took up the "noble science of arms," and, with the use of the small sword, (then a novelty,) taught a jargon respecting the various modes of "honourable quarrelling," which, though seemingly calculated to baffle alike the patience and the understanding, was a fashionable object of study. The dramatic poets, faithful to the moral end of their high art, combated this contagious folly with the united powers of wit and humour; and, after a long and well-conducted struggle, succeeded in rendering it as contemptible as it was odious, and finally suppressed it altogether.--GIFFORD. [139] _A provant sword._] A plain, unornamented sword, such as the army is supplied with. Properly speaking, _provant_ means provisions; but our old writers extend it to all the articles that make up the magazine of an army.--GIFFORD. [140] _Lachrymæ._] The first word of the title of a musical work composed by John Dowland, in the time of James the First. The full title was, "Lachrymæ; or, Seven Teares figured in seaven passionate Pavans (_i. e._ affecting, serious dances); with divers other Pavans, Galiards, and Almands, set forth to the Lute, Viols, or Violins, in five Parts." This work was very popular, and is frequently alluded to by the writers of our author's age. [141] _Entradas_,] i. e. _rents, revenues_. [142] _To decline_,] i. e. _to divert from their course_. This sense of the word is frequent in our old poets. [143] _Virtue, if not in action, is a vice; And when we move not forward, we go backward._] This is a beautiful improvement on Horace: _Paulum sepultæ distat inertiæ Celata virtus._ The last line of the text alludes to the Latin adage _Non progredi est regredi_.--GIFFORD. SCENE II. _The same. A Room in_ CAMIOLA'_s House_. _Enter Signior_ SYLLI, _walking fantastically, followed by_ CAMIOLA _and_ CLARINDA. _Cam._ Nay, signior, this is too much ceremony, In my own house. _Syl._ What's gracious abroad, Must be in private practised. _Clar._ For your mirth's sake Let him alone; he has been all this morning In practice with a peruked gentleman-usher, To teach him his true amble, and his postures, [SYLLI _walking by, and practising_. When he walks before a lady. _Syl._ You may, madam, Perhaps, believe that I in this use art, To make you dote upon me, by exposing My more than most rare features to your view: But I, as I have ever done, deal simply. Look not with too much contemplation on me; If you do, you are lost. _Cam._ Is 't possible? What philters or love-powders do you use, To force affection? I see nothing in Your person but I dare look on, yet keep My own poor heart still. _Syl._ You are warn'd--be arm'd; And do not lose the hope of such a husband, In being too soon enamour'd. _Cam._ Never fear it; Though your best taking part, your wealth, were trebled, I would not woo you. But since in your pity You please to give me caution, tell me what Temptations I must fly from. _Syl._ The first is, That you never hear me sing, for I'm a Syren: If you observe, when I warble, the dogs howl, As ravish'd with my ditties; and you will Run mad to hear me. _Cam._ I will stop my ears, And keep my little wits. _Syl._ Next, when I dance, And come aloft thus, [_capers_] cast not a sheep's eye Upon the quivering of my calf. _Cam._ Proceed, sir. _Syl._ Nor should your little ladyship be taken with My pretty spider-fingers, nor my eyes, That twinkle on both sides. _Cam._ Was there ever such A piece of motley[144] heard of! [_A knocking within._] Who's that? [_Exit_ CLARINDA.] You may spare The catalogue of my dangers. _Syl._ No, good madam; I have not told you half. _Cam._ Enough, good signior.-- _Re-enter_ CLARINDA. Who is 't? _Clar._ The brother of the king. _Syl._ Nay, start not. The brother of the king! is he no more? Were it the king himself, I'd give him leave To speak his mind to you, for I am not jealous; And, to assure your ladyship of so much, I'll usher him in, and, that done--hide myself, [_Aside, and exit._ _Cam._ Camiola, if ever, now be constant: This is, indeed, a suitor, whose sweet presence, Courtship, and loving language, would have stagger'd The chaste Penelope; and, to increase The wonder, did not modesty forbid it, I should ask that from him he sues to me for: And yet my reason, like a tyrant, tells me I must nor give nor take it. _Re-enter_ SYLLI _with_ BERTOLDO. _Syl._ I must tell you, You lose your labour. Yet you shall have my countenance To parley with her, and I'll take special care That none shall interrupt you. _Bert._ You are courteous. _Syl._ Come, wench, wilt thou hear wisdom? _Clar._ Yes, from you, sir. [_They walk aside._ _Bert._ If forcing this sweet favour from your hand, [_Kisses her hand._ Fair madam, argue me of too much boldness, When you are pleased to understand I take A parting kiss, if not excuse, at least 'Twill qualify the offence. _Cam._ A parting kiss, sir! What nation, envious of the happiness Which Sicily enjoys in your sweet presence, Can buy you from her? or what climate yield Pleasures transcending those which you enjoy here, Being both beloved and honour'd; the north-star And guider of all hearts; and, to sum up Your full account of happiness in a word, The brother of the king? _Bert._ Do you, alone, And with an unexampled cruelty, Enforce my absence, and deprive me of Those blessings which you, with a polish'd phrase, Seem to insinuate that I do possess, And yet tax me as being guilty of My wilful exile? What are titles to me, Or popular suffrage, or my nearness to The king in blood, or fruitful Sicily, Though it confess'd no sovereign but myself, When you, that are the essence of my being, The anchor of my hopes, the real substance Of my felicity, in your disdain, Turn all to fading and deceiving shadows? _Cam._ You tax me without cause. _Bert._ You must confess it. But answer love with love, and seal the contract In the uniting of our souls, how gladly (Though now I were in action, and assured, Following my fortune, that plumed Victory Would make her glorious stand upon my tent) Would I put off my armour, in my heat Of conquest, and, like Antony, pursue My Cleopatra! Will you yet look on me With an eye of favour? _Cam._ Truth bear witness for me, That, in the judgment of my soul, you are A man so absolute, and circular, In all those wish'd-for rarities that may take A virgin captive, that, though at this instant All scepter'd monarchs of our western world Were rivals with you, and Camiola worthy Of such a competition, you alone Should wear the garland. _Bert._ If so, what diverts Your favour from me? _Cam._ No mulct in yourself, Or in your person, mind, or fortune. _Bert._ What then? _Cam._ The consciousness of mine own wants: alas! sir, We are not parallels; but, like lines divided, Can ne'er meet in one centre[145]. Your birth, sir, Without addition, were an ample dowry For one of fairer fortunes; and this shape, Were you ignoble, far above all value: To this so clear a mind, so furnish'd with Harmonious faculties moulded from heaven, That though you were Thersites in your features, Of no descent, and Irus in your fortunes, Ulysses-like, you'd force all eyes and ears To love, but seen; and, when heard, wonder at Your matchless story: but all these bound up Together in one volume!--give me leave With admiration to look upon them; But not presume, in my own flattering hopes, I may or can enjoy them. In the Proëme to Herbert's Travels, which were printed not long after The Maid of Honour, a similar expression is found: "Great Britaine--containes the summe and abridge of all sorts of excellencies, _met here like parallels in their proper centre_." In the life of Dr. H. More (1710) there is a letter to a correspondent who had sent him a pious treatise, in which the same expression occurs, and is thus noticed by the doctor: "There is but one passage that I remember, which will afford them (the profane and atheistical rout of the age) a disingenuous satisfaction; which is in p. 489, where you say that _straight lines drawn from the centre run parallel together_. To a candid reader your intended sense can be no other than that they run [Greek: par allêlas], that is, by one another; which they may do, though they do not run all along equidistantly one by another, which is the mathematical sense of the word parallel."--_Gent. Mag._ May, 1782. The good doctor is, I think, the best critic on the subject that has yet appeared, and sufficiently explains Massinger.--GIFFORD. _Bert._ How you ruin What you would seem to build up! I know no Disparity between us: you're an heir, Sprung from a noble family; fair, rich, young, And every way my equal. _Cam._ Sir, excuse me; One aerie with proportion ne'er discloses The eagle and the wren[146]:--tissue and frieze In the same garment, monstrous! But suppose That what 's in you excessive were diminish'd, And my desert supplied; the stronger bar, Religion, stops our entrance: you are, sir, A knight of Malta, by your order bound To a single life; you cannot marry me; And, I assure myself, you are too noble To seek me, though my frailty should consent, In a base path. _Bert._ A dispensation, lady, Will easily absolve me. _Cam._ O take heed, sir! When what is vow'd to heaven is dispensed with, To serve our ends on earth, a curse must follow, And not a blessing. _Bert._ Is there no hope left me? _Cam._ Nor to myself, but is a neighbour to Impossibility. True love should walk On equal feet; in us it does not, sir: But rest assured, excepting this, I shall be Devoted to your service. _Bert._ And this is your Determinate sentence? _Cam._ Not to be revoked. _Bert._ Farewell, then, fairest cruel! all thoughts in me Of women perish. Let the glorious light Of noble war extinguish Love's dim taper. That only lends me light to see my folly: Honour, be thou my ever-living mistress, And fond affection, as thy bond-slave, serve thee! [_Exit._ _Cam._ How soon my sun is set, he being absent, Never to rise again! What a fierce battle Is fought between my passions! _Syl._ I perceive He has his answer: now must I step in To comfort her. [Comes forward.] You have found, I hope, sweet lady, Some difference between a youth of my pitch, And this bugbear Bertoldo. Despair not; I May be in time entreated. _Cam._ Be so now, to leave me.-- Lights for my chamber! O my heart! [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [144] _A piece of motley_,] i. e. _a fool_. Alluding to the parti-coloured garments worn by the domestic _fool_ of our ancestors.--GIFFORD. [145] _We are not parallels; but, like lines divided, Can ne'er meet in one centre._] Not only Massinger, but many of our old writers, use _parallels_ for _radii_. [146] _One aerie with proportion ne'er discloses The eagle and the wren._] _Aerie_ is the nest of a bird of prey; _disclose_ is to hatch: the meaning is, eagles and wrens are too disproportionate in bulk to be _hatched_ in the same nest.--GIFFORD. ACT II. SCENE I. _The same. A Room in the Palace._ _Enter_ ROBERTO, FULGENTIO, _and_ ASTUTIO. _Rob._ Embark'd to-night, do you say? _Ful._ I saw him aboard, sir. _Rob._ And without taking of his leave? _Ast._ 'Twas strange! _Rob._ Are we grown so contemptible? _Ful._ 'Tis far From me, sir, to add fuel to your anger, That, in your ill opinion of him, burns Too hot already; else, I should affirm It was a gross neglect. _Rob._ A wilful scorn Of duty and allegiance; you give it Too fair a name: but we shall think on 't. Can you Guess what the numbers were, that follow'd him In his desperate action? _Ful._ More than you think, sir. All ill-affected spirits in Palermo, Or to your government or person, with The turbulent swordmen, such whose poverty forced them To wish a change, are gone along with him; Creatures devoted to his undertakings, In right or wrong: and, to express their zeal And readiness to serve him, ere they went, Profanely took the sacrament on their knees, To live and die with him. _Rob._ O most impious! Their loyalty to us forgot? _Ful._ I fear so. _Ast._ Unthankful as they are! _Ful._ Yet this deserves not One troubled thought in you, sir; with your pardon, I hold that their remove from hence makes more For your security than danger. _Rob._ True; And, as I'll fashion it, they shall feel it too. Astutio, you shall presently be despatch'd With letters, writ and sign'd with our own hand, To the duchess of Sienna, in excuse Of our part in these forces sent against her. You must, beside, from us take some instructions, To be imparted, as you judge them useful, To the general Gonzaga. Instantly Prepare you for your journey. _Ast._ With the wings Of loyalty and duty. [_Exit._ _Ful._ I am bold To put your majesty in mind---- _Rob._ Of my promise, And aids, to further you in your amorous project To the fair and rich Camiola? there's my ring; Whatever you shall say that I entreat, Or can command by power, I will make good. _Ful._ Ever your majesty's creature. _Rob._ Venus prove Propitious to you! [_Exit._ _Ful._ All sorts to my wishes: Bertoldo was my hindrance; he removed, I now will court her in the conqueror's style; "Come, see, and overcome."--Boy! _Enter Page._ _Page._ Sir; your pleasure? _Ful._ Haste to Camiola; bid her prepare An entertainment suitable to a fortune She could not hope for. Tell her, I vouchsafe To honour her with a visit. _Page._ 'Tis a favour Will make her proud. _Ful._ I know it. _Page._ I am gone, sir. [_Exit._ _Ful._ Entreaties fit not me; a man in grace May challenge awe and privilege, by his place. [_Exit._ SCENE II. _The same. A Room in_ CAMIOLA'_s House_. _Enter_ ADORNI, SYLLI, _and_ CLARINDA. _Ador._ So melancholy, say you! _Clar._ Never given To such retirement. _Ador._ Can you guess the cause? _Clar._ If it hath not its birth and being from The brave Bertoldo's absence, I confess 'Tis past my apprehension. _Syl._ You are wide, The whole field wide[147]. I, in my understanding, Pity your ignorance. _Ador._ Resolve us. _Syl._ Know, Here walks the cause. She dares not look upon me; My beauties are so terrible and enchanting, She cannot endure my sight. _Ador._ There I believe you. _Syl._ But the time will come, be comforted, when I will Put off this vizor of unkindness to her, And show an amorous and yielding face: And, until then, though Hercules himself Desire to see her, he had better eat His club, than pass her threshold; for I will be Her Cerberus, to guard her. _Ador._ A good dog! _Clar._ Worth twenty porters. _Enter Page._ _Page._ Keep you open house here? No groom to attend a gentleman! O, I spy one. _Syl._ He means not me, I am sure. _Page._ You, sirrah sheep's-head, With a face cut on a cat-stick[148], do you hear? You, yeoman fewterer[149], conduct me to The lady of the mansion, or my poniard Shall disembogue thy soul. _Syl._ O terrible! _disembogue!_ I talk'd of Hercules, and here is one Bound up in _decimo sexto_. _Page._ Answer, wretch. _Syl._ Pray you, little gentleman, be not so furious: The lady keeps her chamber. _Page._ And we present, Sent on an embassy to her! but here is Her gentlewoman. Sirrah! hold my cloak, While I take a leap at her lips: do it, and neatly; Or, having first tripp'd up thy heels, I'll make Thy back my footstool. [_Kisses_ CLARINDA. _Syl._ Tamberlane in little! Am I turn'd Turk[150]! What an office am I put to! _Clar._ My lady, gentle youth, is indisposed. _Page._ Though she were dead and buried, only tell her, The great man in the court, the brave Fulgentio, Descends to visit her, and it will raise her Out of the grave for joy. _Enter_ FULGENTIO. _Syl._ Here comes another! The devil, I fear, in his holiday clothes. _Page._ So soon! My part is at an end then. Cover my shoulders; When I grow great, thou shalt serve me. _Ful._ Are you, sirrah, An implement of the house? [_To_ SYLLI. _Syl._ Sure he will make A jointstool of me! _Ful._ Or, if you belong [_To_ ADOR. To the lady of the place, command her hither. _Ador._ I do not wear her livery, yet acknowledge A duty to her; and as little bound To serve your peremptory will, as she is To obey your summons. 'Twill become you, sir, To wait her leisure; then, her pleasure known, You may present your duty. _Ful._ Duty! Slave, I'll teach you manners. _Ador._ I'm past learning; make not A tumult in the house. _Ful._ Shall I be braved thus? [_They draw._ _Clar._ Help! murder! _Enter_ CAMIOLA. _Cam._ What insolence is this? Adorni, hold, Hold, I command you. _Ful._ Saucy groom! _Cam._ Not so, sir; However, in his life, he had dependence Upon my father, he's a gentleman, As well born as yourself. Put on your hat. _Ful._ In my presence, without leave! _Syl._ He has mine, madam. _Cam._ And I must tell you, sir, and in plain language, Howe'er your glittering outside promise gentry, The rudeness of your carriage and behaviour Speaks you a coarser thing. _Syl._ She means a clown, sir; I am her interpreter, for want of a better. _Cam._ I am a queen in mine own house; nor must you Expect an empire here. _Syl._ Sure I must love her Before the day, the pretty soul's so valiant. _Cam._ What are you? and what would you with me? _Ful._ Proud one, When you know what I am, and what I came for, And may, on your submission, proceed to, You, in your reason, must repent the coarseness Of my entertainment. _Cam._ Why, fine man? what are you? _Ful._ A kinsman of the king's. _Cam._ I cry you mercy, For his sake, not your own. But, grant you are so, 'Tis not impossible but a king may have A fool to his kinsman,--no way meaning you, sir. _Ful._ You have heard of Fulgentio? _Cam._ Long since, sir; A suit-broker in court. He has the worst Report among good men I ever heard of, For bribery and extortion: in their prayers, Widows and orphans curse him for a canker And caterpillar in the state. I hope, Sir, you are not the man. _Ful._ I reply not As you deserve, being assured you know me; Pretending ignorance of my person, only To give me a taste of your wit: 'tis well, and courtly; I like a sharp wit well. _Syl._ I cannot endure it; Nor any of the Syllis. _Ful._ More; I know, too, This harsh induction must serve as a foil To the well-tuned observance and respect You will hereafter pay me, being made Familiar with my credit with the king, And that (contain your joy) I deign to love you. _Cam._ Love me! I am not rapt with it. _Ful._ Hear 't again; I love you honestly: now you admire me. _Cam._ I do, indeed; it being a word so seldom Heard from a courtier's mouth. But, pray you, deal plainly, Since you find me simple; what might be the motives Inducing you to leave the freedom of A bachelor's life, on your soft neck to wear The stubborn yoke of marriage; and, of all The beauties in Palermo, to choose me, Poor me? that is the main point you must treat of. _Ful._ Why, I will tell you. Of a little thing You are a pretty peat[151], indifferent fair too; And, like a new-rigg'd ship, both tight and yare: Besides, the quickness of your eye assures An active spirit. _Cam._ You are pleasant, sir; Yet I presume that there was one thing in me, Unmention'd yet, that took you more than all Those parts you have remember'd. _Ful._ What? _Cam._ My wealth, sir. _Ful._ You are in the right; without that, beauty is A flower worn in the morning, at night trod on: But beauty, youth, and fortune meeting in you, I will vouchsafe to marry you. _Cam._ You speak well; And, in return, excuse me, sir, if I Deliver reasons why, upon no terms, I'll marry you: I fable not. _Syl._ I am glad To hear this: I began to have an ague. _Ful._ Come, your wise reasons. _Cam._ Such as they are, pray take them: First, I am doubtful whether you are a man, Since, for your shape, trimm'd up in a lady's dressing, You might pass for a woman; for the fairness Of your complexion, which you think will take me, The colour, I must tell you, in a man, Is weak and faint, and never will hold out, If put to labour: give me the lovely brown, A thick curl'd hair of the same die, a leg without An artificial calf;--I suspect yours; But let that pass. _Syl._ She means me all this while, For I have every one of those good parts; O Sylli! fortunate Sylli! _Cam._ You are moved, sir. _Ful._ Fie! no; go on. _Cam._ Then, as you are a courtier, A graced one too, I fear you have been too forward; And so much for your person. One word more, And I have done. _Ful._ I'll ease you of the trouble, Coy and disdainful! _Cam._ Save me, or else he'll beat me. _Ful._ No, your own folly shall; and, since you put me To my last charm, look upon this, and tremble. [_Shows the king's ring._ _Cam._ At the sight of a fair ring! the king's, I take it? I have seen him wear the like: if he hath sent it, As a favour, to me---- _Ful._ Yes, 'tis very likely, His dying mother's gift, prized as his crown! By this he does command you to be mine; By his gift you are so:--you may yet redeem all. _Cam._ You are in a wrong account still. Though the king may Dispose of my life and goods, my mind's mine own, And never shall be yours. The king, heaven bless him! Is good and gracious, and will not compel His subjects against their wills. I believe, Forgetting it when he wash'd his hands, you stole it, With an intent to awe me. But you are cozen'd; I am still myself, and will be. _Ful._ A proud haggard[152], And not to be reclaim'd! which of your grooms, Your coachman, fool, or footman, is the lover Preferr'd before me? _Cam._ You are foul-mouth'd. _Ful._ Much fairer Than thy black soul; and so I will proclaim thee. _Cam._ Were I a man, thou durst not speak this. _Ful._ Heaven So prosper me, as I resolve to do it To all men, and in every place: scorn'd by A tit of ten-pence! [_Exeunt_ FULGENTIO _and Page_. _Syl._ Now I begin to be valiant: Nay, I will draw my sword. O for a brother[153]! Do a friend's part; pray you, carry him the length of 't. I give him three years and a day to match my Toledo, And then we'll fight like dragons. _Ador._ Pray, have patience. _Cam._ I may live to have vengeance: my Bertoldo Would not have heard this. _Ador._ Madam,---- _Cam._ Pray you, spare Your language. Prithee fool[154], and make me merry. [_To_ SYLLI. _Syl._ That is my office ever. _Ador._ I must do, Not talk; this glorious gallant shall hear from me. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [147] _The whole field wide._] This expression, however signior Sylli picked it up, is a Latinism: _Erras, tota via aberras._--GIFFORD. [148] _A cat-stick._] This, I believe, is what is now called a _buck-stick_, used by children in the game of tip-cat, or kit-cat.--GIFFORD. [149] _Fewterer_,] i. e. _a dog-keeper_, or one who lets the dogs loose in the chase. The word is a corruption of the French _vautrier_, or _vaultier_. [150] _Tamberlane in little! Am I turned Turk!_] _Tamberlane_ was a proverbial term for a _bully_. _To turn Turk_, in our old dramatists, is generally used for a change of situation, occupation, mode of thought or action. The allusion, perhaps, is to the story of Tamberlane, who is said to have mounted his horse from the back of Bajazet, the Turkish emperor.--GIFFORD. [151] _Peat_,] i. e. _a delicate person_. The modern word pet is supposed to be the same, probably from the French _petit_. [152] _Haggard_,] i. e. _a wild hawk_. [153] _O for a brother_,] i. e. _a brother in arms_, to do what he immediately requests Adorni to do for him: the expression was common at the time, and well understood by Massinger's audience.--GIFFORD. [154] _Fool_,] i. e. _play the fool_. SCENE III. _The Siennese. A Camp before the Walls of Sienna._ _Chambers shot off: a Flourish as to an Assault: after which, enter_ GONZAGA, PIERIO, RODERIGO, JACOMO, _and Soldiers_. _Gonz._ Is the breach made assaultable? _Pier._ Yes, and the moat Fill'd up; the cannoneer hath done his parts; We may enter six abreast. _Rod._ There's not a man Dares show himself upon the wall. _Jac._ Defeat not The soldiers' hoped-for spoil. _Pier._ If you, sir, Delay the assault, and the city be given up To your discretion, you in honour cannot Use the extremity of war,--but, in Compassion to them, you to us prove cruel. _Jac._ And an enemy to yourself. _Rod._ A hindrance to The brave revenge you have vow'd. _Gonz._ Temper your heat, And lose not, by too sudden rashness, that Which, be but patient, will be offer'd to you. Security ushers ruin; proud contempt Of an enemy three parts vanquish'd, with desire And greediness of spoil, have often wrested A certain victory from the conqueror's gripe. Discretion is the tutor of the war. Valour the pupil; and, when we command With lenity, and our direction's follow'd With cheerfulness, a prosperous end must crown Our works well undertaken. _Rod._ Ours are finish'd---- _Pier._ If we make use of fortune. _Gonz._ Her false smiles Deprive you of your judgments. The condition Of our affairs exacts a double care, And, like bifronted Janus, we must look Backward, as forward: though a flattering calm Bids us urge on, a sudden tempest raised, Not feared, much less expected, in our rear, May foully fall upon us, and distract us To our confusion.-- _Enter a Scout, hastily._ Our scout! what brings Thy ghastly looks, and sudden speed? _Scout._ The assurance Of a new enemy. _Gonz._ This I foresaw and fear'd. What are they, know'st thou? _Scout._ They are, by their colours, Sicilians, bravely mounted, and the brightness Of their rich armours doubly gilded with Reflection of the sun. _Gonz._ From Sicily?---- The king in league! no war proclaim'd! 'tis foul: But this must be prevented, not disputed. Ha! how is this? your estridge[155] plumes, that but Even now, like quills of porcupines, seem'd to threaten The stars, drop at the rumour of a shower, And, like to captive colours, sweep the earth! Bear up; but in great dangers, greater minds Are never proud. Shall a few loose troops, untrain'd But in a customary ostentation, Presented as a sacrifice to your valours, Cause a dejection in you? _Pier._ No dejection. _Rod._ However startled, where you lead we'll follow. _Gonz._ 'Tis bravely said. We will not stay their charge, But meet them man to man, and horse to horse. Pierio, in our absence hold our place; And with our foot men and those sickly troops Prevent a sally: I in mine own person, With part of the cavallery, will bid These hunters welcome to a bloody breakfast:-- But I lose time. _Pier._ I'll to my charge. [_Exit._ _Gonz._ And we To ours: I'll bring you on. _Jac._ If we come off, It's not amiss; if not, my state is settled. [_Exeunt. Alarum within._ FOOTNOTE: [155] _Estridge_,] i. e. _ostrich_. SCENE IV. _The same. The Citadel of Sienna._ _Enter_ FERDINAND, DRUSO, _and_ LIVIO, _on the Walls_. _Fer._ No aids from Sicily! Hath hope forsook us; And that vain comfort to affliction, pity, By our vow'd friend denied us? we can nor live Nor die with honour: like beasts in a toil, We wait the leisure of the bloody hunter, Who is not so far reconciled unto us, As in one death to give a period To our calamities; but in delaying The fate we cannot fly from, starved with wants, We die this night, to live again to-morrow, And suffer greater torments. _Dru._ There is not Three days' provision for every soldier, At an ounce of bread a day, left in the city. _Liv._ To die the beggar's death, with hunger made Anatomies while we live, cannot but crack Our heart-strings with vexation. _Fer._ Would they would break, Break altogether! How willingly, like Cato, Could I tear out my bowels, rather than Look on the conqueror's insulting face; But that religion, and the horrid dream To be suffer'd in the other world, denies it! _Enter a Soldier._ What news with thee? _Sold._ From the turret of the fort, By the rising clouds of dust, through which, like lightning, The splendour of bright arms sometimes brake through, I did descry some forces making towards us; And, from the camp, as emulous of their glory, The general, (for I know him by his horse,) And bravely seconded, encounter'd them. Their greetings were too rough for friends; their swords, And not their tongues, exchanging courtesies. By this the main battalias are join'd; And, if you please to be spectators of The horrid issue, I will bring you where, As in a theatre, you may see their fates In purple gore presented. _Fer._ Heaven, if yet thou art Appeased for my wrong done to Aurelia, Take pity of my miseries! Lead the way, friend. [_Exeunt._ SCENE V. _The same. A Plain near the Camp._ _A long Charge; after which, a Flourish for Victory: then enter_ GONZAGA, JACOMO, _and_ RODERIGO, _wounded_; BERTOLDO, GASPARO, _and_ ANTONIO, _Prisoners. Officers and Soldiers_. _Gonz._ We have them yet, though they cost us dear. This was Charged home, and bravely follow'd. Be to yourselves [_To_ JACOMO _and_ RODERIGO. True mirrors to each other's worth; and, looking With noble emulation on his wounds, [Points to BERT. The glorious livery of triumphant war, Imagine these with equal grace appear Upon yourselves. The bloody sweat you have suffer'd In this laborious, nay, toilsome harvest, Yields a rich crop of conquest; and the spoil, Most precious balsam to a soldier's hurts, Will ease and cure them. Let me look upon [GASPARO _and_ ANTONIO _are brought forward_. The prisoners' faces. Oh, how much transform'd From what they were! O Mars! were these toys fashion'd To undergo the burthen of thy service? The weight of their defensive armour bruised Their weak effeminate limbs, and would have forced them, In a hot day, without a blow to yield. _Ant._ This insultation shows not manly in you. _Gonz._ To men I had forborne it; you are women, Or, at the best, loose carpet-knights[156]. What fury Seduced you to exchange your ease in court For labour in the field? Perhaps you thought To charge, through dust and blood, an armed foe, Was but like graceful running at the ring For a wanton mistress' glove; and the encounter, A soft impression on her lips:--but you Are gaudy butterflies, and I wrong myself In parling with you. _Gasp._ _Voe victis!_ now we prove it. _Rod._ But here's one fashion'd in another mould, And made of tougher metal. _Gonz._ True; I owe him For this wound bravely given. _Bert._ O that mountains Were heap'd upon me, that I might expire, A wretch no more remember'd! [_Aside._ _Gonz._ Look up, sir; To be o'ercome deserves no shame. If you Had fallen ingloriously, or could accuse Your want of courage in resistance, 'twere To be lamented: but, since you perform'd As much as could be hoped for from a man, (Fortune his enemy,) you wrong yourself In this dejection. I am honour'd in My victory over you; but to have these My prisoners, is, in my true judgment, rather Captivity than a triumph: you shall find Fair quarter from me, and your many wounds, Which I hope are not mortal, with such care Look'd to and cured, as if your nearest friend Attended on you. _Bert._ When you know me better, You will make void this promise: can you call me Into your memory? _Gonz._ The brave Bertoldo! A brother of our order! By St. John, Our holy patron, I am more amazed, Nay, thunderstruck with thy apostacy, And precipice from the most solemn vows Made unto Heaven when this, the glorious badge Of our Redeemer, was conferred upon thee By the great master, than if I had seen A reprobate Jew, an atheist, Turk, or Tartar, Baptized in our religion! _Bert._ This I look'd for; And am resolved to suffer. _Gonz._ Fellow-soldiers, Behold this man, and, taught by his example, Know that 'tis safer far to play with lightning, Than trifle in things sacred. In my rage [_Weeps._ I shed these at the funeral of his virtue, Faith, and religion; why, I will tell you:-- He was a gentleman so train'd up and fashion'd For noble uses, and his youth did promise Such certainties, more than hopes, of great achievements, As--if the Christian world had stood opposed Against the Othoman race, to try the fortune Of one encounter--this Bertoldo had been, For his knowledge to direct, and matchless courage To execute, without a rival, by The votes of good men, chosen general; As the prime soldier, and most deserving Of all that wear the cross: which now, in justice, I thus tear from him. _Bert._ Let me die with it Upon my breast. _Gonz._ No; by this thou wert sworn, On all occasions, as a knight, to guard Weak ladies from oppression, and never To draw thy sword against them; whereas thou, In hope of gain or glory, when a princess, And such a princess as Aurelia is, Was dispossess'd by violence of what was Her true inheritance, against thine oath Hast, to thy uttermost, labour'd to uphold Her falling enemy. But thou shalt pay A heavy forfeiture, and learn too late, Valour employ'd in an ill quarrel turns To cowardice, and Virtue then puts on Foul Vice's visor. This is that which cancels All friendship's bands between us.--Bear them off; I will hear no reply: and let the ransom Of these, for they are yours, be highly rated. In this I do but right, and let it be Styled justice, and not wilful cruelty. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTE: [156] _Carpet-knights._] A term of contempt very frequently used by our old writers. _Carpet-knights_ were such as were made on occasion of public festivities, marriages, births, &c., in contradistinction to those that were created on the field of battle, after a victory. They were naturally little regarded by the latter; and, indeed, their title had long been given in scorn, to effeminate courtiers, favourites, &c.--GIFFORD. ACT III. SCENE I. _The same. A Camp before the Walls of Sienna._ _Enter_ GONZAGA, ASTUTIO, RODERIGO, _and_ JACOMO. _Gonz._ What I have done, sir, by the law of arms I can and will make good. _Ast._ I have no commission To expostulate the act. These letters speak The king my master's love to you, and his Vow'd service to the duchess, on whose person I am to give attendance. _Gonz._ At this instant, She's at Fienza: you may spare the trouble Of riding thither: I have advertised her Of our success, and on what humble terms Sienna stands: though presently I can Possess it, I defer it, that she may Enter her own, and, as she please, dispose of The prisoners and the spoil. _Ast._ I thank you, sir. In the mean time, if I may have your licence, I have a nephew, and one once my ward, For whose liberties and ransoms I would gladly Make composition. _Gonz._ They are, as I take it, Call'd Gasparo and Antonio. _Ast._ The same, sir. _Gonz._ For them, you must treat with these; but, for Bertoldo, He is mine own: if the king will ransom him, He pays down fifty thousand crowns; if not, He lives and dies my slave. _Ast._ Pray you, a word: [_Aside to_ GONZ. The king will rather thank you to detain him, Than give one crown to free him. _Gonz._ At his pleasure. I'll send the prisoners under guard: my business Calls me another way. [_Exit._ _Ast._ My service waits you. Now, gentlemen, for this ransom, since you are not To be brought lower, there is no evading; I'll be your paymaster. _Rod._ We desire no better. _Ast._ But not a word of what's agreed between us, Till I have school'd my gallants. _Jac._ I am dumb, sir. _Enter a Guard, with_ BERTOLDO, ANTONIO, _and_ GASPARO, _in irons_. _Bert._ And where removed now? hath the tyrant found out Worse usage for us? _Ant._ Worse it cannot be. My greyhound has fresh straw, and scraps, in his kennel; But we have neither. _Gasp._ Did I ever think To wear such garters on silk stockings? or That my too curious appetite, that turn'd At the sight of godwits, pheasant, partridge, quails, Larks, woodcocks, calver'd salmon[157], as coarse diet, Would leap at a mouldy crust? _Ant._ And go without it, So oft as I do? Oh! how have I jeer'd The city entertainment! A huge shoulder Of glorious fat ram-mutton, seconded With a pair of tame cats or conies, a crab-tart, With a worthy loin of veal, and valiant capon, Mortified to grow tender!--these I scorn'd, From their plentiful horn of abundance, though invited: But now I could carry my own stool to a tripe[158], And call their chitterlings charity, and bless the founder. _Bert._ O that I were no further sensible Of my miseries than you are! you, like beasts, Feel only stings of hunger, and complain not But when you're empty: but your narrow souls (If you have any) cannot comprehend How insupportable the torments are, Which a free and noble soul, made captive, suffers. Most miserable men!--and what am I, then, That envy you? Fetters, though made of gold, Express base thraldom; and all delicates Prepared by Median cooks for epicures, When not our own, are bitter: quilts fill'd high With gossamere and roses cannot yield The body soft repose, the mind kept waking With anguish and affliction. _Ast._ My good lord---- _Bert._ This is no time nor place for flattery, sir: Pray you, style me as I am, a wretch forsaken Of the world, as myself. _Ast._ I would it were In me to help you. _Bert._ If that you want power, sir, Lip-comfort cannot cure me. Pray you, leave me To mine own private thoughts. [_Walks by._ _Ast._ [_comes forward._] My valiant nephew! And my more than warlike ward! I am glad to see you, After your glorious conquests. Are these chains Rewards for your good service? if they are, You should wear them on your necks, since they are massy, Like aldermen of the war. _Ant._ You jeer us too! _Gasp._ Good uncle, name not, as you are a man of honour, That fatal word of war; the very sound of it Is more dreadful than a cannon. _Ant._ But redeem us From this captivity, and I'll vow hereafter Never to wear a sword, or cut my meat With a knife that has an edge or point; I'll starve first. _Ast._ Well, have more wit hereafter: for this time You are ransom'd. _Jac._ Off with their irons! _Rod._ Do, do: If you are ours again, you know your price. _Ant._ Pray you, despatch us: I shall ne'er believe I am a free man, till I set my foot In Sicily again, and drink Palermo, And in Palermo too. _Ast._ The wind sits fair; You shall aboard to-night: with the rising sun You may touch upon the coast. But take your leaves Of the late general first. _Gasp._ I will be brief. _Ant._ And I. My lord, Heaven keep you! _Gasp._ Yours, to use In the way of peace; but as your soldiers, never. _Ant._ A pox of war! no more of war. [_Exeunt_ ROD. JAC. ANT. _and_ GASP. _Bert._ Have you Authority to loose their bonds, yet leave The brother of your king, whose worth disdains Comparison with such as these, in irons? If ransom may redeem them, I have lands, A patrimony of mine own, assign'd me By my deceased sire, to satisfy Whate'er can be demanded for my freedom. _Ast._ I wish you had, sir; but the king, who yields No reason for his will, in his displeasure Hath seized on all you had; nor will Gonzaga, Whose prisoner now you are, accept of less Than fifty thousand crowns. _Bert._ I find it now, That misery never comes alone. But, grant The king is yet inexorable, time May work him to a feeling of my sufferings. I have friends that swore their lives and fortunes were At my devotion, and, among the rest, Yourself, my lord, when forfeited to the law For a foul murder, and in cold blood done, I made your life my gift, and reconciled you To this incensed king, and got your pardon. --Beware ingratitude! I know you are rich, And may pay down the sum. _Ast._ I might, my lord; But pardon me. _Bert._ And will Astutio prove, then, To please a passionate man, (the king's no more,) False to his maker, and his reason, which Commands more than I ask? O summer friendship, Whose flattering leaves, that shadow'd us in our Prosperity, with the least gust drop off In the autumn of adversity! How like A prison is to a grave! when dead, we are With solemn pomp brought thither, and our heirs, Masking their joy in false dissembled tears, Weep o'er the herse; but earth no sooner covers The earth brought thither, but they turn away, With inward smiles, the dead no more remember'd: So, enter'd in a prison---- _Ast._ My occasions Command me hence, my lord. _Bert._ Pray you, leave me, do; And tell the cruel king, that I will wear These fetters till my flesh and they are one Incorporated substance. [_Exit_ ASTUTIO.] In myself, As in a glass, I'll look on human frailty, And curse the height of royal blood; since I, In being born near to Jove, am near his thunder[159]. Cedars once shaken with a storm, their own Weight grubs their roots out.--Lead me where you please; I am his, not fortune's martyr, and will die The great example of his cruelty. [_Exit guarded._ FOOTNOTES: [157] _Calver'd salmon_ appears to have differed but little from what is now called pickled salmon, as the directions for preparing it are--"to boil it in vinegar with oil and spices." The word is still in use, but not in the exact sense of the text. To _calver_ fish is now a very simple process.--GIFFORD. [158] --------_To a tripe_,] i. e. _to a tripe shop_. By "carrying his own stool," he means that he would not wait for the formality of an invitation, but trust to the vender's hospitality for a meal. The singular custom of uninvited or unexpected guests bringing their seats with them is frequently noticed by the writers of Massinger's time. It is probable that the practice originated in necessity. Our ancient houses were not much encumbered with furniture, and the little which they had was moved from place to place as occasion required.--GIFFORD. [159] _In being born near to Jove, am near his thunder._] [Greek: Porrhô Dios kai te porrho keraunou]. SCENE II. _Palermo. A Grove near the Palace._ _Enter_ ADORNI. _Ador._ He undergoes my challenge, and contemns it, And threatens me with the late edict made 'Gainst duellists,--the altar cowards fly to. But I, that am engaged, and nourish in me A higher aim than fair Camiola dreams of, Must not sit down thus. In the court I dare not Attempt him; and in public he's so guarded, With a herd of parasites, clients, fools, and suitors, That a musket cannot reach him:--my designs Admit of no delay. This is her birthday, Which, with a fit and due solemnity, Camiola celebrates: and on it, all such As love or serve her usually present A tributary duty. I'll have something To give, if my intelligence prove true, Shall find acceptance. I am told, near this grove Fulgentio, every morning, makes his markets With his petitioners; I may present him With a sharp petition!----Ha! 'tis he: my fate Be ever bless'd for 't! _Enter_ FULGENTIO _and Page_. _Ful._ Command such as wait me Not to presume, at the least for half an hour, To press on my retirements. Begone, sir. [_Exit Page._ Challenged! 'tis well; and by a groom! still better. Was this shape made to fight? I have a tongue yet, Howe'er no sword, to kill him; and what way, This morning I'll resolve of. [_Exit._ _Ador._ I shall cross Your resolution, or suffer for you. [_Exit following him._ SCENE III. _The same. A Room in_ CAMIOLA'_s House_. _Enter_ CAMIOLA, _followed by Servants with Presents_; SYLLI, _and_ CLARINDA. _Syl._ What are all these? _Clar._ Servants with several presents, And rich ones too. _1 Serv._ With her best wishes, madam, Of many such days to you, the lady Petula Presents you with this fan. _2 Serv._ This diamond, From your aunt Honoria. _3 Serv._ This piece of plate From your uncle, old Vicentio, with your arms Graven upon it. _Cam._ Good friends, they are too Munificent in their love and favour to me. Out of my cabinet return such jewels As this directs you:--[_To_ CLARINDA.]--for your pains; and yours; Nor must you be forgotten. [_Gives them money._] Honour me With the drinking of a health. _1 Serv._ Gold, on my life! _2 Serv._ She scorns to give base silver. _3 Serv._ Would she had been Born every month in the year! _1 Serv._ Month! every day. _2 Serv._ Show such another maid. _3 Serv._ All happiness wait you! _Clar._ I'll see your will done. [_Exeunt_ SYLLI, CLARINDA, _and Servants_. _Enter_ ADORNI _wounded_. _Cam._ How, Adorni wounded! _Ador._ A scratch got in your service, else not worth Your observation: I bring not, madam, In honour of your birthday, antique plate, Or pearl, for which the savage Indian dives Into the bottom of the sea; nor diamonds Hewn from steep rocks with danger. Such as give To those that have, what they themselves want, aim at A glad return with profit: yet, despise not My offering at the altar of your favour; Nor let the lowness of the giver lessen The height of what's presented; since it is A precious jewel, almost forfeited, And dimm'd with clouds of infamy, redeem'd, And, in its natural splendour, with addition Restored to the true owner. _Cam._ How is this? _Ador._ Not to hold you in suspense, I bring you, madam, Your wounded reputation cured, the sting Of virulent malice, festering your fair name, Pluck'd out and trod on. That proud man, that was Denied the honour of your hand, yet durst, With his untrue reports, revile your fame, Compell'd by me, hath given himself the lie, And in his own blood wrote it:--you may read Fulgentio subscribed. [_Offering a paper._ _Cam._ I am amazed! _Ador._ It does deserve it, madam. Common service Is fit for hinds, and the reward proportion'd To their conditions: therefore, look not on me As a follower of your father's fortunes, or One that subsists on yours:--you frown! my service Merits not this aspéct. _Cam._ Which of my favours, I might say bounties, hath begot and nourish'd This more than rude presumption? Since you had An itch to try your desperate valour, wherefore Went you not to the war? Couldst thou suppose My innocence could ever fall so low As to have need of thy rash sword to guard it Against malicious slander? O how much Those ladies are deceived and cheated, when The clearness and integrity of their actions Do not defend themselves, and stand secure On their own bases! Such as in a colour Of seeming service give protection to them, Betray their own strengths. Malice scorn'd, puts out Itself; but argued, gives a kind of credit To a false accusation. In this, this your Most memorable service, you believed You did me right; but you have wrong'd me more In your defence of my undoubted honour, Than false Fulgentio could. _Ador._ I am sorry what was So well intended is so ill received; _Re-enter_ CLARINDA. Yet, under your correction, you wish'd Bertoldo had been present. _Cam._ True, I did: But he and you, sir, are not parallels, Nor must you think yourself so. _Ador._ I am what You'll please to have me. _Cam._ If Bertoldo had Punish'd Fulgentio's insolence, it had shown His love to her whom, in his judgment, he Vouchsafed to make his wife; a height, I hope, Which you dare not aspire to. The same actions Suit not all men alike;--but I perceive Repentance in your looks. For this time, leave me; I may forgive, perhaps forget, your folly: Conceal yourself till this storm be blown over. You will be sought for; yet, if my estate [_Gives him her hand to kiss._ Can hinder it, shall not suffer in my service. [_Exit_ ADORNI. This gentleman is of a noble temper; And I too harsh, perhaps, in my reproof: Was I not, Clarinda? _Clar._ I am not to censure Your actions, madam; but there are a thousand Ladies, and of good fame, in such a cause Would be proud of such a servant. _Cham._ It may be; _Enter a Servant._ Let me offend in this kind. Why, uncall'd for? _Serv._ The signiors, madam, Gasparo and Antonio, Selected friends of the renown'd Bertoldo, Put ashore this morning. _Cam._ Without him? _Serv._ I think so. _Cam._ Never think more then. _Serv._ They have been at court, Kiss'd the king's hand; and, their first duties done To him, appear ambitious to tender To you their second service. _Cam._ Wait them hither. [_Exit Servant._ Fear, do not rack me! Reason, now, if ever, Haste with thy aids, and tell me, such a wonder As my Bertoldo is, with such care fashion'd, Must not, nay, cannot, in Heaven's providence _Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ GASPARO. So soon miscarry!--pray you, forbear; ere you take The privilege, as strangers, to salute me, (Excuse my manners,) make me first understand How it is with Bertoldo. _Gasp._ The relation Will not, I fear, deserve your thanks. _Ant._ I wish Some other should inform you. _Cam._ Is he dead? You see, though with some fear, I dare inquire it. _Gasp._ Dead! Would that were the worst; a debt were paid then, Kings in their birth owe nature. _Cam._ Is there aught More terrible than death? _Ant._ Yes, to a spirit Like his; cruel imprisonment, and that Without the hope of freedom. _Cam._ You abuse me[160]: The royal king cannot, in love to virtue, (Though all springs of affection were dried up,) But pay his ransom. _Gasp._ When you know what 'tis, You will think otherwise: no less will do it Than fifty thousand crowns. _Cam._ A petty sum, The price weigh'd with the purchase: fifty thousand! To the king 'tis nothing. He that can spare more To his minion for a masque, cannot but ransom Such a brother at a million. You wrong The king's magnificence. _Ant._ In your opinion; But 'tis most certain: he does not alone In himself refuse to pay it, but forbids All other men. _Cam._ Are you sure of this? _Gasp._ You may read The edict to that purpose, publish'd by him; That will resolve you. _Cam._ Possible! pray you, stand off. If I do not mutter treason to myself, My heart will break; and yet I will not curse him; He is my king. The news you have deliver'd Makes me weary of your company; we'll salute When we meet next. I'll bring you to the door. Nay, pray you, no more compliments. _Gasp._ One thing more, And that's substantial: let your Adorni Look to himself. _Ant._ The king is much incensed Against him for Fulgentio. _Cam._ As I am, For your slowness to depart. _Both._ Farewell, sweet lady. [_Exeunt_ GASPARO _and_ ANTONIO. _Cam._ O more than impious times! when not alone Subordinate ministers of justice are Corrupted and seduced, but kings themselves, The greater wheels by which the lesser move, Are broken, or disjointed! could it be, else, A king, to sooth his politic ends, should so far Forsake his honour, as at once to break The adamant chains of nature and religion, To bind up atheism[161], as a defence To his dark counsels? Will it ever be, That to deserve too much is dangerous, And virtue, when too eminent, a crime? Must she serve fortune still, or, when stripp'd of Her gay and glorious favours, lose the beauties Of her own natural shape? O, my Bertoldo, Thou only sun in honour's sphere, how soon Art thou eclipsed and darken'd! not the nearness Of blood prevailing on the king; nor all The benefits to the general good dispensed, Gaining a retribution! But that To owe a courtesy to a simple virgin Would take from the deserving, I find in me Some sparks of fire, which, fann'd with honour's breath, Might rise into a flame, and in men darken Their usurp'd splendour. Ha! my aim is high, And, for the honour of my sex, to fall so, Can never prove inglorious.--'Tis resolved: Call in Adorni. _Clar._ I am happy in Such an employment, madam. [_Exit._ _Cam._ He's a man, I know, that at a reverent distance loves me; And such are ever faithful. What a sea Of melting ice I walk on! what strange censures Am I to undergo! but good intents Deride all future rumours. _Re-enter_ CLARINDA _with_ ADORNI. _Ador._ I obey Your summons, madam. _Cam._ Leave the place, Clarinda; One woman, in a secret of such weight, Wise men may think too much: [_Exit_ CLARINDA.] nearer, Adorni. I warrant it with a smile. _Ador._ I cannot ask Safer protection; what's your will? _Cam._ To doubt Your ready desire to serve me, or prepare you With the repetition of former merits, Would, in my diffidence, wrong you: but I will, And without circumstance, in the trust that I Impose upon you, free you from suspicion. _Ador._ I foster none of you. _Cam._ I know you do not. You are, Adorni, by the love you owe me---- _Ador._ The surest conjuration. _Cam._ Take me with you[162].-- Love born of duty; but advance no further. You are, sir, as I said, to do me service, To undertake a task, in which your faith, Judgment, discretion--in a word, your all That's good, must be engaged; nor must you study, In the execution, but what may make For the ends I aim at. _Ador._ They admit no rivals. _Cam._ You answer well. You have heard of Bertoldo's Captivity, and the king's neglect; the greatness Of his ransom; fifty thousand crowns, Adorni; Two parts of my estate! _Ador._ To what tends this? [_Aside._ _Cam._ Yet I so love the gentleman, for to you I will confess my weakness, that I purpose Now, when he is forsaken by the king, And his own hopes, to ransom him, and receive him Into my bosom, as my lawful husband-- Why change you colour? _Ador._ 'Tis in wonder of Your virtue, madam. _Cam._ You must, therefore, to Sienna for me, and pay to Gonzaga This ransom for his liberty; you shall have Bills of exchange along with you. Let him swear A solemn contract to me; for you must be My principal witness, if he should--but why Do I entertain these jealousies? You will do this? _Ador._ Faithfully, madam--but not live long after. [_Aside._ _Cam._ One thing I had forgot: besides his freedom, He may want accomodations; furnish him According to his birth. I'll instantly despatch you. [_Exit._ _Ador._ Was there ever Poor lover so employ'd against himself, To make way for his rival? I must do it, Nay, more, I will. If loyalty can find Recompense beyond hope or imagination, Let it fall on me in the other world, As a reward, for in this I dare not hope it. [_Exit._ FOOTNOTES: [160] _Abuse me_,] i. e. _practise on my credulity with a forged tale_; the word often occurs in this sense.--GIFFORD. [161] _Atheism._] Our old writers seem to have used such words as profaneness, blasphemy, _atheism_, &c. with a laxity which modern practice does not acknowledge. They applied them to any extraordinary violation of moral or natural decorum.--GIFFORD. [162] _Take me with you._] i. e. _hear me out_. The expression is common in our old writers.--GIFFORD. ACT IV. SCENE I. _The Siennese. A Camp before the Walls of Sienna._ _Enter_ GONZAGA _and_ PIERIO. _Gonz._ You have seized upon the citadel, and disarm'd All that could make resistance? _Pier._ Hunger had Done that, before we came; nor was the soldier Compell'd to seek for prey: the famish'd wretches, In hope of mercy, as a sacrifice offer'd All that was worth the taking. _Gonz._ Where is the duke of Urbin? _Pier._ Under guard, As you directed. _Gonz._ See the soldiers set In rank and file, and, as the duchess passes, Bid them vail their ensigns. _Loud music. Enter_ RODERIGO, JACOMO, _and_ AURELIA _under a Canopy_. ASTUTIO _presents her with letters_. _Aurel._ But for these aids from Sicily sent against us, To blast our spring of conquest in the bud; I cannot find, my lord ambassador, How we should entertain 't but as a wrong, With purpose to detain us from our own, Howe'er the king endeavours, in his letters, To mitigate the affront. _Ast._ Your grace hereafter May hear from me such strong assurances Of his unlimited desires to serve you, As will, I hope, drown in forgetfulness The memory of what's past. _Aurel._ We shall take time To search the depth of 't further, and proceed As our council shall direct us. _Gonz._ We present you With the keys of the city; all lets are removed, Your way is smooth and easy; at your feet Your proudest enemy falls. _Aurel._ We thank your valours: A victory without blood is twice achieved, And the disposure of it, to us tender'd, The greatest honour. Worthy captains, thanks! My love extends itself to all. _Gonz._ Make way there. [_A Guard drawn up_; AURELIA _passes through them_. _Loud music._ [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _Sienna. A Room in the Prison._ BERTOLDO _is discovered in fetters, reading_. _Bert._ 'Tis here determined, (great examples, arm'd With arguments, produced to make it good,) That neither tyrants, nor the wrested laws, The people's frantic rage, sad exile, want, Nor that which I endure, captivity, Can do a wise man any injury. Thus Seneca, when he wrote it, thought.--But then Felicity courted him; his wealth exceeding A private man's; happy in the embraces Of his chaste wife Paulina; his house full Of children, clients, servants, flattering friends, Soothing his lip-positions; and created Prince of the senate, by the general voice, At his new pupil's suffrage: then, no doubt, He held, and did believe, this. But no sooner The prince's frowns and jealousies had thrown him Out of security's lap, and a centurion Had offer'd him what choice of death he pleased, But told him, die he must; when straight the armour Of his so boasted fortitude fell off, [_Throws away the book._ Complaining of his frailty. Can it then Be censured womanish weakness in me, if, Thus clogg'd with irons, and the period To close up all calamities denied me, Which was presented Seneca, I wish I ne'er had being; at least, never knew What happiness was; or argue with heaven's justice, Tearing my locks, and, in defiance, throwing Dust in the air? or, falling on the ground, thus With my nails and teeth to dig a grave, or rend The bowels of the earth, my step-mother, And not a natural parent? or thus practise To die, and, as I were insensible, Believe I had no motion? [_Falls on his face._ _Enter_ GONZAGA, ADORNI, _and Gaoler_. _Gonz._ There he is: I'll not inquire by whom his ransom's paid, I am satisfied that I have it; nor allege One reason to excuse his cruel usage, As you may interpret it: let it suffice It was my will to have it so. He is yours now, Dispose of him as you please. [_Exit._ _Ador._ Howe'er I hate him, As one preferr'd before me, being a man, He does deserve my pity. Sir!--he sleeps:-- Or he is dead?--[_kneels by him._]--No, he breathes! Come near, And, if 't be possible, without his feeling, Take off his irons.--[_His irons taken off._]--So; now leave us private. [_Exit Gaoler._ He does begin to stir; and, as transported With a joyful dream, how he stares! and feels his legs, As yet uncertain whether it can be True or fantastical. _Bert._ [_rising._] Ministers of mercy, Mock not calamity. Ha! 'tis no vision! Or, if it be, the happiest that ever Appear'd to sinful flesh! Who's here? his face Speaks him Adorni;--but some glorious angel, Concealing its divinity in his shape, Hath done this miracle, it being not an act For wolfish man. Resolve me, if thou look'st for Bent knees in adoration? _Ador._ O forbear, sir! I am Adorni, and the instrument Of your deliverance; but the benefit You owe another. _Bert._ If he has a name, As soon as spoken, 'tis writ on my heart I am his bondman. _Ador._ To the shame of men, This great act is a woman's. _Bert._ The whole sex For her sake must be deified. How I wander In my imagination, yet cannot Guess who this phoenix should be! _Ador._ 'Tis Camiola. _Bert._ Pray you, speak 't again; there's music in her name. Once more, I pray you, sir. _Ador._ Camiola, The MAID OF HONOUR. _Bert._ Cursed atheist that I was, Only to doubt it could be any other; Since she alone, in the abstract of herself, That small, but ravishing substance, comprehends Whatever is, or can be wish'd, in the Idea of a woman! O what service, Or sacrifice of duty, can I pay her, If not to live and die her charity's slave, Which is resolved already! _Ador._ She expects not Such a dominion o'er you. You must now, Which is the sum of all that she desires, By a solemn contract bind yourself, when she Requires it, as a debt due for your freedom, To marry her. _Bert._ This does engage me further; A payment! an increase of obligation. To marry her!--'twas my _nil ultra_ ever: The end of my ambition. O that now The holy man, she present, were prepared To join our hands, but with that speed my heart Wishes mine eyes might see her! _Ador._ You must swear this. _Bert._ False to Camiola! never.--Shall I now Begin my vows to you? _Ador._ I am no churchman; Such a one must file it on record: you are free; And, that you may appear like to yourself, (For so she wish'd,) here's gold, with which you may Redeem your trunks and servants, and whatever Of late you lost. I have found out the captain Whose spoil they were; his name is Roderigo. _Bert._ I know him. _Ador._ I have done my parts. _Bert._ So much, sir, As I am ever yours for 't. Now, methinks, I walk in air! Divine Camiola---- But words cannot express thee: I'll build to thee An altar in my soul, on which I'll offer A still-increasing sacrifice of duty. [_Exit._ _Ador._ What will become of me now is apparent. This Roman resolution of self-murder Will not hold water at the high tribunal, When it comes to be argued; my good Genius Prompts me to this consideration. He That kills himself to avoid misery, fears it, And, at the best, shows but a bastard valour. This life's a fort committed to my trust, Which I must not yield up till it be forced: Nor will I. He's not valiant that dares die, But he that boldly bears calamity. [_Exit._ SCENE III. _The same. A State-room in the Palace._ _A Flourish. Enter_ PIERIO, RODERIGO, JACOMO, GONZAGA, AURELIA, FERDINAND, ASTUTIO, _and Attendants_. _Aurel._ A seat here for the duke. It is our glory To overcome with courtesies, not rigour; The lordly Roman, who held it the height Of human happiness to have kings and queens To wait by his triumphant chariot-wheels, In his insulting pride, deprived himself Of drawing near the nature of the gods, Best known for such, in being merciful. Yet, give me leave, but still with gentle language, And with the freedom of a friend, to tell you, To seek by force, what courtship could not win, Was harsh, and never taught in Love's mild school. Wise poets feign that Venus' coach is drawn By doves and sparrows, not by bears and tigers. I spare the application. _Fer._ In my fortune, Heaven's justice hath confirm'd it; yet, great lady, Since my offence grew from excess of love, And not to be resisted, having paid, too, With loss of liberty, the forfeiture Of my presumption, in your clemency It may find pardon. _Aurel._ You shall have just cause To say it hath. The charge of the long siege Defray'd, and the loss my subjects have sustain'd Made good, since so far I must deal with caution, You have your liberty. _Fer._ I could not hope for Gentler conditions. _Aurel._ My lord Gonzaga, Since my coming to Sienna, I've heard much of Your prisoner, brave Bertoldo. _Gonz._ Such an one, Madam, I had. _Ast._ And have still, sir, I hope. _Gonz._ Your hopes deceive you. He is ransom'd, madam. _Ast._ By whom, I pray you, sir? _Gonz._ You had best inquire Of your intelligencer: I am no informer. _Ast._ I like not this. [_Aside._ _Aurel._ He is, as 'tis reported, A goodly gentleman, and of noble parts; A brother of your order. _Gonz._ He was, madam, Till he, against his oath, wrong'd you, a princess, Which his religion bound him from. _Aurel._ Great minds, For trial of their valours, oft maintain Quarrels that are unjust, yet without malice; And such a fair construction I make of him: I would see that brave enemy. _Gonz._ My duty Commands me to seek for him. _Aurel._ Pray you do; And bring him to our presence. [_Exit_ GONZAGA. _Ast._ I must blast His entertainment. [_Aside._] May it please your excellency. He is a man debauch'd, and, for his riots, Cast off by the king my master; and that, I hope, is A crime sufficient. _Fer._ To you, his subjects, That like as your king likes. _Aurel._ But not to us; We must weigh with our own scale. _Re-enter_ GONZAGA, _with_ BERTOLDO _richly habited, and_ ADORNI. This is he, sure. How soon mine eye had found him! what a port He bears! how well his bravery becomes him! A prisoner! nay, a princely suitor, rather! But I'm too sudden. [_Aside._ _Gonz._ Madam, 'twas his suit, Unsent for, to present his service to you, Ere his departure. _Aurel._ With what majesty He bears himself! [_Aside._ _Ast._ The devil, I think, supplies him. Ransom'd, and thus rich too! _Aurel._ You ill deserve [BERTOLDO, _kneeling, kisses her hand_. The favour of our hand----we are not well, Give us more air. [_Descends suddenly._ _Gonz._ What sudden qualm is this? _Aurel._--That lifted yours against me. _Bert._ Thus, once more, I sue for pardon. _Aurel._ Sure his lips are poison'd, And through these veins force passage to my heart, Which is already seized on. [_Aside._ _Bert._ I wait, madam, To know what your commands are; my designs Exact me in another place. _Aurel._ Before You have our licence to depart! If manners, Civility of manners, cannot teach you To attend our leisure, I must tell you, sir, That you are still our prisoner; nor had you Commission to free him. _Gonz._ How's this, madam? _Aurel._ You were my substitute, and wanted power, Without my warrant, to dispose of him: I will pay back his ransom ten times over, Rather than quit my interest. _Bert._ This is Against the law of arms. _Aurel._ But not of love. [_Aside._ Why, hath your entertainment, sir, been such, In your restraint, that, with the wings of fear, You would fly from it? _Bert._ I know no man, madam, Enamour'd of his fetters, or delighting In cold or hunger, or that would in reason Prefer straw in a dungeon before A down-bed in a palace. _Aurel._ How!--Come nearer: Was his usage such? _Gonz._ Yes, and it had been worse, Had I foreseen this. _Aurel._ O such as thou, that have No share in nature's bounties, know no pity To such as have them. Look on him with my eyes, And answer, then, whether this were a man Whose cheeks of lovely fulness should be made A prey to meagre famine? or these eyes, Whose every glance store Cupid's emptied quiver, To be dimm'd with tedious watching? or these lips, These ruddy lips, of whose fresh colour cherries And roses were but copies, should grow pale For want of nectar? or these limbs, that bear A burthen of more worth than is supported By Atlas' wearied shoulders, should be cramp'd With the weight of iron? O, I could dwell ever On this description! _Bert._ Is this in derision, Or pity of me? _Aurel._ In your charity Believe me innocent. Now you are my prisoner, You shall have fairer quarter: you will shame The place where you have been, should you now leave it, Before you are recover'd. I'll conduct you To more convenient lodgings, and it shall be My care to cherish you. Repine who dare; It is our will. You'll follow me? _Bert._ To the centre, Such a Sybilla guiding me. [_Exeunt_ AURELIA, BERTOLDO, _and Attendants_. _Gonz._ Who speaks first? _Fer._ We stand as we had seen Medusa's head. _Pier._ I know not what to think, I am so amazed. _Rod._ Amazed! I am thunderstruck. _Jac._ We are enchanted, And this is some illusion. _Ador._ Heaven forbid! In dark despair it shows a beam of hope: Contain thy joy, Adorni. [_Aside._ _Ast._ Such a princess, And of so long experienced reservedness, Break forth, and on the sudden, into flashes Of more than doubted love! _Gonz._ They come again, Smiling, as I live!--Some fury hath possess'd her. If I speak, I may be blasted. _Re-enter_ BERTOLDO _and_ AURELIA. _Aurel._ Let not, sir, The violence of my passion nourish in you An ill opinion; or, grant my carriage Out of the road and garb of private women, 'Tis still done with decorum. _Bert._ Gracious madam, Vouchsafe a little pause; for I am so rapt Beyond myself, that, till I have collected My scatter'd faculties, I cannot tender My resolution. _Aurel._ Consider of it: I will not be long from you. [BERTOLDO _walks by musing_. _Gonz._ Pray you, fair lady, If you can, in courtesy direct me to The chaste Aurelia. _Aurel._ Are you blind? who are we? _Gonz._ Another kind of thing. Her love was govern'd By her discretion, and not ruled her reason: The reverence and majesty of Juno Shined in her looks, and, coming to the camp, Appear'd a second Pallas. I can see No such divinities in you: if I, Without offence, may speak my thoughts, you are, As 'twere, another Helen. _Aurel._ Good! ere long You shall know me better. _Gonz._ Why, if you are Aurelia, How shall I dispose of the soldier? _Ast._ May it please you To hasten my despatch? _Aurel._ Prefer your suits Unto Bertoldo; we will give him hearing, And you'll find him your best advocate. [_Exit._ _Ast._ This is rare! _Gonz._ What are we come to? _Rod._ Grown up in a moment A favourite! _Ferd._ He does take state already. _Bert._ No, no; it cannot be:--yet, but Camiola, There is no step between me and a crown. Then my ingratitude! a sin in which All sins are comprehended! Aid me, Virtue, Or I am lost! _Gonz._ May it please your excellence---- Second me, sir. _Bert._ Then my so horrid oaths, And hell-deep imprecations made against it! _Ast._ The king, your brother, will thank you for the advancement Of his affairs. _Bert._ And yet who can hold out Against such batteries as her power and greatness Raise up against my weak defences? _Gonz._ Sir, _Re-enter_ AURELIA. Do you dream waking? 'Slight, she's here again! Walks she on woollen feet[163]! _Aurel._ You dwell too long In your deliberation, and come With a cripple's pace to that which you should fly to. _Bert._ It is confess'd: yet why should I, to win From you, that hazard all to my poor nothing, By false play send you off a loser from me? I am already too, too much engaged To the king my brother's anger; and who knows But that his doubts and politic fears, should you Make me his equal, may draw war upon Your territories? Were that breach made up, I should with joy embrace what now I fear To touch but with due reverence. _Aurel._ That hinderance Is easily removed. I owe the king For a royal visit, which I straight will pay him; And having first reconciled you to his favour, A dispensation shall meet with us. _Bert._ I am wholly yours. _Aurel._ On this book seal it. _Gonz._ What, hand and lip too! then the bargain's sure.---- You have no employment for me? _Aurel._ Yes, Gonzaga; Provide a royal ship. _Gonz._ A ship! St. John, Whither are we bound now? _Aurel._ You shall know hereafter. My lord, your pardon for my too much trenching Upon your patience. _Ador._ Camiola! [_Aside to_ BERTOLDO. _Aurel._ How do you? _Bert._ Indisposed; but I attend you. [_Exeunt all but_ ADORNI. _Ador._ The heavy curse that waits on perjury And foul ingratitude pursue thee ever! Yet why from me this? in his breach of faith My loyalty finds reward: what poisons him, Proves mithridate[164] to me. I have perform'd All she commanded, punctually; and now, In the clear mirror of my truth, she may Behold his falsehood. O that I had wings To hear me to Palermo! This, once known, Must change her love into a just disdain, And work her to compassion of my pain. [_Exit._ FOOTNOTES: [163] _Walks she on woollen feet._] The expression is classical (_lanei pedes_), but does not bear the classical sense. How Massinger understood it I cannot tell; perhaps, as equivalent to motion without noise.--GIFFORD. [164] _Mithridate._] An antidote. "_Mithridate_ is one of the capital medicines of the shops, consisting of a great number of ingredients, and has its name from its inventor, Mithridates, King of Pontus."--QUINEY. SCENE IV. _Palermo. A Room in_ CAMIOLA'_s House_. _Enter_ SYLLI, CAMIOLA, _and_ CLARINDA, _at several doors._ _Syl._ Undone! undone!--poor I, that whilome was The top and ridge of my house, am, on the sudden, Turn'd to the pitifullest animal O' the lineage of the Syllis! _Cam._ What's the matter? _Syl._ The king--break, girdle, break! _Cam._ Why, what of him? _Syl._ Hearing how far you doted on my person, Is come himself a suitor, with the awl Of his authority to bore my nose, And take you from me--Oh, oh, oh! _Cam._ Do not roar so: The king! _Syl._ The king. Yet loving Sylli is not So sorry for his own as your misfortune: If the king should carry you, he can but make you A queen, and what a simple thing is that To the being my lawful spouse! the world can never Afford you such a husband. _Cam._ I believe you. But how are you sure the king is so inclined? Did not you dream this? _Syl._ With these eyes I saw him Dismiss his train, and lighting from his coach, Whispering Fulgentio in the ear. _Cam._ If so, I guess the business. _Syl._ Yonder they are; I dare not _Enter_ ROBERTO _and_ FULGENTIO. Be seen, I am so desperate: if you forsake me, Send me word, that I may provide a willow garland, To wear when I drown myself. O Sylli, Sylli! [_Exit crying._ _Ful._ It will be worth your pains, sir, to observe The constancy and bravery of her spirit. Though great men tremble at your frowns, I dare Hazard my head your majesty, set off With terror, cannot fright her. _Rob._ May she answer My expectation! [_Aside._ _Ful._ There she is. _Cam._ My knees thus Bent to the earth, while my vows are sent upward For the safety of my sovereign, pay the duty Due for so great an honour, in this favour Done to your humblest handmaid. _Rob._ You mistake me; I come not, lady, that you may report The king, to do you honour, made your house (He being there) his court; but to correct Your stubborn disobedience. A pardon For that, could you obtain it, were well purchased With this humility. _Cam._ A pardon, sir! Till I am conscious of an offence, I will not wrong my innocence to beg one. What is my crime, sir? _Rob._ Look on him I favour, By you scorn'd and neglected. _Cam._ Is that all, sir? _Rob._ No, minion; though that were too much. How can you Answer the setting on your desperate bravo To murder him? _Cam._ With your leave, I must not kneel, sir, While I reply to this: but thus rise up In my defence, and tell you, as a man, (Since, when you are unjust, the deity, Which you may challenge as a king, parts from you,) 'Twas never read in holy writ, or moral, That subjects on their loyalty were obliged To love their sovereign's vices: your grace, sir, To such an undeserver is no virtue. _Ful._ What think you now, sir? _Cam._ Say you should love wine, You being the king, and, 'cause I am your subject, Must I be ever drunk? Tyrants, not kings, By violence, from humble vassals force The liberty of their souls. I could not love him; And to compel affection, as I take it, Is not found in your prerogative. _Rob._ Excellent virgin! How I admire her confidence! [_Aside._ _Cam._ He complains Of wrong done him: but be no more a king, Unless you do me right. Burn your decrees, And of your laws and statutes make a fire To thaw the frozen numbness of delinquents, If he escape unpunish'd. Do your edicts Call it death in any man that breaks into Another's house to rob him, though of trifles; And shall Fulgentio, your Fulgentio, live, Who hath committed more than sacrilege, In the pollution of my clear fame By his malicious slanders? _Rob._ Have you done this? Answer truly, on your life. _Ful._ In the heat of blood, Some such thing I reported. _Rob._ Out of my sight! For I vow, if by true penitence thou win not This injured lady to sue out thy pardon, Thy grave is digg'd already. _Ful._ By my own folly I have made a fair hand of 't. [_Aside, and Exit._ _Rob._ You shall know, lady, While I wear a crown, Justice shall use her sword To cut offenders off, though nearest to us. _Cam._ Ay, now you show whose deputy you are: If now I bathe your feet with tears, it cannot Be censured superstition. _Rob._ You must rise; Rise in our favour and protection ever. [_Kisses her._ _Cam._ Happy are subjects, when the prince is still Guided by justice, not his passionate will. [_Exeunt._ ACT V. SCENE I. _The same. A Room in_ CAMIOLA'_s House_. _Enter_ CAMIOLA _and_ SYLLI. _Cam._ You see how tender I am of the quiet And peace of your affection, and what great ones I put off in your favour. _Syl._ You do wisely, Exceeding wisely; and, when I have said, I thank you for 't, be happy. _Cam._ And good reason, In having such a blessing. _Syl._ When you have it; But the bait is not yet ready. _Enter_ CLARINDA _hastily_. _Cam._ What news with thee, now? _Clar._ Off with that gown, 'tis mine; mine by your promise: Signior Adorni is return'd! now upon entrance! Off with it, off with it, madam! _Cam._ Be not so hasty: When I go to bed, 'tis thine. _Syl._ You have my grant too; But, do you hear, lady, though I give way to this, You must hereafter ask my leave, before You part with things of moment. _Cam._ Very good; When I'm yours I'll be govern'd. _Syl._ Sweet obedience! _Enter_ ADORNI. _Cam._ You are well return'd. _Ador._ I wish that the success Of my service had deserved it. _Cam._ Lives Bertoldo? _Ador._ Yes, and return'd with safety. _Cam._ 'Tis not then In the power of fate to add to, or take from My perfect happiness; and yet--he should Have made me his first visit. _Ador._ So I think too; But he---- _Syl._ Durst not appear, I being present; That's his excuse, I warrant you. _Cam._ Speak, where is he? With whom? who hath deserved more from him? or Can be of equal merit? I in this Do not except the king. _Ador._ He's at the palace, With the duchess of Sienna. One coach brought them hither, Without a third: he's very gracious with her; You may conceive the rest. _Cam._ My jealous fears Make me to apprehend. _Ador._ Pray you, dismiss Signior Wisdom, and I'll make relation to you Of the particulars. _Cam._ Servant, I would have you To haste unto the court. _Syl._ I will outrun A footman for your pleasure. _Cam._ There observe The duchess' train, and entertainment. _Syl._ Fear not; I will discover all that is of weight, To the liveries of her pages and her footmen. This is fit employment for me. [_Exit._ _Cam._ Gracious with The duchess! sure you said so? _Ador._ I will use All possible brevity to inform you, madam, Of what was trusted to me, and discharged With faith and loyal duty. _Cam._ I believe it; You ransomed him, and supplied his wants--imagine That is already spoken; and what vows Of service he made to me, is apparent; His joy of me, and wonder too, perspicuous; Does not your story end so? _Ador._ Would the end Had answered the beginning!--In a word, Ingratitude and perjury at the height Cannot express him. _Cam._ Take heed. _Ador._ Truth is arm'd, And can defend itself. It must out, madam: I saw (the presence full) the amorous duchess Kiss and embrace him; on his part accepted With equal ardour; and their willing hands No sooner join'd, but a remove was publish'd, And put in execution. _Cam._ The proofs are Too pregnant. O Bertoldo! _Ador._ He's not worth Your sorrow, madam. _Cam._ Tell me, when you saw this, Did not you grieve, as I do now to hear it? _Ador._ His precipice from goodness raising mine, And serving as a foil to set my faith off, I had little reason. _Cam._ In this you confess The malice of your disposition. As You were a man, you stood bound to lament it; And not, in flattery of your false hopes, To glory in it. When good men pursue The path mark'd out by virtue, the blest saints With joy look on it, and seraphic angels Clap their celestial wings in heavenly plaudits, To see a scene of grace so well presented, The fiends, and men made up of envy, mourning. Whereas now, on the contrary, as far As their divinity can partake of passion, With me they weep, beholding a fair temple, Built in Bertoldo's loyalty, turn'd to ashes By the flames of his inconstancy, the damn'd Rejoicing in the object.--'Tis not well In you, Adorni. _Ador._ What a temper dwells In this rare virgin! [_Aside._] Can you pity him, That hath shown none to you? _Cam._ I must not be Cruel by his example. You, perhaps, Expect now I should seek recovery Of what I have lost, by tears, and with bent knees Beg his compassion. No; my towering virtue, From the assurance of my merit, scorns To stoop so low. I'll take a nobler course, And, confident in the justice of my cause, The king his brother, and new mistress, judges, Ravish him from her arms. You have the contract, In which he swore to marry me? _Ador._ 'Tis here, madam. _Cam._ He shall be, then, against his will, my husband; And when I have him, I'll so use him!--Doubt not, But that, your honesty being unquestion'd, This writing, with your testimony, clears all. _Ador._ And buries me in the dark mists of error. _Cam._ I'll presently to court; pray you, give order For my caroch[165]. [_Exit_ ADORNI.] My good angel help me, In these my extremities! _Re-enter_ SYLLI. _Syl._ If you e'er will see brave sight, Lose it not now. Bertoldo and the duchess Are presently to be married: there's such pomp And preparation! _Cam._ If I marry, 'tis This day, or never. _Syl._ Why, with all my heart; Though I break this, I'll keep the next oath I make, And then it is quit. _Cam._ Follow me to my cabinet; You know my confessor, father Paulo? _Syl._ Yes: shall he Do the feat for us? _Cam._ I will give in writing Directions to him, and attire myself Like a virgin bride; and something I will do, That shall deserve men's praise and wonder too. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTE: [165] _Caroch_,] i. e. _a large coach_. Coaches are said to have been first brought into England in 1564, by William Booner, a Dutchman, who became coachman to Queen Elizabeth.--NARES. SCENE II. _The same. A State-room in the Palace._ _Loud music. Enter_ ROBERTO, BERTOLDO, AURELIA, FERDINAND, ASTUTIO, GONZAGA, RODERIGO, JACOMO, PIERIO, _a Bishop, and Attendants_. _Rob._ Had our division been greater, madam, Your clemency, the wrong being done to you, In pardon of it, like the rod of concord, Must make a perfect union.--Once more, With a brotherly affection, we receive you Into our favour: let it be your study Hereafter to deserve this blessing, far Beyond your merit. _Bert._ As the princess' grace To me is without limit, my endeavours, With all obsequiousness to serve her pleasures, Shall know no bounds: nor will I, being made Her husband, e'er forget the duty that I owe her as a servant. _Aurel._ I expect not But fair equality, since I well know, If that superiority be due, 'Tis not to me. When you are made my consort, All the prerogatives of my high birth cancell'd, I'll practise the obedience of a wife, And freely pay it. _Gonz._ This done, as it is promised, may well stand for A precedent to great women. _Rob._ One word more Touching the articles. _Enter_ FULGENTIO, CAMIOLA, SYLLI, _and_ ADORNI. _Ful._ In you alone Lie all my hopes; you can or kill or save me; But pity in you will become you better (Though I confess injustice 'tis denied me) Than too much rigour. _Cam._ I will make your peace As far as it lies in me; but must first Labour to right myself. _Aurel._ Or add or alter What you think fit; in him I have my all: Heaven make me thankful for him! _Rob._ On to the temple. _Cam._ Stay, royal sir; and, as you are a king, Erect one[166] here, in doing justice to An injured maid. _Aurel._ How's this? _Bert._ O, I am blasted! _Rob._ I have given some proof, sweet lady, of my promptness To do you right; you need not, therefore, doubt me; And rest assured, that, this great work despatch'd, You shall have audience, and satisfaction To all you can demand. _Cam._ To do me justice Exacts your present care, and can admit Of no delay. If, ere my cause be heard, In favour of your brother you go on, sir, Your sceptre cannot right me. He's the man, The guilty man, whom I accuse; and you Stand bound in duty, as you are supreme, To be impartial. Since you are a judge, As a delinquent look on him, and not As on a brother: Justice painted blind, Infers her ministers are obliged to hear The cause, and truth, the judge, determine of it; And not sway'd or by favour or affection, By a false gloss, or wrested comment, alter The true intent and letter of the law. _Rob._ Nor will I, madam. _Aurel._ You seem troubled, sir. _Gonz._ His colour changes too. _Cam._ The alteration Grows from his guilt. The goodness of my cause Begets such confidence in me, that I bring No hired tongue to plead for me, that with gay Rhetorical flourishes may palliate That which, stripp'd naked, will appear deform'd. I stand here mine own advocate; and my truth, Deliver'd in the plainest language, will Make good itself; nor will I, if the king Give suffrage to it, but admit of you, My greatest enemy, and this stranger prince, To sit assistants with him. _Aurel._ I ne'er wrong'd you. _Cam._ In your knowledge of the injury, I believe it; Nor will you, in your justice, when you are Acquainted with my interest in this man, Which I lay claim to. _Rob._ Let us take our seats. What is your title to him? _Cam._ By this contract, Seal'd solemnly before a reverend man, [_Presents a paper to the king._ I challenge him for my husband. _Syl._ Ha! was I Sent for the friar for this? _Rob._ This writing is Authentical. _Aurel._ But, done in heat of blood, Charm'd by her flatteries, as, no doubt, he was, To be dispensed with. _Fer._ Add this, if you please, The distance and disparity between Their births and fortunes. _Cam._ What can Innocence hope for, When such as sit her judges are corrupted! Disparity of birth or fortune, urge you? Or syren charms? or, at his best, in me Wants to deserve him? Call some few days back, And, as he was, consider him, and you Must grant him my inferior. Imagine You saw him now in fetters, with his honour, His liberty lost; with her black wings Despair Circling his miseries, and this Gonzaga Trampling on his afflictions; the great sum Proposed for his redemption; the king Forbidding payment of it; his near kinsmen, With his protesting followers and friends, Falling off from him; by the whole world forsaken; Dead to all hope, and buried in the grave Of his calamities; and then weigh duly What she deserved, whose merits now are doubted, That, as his better angel, in her bounties Appear'd unto him, his great ransom paid, His wants, and with a prodigal hand, supplied; Whether, then, being my manumised slave, He owed not himself to me? _Aurel._ Is this true? _Rob._ In his silence 'tis acknowledged. _Gonz._ If you want A witness to this purpose, I'll depose it. _Cam._ If I have dwelt too long on my deservings To this unthankful man, pray you pardon me; The cause required it. And though now I add A little, in my painting to the life His barbarous ingratitude, to deter Others from imitation, let it meet with A fair interpretation. This serpent, Frozen to numbness, was no sooner warm'd In the bosom of my pity and compassion, But, in return, he ruin'd his preserver, The prints the irons had made in his flesh Still ulcerous; but all that I had done, My benefits, in sand or water written, As they had never been, no more remember'd! And on what ground, but his ambitious hopes To gain this duchess' favour? _Aurel._ Yes; the object, Look on it better, lady, may excuse The change of his affection. _Cam._ The object! In what? forgive me, modesty, if I say You look upon your form in the false glass Of flattery and self-love, and that deceives you. That you were a duchess, as I take it, was not Character'd on your face; and, that not seen, For other feature, make all these, that are Experienced in women, judges of them, And, if they are not parasites, they must grant, For beauty without art, though you storm at it, I may take the right-hand file. _Gonz._ Well said, i' faith! I see fair women on no terms will yield Priority in beauty. _Cam._ Down, proud heart! Why do I rise up in defence of that, Which, in my cherishing of it, hath undone me! No, madam, I recant,--you are all beauty, Goodness, and virtue; and poor I not worthy As a foil to set you off: enjoy your conquest; But do not tyrannize. Yet, as I am, In my lowness, from your height you may look on me, And, in your suffrage to me, make him know That, though to all men else I did appear The shame and scorn of women, he stands bound To hold me as the masterpiece. _Rob._ By my life, You have shown yourself of such an abject temper, So poor and low-condition'd, as I grieve for Your nearness to me. _Fer._ I am changed in my Opinion of you, lady; and profess The virtues of your mind an ample fortune For an absolute monarch. _Gonz._ Since you are resolved To damn yourself, in your forsaking of Your noble order for a woman, do it For this. You may search through the world, and meet not With such another phoenix. _Aurel._ On the sudden I feel all fires of love quench'd in the water Of my compassion.--Make your peace; you have My free consent; for here I do disclaim All interest in you: and, to further your Desires, fair maid, composed of worth and honour, The dispensation procured by me, Freeing Bertoldo from his vow, makes way To your embraces. _Bert._ Oh, how have I stray'd, And wilfully, out of the noble track Mark'd me by virtue! till now, I was never Truly a prisoner. To excuse my late Captivity, I might allege the malice Of Fortune; you, that conquer'd me, confessing Courage in my defence was no way wanting. But now I have surrender'd up my strengths Into the power of Vice, and on my forehead Branded, with mine own hand, in capital letters, DISLOYAL, and INGRATEFUL. Though barr'd from Human society, and hiss'd into Some desert ne'er yet haunted with the curses Of men and women, sitting as a judge Upon my guilty self, I must confess It justly falls upon me; and one tear, Shed in compassion of my sufferings, more Than I can hope for. _Cam._ This compunction For the wrong that you have done me, though you should Fix here, and your true sorrow move no further, Will, in respect I loved once, make these eyes Two springs of sorrow for you. _Bert._ In your pity My cruelty shows more monstrous: yet I am not, Though most ingrateful, grown to such a height Of impudence, as, in my wishes only, To ask your pardon. If, as now I fall Prostrate before your feet, you will vouchsafe To act your own revenge, treading upon me As a viper eating through the bowels of Your benefits, to whom, with liberty, I owe my being, 'twill take from the burden That now is insupportable. _Cam._ Pray you, rise; As I wish peace and quiet to my soul, I do forgive you heartily: yet, excuse me, Though I deny myself a blessing that, By the favour of the duchess, seconded With your submission, is offer'd to me; Let not the reason I allege for 't grieve you, You have been false once.--I have done: and if, When I am married, as this day I will be, As a perfect sign of your atonement with me, You wish me joy, I will receive it for Full satisfaction of all obligations In which you stand bound to me. _Bert._ I will do it, And, what's more, in despite of sorrow, live To see myself undone, beyond all hope To be made up again. _Syl._ My blood begins To come to my heart again. _Cam._ Pray you, signior Sylli, Call in the holy friar: he's prepared For finishing the work. _Syl._ I knew I was The man: heaven make me thankful! [_Exit._ _Rob._ Who is this? _Ast._ His father was the banker of Palermo, And this the heir of his great wealth: his wisdom Was not hereditary. _Aurel._ For my part, I cannot guess the issue. _Re-enter_ SYLLI _with Father_ PAULO. _Syl._ Do your duty; And with all speed you can, you may despatch us. _Paul._ Thus, as a principal ornament to the church, I seize her. _All._ How! _Rob._ So young, and so religious! _Paul._ She has forsook the world. _Syl._ I shall run mad. _Rob._ Hence with the fool! [SYLLI _is thrust off_.] Proceed, sir. Paul. _Look on this_ MAID OF HONOUR, _now Truly honour'd in her vow She pays to heaven. This fair hair (Favours for great kings to wear) Must now be shorn; her rich array Changed into a homely gray: Instead of dainties, from the spring, For wine, cold water we will bring; And with fasting mortify The feasts of sensuality. Her jewels, beads; and she must look Not in a glass, but holy book, To teach her the ne'er-erring way To immortality. O may She, as she purposes to be A child new-born to piety, Perséver[167] in it, and good men, With saints and angels, say, Amen_! _Cam._ This is the marriage! this the port to which My vows must steer me! Fill my spreading sails With the pure wind of your devotions for me, That I may touch the secure haven, where Eternal happiness keeps her residence, Temptations to frailty never entering! I am dead to the world, and thus dispose Of what I leave behind me; and, dividing My state into three parts, I thus bequeath it: The first to the fair nunnery, to which I dedicate the last and better part Of my frail life; a second portion To pious uses; and the third to thee, Adorni, for thy true and faithful service. And, ere I take my last farewell, with hope To find a grant, my suit to you is, that You would, for my sake, pardon this young man, And to his merits love him, and no further. _Rob._ I thus confirm it. [_Gives his hand to_ FULGENTIO. _Cam._ And, as e'er you hope, [_To_ BERTOLDO. Like me, to be made happy, I conjure you To reassume your order; and in fighting Bravely against the enemies of our faith, Redeem your mortgaged honour. _Gonz._ I restore this: [_Gives him the white cross._ Once more, brothers in arms. _Bert._ I'll live and die so. _Cam._ To you my pious wishes! And, to end All differences, great sir, I beseech you To be an arbitrator, and compound The quarrel long continuing between The duke and duchess. _Rob._ I will take it into My special care. _Cam._ I am then at rest. Now, father, Conduct me where you please. [_Exeunt_ PAULO _and_ CAMIOLA. _Rob._ She well deserves Her name, _the Maid of Honour_! May she stand, To all posterity, a fair example For noble maids to imitate! Since to live In wealth and pleasure's common, but to part with Such poison'd baits is rare; there being nothing Upon this stage of life to be commended, Though well begun, till it be fully ended. [_Flourish. Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [166] _Erect one here_,] i. e. _a temple_.--M. MASON. [167] _Perséver._] So this word was anciently written and pronounced.--GIFFORD. END OF VOL. I. Transcriber's Notes: Words surrounded by _ are italicized. Small capitals are presented as all capitals in this e-text. Obvious printer's errors have been repaired, other inconsistent spellings have been kept, including inconsistent use of hyphen (e.g. "master-piece" and "masterpiece") or accent (e.g. "blasphémous" and "blasphemous"). End of Project Gutenberg's The Plays of Philip Massinger, by Philip Massinger *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAYS OF PHILIP MASSINGER, VOL. I *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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