Act IV…

Act IV

[SCENE I.][868]

Enter BEL-IMPERIA and HIERONIMO.

Bel. Is this the love thou bear’st Horatio? Is this the kindness that thou counterfeits? Are these the fruits of thine incessant tears? Hieronimo, are these thy passions, Thy protestations and thy deep laments, 5 That thou wert wont to weary men withal? O unkind father! O deceitful world! With what excuses canst thou show thyself[869] From this dishonour and the hate of men, Thus to neglect the loss and life of him 10 Whom both my letters and thine own belief Assures thee to be causeless slaughtered? Hieronimo, for shame, Hieronimo, Be not a history to after-times Of such ingratitude unto thy son. 15 Unhappy mothers of such children then! But monstrous fathers to forget so soon The death of those whom they with care and cost Have tend’red so, thus careless should be lost. Myself, a stranger in respect of thee, 20 So lov’d his life, as still I wish their deaths. Nor shall his death be unreveng’d by me, Although I bear it out for fashion’s sake; For here I swear, in sight of heaven and earth, Shouldst thou neglect the love thou shouldst retain, 25 And give it over and devise no more, Myself should send their hateful souls to hell That wrought his downfall with extremest death.

Hier. But may it be that Bel-imperia Vows such revenge as she hath deign’d to say? 30 Why, then I see that heaven applies our drift,[870] And all the saints do sit soliciting For vengeance on those cursed murderers. Madam, ’t is true, and now I find it so, I found a letter, written in your name, 35 And in that letter, how Horatio died. Pardon, O pardon, Bel-imperia, My fear and care in not believing it; Nor think I thoughtless think upon a mean To let his death be unreveng’d at full, 40 And here I vow—so you but give consent, And will conceal my resolution— I will ere long determine of their deaths That causeless thus have murdered my son.

Bel. Hieronimo, I will consent, conceal, 45 And ought that may effect for thine avail, Join with thee to revenge Horatio’s death.

Hier. On, then; [and] whatsoever I devise, Let me entreat you, grace my practices, For-why[871] the plot’s already in mine head. 50 Here they are.

Enter BALTHAZAR and LORENZO.

Bal. How now, Hieronimo? What, courting Bel-imperia?

Hier. Ay, my lord; Such courting as, I promise you, She hath my heart, but you, my lord, have hers.

Lor. But now, Hieronimo, or never, 55 We are to entreat your help.

Hier. My help? Why, my good lords, assure yourselves of me; For you have giv’n me cause,—ay, by my faith have you!

Bal. It pleas’d you, at the entertainment of the ambassador, To grace the king so much as with a show. 60 Now, were your study so well furnished, As, for the passing of the first night’s sport, To entertain my father with the like, Or any such-like pleasing motion, Assure yourself, it would content them well. 65

Hier. Is this all?

Bal. Ay, this is all.

Hier. Why then, I’ll fit you; say no more. When I was young, I gave my mind And plied myself to fruitless poetry; Which though it profit the professor naught, 70 Yet is it passing pleasing to the world.

Lor. And how for that?

Hier. Marry, my good lord, thus:— And yet methinks, you are too quick with us— When in Toledo there I studied, It was my chance to write a tragedy, 75 See here, my lords— He shows them a book. Which, long forgot, I found this other day. Now would your lordships favour me so much As but to grace me with your acting it— I mean each one of you to play a part— 80 Assure you it will prove most passing strange, And wondrous plausible[872] to that assembly.

Bal. What, would you have us play a tragedy?

Hier. Why, Nero thought it no disparagement, And kings and emperors have ta’en delight 85 To make experience of their wits in plays.

Lor. Nay, be not angry, good Hieronimo; The prince but ask’d a question.

Bal. In faith, Hieronimo, an you be in earnest, I’ll make one.

Lor. And I another. 90

Hier. Now, my good lord, could you entreat Your sister Bel-imperia to make one? For what’s a play without a woman in it?

Bel. Little entreaty shall serve me, Hieronimo; For I must needs be employed in your play. 95

Hier. Why, this is well. I tell you, lordings. It was determined to have been acted By gentlemen and scholars too, Such as could tell what to speak.

Bal. And now It shall be play’d by princes and courtiers, 100 Such as can tell how to speak: If, as it is our country manner, You will but let us know the argument.

Hier. That shall I roundly. The chronicles of Spain Record this written of a knight of Rhodes: 105 He was betroth’d, and wedded at the length, To one Perseda, an Italian dame, Whose beauty ravish’d all that her beheld. Especially the soul of Soliman, Who at the marriage was the chiefest guest. 110 By sundry means sought Soliman to win Perseda’s love, and could not gain the same. Then ’gan he break his passions to a friend, One of his bashaws,[873] whom he held full dear. Her had this bashaw long solicited, 115 And saw she was not otherwise to be won, But by her husband’s death, this knight of Rhodes, Whom presently by treachery he slew. She, stirr’d with an exceeding hate therefore, As cause of this slew Soliman, 120 And, to escape the bashaw’s tyranny, Did stab herself: and this the tragedy.

Lor. O excellent!

Bel. But say, Hieronimo, What then became of him that was the bashaw?

Hier. Marry, thus: mov’d with remorse of his misdeeds, 125 Ran to a mountain-top, and hung himself.

Bal. But which of us is to perform that part?

Hier. O, that will I, my lords; make no doubt of it. I’ll play the murderer, I warrant you; For I already have conceited that. 130

Bal. And what shall I?

Hier. Great Soliman, the Turkish emperor.

Lor. And I?

Hier. Erastus, the knight of Rhodes.

Bel. And I?

Hier. Perseda, chaste and resolute. And here, my lords, are several abstracts drawn, 135 For each of you to note your parts, And act it, as occasion ’s off’red you. You must provide a Turkish cap, A black mustachio and a falchion; Gives a paper to BALTHAZAR. You with a cross, like to a knight of Rhodes; 140 Gives another to LORENZO. And, madam, you must attire yourself He giveth BEL-IMPERIA another. Like Phoebe, Flora, or the huntress [Dian],[874] Which to your discretion shall seem best. And as for me, my lords, I’ll look to one, And, with the ransom that the viceroy sent, 145 So furnish and perform this tragedy, As all the world shall say, Hieronimo Was liberal in gracing of it so.

Bal. Hieronimo, methinks a comedy were better.

Hier. A comedy? 150 Fie! comedies are fit for common wits; But to present a kingly troop withal, Give me a stately-written tragedy; Tragoedia cothurnata, fitting kings, Containing matter, and not common things. 155 My lords, all this must be performed, As fitting for the first night’s revelling, The Italian tragedians were so sharp of wit. That in one hour’s meditation They would perform anything in action. 160

Lor. And well it may; for I have seen the like In Paris ’mongst the French tragedians.

Hier. In Paris? mass! and well remembered! There ’s one thing more that rests for us to do.

Bal. What’s that, Hieronimo? Forget not anything. 165

Hier. Each one of us Must act his part in unknown languages, That it may breed the more variety: As you, my lord, in Latin, I in Greek, You in Italian; and for because I know 170 That Bel-imperia hath practised the French, In courtly French shall all her phrases be.

Bel. You mean to try my cunning then, Hieronimo?

Bal. But this will be a mere confusion And hardly shall we all be understood. 175

Hier. It must be so; for the conclusion Shall prove the invention[875] and all was good: And I myself in an oration, And with a strange and wondrous show besides, That I will have there behind a curtain, 180 Assure yourself, shall make the matter known; And all shall be concluded in one scene, For there ’s no pleasure ta’en in tediousness.

Bal. How like you this?

Lor. Why, thus my lord: We must resolve to soothe his humours up. 185

Bal. On then, Hieronimo; farewell till soon.

Hier. You’ll ply this gear?

Lor. I warrant you. Exeunt all but HIERONIMO.

Hier. Why so: Now shall I see the fall of Babylon, Wrought by the heavens in this confusion. And if the world like not this tragedy, 190 Hard is the hap of old Hieronimo. Exit.

[SCENE II.][876]

Enter ISABELLA with a weapon.

Isab. Tell me no more!—O monstrous homicides! Since neither piety or pity moves The king to justice or compassion, I will revenge myself upon this place, Where thus they murdered my beloved son. 5 She cuts down the arbour. Down with these branches and these loathsome boughs Of this unfortunate and fatal pine! Down with them, Isabella; rent them up. And burn the roots from whence the rest is sprung! I will not leave a root, a stalk, a tree, 10 A bough, a branch, a blossom, nor a leaf, No, not an herb within this garden-plot,— Accursed complot[877] of my misery! Fruitless for ever may this garden be, Barren the earth, and blissless whosoever 15 Imagines not to keep it unmanur’d![878] An eastern wind, commix’d with noisome airs, Shall blast the plants and the young saplings; The earth with serpents shall be pestered, And passengers, for fear to be infect, 20 Shall stand aloof, and, looking at it, tell: “There, murd’red, died the son of Isabel.” Ay, here he died, and here I him embrace: See, where his ghost solicits with his wounds Revenge on her that should revenge his death. 25 Hieronimo, make haste to see thy son; For sorrow and despair hath cited me To hear Horatio plead with Rhadamanth. Make haste, Hieronimo, to hold excus’d[879] Thy negligence in pursuit of their deaths 30 Whose hateful wrath bereav’d him of his breath. Ah, nay, thou dost delay their deaths, Forgives the murderers of thy noble son, And none but I bestir me—to no end! And as I curse this tree from further fruit, 35 So shall my womb be cursed for his sake; And with this weapon will I wound the breast, The hapless breast, that gave Horatio suck. She stabs herself.

[SCENE III.][880]

Enter HIERONIMO; he knocks up the curtain. Enter the DUKE of CASTILE.

Cast. How now, Hieronimo, where’s your fellows, That you take all this pain?

Hier. O sir, it is for the author’s credit, To look that all things may go well. But, good my lord, let me entreat your grace, 5 To give the king the copy of the play: This is the argument of what we show.

Cast. I will, Hieronimo.

Hier. One thing more, my good lord.

Cast. What’s that?

Hier. Let me entreat your grace 10 That, when the train are pass’d into the gallery, You would vouchsafe to throw me down the key.

Cast. I will, Hieronimo. Exit CASTILE.

Hier. What, are you ready, Balthazar? Bring a chair and a cushion for the king. 15 Enter BALTHAZAR, with a chair. Well done, Balthazar! hang up the title: Our scene is Rhodes. What, is your beard on?

Bal. Half on; the other is in my hand.

Hier. Despatch for shame; are you so long? Exit BALTHAZAR. Bethink thyself, Hieronimo, 20 Recall thy wits, recount thy former wrongs Thou hast receiv’d by murder of thy son, And lastly, not least! how Isabel, Once his mother and thy dearest wife, All woe-begone for him, hath slain herself. 25 Behoves thee then, Hieronimo, to be reveng’d! The plot is laid of dire revenge: On, then, Hieronimo, pursue revenge; For nothing wants but acting of revenge! Exit Hieronimo.

[SCENE IV.][881]

Enter Spanish KING, VICEROY, the DUKE OF CASTILE, and their train [to the gallery].[882]

King. Now, Viceroy, shall we see the tragedy Of Soliman, the Turkish emperor, Perform’d of pleasure by your son the prince, My nephew Don Lorenzo, and my niece. 4

Vic. Who? Bel-imperia?

King. Ay, and Hieronimo, our marshal, At whose request they deign to do ’t themselves. These be our pastimes in the court of Spain. Here, brother, you shall be the bookkeeper: This is the argument of that they show. He giveth him a book. _Gentlemen, this play of Hieronimo, in sundry (10) languages, was thought good to be set down in English, more largely, for the easier understanding to every public reader._

Enter BALTHAZAR, BEL-IMPERIA, and HIERONIMO.

Bal. _Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours, yield heavens the honour, And holy Mahomet, our sacred prophet! 15 And be thou grac’d with every excellence That Soliman can give, or thou desire. But thy desert in conquering Rhodes is less Than in reserving this fair Christian nymph, Perseda, blissful lamp of excellence, 20 Whose eyes compel, like powerful adamant, The warlike heart of Soliman to wait._

King. See, Viceroy, that is Balthazar, your son, That represents the emperor Soliman: How well he acts his amorous passion! 25

Vic. Ay, Bel-imperia hath taught him that.

Cast. That’s because his mind runs all on Bel-imperia.

Hier. Whatever joy earth yields, betide your majesty.

Bal. Earth yields no joy without Perseda’s love.

Hier. Let then Perseda on your grace attend. 30

Bal. _She shall not wait on me, but I on her: Drawn by the influence of her lights, I yield. But let my friend, the Rhodian knight, come forth. Erasto, dearer than my life to me, That he may see Perseda, my belov’d._ 35

Enter ERASTO.

King. Here comes Lorenzo: look upon the plot, And tell me, brother, what part plays he?

Bel. Ah, my Erasto, welcome to Perseda.

Lor. _Thrice happy is Erasto that thou liv’st; Rhodes’ loss is nothing to Erasto’s joy; 40 Sith his Perseda lives, his life survives._

Bal. _Ah, bashaw, here is love between Erasto And fair Perseda, sovereign of my soul._

Hier. _Remove Erasto, mighty Soliman, And then Perseda will be quickly won._ 45

Bal. _Erasto is my friend; and while he lives, Perseda never will remove her love._

Hier. Let not Erasto live to grieve great Soliman.

Bal. Dear is Erasto in our princely eye.

Hier. But if he be your rival, let him die. 50

Bal. _Why, let him die!—so love commandeth me. Yet grieve I that Erasto should so die._

Hier. _Erasto, Soliman saluleth thee, And lets thee wit by me his highness’ will, Which is, thou shouldst be thus employ’d._ Stabs him.

Bel. _Ay me! Erasto! See, Soliman, Erasto’s slain!_ 56

Bal. _Yet liveth Soliman to comfort thee. Fair queen of beauty, let not favour die, But with a gracious eye behold his grief That with Perseda’s beauty is increas’d, 60 If by Perseda his grief be not releas’d._

Bel. _Tyrant, desist soliciting vain suits; Relentless are mine ears to thy laments, As thy butcher is pitiless and base, Which seiz’d on my Erasto, harmless knight. 65 Yet by thy power thou thinkest to command, And to thy power Perseda doth obey; But, were she able, thus she would revenge Thy treacheries on thee, ignoble prince:_ Stabs him. And on herself she would be thus reveng’d. 70 Stabs herself.

King. Well said!—Old marshal, this was bravely done!

Hier. But Bel-imperia plays Perseda well!

Vic. Were this in earnest, Bel-imperia, You would be better to my son than so. 74

King. But now what follows for Hieronimo?

Hier. Marry, this follows for Hieronimo: Here break we off our sundry languages, And thus conclude I in our vulgar tongue. Haply you think—but bootless are your thoughts— That this is fabulously counterfeit, 80 And that we do as all tragedians do,— To die to-day, for fashioning our scene, The death of Ajax or some Roman peer, And in a minute starting up again, Revive to please to-morrow’s audience. 85 No, princes; know I am Hieronimo, The hopeless father of a hapless son, Whose tongue is tun’d to tell his latest tale, Not to excuse gross errors in the play. 89 I see, your looks urge instance of these words; Behold the reason urging me to this! Shows his dead son. See here my show, look on this spectacle! Here lay my hope, and here my hope hath end; Here lay my heart, and here my heart was slain; Here lay my treasure, here my treasure lost; 95 Here lay my bliss, and here my bliss bereft: But hope, heart, treasure, joy, and bliss, All fled, fail’d, died, yea, all decay’d with this. From forth these wounds came breath that gave me life; They murd’red me that made these fatal marks. 100 The cause was love, whence grew this mortal hate; The hate, Lorenzo and young Balthazar; The love, my son to Bel-imperia. But night, the coverer of accursed crimes, With pitchy silence hush’d these traitors’ harms, 105 And lent them leave, for they had sorted[883] leisure To take advantage in my garden-plot Upon my son, my dear Horatio. There merciless they butcher’d up my boy, 109 In black, dark night, to pale, dim, cruel death. He shrieks: I heard—and yet, methinks, I hear— His dismal outcry echo in the air. With soonest speed I hasted to the noise, Where hanging on a tree I found my son, Through-girt[884] with wounds, and slaught’red as you see. 115 And griev’d I, think you, at this spectacle? Speak, Portuguese, whose loss resembles mine: If thou canst weep upon thy Balthazar, ’T is like I wail’d for my Horatio. And you, my lord, whose reconciled son 120 March’d in a net, and thought himself unseen, And rated me for brainsick lunacy, With “God amend that mad Hieronimo!”— How can you brook our play’s catastrophe? And here behold this bloody handkercher, 125 Which at Horatio’s death I weeping dipp’d Within the river of his bleeding wounds: It as propitious, see, I have reserved, And never hath it left my bloody heart, Soliciting remembrance of my vow 130 With these, O, these accursed murderers: Which now perform’d, my heart is satisfied. And to this end the bashaw I became That might revenge me on Lorenzo’s life, Who therefore was appointed to the part, 135 And was to represent the knight of Rhodes, That I might kill him more conveniently. So, Viceroy, was this Balthazar, thy son, That Soliman which Bel-imperia, In person of Perseda, murdered; 140 Solely appointed to that tragic part That she might slay him that offended her. Poor Bel-imperia miss’d her part in this: For though the story saith she should have died, Yet I of kindness, and of care to her, 145 Did otherwise determine of her end; But love of him whom they did hate too much Did urge her resolution to be such. And, princes, now behold Hieronimo, Author and actor in this tragedy, 150 Bearing his latest fortune in his fist; And will as resolute conclude his part, As any of the actors gone before. And, gentles, thus I end my play; Urge no more words: I have no more to say. 155 He runs to hang himself.

King. O hearken, Viceroy! Hold, Hieronimo! Brother, my nephew and thy son are slain!

Vic. We are betray’d; my Balthazar is slain! Break ope the doors; run, save Hieronimo. They break in and hold Hieronimo. Hieronimo, do but inform the king of these events; 160 Upon mine honour, thou shalt have no harm.

Hier. Viceroy, I will not trust thee with my life, Which I this day have offered to my son. Accursed wretch! 164 Why stay’st thou him that was resolv’d to die?

King. Speak, traitor! damned, bloody murderer, speak! For now I have thee, I will make thee speak. Why hast thou done this undeserving deed?

Vic. Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar?

Cast. Why hast thou butchered both my children thus? 170

Hier. O, good words! As dear to me was my Horatio As yours, or yours, or yours, my lord, to you. My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain, And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar 175 Am I at last revenged thoroughly, Upon whose souls may heavens be yet aveng’d With greater far than these afflictions.

Cast. But who were thy confederates in this?

Vic. That was thy daughter Bel-imperia; 180 For by her hand my Balthazar was slain: I saw her stab him.

King. Why speak’st thou not?

Hier. What lesser liberty can kings afford Than harmless silence? Then afford it me. Sufficeth, I may not, nor I will not tell thee. 185

King. Fetch forth the tortures: traitor as thou art, I’ll make thee tell.

Hier. Indeed, Thou may’st torment me as his wretched son Hath done in murd’ring my Horatio; But never shalt thou force me to reveal 190 The thing which I have vow’d inviolate. And therefore, in despite of all thy threats, Pleas’d with their deaths, and eas’d with their revenge, First take my tongue, and afterwards my heart. He bites out his tongue.

[[885]Hier. But are you sure they are dead?

Cast. Ay, slave,[886] too sure.

Hier. What, and yours too? 195

Vic. Ay, all are dead: not one of them survive.

Hier. _Nay, then I care not; come, and we shall be friends: Let us lay our heads together: See, here’s a goodly noose wilt hold them all._ 200

Vic. O damned devil, how secure[887] he is!

Hier. _Secure? Why, dost thou wonder at it? I tell thee, Viceroy, this day I have seen revenge, And in that sight am grown a prouder monarch, Than ever sat under the crown of Spain. 205 Had I as many lives as there be stars, As many heavens to go to, as those lives, I’d give them all, ay, and my soul to boot, But I would see thee ride in this red pool._

Cast. But who were thy confederates in this? 210

Vic. _That was thy daughter Bel-imperia; For by her hand my Balthazar was slain: I saw her stab him._

Hier. _O, good words! As dear to me was my Horatio, 215 As yours, or yours, or yours, my lord, to you. My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain, And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar Am I at last revenged thoroughly, Upon whose souls may heavens be yet avenged 220 With greater far than these afflictions. Methinks, since I grew inward with revenge, I cannot look with scorn enough on death._

King. What, dost thou mock us, slave?—Bring tortures forth. 224

Hier. _Do, do, do: and meantime I’ll torture you. You had a son, as I take it; and your son Should ha’ been married to your daughter: Ha, was it not so?—You had a son too, He was my liege’s nephew: he was proud And politic; had he liv’d, he might ha’ come 230 To wear the crown of Spain, I think ’t was so:— ’T was I that kill’d him: look you, this same hand. ’T was it that stabb’d his heart—do ye see? this hand— For one Horatio, if you ever knew him: a youth, One that they hang’d up in his father’s garden: 235 One that did force your valiant son to yield, While your more valiant son did take him prisoner._

Vic. Be deaf, my senses: I can hear no more.

King. Fall, heaven, and cover us with thy sad ruins. 239

Cast. Roll all the world within thy pitchy cloud.

Hier. Now do I applaud what I have acted. Nunc iners cadat[888] manus! _Now to express the rupture of my part,— First take my tongue, and afterward my heart._]

King. O monstrous resolution of a wretch! 245 See, Viceroy, he hath bitten forth his tongue, Rather than to reveal what we requir’d.

Cast. Yet can he write.

King. And if in this he satisfy us not, We will devise th’ extremest kind of death 250 That ever was invented for a wretch. Then he makes signs for a knife to mend his pen.

Cast. O, he would have a knife to mend his pen.

Vic. Here, and advise thee that thou write the troth.— Look to my brother! save Hieronimo! He with a knife stabs the DUKE and himself.

King. What age hath ever heard such monstrous deeds? 255 My brother, and the whole succeeding hope That Spain expected after my decease! Go, bear his body hence, that we may mourn The loss of our beloved brother’s death, That he may be entomb’d whate’er befall. 260 I am the next, the nearest, last of all.

Vic. And thou, Don Pedro, do the like for us: Take up our hapless son, untimely slain; Set me with him, and he with woeful me, Upon the main-mast of a ship unmann’d, 265 And let the wind and tide haul me along To Scylla’s barking and untamed gulf, Or to the loathsome pool of Acheron, To weep my want for my sweet Balthazar: Spain hath no refuge for a Portingale. 270

The trumpets sound a dead march; the KING OF SPAIN mourning after his brother’s body, and the KING OF PORTINGAL bearing the body of his son.

[CHORUS.]

Enter GHOST and REVENGE.

Ghost. Ay, now my hopes have end in their effects, When blood and sorrow finish my desires: Horatio murdered in his father’s bower; Vild Serberine by Pedringano slain; False Pedringano hang’d by quaint device; 5 Fair Isabella by herself misdone; Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stabb’d; The Duke of Castile and his wicked son Both done to death by old Hieronimo; My Bel-imperia fall’n as Dido fell, 10 And good Hieronimo slain by himself: Ay, these were spectacles to please my soul! Now will I beg at lovely Proserpine That, by the virtue of her princely doom, I may consort[889] my friends in pleasing sort, 15 And on my foes work just and sharp revenge. I’ll lead my friend Horatio through those fields, Where never-dying wars are still inur’d;[890] I’ll lead fair Isabella to that train, Where pity weeps, but never feeleth pain; 20 I’ll lead my Bel-imperia to those joys, That vestal virgins and fair queens possess; I’ll lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plays, Adding sweet pleasure to eternal days. 24 But say, Revenge, for thou must help, or none, Against the rest how shall my hate be shown?

Rev. This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell, Where none but Furies, bugs,[891] and tortures dwell.

Ghost. Then, sweet Revenge, do this at my request: Let me be judge, and doom them to unrest. 30 Let loose poor Tityus from the vulture’s gripe, And let Don Cyprian supply his room; Place Don Lorenzo on Ixion’s wheel, And let the lover’s endless pains surcease 34 (Juno forgets old wrath, and grants him ease); Hang Balthazar about Chimaera’s neck, And let him there bewail his bloody love, Repining at our joys that are above; Let Serberine go roll the fatal stone, And take from Sisyphus his endless moan; 40 False Pedringano, for his treachery, Let him be dragg’d through boiling Acheron, And there live, dying still in endless flames, Blaspheming gods and all their holy names.

Rev. Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes: 45 To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes; For here though death hath end their misery, I’ll there begin their endless tragedy. Exeunt.

BUSSY D’AMBOIS

BY GEORGE CHAPMAN

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

HENRY III., King of France. Monsieur, his brother. The DUKE OF GUISE. MONTSURRY, a Count. BUSSY D’AMBOIS. BARRISOR, } L’ANOU, } Courtiers; enemies of D’Ambois. PYRRHOT, } BRISAC, } MELYNELL, } Courtiers; friends of D’Ambois. FRIAR COMOLET. MAFFE, steward to Monsieur. NUNTIUS.

Murderers. BEHEMOTH, } CARTOPHYLAX, } Spirits. UMBRA of FRIAR.

ELENOR, Duchess of Guise. TAMYRA, Countess of Montsurry. BEAUPRE, niece to Elenor. PERO, maid to Tamyra. CHARLOTTE, maid to Beaupre. PYRA, a court lady. ANNABELLE, maid to Elenor. Lords, Ladies, Pages, &c.

SCENE.—Paris.]

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Prologue

Not out of confidence that none but we[892] Are able to present this tragedy, Not out of envy at the grace of late It did receive, nor yet to derogate From their deserts who[893] give out boldly that 5 They move with equal feet on the same flat; Neither for all nor any of such ends We offer it, gracious and noble friends, To your review; we, far from emulation And (charitably judge) from imitation, 10 With this work entertain you, a piece known And still believ’d in Court to be our own. To quit our claim, doubting our right or merit, Would argue in us poverty of spirit Which we must not subscribe to. Field[894] is gone, 15 Whose action first did give it name, and one[895] Who came the nearest to him, is denied By his gray beard to show the height and pride Of D’Ambois’ youth and bravery; yet to hold Our title still a-foot, and not grow cold 20 By giving it o’er, a third man[896] with his best Of care and pains defends our interest; As Richard[897] he was lik’d, nor do we fear In personating D’Ambois he’ll appear To faint, or go less, so[898] your free consent, 25 As heretofore, give him encouragement.

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Act I, Scene I — [899]

Enter BUSSY D’AMBOIS, poor.

Bu. Fortune, not Reason, rules the state of things, Reward goes backwards, Honour on his head; Who is not poor, is monstrous; only need Gives form and worth to every human seed. As cedars beaten with continual storms, 5 So great men flourish; and do imitate Unskilful statuaries, who suppose, In forming a Colossus, if they make him Straddle enough, strut, and look big, and gape, Their work is goodly: so men merely great 10 In their affected gravity of voice, Sourness of countenance, manners’ cruelty, Authority, wealth, and all the spawn of fortune, Think they bear all the kingdom’s worth before them; Yet differ not from those colossic statues, 15 Which, with heroic forms without o’erspread, Within are nought but mortar, flint, and lead. Man is a torch borne in the wind; a dream But of a shadow, summ’d with all his substance; And as great seamen, using all their wealth 20 And skills in Neptune’s deep invisible paths, In tall ships richly built and ribb’d with brass, To put a girdle round about the world, When they have done it (coming near their haven) Are glad to give a warning-piece,[900] and call 25 A poor, staid fisherman, that never past His country’s sight, to waft and guide them in: So when we wander furthest through the waves Of glassy Glory, and the gulfs of State, 29 Topt with all titles, spreading all our reaches, As if each private arm would sphere the earth, We must to Virtue for her guide resort, Or we shall shipwrack in our safest port. Procumbit.

[Enter] Monsieur, with two Pages.

[Mo.] There is no second place in numerous state[901] That holds more than a cipher; in a king 35 All places are contain’d. His word and looks Are like the flashes and the bolts of Jove; His deeds inimitable, like the sea 38 That shuts still as it opes, and leaves no tracts Nor prints of precedent for mean men’s facts:[902] There’s but a thread betwixt me and a crown: I would not wish it cut, unless by nature; Yet to prepare me for that possible fortune, ’Tis good to get resolved spirits about me. I follow’d D’Ambois to this green retreat; 45 A man of spirit beyond the reach of fear, Who (discontent with his neglected worth) Neglects the light, and loves obscure abodes; But he is young and haughty, apt to take Fire at advancement, to bear state and flourish; 50 In his rise therefore shall my bounties shine. None loathes the world so much, nor loves to scoff it, But gold and grace will make him surfeit of it. What, D’Ambois?

Bu. He, sir.

Mo. Turn’d to earth, alive? Up, man; the sun shines on thee.

Bu. Let it shine: I am no mote to play in ’t, as great men are. 56

Mo. Call’st thou men great in state, motes in the sun? They say so that would have thee freeze in shades, They (like the gross Sicilian gourmandist) Empty their noses in the cates[903] they love, 60 That none may eat but they. Do thou but bring Light to the banquet Fortune sets before thee, And thou wilt loathe lean darkness like thy death. Who would believe thy mettle could let sloth Rust and consume it? If Themistocles 65 Had liv’d obscur’d thus in th’ Athenian State, Xerxes had made both him and it his slaves. If brave Camillus had lurkt so in Rome, He had not five times been Dictator there, Nor four times triumpht. If Epaminondas 70 (Who liv’d twice twenty years obscur’d in Thebes) Had liv’d so still, he had been still unnam’d, And paid his country nor himself their right; But putting forth his strength, he rescu’d both From imminent ruin; and, like burnisht steel, 75 After long-use he shin’d; for as the light Not only serves to show, but render us Mutually profitable; so our lives In acts exemplary, not only win Ourselves good names, but do to others give 80 Matter for virtuous deeds, by which we live.

Bu. What would you wish me?

Mo. Leave the troubled streams, And live, as thrivers do, at the well-head.

Bu. At the well-head? Alas, what should I do With that enchanted glass? See devils there? Or, like a strumpet, learn to set my looks 86 In an eternal brake,[904] or practise juggling, To keep my face still fast, my heart still loose; Or bear (like dame’s schoolmistresses their riddles) Two tongues, and be good only for a shift;[905] 90 Flatter great lords, to put them still in mind Why they were made lords; or please humorous[906] ladies With a good carriage, tell them idle tales To make their physic work; spend a man’s life In sights and visitations, that will make 95 His eyes as hollow as his mistress’ heart: To do none good, but those that have no need; To gain being forward, though you break for haste All the commandments ere you break your fast; But believe backwards, make your period 100 And creed’s last article, “I believe in God ”; And (hearing villanies preacht) t’unfold their art, Learn to commit them: ’tis a great man’s part. Shall I learn this there?

Mo. No, thou need’st not learn, Thou hast the theory; now go there and practise. 105

Bu. Ay, in a threadbare suit; when men come there, They must have high naps,[907] and go from thence bare: A man may drown the parts[908] of ten rich men In one poor suit; brave barks[909] and outward gloss Attract Court loves, be in parts ne’er so gross.

Mo. Thou shalt have gloss enough, and all things fit 111 T’enchase in all show thy long-smothered spirit: Be rul’d by me then. The old Scythians Painted blind Fortune’s powerful hands with wings, To show her gifts come swift and suddenly, 115 Which, if her favourite be not swift to take, He loses them for ever. Then be wise: Stay but awhile here, and I’ll send to thee. Exit Monsieur with Pages.

Bu. What will he send? Some crowns? It is to sow them 119 Upon my spirit, and make them spring a crown Worth millions of the seed-crowns he will send. Like to disparking[910] noble husbandmen, He’ll put his plow into me, plow me up. But his unsweating thrift is policy, And learning-hating policy is ignorant 125 To fit his seed-land soil; a smooth plain ground Will never nourish any politic seed. I am for honest actions, not for great: If I may bring up a new fashion, And rise in Court for virtue, speed his plow! 130 The King hath known me long as well as he, Yet could my fortune never fit the length Of both their understandings till this hour. There is a deep nick in Time’s restless wheel For each man’s good, when which nick comes, it strikes; 135 As rhetoric yet works not persuasion, But only is a mean to make it work, So no man riseth by his real merit, But when it cries “clink” in his raiser’s spirit, Many will say, that cannot rise at all, 140 Man’s first hour’s rise is first step to his fall. I’ll venture that; men that fall low must die, As well as men cast headlong from the sky.

Enter MAFFE.

Ma. Humour of princes! Is this wretch endu’d With any merit worth a thousand crowns? 145 Will my lord have me be so ill a steward Of his revenue, to dispose a sum So great with so small cause as shows in him? I must examine this. Is your name D’Ambois?

Bu. Sir?

Ma. Is your name D’Ambois?

Bu. Who have we here? 150 Serve you the Monsieur?

Ma. How?

Bu. Serve you the Monsieur?

Ma. Sir, y’are very hot. I do serve the Monsieur; But in such place as gives me the command Of all his other servants. And because His grace’s pleasure is to give your good 155 His pass[911] through my command, methinks you might Use me with more respect.

Bu. Cry you mercy![912] Now you have opened my dull eyes, I see you, And would be glad to see the good you speak of. What might I call your name?

Ma. Monsieur Maffe.

Bu. Monsieur Maffe? Then, good Monsieur Maffe, 161 Pray let me know you better.

Ma. Pray do so, That you may use me better. For yourself, By your no better outside, I would judge you To be some poet; have you given my lord 165 Some pamphlet?

Bu. Pamphlet?

Ma. Pamphlet, sir, I say.

Bu. Did your great master’s goodness leave the good That is to pass your charge to my poor use, To your discretion?

Ma. Though he did not, sir, I hope ’tis no rude office to ask reason 170 How that his grace gives me in charge, goes from me?

Bu. That’s very perfect, sir.

Ma. Why, very good, sir; I pray then give me leave; if for no pamphlet, May I not know what other merit in you, 174 Makes his compunction willing to relieve you?

Bu. No merit in the world, sir.

Ma. That is strange. Y’are a poor soldier, are you?

Bu. That I am, sir.

Ma. And have commanded?

Bu. Ay, and gone without, sir.

Ma. [Aside.] I see the man; a hundred crowns will make him 179 Swagger and drink healths to his grace’s bounty, And swear he could not be more bountiful; So there’s nine hundred crowns sav’d.—Here, tall soldier, His grace hath sent you a whole hundred crowns.

Bu. A hundred, sir? Nay, do his highness right; I know his hand is larger, and perhaps 185 I may deserve more than my outside shows. I am a scholar, as I am a soldier, And I can poetise; and (being well encourag’d) May sing his fame for giving; yours for delivering 189 (Like a most faithful steward) what he gives.

Ma. What shall your subject be?

Bu. I care not much If to his bounteous grace I sing the praise Of fair great noses, and to you of long ones. What qualities have you, sir, beside your chain[913] And velvet jacket?[913] Can your worship dance?

Ma. A pleasant fellow, faith; it seems my lord 196 Will have him for his jester; and by ’r lady, Such men are now no fools; ’tis a knight’s place. If I (to save his grace some crowns) should urge him T’ abate his bounty, I should not be heard; 200 I would to heaven I were an errant ass, For then I should be sure to have the ears Of these great men, where now their jesters have them. ’Tis good to please him, yet I’ll take no notice Of his preferment, but in policy 205 Will still be grave and serious, lest he think I fear his wooden dagger.[914] Here, sir Ambo!

Bu. How, Ambo, sir?

Ma. Ay, is not your name Ambo?

Bu. You call’d me lately D’Ambois; has your worship So short a head?

Ma. I cry thee mercy, D’Ambois. A thousand crowns I bring you from my lord. If you be thrifty, and play the good husband, you may make 212 This a good standing living: ’tis a bounty His highness might perhaps have bestow’d better.

Bu. Go, y’are a rascal; hence, away, you rogue! 215

Ma. What mean you, sir?

Bu. Hence! prate no more! Or, by thy villain’s blood, thou prat’st thy last! A barbarous groom grudge at his master’s bounty! But since I know he would as much abhor 210 His hind should argue what he gives his friend, Take that, sir, for your aptness to dispute. [Strikes him.] Exit.

Ma. These crowns are set in blood; blood be their fruit. Exit.

[Scene II.][915]

[Enter] HENRY, GUISE, MONTSURRY, ELENOR, TAMYRA, BEAUPRE, PERO, CHARLOTTE, PYRA, ANNABELLE.

He. Duchess of Guise, your grace is much enricht In the attendance of that English virgin, That will initiate her prime of youth (Dispos’d to Court conditions) under the hand Of your preferr’d instructions and command, 5 Rather than any in the English Court, Whose ladies are not matcht in Christendom For graceful and confirm’d behaviours; More than the Court, where they are bred, is equall’d.

Gu. I like not their Court fashion; it is too crestfall’n 10 In all observance, making demigods Of their great nobles; and of their old queen, An ever-young and most immortal goddess.

Mo. No question she’s the rarest queen in Europe.

Gu. But what’s that to her immortality? 15

He. Assure you, cousin Guise, so great a courtier, So full of majesty and royal parts, No queen in Christendom may vaunt herself. Her Court approves it, that’s a Court indeed, Not mixt with clowneries us’d in common houses, 20 But, as Courts should be, th’ abstracts of their kingdoms, In all the beauty, state, and worth they hold; So is hers, amply, and by her inform’d. The world is not contracted in a man With more proportion and expression, 25 Than in her Court, her kingdom. Our French Court Is a mere mirror of confusion to it: The king and subject, lord and every slave, Dance a continual hay;[916] our rooms of state Kept like our stables; no place more observ’d Than a rude market-place: and though our custom 31 Keep this assur’d confusion from our eyes, ’Tis ne’er the less essentially unsightly, Which they would soon see, would they change their form 34 To this of ours, and then compare them both; Which we must not affect,[917] because in kingdoms Where the king’s change doth breed the subject’s terror, Pure innovation is more gross than error.

Mo. No question we shall see them imitate (Though afar off) the fashions of our Courts, 40 As they have ever ap’d us in attire. Never were men so weary of their skins, And apt to leap out of themselves as they; Who, when they travel[918] to bring forth rare men, Come home, delivered of a fine French suit. 45 Their brains lie with their tailors, and get babies For their most complete issue; he’s sole heir To all the moral virtues that first greets The light with a new fashion, which becomes them Like apes, disfigur’d with the attires of men. 50

He. No question they much wrong their real worth In affectation of outlandish scum; But they have faults, and we more; they foolish-proud To jet[919] in others’ plumes so haughtily; We proud, that they are proud of foolery, 55 Holding our worths more complete for their vaunts.

Enter Monsieur, D’AMBOIS.

Mo. Come, mine own sweetheart, I will enter thee.— Sir, I have brought a gentleman to Court, And pray you would vouchsafe to do him grace.

He. D’Ambois, I think?

Bu. That’s still my name, my lord, 60 Though I be something altered in attire.

He. We like your alteration, and must tell you We have expected th’ offer of your service; For we (in fear to make mild virtue proud) Use not to seek her out in any man. 65

Bu. Nor doth she use to seek out any man: He that will win must woo her; [she’s not shameless.][920]

Mo. I urg’d her modesty in him, my lord, And gave her those rites that he says she merits.

He. If you have woo’d and won, then, brother, wear him. 70

Mo. Th’ art mine, sweetheart. See, here’s the Guise’s Duchess, The Countess of Montsurreau, Beaupre. Come, I’ll enseam[921] thee. Ladies, y’are too many To be in council; I have here a friend That I would gladly enter in your graces. 75

Bu. Save you, ladies.

Du. If you enter him in our graces, my lord, methinks by his blunt behaviour he should come out of himself.

Ta. Has he never been courtier, my lord? 80

Mo. Never, my lady.

Be. And why did the toy take him in th’ head now?

Bu. ’Tis leap-year, lady, and therefore very good to enter a courtier. 85

He. Mark, Duchess of Guise, there is one is not bashful.

Du. No, my lord, he is much guilty of the bold extremity.

Ta. The man’s a courtier at first sight.

Bu. I can sing pricksong,[922] lady, at first sight; and why not be a courtier as suddenly? 90

Be. Here’s a courtier rotten before he be ripe.

Bu. Think me not impudent, lady; I am yet no courtier; I desire to be one, and would gladly take entrance, madam, under your princely colours. 95

Enter BARRISOR, L’ANOU, PYRRHOT.

Du. Soft, sir, you must rise by degrees, first being the servant[923] of some common lady, or knight’s wife; then a little higher to a lord’s wife; next a little higher to a countess; yet a little higher to a duchess, and then turn the ladder. 101

Bu. Do you allow a man, then, four mistresses when the greatest mistress is allowed but three servants?

Du. Where find you that statute, sir? 105

Bu. Why, be judged by the groom-porters.[924]

Du. The groom-porters?

Bu. Ay, madam; must not they judge of all gamings i’ th’ Court?

Du. You talk like a gamester. 110

Gu. Sir, know you me?

Bu. My lord?

Gu. I know not you. Whom do you serve?

Bu. Serve, my lord?

Gu. Go to, companion,[925] your courtship’s too saucy. 116

Bu. [Aside.] Saucy! Companion! ’Tis the Guise, but yet those terms might have been spared of the guiserd.[926] Companion! He’s jealous, by this light. Are you blind of that side, duke? I’ll to her again for that.—Forth, (121) princely mistress, for the honour of courtship. Another riddle!

Gu. Cease your courtship, or by heaven I’ll cut your throat. 125

Bu. Cut my throat? Cut a whetstone, young Accius Naevius.[927] Do as much with your tongue, as he did with a razor. Cut my throat!

Ba. What new-come gallant have we here, that dares mate[928] the Guise thus? 130

L’A. ’Sfoot, ’tis D’Ambois. The duke mistakes him, on my life, for some knight of the new edition.[929]

Bu. Cut my throat! I would the king fear’d thy cutting of his throat no more than I fear thy cutting of mine. 136

Gu. I’ll do’t, by this hand.

Bu. That hand dares not do’t. Y’ave cut too many throats already, Guise; and robb’d the realm of many thousand souls, more precious than thine own.—Come madam, talk on. (141) ’Sfoot, can you not talk? Talk on, I say; another riddle.

Py. Here’s some strange distemper.

Ba. Here’s a sudden transmigration with D’Ambois,—out of the knight’s ward[930] into the duchess’ bed.

L’A. See what a metamorphosis a brave suit can work. 149

Py. ’Slight, step to the Guise and discover him.

Ba. By no means; let the new suit work, we’ll see the issue.

Gu. Leave your courting. 154

Bu. I will not.—I say, mistress, and I will stand unto it, that if a woman may have three servants, a man may have three-score mistresses.

Gu. Sirrah, I’ll have you whipt out of the Court for this insolence. 160

Bu. Whipt? Such another syllable out a th’ presence, if thou dar’st, for thy dukedom.

Gu. Remember, poltroon.

Mo. Pray thee, forbear. 164

Bu. Passion of death! Were not the king here, he should strow the chamber like a rush.

Mo. But leave courting his wife, then.

Bu. I will not. I’ll court her in despite of him. Not court her! Come, madam, talk on, fear me nothing. [To Guise.] Well may’st thou drive thy master from the Court, but never (171) D’Ambois.

Mo. His great heart will not down; ’tis like the sea, That partly by his own internal heat, Partly the stars’ daily and nightly motion, 175 Their heat and light, and partly of the place, The divers frames, but chiefly by the moon, Bristled with surges, never will be won (No, not when th’ hearts of all those powers are burst) To make retreat into his settled home, 180 Till he be crown’d with his own quiet foam.

He. You have the mate.[931] Another?

Gu. No more. Flourish short. Exit GUISE, after him the King, Monsieur whispering.

Ba. Why, here’s the lion, scar’d with the throat of a dunghill cock, a fellow that has (185) newly shak’d off his shackles; now does he crow for that victory.

L’A. ’Tis one of the best jigs that ever was acted. 189

Py. Whom does the Guise suppose him to be, trow?

L’A. Out of doubt, some new denizen’d lord, and thinks that suit newly drawn out a’ th’ mercer’s books. 194

Ba. I have heard of a fellow, that by a fixt imagination looking upon a bull-baiting, had a visible pair of horns grew out of his forehead; and I believe this gallant, overjoyed with the conceit of Monsieur’s cast[932] suit, imagines himself to be the Monsieur. 200

L’A. And why not; as well as the ass, stalking in the lion’s case,[933] bare himself like a lion, braying all the huger beasts out of the forest?

Py. Peace, he looks this way. 204

Ba. Marry, let him look, sir. What will you say now if the Guise be gone to fetch a blanket[934] for him?

L’A. Faith, I believe it for his honour sake.

Py. But, if D’Ambois carry it clean?[935] Exeunt Ladies.

Ba. True, when he curvets in the blanket.

Py. Ay, marry, sir. 211

L’A. ’Sfoot, see how he stares on ’s.

Ba. Lord bless us, let’s away.

Bu. Now, sir, take your full view; how does the object please ye? 215

Ba. If you ask my opinion, sir, I think your suit sits as well as if ’t had been made for you.

Bu. So, sir, and was that the subject of your ridiculous jollity?

L’A. What’s that to you, sir? 220

Bu. Sir, I have observ’d all your fleerings;[936] and resolve yourselves ye shall give a strict account for’t.

Enter BRISAC, MELYNELL.

Ba. Oh, miraculous jealousy![937] Do you think yourself such a singular subject for laughter (225) that none can fall into the matter of our merriment but you?

L’A. This jealousy of yours, sir, confesses some close defect in yourself, that we never dream’d of. 230

Py. We held discourse of a perfum’d ass, that being disguis’d in a lion’s case, imagin’d himself a lion. I hope that toucht not you.

Bu. So, sir; your descants[938] do marvellous well fit this ground. We shall meet where (235) your buffoonly laughters will cost ye the best blood in your bodies.

Ba. For life’s sake let’s be gone; he’ll kill ’s outright else.

Bu. Go, at your pleasures, I’ll be your ghost to haunt you; an ye sleep an ’t, hang me. 241

L’A. Go, go, sir; court your mistress.

Py. And be advis’d; we shall have odds against you.

Bu. Tush! valour stands not in number; I’ll maintain it, that one man may beat three (246) boys.

Br. Nay, you shall have no odds of him in number, sir; he’s a gentleman as good as the proudest of you, and ye shall not wrong him.

Ba. Not, sir? 251

Me. Not, sir: though he be not so rich, he’s a better man than the best of you; and I will not endure it.

L’A. Not you, sir? 255

Br. No, sir, not I.

Bu. I should thank you for this kindness, if I thought these perfum’d musk-cats (being out of this privilege) durst but once mew at us.

Ba. Does your confident spirit doubt that, sir? Follow us and try. 261

L’A. Come, sir, we’ll lead you a dance. Exeunt.

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Act II, Scene I — [939]

[Enter] HENRY, GUISE, MONTSURRY, and Attendants.

He. This desperate quarrel sprung out of their envies To D’Ambois’ sudden bravery,[940] and great spirit.

Gu. Neither is worth their envy.

He. Less than either Will make the gall of envy overflow. She feeds on outcast entrails like a kite; 5 In which foul heap, if any ill lies hid, She sticks her beak into it, shakes it up, And hurls it all abroad, that all may view it. Corruption is her nutriment; but touch her With any precious ointment, and you kill her. Where she finds any filth in men, she feasts, 11 And with her black throat bruits it through the world (Being sound and healthful). But if she but taste The slenderest pittance of commended virtue, She surfeits on it, and is like a fly 15 That passes all the body’s soundest parts, And dwells upon the gores; or if her squint eye Have power to find none there, she forges some. She makes that crooked ever which is straight; Calls valour giddiness, justice tyranny; 20 A wise man may shun her, she not herself; Whithersoever she flies from her harms, She bears her foes still claspt in her own arms: And therefore, Cousin Guise, let us avoid her.

Enter Nuntius.

Nu. What Atlas or Olympus lifts his head 25 So far past covert, that with air enough My words may be inform’d, and from their height I may be seen, and heard through all the world? A tale so worthy, and so fraught with wonder Sticks in my jaws, and labours with event. 30

He. Comest thou from D’Ambois?

Nu. From him, and the rest, His friends and enemies; whose stern fight I saw, And heard their words before and in the fray.

He. Relate at large what thou hast seen and heard.

Nu. I saw fierce D’Ambois and his two brave friends 35 Enter the field, and at their heels their foes; Which were the famous soldiers, Barrisor, L’Anou, and Pyrrhot, great in deeds of arms: All which arriv’d at the evenest piece of earth The field afforded, the three challengers 40 Turn’d head, drew all their rapiers, and stood rankt: When face to face the three defendants met them, Alike prepar’d, and resolute alike. Like bonfires of contributory wood Every man’s look show’d, fed with either’s spirit; 45 As one had been a mirror to another, Like forms of life and death, each took from other; And so were life and death mixt at their heights, That you could see no fear of death, for life, Nor love of life, for death; but in their brows 50 Pyrrho’s opinion in great letters shone: That life and death in all respects are one.

He. Past there no sort of words at their encounter?

Nu. As Hector, ’twixt the hosts of Greece and Troy, 54 (When Paris and the Spartan king should end The nine years’ war) held up his brazen lance For signal that both hosts should cease from arms, And hear him speak: so Barrisor advis’d,[941] Advanc’d his naked rapier ’twixt both sides, Ript[942] up the quarrel, and compar’d six lives 60 Then laid in balance with six idle words; Offer’d remission and contrition too; Or else that he and D’Ambois might conclude The others’ dangers. D’Ambois lik’d the last; But Barrisor’s friends (being equally engag’d 65 In the main quarrel) never would expose His life alone to that they all deserv’d. And, for the other offer of remission, D’Ambois (that like a laurel put in fire Sparkl’d and spit) did much more than scorn 70 That his wrong should incense him so like chaff To go so soon out; and like lighted paper Approve his spirit at once both fire and ashes. So drew they lots and in them fates appointed That Barrisor should fight with fiery D’Ambois; 75 Pyrrhot with Melynell; with Brisac L’Anou: And then like flame and powder they commixt, So spritely, that I wisht they had been spirits, That the ne’er-shutting wounds, they needs must open, Might as they open’d shut, and never kill. 80 But D’Ambois’ sword (that light’ned as it flew) Shot like a pointed comet at the face Of manly Barrisor; and there it stuck. Thrice pluckt he[943] at it, and thrice drew on thrusts, From him[944] that of himself was free as fire: 85 Who[944] thrust still as he[943] pluckt, yet (past belief) He[943] with his subtle eye, hand, body, scapt. At last, the deadly hitten point tugg’d off, On fell his yet undaunted foe so fiercely That (only made more horrid with his wound) 90 Great D’Ambois shrunk, and gave a little ground; But soon return’d, redoubled[945] in his danger, And at the heart of Barrisor seal’d his anger. Then, as in Arden I have seen an oak Long shook with tempests, and his lofty top 95 Bent to his root, which being at length made loose Even groaning with his weight) he ’gan to nod This way and that, as loth his curled brows (Which he had oft wrapt in the sky with storms) 99 Should stoop: and yet, his radical fibres burst, Storm-like he fell, and hid the fear-cold earth; So fell stout Barrisor, that had stood the shocks Of ten set battles in your highness’ war, ’Gainst the sole soldier of the world, Navarre.

Gu. Oh, piteous and horrid murder!

[Mont.] Such a life Methinks had metal in it to survive 105 An age of men.

He. Such often soonest end. Thy felt report calls on, we long to know On what events the other have arriv’d.

Nu. Sorrow and fury, like two opposite fumes Met in the upper region of a cloud, 111 At the report made by this worthy’s fall, Brake from the earth, and with them rose Revenge, Ent’ring with fresh powers his two noble friends; And under that odds fell surcharged[946] Brisac, 115 The friend of D’Ambois, before fierce L’Anou; Which D’Ambois seeing, as I once did see, In my young travels through Armenia, An angry unicorn in his full career Charge with too swift a foot a jeweller 120 That watcht him for the treasure of his brow,[947] And, ere he could get shelter of a tree, Nail him with his rich antler to the earth; So D’Ambois ran upon reveng’d L’Anou, Who eying th’ eager point borne in his face, 125 And giving back, fell back, and in his fall His foe’s uncurbed sword stopt in his heart; By which time all the life-strings of the tw’ other Were cut, and both fell as their spirits flew Upwards; and still hunt honour at the view: 130 And now, of all the six, sole D’Ambois stood Untoucht, save only with the others’ blood.

He. All slain outright?

Nu. All slain outright but he, Who kneeling in the warm life of his friends, (All freckled with the blood his rapier rain’d) 135 He kist their pale cheeks, and bade both farewell; And see the bravest man the French earth bears! [Exit Nuntius.]

Enter Monsieur D’AMBOIS bare.[948]

Bu. Now is the time; y’are princely vow’d my friend; Perform it princely, and obtain my pardon.

Mo. Else heaven forgive not me! Come on, brave friend!— 140 If ever nature held herself her own, When the great trial of a king and subject Met in one blood, both from one belly springing; Now prove her virtue and her greatness one, Or make the t’ one the greater with t’ other, 145 (As true kings should) and for your brother’s love, (Which is a special species of true virtue) Do that you could not do, not being a king.

He. Brother, I know your suit; these wilful murders Are ever past our pardon.

Mo. Manly slaughter 150 Should never bear th’ account of wilful murder; It being a spice[949] of justice, where with life Offending past law,[950] equal life is laid In equal balance, to scourge that offence By law of reputation, which to men 155 Exceeds all positive law, and what that[951] leaves To true men’s valours (not prefixing rights Of satisfaction, suited to their wrongs) A free man’s eminence may supply and take.

He. This would make every man that thinks him wrong’d 160 Or is offended, or in wrong or right, Lay on this violence, and all vaunt themselves Law-menders and suppliers,[952] though mere butchers; Should this fact[953] (though of justice[954]) be forgiven?

Mo. Oh, no, my lord; it would make cowards fear 165 To touch the reputatious of true men When only they are left to imp[955] the law. Justice will soon distinguish murderous minds From just revengers. Had my friend been slain, (His enemy surviving) he should die, 170 Since he had added to a murder’d fame (Which was in his intent) a murdered man, And this had worthily been wilful murder; But my friend only sav’d his fame’s dear life, Which is above life, taking th’ under value, 175 Which in the wrong it did, was forfeit to him; And in this fact only preserves a man In his uprightness; worthy to survive Millions of such as murder men alive.

He. Well, brother, rise, and raise your friend withal 180 From death to life; and D’Ambois, let your life (Refin’d, by passing through this merited death) Be purg’d from more such foul pollution; Nor on your scape nor valour more presuming To be again so daring.

Bu. My lord, 185 I loathe as much a deed of unjust death As law itself doth; and to tyrannize, Because I have a little spirit to dare And power to do, as to be tyranniz’d. This is a grace that (on my knees redoubled[956]), I crave to double this, my short life’s gift; 191 And shall your royal bounty centuple, That I may so make good what Law and nature Have given me for my good; since I am free, (Offending no just law), let no law make 195 By any wrong it does, my life her slave: When I am wrong’d, and that law fails to right me, Let me be king myself (as man was made), And do a justice that exceeds the law; If my wrong pass the power of single valour 200 To right and expiate, then be you my king, And do a right, exceeding law and nature. Who to himself is law, no law doth need, Offends no law, and is a king indeed.

He. Enjoy what thou entreat’st; we give but ours. 205

Bu. What you have given, my lord, is ever yours. Exit Rex cum [MONTSURRY.]

Gu. Mort dieu! who would have pardon’d such a murder? Exit.

Mo. Now vanish horrors into Court attractions, For which let this balm make thee fresh and fair. And now forth with thy service to the duchess, 210 As my long love will to Montsurry’s countess. Exit.

Bu. To whom my love hath long been vow’d in heart, Although in hand for show I held the duchess. And now through blood and vengeance, deeds of height And hard to be achiev’d, ’tis fit I make 215 Attempt of her perfection. I need fear No check in his rivality,[957] since her virtues Are so renown’d, and he of all dames hated. Exit.

[SCENE II.][958]

MONTSURRY, TAMYRA, BEAUPRE, PERO, CHARLOTTE, PYRA.

Mont. He will have pardon, sure.

Ta. ’T were pity, else: For though his great spirit something overflow, All faults are atill borne that from greatness grow; But such a sudden courtier saw I never.

Be. He was too sudden, which indeed was rudeness. 5

Ta. True, for it argued his no due conceit[959] Both of the place and greatness of the persons, Nor of our sex: all which (we all being strangers To his encounter) should have made more manners 9 Deserve more welcome.

Mont. All this fault is found Because he lov’d the duchess and left you.

Ta. Alas, love give her joy; I am so far From envy of her honour, that I swear, Had he encounter’d me with such proud slight, I would have put that project[960] face of his 15 To a more test than did her duchesship.

Be. Why (by your leave, my lord) I ’ll speak it here, Although she be my aunt, she scarce was modest, When she percerv’d the duke her husband take Those late exceptions to her servant’s courtship, 20 To entertain him.

Ta. Ay, and stand him still, Letting her husband give her servant place. Though he did manly, she should be a woman.

Enter GUISE.

[Gu.] D’Ambois is pardon’d! Where’s a king? Where law? See how it runs, much like a turbulent sea, 25 Here high and glorious as it did contend To wash the heavens and make the stars more pure, And here so low, it leaves the mud of hell To every common view; come, Count Montsurry, 29 We must consult of this.

Ta. Stay not, sweet lord.

Mont. Be pleas’d, I ’ll straight return. Exit cum GUISE.

Ta. Would that would please me!

Be. I ’ll leave you, madam, to your passions; I see there ’s change of weather in your looks. Exit cum suis.

Ta. I cannot cloak it; but, as when a fume, Hot, dry, and gross, within the womb of earth Or in her superficies begot, 36 When extreme cold hath struck it to her heart, The more it is comprest, the more it rageth; Exceeds his prison’s strength that should contain it, And then it tosseth temples in the air, 40 All bars made engines to his insolent fury; So, of a sudden, my licentious fancy Riots within me: not my name and house Nor my religion, to this hour observ’d, Can stand above it. I must utter that 45 That will in parting break more strings in me Than death when life parts; and that holy man That, from my cradle, counsell’d for my soul, I now must make an agent for my blood.[961] 49

Enter MONSIEUR.

Mo. Yet, is my mistress gracious?

Ta. Yet unanswered?

Mo. Pray thee regard thine own good, if not mine, And cheer my love for that; you do not know What you may be by me, nor what without me; I may have power t’ advance and pull down any.

Ta. That ’s not my study. One way I am sure 55 You shall not pull down me; my husband’s height Is crown to all my hopes; and his retiring To any mean state, shall be my aspiring; My honour ’s in mine own hands, spite of kings.

Mo. Honour, what ’s that? Your second maidenhead: 60 And what is that? A word. The word is gone, The thing remains: the rose is pluckt, the stalk Abides; an easy loss where no lack’s found. Believe it, there ’s as small lack in the loss As there is pain i’ th’ losing; archers ever 65 Have two strings to a bow; and shall great Cupid (Archer of archers both in men and women,) Be worse provided than a common archer? A husband and a friend all wise wives have.

Ta. Wise wives they are that on such strings depend, 70 With a firm husband joining a loose friend!

Mo. Still you stand on your husband, so do all The common sex of you, when y’ are encounter’d With one ye cannot fancy. All men know 74 You live in Court, here, by your own election, Frequenting all our common sports and triumphs, All the most youthful company of men: And wherefore do you this? To please your husband? ’T is gross and fulsome: if your husband’s pleasure Be all your object, and you aim at honour 80 In living close to him, get you from Court; You may have him at home; these common put-offs For common women serve: “My honour! Husband!” Dames maritorious[962] ne’er were meritorious. Speak plain, and say, “I do not like you, sir, 85 Y’ are an ill-favour’d fellow in my eye;” And I am answer’d.

Ta. Then, I pray, be answer’d: For in good faith, my lord, I do not like you In that sort[963] you like.

Mo. Then have at you, here! Take (with a politic hand) this rope of pearl, 90 And though you be not amorous, yet be wise: Take me for wisdom; he that you can love Is ne’er the further from you.

Ta. Now it comes So ill prepar’d, that I may take a poison, Under a medicine as good cheap as it; 95 I will not have it were it worth the world.

Mo. Horror of death; could I but please your eye, You would give me the like, ere you would lose me. “Honour and husband!”

Ta. By this light, my lord, Y’ are a vile fellow, and I ’ll tell the king 100 Your occupation of dishonouring ladies And of his Court. A lady cannot live As she was born, and with that sort of pleasure That fits her state, but she must be defam’d With an infamous lord’s detraction. 105 Who would endure the Court if these attempts Of open and profest lust must be borne? Who ’s there? Come on, dame; you are at your book When men are at your mistress; have I taught you Any such waiting-woman’s quality? 110

Mo. Farewell, good “husband.” Exit Monsieur.

Mont. Farewell, wicked lord.

Enter MONTSURRY.

Mont. Was not the Monsieur here?

Ta. Yes, to good purpose; And your cause is as good to seek him too, And haunt his company.

Mont. Why, what ’s the matter?

Ta. Matter of death, were I some husbands’ wife. 115 I cannot live at quiet in my chamber, For opportunities[964] almost to rapes Offer’d me by him.

Mont. Pray thee bear with him. Thou know’st he is a bachelor and a courtier, Ay, and a prince; and their prerogatives 120 Are to their laws, as to their pardons are Their reservations, after Parliaments— One quits another; form gives all their essence. That prince doth high in virtue’s reckoning stand That will entreat a vice, and not command. 125 So far bear with him; should another man Trust to his privilege, he should trust to death. Take comfort, then, my comfort, nay, triumph And crown thyself, thou part’st with victory;[965] My presence is so only dear to thee 130 That other men’s appear worse than they be. For this night yet, bear with my forced absence; Thou know’st my business; and with how much weight. My vow hath charg’d it.

Ta. True, my lord, and never My fruitless love shall let[966] your serious honour; Yet, sweet lord, do not stay; you know my soul 136 Is so long time without me, and I dead, As you are absent.

Mont. By this kiss, receive My soul for hostage, till I see my love.

Ta. The morn shall let me see you.

Mont. With the sun I ’ll visit thy more comfortable[967] beauties. 141

Ta. This is my comfort, that the sun hath left The whole world’s beauty ere my sun leaves me.

Mont. ’T is late night now indeed; farewell, my light. Exit.

Ta. Farewell, my light and life;—but not in him, 145 In mine own dark love and light bent to another. Alas that in the wane[968] of our affections We should supply it with a full dissembling, In which each youngest maid is grown a mother; Frailty is fruitful, one sin gets another. 150 Our loves like sparkles are that brightest shine When they go out, most vice shows most divine.— Go, maid, to bed; lend me your book, I pray; Not like yourself for form; I ’ll this night trouble None of your services. Make sure the doors, 155 And call your other fellows to their rest.

Pe. I will,—[Aside.] yet I will watch to know why you watch. Exit.

Ta. Now all ye peaceful regents of the night, Silently-gliding exhalations, Languishing winds, and murmuring falls of waters, 160 Sadness of heart and ominous secureness, Enchantments, dead sleeps, all the friends of rest, That ever wrought upon the life of man, Extend your utmost strengths; and this charm’d hour 164 Fix like the centre;[969] make the violent wheels Of Time and Fortune stand; and great Existence (The Maker’s treasury) now not seem to be, To all but my approaching friends and me. They come, alas, they come! Fear, fear and hope Of one thing, at one instant fight in me; 170 I love what most I loathe, and cannot live Unless I compass that which holds my death; For life ’s mere death, loving one that loathes me, And he I love will loath me, when he sees I fly my sex, my virtue, my renown, 175 To run so madly on a man unknown. The vault opens. See, see, a vault is opening that was never Known to my lord and husband, nor to any But him that brings the man I love, and me. How shall I look on him? How shall I live, And not consume in blushes? I will in, 181 And cast myself off,[970] as I ne’er had been.[971] Exit.

Ascendit Friar and D’AMBOIS.

Fr. Come, worthiest son, I am past measure glad, That you (whose worth I have approv’d so long) Should be the object of her fearful love; 185 Since both your wit and spirit can adapt Their full force to supply her utmost weakness. You know her worths and virtues, for report Of all that know is to a man a knowledge: 189 You know besides, that our affections’ storm, Rais’d in our blood, no reason can reform. Though she seek then their satisfaction (Which she must needs, or rest unsatisfied) Your judgment will esteem her peace thus wrought, 194 Nothing less dear than if yourself had sought; And (with another colour, which my art Shall teach you to lay on) yourself must seem The only agent, and the first orb move[972] In this our set and cunning world of love.

Bu. Give me the colour, my most honour’d father, 200 And trust my cunning then to lay it on.

Fr. ’T is this, good son; Lord Barrisor (whom you slew) Did love her dearly, and with all fit means Hath urg’d his acceptation, of all which She keeps one letter written in his blood. 205 You must say thus, then, that you heard from me How much herself was toucht in conscience With a report (which is in truth disperst) That your main quarrel grew about her love, Lord Barrisor imagining your courtship 210 Of the great Guise’s Duchess in the presence, Was by you made to his elected mistress; And so made me your mean now to resolve her, Choosing (by my direction) this night’s depth For the more clear avoiding of all note 215 Of your presumed presence: and with this (To clear her hands of such a lover’s blood) She will so kindly thank and entertain you, Methinks I see how, ay, and ten to one, Show you the confirmation in his blood, 220 Lest you should think report and she did feign, That you shall so have circumstantial means To come to the direct, which must be used: For the direct is crooked; love comes flying; The height of love is still won with denying. 225

Bu. Thanks, honour’d father.

Fr. She must never know That you know anything of any love Sustain’d on her part: for, learn this of me, In anything a woman does alone, If she dissemble, she thinks ’tis not done; 230 If not dissemble,[973] nor a little chide, Give her her wish, she is not satisfi’d; To have a man think that she never seeks, Does her more good than to have all she likes: This frailty sticks in them beyond their sex, Which to reform, reason is too perplex: 236 Urge reason to them, it will do no good; Humour (that is the chariot of our food In everybody) must in them be fed, To carry their affections by it bred. 240 Stand close.

Enter TAMYRA with a book.

Ta. Alas, I fear my strangeness will retire him. If he go back, I die; I must prevent it, And cheer his onset with my sight at least, And that’s the most; though every step he takes 245 Goes to my heart. I ’ll rather die than seem Not to be strange to that I most esteem.

Fr. Madam.

Ta. Ah!

Fr. You will pardon me, I hope, That so beyond your expectation, And at a time for visitants so unfit, 250 I (with my noble friend here) visit you. You know that my access at any time Hath ever been admitted; and that friend That my care will presume to bring with me Shall have all circumstance of worth in him 255 To merit as free welcome as myself.

Ta. Oh, father! but at this suspicious hour You know how apt best men are to suspect us, In any cause that makes suspicious shadow No greater than the shadow of a hair: 260 And y’ are to blame. What though my lord and husband Lie forth to-night, and, since I cannot sleep When he is absent, I sit up to-night; Though all the doors are sure, and all our servants As sure bound with their sleeps; yet there is One 265 That wakes above, whose eye no sleep can bind. He sees through doors, and darkness, and our thoughts; And therefore as we should avoid with fear To think amiss ourselves before his search, So should we be as curious to shun 270 All cause that other think not ill of us.

Bu. Madam, ’t is far from that; I only heard By this my honour’d father, that your conscience Made some deep scruple with a false report That Barrisor’s blood should something touch your honour, 275 Since he imagin’d I was courting you, When I was bold to change words with the duchess, And therefore made his quarrel; his long love And service, as I hear, being deeply vowed 279 To your perfections, which my ready presence, Presum’d on with my father at this season For the more care of your so curious[974] honour, Can well resolve[975] your conscience, is most false.

Ta. And is it therefore that you come, good sir? 284 Then crave I now your pardon and my father’s, And swear your presence does me so much good, That all I have it hinds to your requital. Indeed, sir, ’t is most true that a report Is spread, alleging that his love to me Was reason of your quarrel, and because 290 You shall not think I feign it for my glory That he importun’d me for his court service,[976] I ’ll show you his own hand, set down in blood To that vain purpose. Good sir, then come in. Father, I thank you now a thousand-fold. 295 Exit TAMYRA and D’AMBOIS.

Fr. May it be worth it to you, honour’d daughter. Descendit Friar.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Act III, Scene I — [977]

Enter D’AMBOIS, TAMYRA, with a chain of pearl.

Bu. Sweet mistress, cease! Your conscience is too nice,[978] And bites too hotly of the Puritan spice.

Ta. Oh, my dear servant,[979] in thy close embraces, I have set open all the doors of danger To my encompast honour, and my life. 5 Before I was secure against death and hell, But now am subject to the heartless fear Of every shadow and of every breath, And would change firmness with an aspen leaf; So confident a spotless conscience is, 10 So weak a guilty. Oh, the dangerous siege Sin lays about us, and the tyranny He exercises when he hath expugn’d![980] Like to the horror of a winter’s thunder, Mixt with a gushing storm, that suffer nothing To stir abroad on earth but their own rages, 16 Is sin, when it hath gathered head above us: No roof, no shelter can secure us so, But he will drown our cheeks in fear or woe.

Bu. Sin is a coward, madam, and insults 20 But on our weakness, in his truest valour;[981] And so our ignorance tames us, that we let His shadows fright us: and like empty clouds, In which our faulty apprehensions forge The forms of dragons, lions, elephants, 25 When they hold no proportion, the sly charms Of the witch, Policy, makes him like a monster Kept only to show men for servile money. That false hag often paints him in her cloth Ten times more monstrous than he is in troth. 30 In three of us, the secret of our meeting Is only guarded, and three friends as one Have ever been esteem’d: as our three powers That in our one soul are as one united: Why should we fear then? For myself I swear 35 Sooner shall torture be the sire to pleasure, And health be grievous to one long time sick, Than the dear jewel of your fame in me Be made an outcast to your infamy; Nor shall my value (sacred to your virtues) 40 Only give free course to it, from myself: But make it fly out of the mouths of kings In golden vapours and with awful wings.

Ta. It rests[982] as all kings’ seals were set in thee. Now let us call my father, whom I swear 45 I could extremely chide, but that I fear To make him so suspicious of my love Of which, sweet servant, do not let him know For all the world.

Bu. Alas! he will not think it. 49

Ta. Come, then—ho! Father, ope, and take your friend. Ascendit Friar.

Fr. Now, honour’d daughter, is your doubt resolv’d?

Ta. Ay, father, but you went away too soon.

Fr. Too soon?

Ta. Indeed you did, you should have stayed; Had not your worthy friend been of your bringing, And that contains all laws to temper me, 55 Not all the fearful danger that besieged us, Had aw’d my throat from exclamation.

Fr. I know your serious disposition well. Come, son, the morn comes on.

Bu. Now, honour’d mistress, Till farther service call, all bliss supply you. 60

Ta. And you this chain of pearl, and my love only. Descendit Friar and D’AMBOIS. It is not I, but urgent destiny, That (as great statesmen for their general end In politic justice, make poor men offend) Enforceth my offence to make it just. 65 What shall weak dames do, when th’ whole work of nature Hath a strong finger in each one of us? Needs must that sweep away the silly cobweb Of our still-undone labours; that lays still Our powers to it: as to the line, the stone, 70 Not to the stone, the line should be oppos’d;[983] We cannot keep our constant course in virtue: What is alike at all parts? Every day Differs from other: every hour and minute, Ay, every thought in our false clock of life 75 Ofttimes inverts the whole circumference: We must be sometimes one, sometimes another. Our bodies are but thick clonds to our souls, Through which they cannot shine when they desire: When all the stars, and even the sun himself, 80 Must stay the vapours’ times that he exhales Before he can make good his beams to us; Oh, how can we, that are but motes to him, Wand’ring at random in his ordered rays, Disperse our passions’ fumes, with our weak labours, 85 That are more thick and black than all earth’s vapours?

Enter MONTSURRY.

Mont. Good day, my love; what, up and ready[984] too!

Ta. Both, my dear lord; not all this night made I Myself unready, or could sleep a wink.

Mont. Alas! what troubled my true love, my peace, 90 From being at peace within her better self? Or how could sleep forbear to seize thine eyes When he might challenge them as his just prize?

Ta. I am in no power earthly, but in yours; To what end should I go to bed, my lord, 95 That wholly mist the comfort of my bed? Or how should sleep possess my faculties, Wanting the proper closer of mine eyes?

Mont. Then will I never more sleep night from thee. All mine own business, all the king’s affairs, 100 Shall take the day to serve them; every night I’ll ever dedicate to thy delight.

Ta. Nay, good my lord, esteem not my desires Such doters on their humours that my judgment Cannot subdue them to your worthier pleasure; A wife’s pleas’d husband must her object be 106 In all her acts, not her sooth’d fantasy.

Mont. Then come, my love, now pay those rites to sleep Thy fair eyes owe him; shall we now to bed?

Ta. Oh, no, my lord; your holy friar says 110 All couplings in the day that touch the bed Adulterous are, even in the married; Whose grave and worthy doctrine, well I know, Your faith in him will liberally allow.[985] 114

Mont. He’s a most learned and religious man; Come to the presence then, and see great D’Ambois (Fortune’s proud mushroom shot up in a night) Stand like an Atlas under our King’s arm; Which greatness[986] with him Monsieur now envies As bitterly and deadly as the Guise. 120

Ta. What, he that was but yesterday his maker, His raiser and preserver?

Mont. Even the same. Each natural agent works but to this end, To render that it works on like itself; Which since the Monsieur in his act on D’Ambois 125 Cannot to his ambitious end effect, But that, quite opposite, the King hath power In his love borne to D’Ambois, to convert The point of Monsieur’s aim on his own breast, He turns his outward love to inward hate. 130 A prince’s love is like the lightning’s fume, Which no man can embrace, but must consume. Exeunt.

[SCENE II.][987]

Enter HENRY, D’AMBOIS, Monsieur, GUISE, Duchess, ANNABELLE, CHARLOTTE, Attendants.

He. Speak home, my Bussy; thy impartial words Are like brave falcons that dare truss[988] a fowl Much greater than themselves; flatterers are kites That check at[989] sparrows; thou shalt be my eagle, And bear my thunder underneath thy wings; Truth’s words like jewels hang in th’ ears of kings. 6

Bu. Would I might live to see no Jews hang there Instead of jewels; sycophants, I mean, Who use truth like the devil, his true foe, Cast by the angel to the pit of fears, 10 And bound in chains; truth seldom decks kings’ ears. Slave Flattery (like a rippier’s[990] legs roll’d up In boots of hay ropes) with kings’ soothed guts Swaddl’d and strappl’d,[991] now lives only free. Oh, ’tis a subtle knave; how like the plague 15 Unfelt he strikes into the brain of man, And rageth in his entrails, when he can, Worse than the poison of a red-hair’d man![992]

He. Fly at him and his brood; I cast thee off, And once more give thee surname of mine eagle. 20

Bu. I’ll make you sport enough, then; let me have My lucerns[993] too, or dogs inur’d to hunt Beasts of most rapine, but to put them up,[994] And if I truss not, let me not be trusted. Show me a great man by the people’s voice, 25 Which is the voice of God that by his greatness Bombasts[995] his private roofs with public riches; That affects royalty, rising from a clapdish;[996] That rules so much more by[997] his suffering king, That he makes kings of his subordinate slaves: 30 Himself and them graduate like woodmongers, Piling a stack of billets from the earth, Raising each other into steeples’ heights; Let him convey this on the turning props Of Protean law, and, his own counsel keeping, Keep all upright; let me but hawk at him, 35 I’ll play the vulture, and so thump his liver, That, like a huge unlading Argosy, He shall confess all, and you then may hang him. Show me a clergyman, that is in voice 40 A lark of heaven, in heart a mole of earth; That hath good living, and a wicked life; A temperate look, and a luxurious gut; Turning the rents of his superfluous cures Into your pheasants and your partridges; 45 Venting their quintessence as men read Hebrew;[998] Let me but hawk at him, and, like the other, He shall confess all, and you then may hang him. Show me a lawyer that turns sacred law (The equal rend’rer of each man his own, 50 The scourge of rapine and extortion, The sanctuary and impregnable defence Of retir’d learning and besieged virtue) Into a harpy, that eats all but’s own, Into the damned sins it punisheth; 55 Into the synagogue of thieves and atheists, Blood into gold, and justice into lust; Let me but hawk at him, as at the rest, He shall confess all, and you then may hang him.

Enter MONTSURRY, TAMYRA, and PERO.

Gu. Where will you find such game as you would hawk at? 60

Bu. I’ll hawk about your house for one of them.

Gu. Come, y’ are a glorious[999] ruffian, and run proud Of the King’s headlong graces. Hold your breath, Or, by that poison’d vapour, not the King Shall back your murderous valour against me.

Bu. I would the King would make his presence free 66 But for one bout betwixt us: by the reverence Due to the sacred space ’twixt kings and subjects, Here would I make thee cast that popular purple, In which thy proud soul sits and braves thy sovereign. 70

Mo. Peace, peace, I pray thee peace.

Bu. Let him peace first That made the first war.

Mo. He’s the better man.

Bu. And therefore may do worst?

Mo. He has more titles.

Bu. So Hydra had more heads.

Mo. He’s greater known.

Bu. His greatness is the people’s; mine’s mine own. 75

Mo. He’s nobler[1000] born.

Bu. He is not, I am noble; And noblesse in his blood hath no gradation, But in his merit.

Gu. Th’ art not nobly born, But bastard to the Cardinal of Ambois.

Bu. Thou liest, proud Guiserd. Let me fly, my lord. 80

He. Not in my face, my eagle; violence flies The sanctuaries of a prince’s eyes.

Bu. Still shall we chide and foam upon this bit? Is the Guise only great in faction? Stands he not by himself? Proves he th’ opinion 85 That men’s souls are without them? Be a duke, And lead me to the field.

Gu. Come, follow me.

He. Stay them! Stay, D’Ambois. Cousin Guise, I wonder Your honour’d disposition brooks so ill A man so good, that only would uphold 90 Man in his native noblesse, from whose fall All our dimensions rise; that in himself (Without the outward patches of our frailty, Riches and honour) knows he comprehends Worth with the greatest. Kings had never borne 95 Such boundless empire over other men, Had all maintain’d the spirit and state of D’Ambois; Nor had the full impartial hand of nature That all things gave in her original[1001] 99 Without these definite terms of mine and thine, Been turn’d unjustly to the hand of Fortune, Had all preserv’d her in her prime, like D’Ambois. No envy, no disjunction had dissolv’d, Or pluck’d one stick out of the golden faggot In which the world of Saturn[1002] bound our lives, Had all been held together with the nerves, 106 The genius, and th’ ingenious[1003] soul of D’Ambois. Let my hand therefore be the Hermean rod[1004] To part and reconcile, and so conserve you, As my combin’d embracers and supporters. 110

Bu. ’Tis our king’s motion, and we shall not seem To worst eyes womanish, though we change thus soon Never so great grudge for his greater pleasure.

Gu. I seal to that; and, so the manly freedom That you so much profess, hereafter prove not 115 A bold and glorious license to deprave,[1005] To me his hand shall hold the Hermean virtue His grace affects, in which submissive sign On this his sacred right hand I lay mine.

Bu. ’Tis well, my lord, and so your worthy greatness 120 Decline not to the greater insolence, Nor make you think it a prerogative To rack men’s freedoms with the ruder wrongs; My hand (stuck full of laurel, in true sign ’Tis wholly dedicate to righteous peace) 125 In all submission kisseth th’ other side.

He. Thanks to ye both; and kindly I invite ye Both to a banquet, where we’ll sacrifice Full cups to confirmation of your loves; 129 At which, fair ladies, I entreat your presence; And hope you, madam, will take one carouse For reconcilement of your lord and servant.

Du. If I should fail, my lord, some other lady Would be found there to do that for my servant.

Mo. Any of these here?

Du. Nay, I know not that.

Bu. Think your thoughts like my mistress’, honour’d lady? 135

Ta. I think not on you, sir; y’ are one I know not.

Bu. Cry you mercy, madam.

Mont. Oh, sir, has she met you? Exeunt HENRY, D’AMBOIS, Ladies.

Mo. What had my bounty drunk when it rais’d him?

Gu. Y’ave stuck us up a very worthy flag, 140 That takes more wind than we with all our sails.

Mo. Oh, so he spreads and flourishes.

Gu. He must down; Upstarts should never perch too near a crown.

Mo. ’Tis true, my lord; and as this doting hand, 144 Even out of earth, like Juno, struck this giant, So Jove’s great ordinance shall be here impli’d To strike him under th’ Etna of his pride; To which work lend your hands, and let us cast[1006] Where we may set snares for his ranging greatness. 149 I think it best, amongst our greatest women; For there is no such trap to catch an upstart As a loose downfall; for you know their falls Are th’ ends of all men’s rising. If great men And wise make scapes[1007] to please advantage[1008] ’Tis with a woman: women that worst may 155 Still hold men’s candles;[1009] they direct and know All things amiss in all men; and their women[1010] All things amiss in them; through whose charm’d mouths, We may see all the close scapes[1011] of the Court. When the most royal beast of chase, the hart, (Being old and cunning in his lairs and haunts) Can never be discovered to the bow, 162 The piece,[1012] or hound; yet where, behind some quitch,[1013] He breaks his gall, and rutteth with his hind, The place is markt, and by his venery 165 He still is taken. Shall we then attempt The chiefest mean to that discovery here, And court our greatest ladies’ chiefest women With shows of love and liberal promises? 169 ’Tis but our breath. If something given in hand Sharpens their hopes of more, ’t will be well ventur’d.

Gu. No doubt of that; and ’tis the cunning’st point Of your devis’d investigation.

Mo. I have broken The ice to it already with the woman Of your chaste lady, and conceive good hope 175 I shall wade thorough to some wished shore At our next meeting.

Mont. Nay, there’s small hope there.

Gu. Take say[1014] of her, my lord, she comes most fitly.

Mo. Starting back?

Enter CHARLOTTE, ANNABELLE, PERO.

Gu. Y’are engag’d, indeed. 180

An. Nay, pray, my lord, forbear.

Mont. What, skittish, servant?

An. No, my lord, I am not so fit for your service.

Ch. Pray pardon me now, my lord; my lady excepts me. 186

Gu. I’ll satisfy her expectation, as far as an uncle may.

Mo. Well said; a spirit of courtship of all hands. Now mine own Pero, hast thou rememb’red (190) me for the discovery I entreated thee make of thy mistress? Speak boldly, and be sure of all things I have sworn to thee.

Pe. Building on that assurance, my lord, I may speak; and much the rather, because (195) my lady hath not trusted me with that I can tell you; for now I cannot be said to betray her.

Mo. That’s all one, so we reach our objects. Forth, I beseech thee.

Pe. To tell you truth, my lord, I have made a strange discovery. (201)

Mo. Excellent, Pero, thou reviv’st me. May I sink quick to perdition if my tongue discover[1015] it.

Pe. ’Tis thus, then: this last night, my lord lay forth, and I watching my lady’s sitting (206) up, stole up at midnight from my pallet; and (having before made a hole both through the wall and arras to her inmost chamber) I saw D’Ambois and herself reading a letter. 210

Mo. D’Ambois?

Pe. Even he, my lord.

Mo. Dost thou not dream, wench?

Pe. I swear he is the man.

Mo. The devil he is, and thy lady his (216) dam! Why, this was the happiest shot that ever flew! The just plague of hypocrisy levell’d it. Oh, the infinite regions betwixt a woman’s tongue and her heart! Is this our goddess of (219) chastity? I thought I could not be so slighted if she had not her fraught besides, and therefore plotted this with her woman, never dreaming of D’Ambois. Dear Pero, I will advance thee for ever; but tell me now,—God’s precious, it transforms me with admiration[1016]— (225) sweet Pero, whom should she trust with this conveyance? Or, all the doors being made sure, how should his conveyance be made?

Pe. Nay, my lord, that amazes[1017] me; I cannot by any study so much as guess at it. 230

Mo. Well, let’s favour our apprehensions with forbearing that a little; for if my heart were not hoopt with adamant, the conceit[1018] of this would have burst it. But hark thee. Whispers.

[Ch. I swear to you grace, all that I can (235) conjecture touching my lady your niece, is a strong affection she bears to the English Mylor.

Gu. All, quod you? ’Tis enough, I assure you, but tell me.][1019]

Mont. I pray thee, resolve me: the duke (240) will never imagine that I am busy about ’s wife: hath D’Ambois any privy access to her?

An. No, my lord; D’Ambois neglects her, as she takes it, and is therefore suspicious that either your lady, or the Lady Beaupre 245 hath closely[1020] entertain’d him.

Mont. By ’r lady, a likely suspicion, and very near the life, [if she marks it,][1021] especially of my wife.

Mo. Come, we’ll disguise all with seeming (250) only to have courted.—–Away, dry palm[1022] sh’as a liver as dry as a biscuit; a man may go a whole voyage with her, and get nothing but tempests from her windpipe.

Gu. Here’s one, I think, has swallowed a (255) porcupine, she casts pricks from her tongue so.

Mont. And here’s a peacock seems to have devour’d one of the Alps she has so swelling a spirit, and is so cold of her kindness. 259

Ch. We are no windfalls, my lord; ye must gather us with the ladder of matrimony, or we’ll hang till we be rotten.

Mo. Indeed, that’s the way to make ye right openarses.[1023] But, alas! ye have no portions fit for such husbands as we wish you. 265

Pe. Portions, my lord? Yes, and such portions as your principality cannot purchase.

Mo. What, woman? what are those portions?

Pe. Riddle my riddle, my lord.

Mo. Ay, marry, wench, I think thy portion (270) is a right riddle, a man shall never find it out. But let’s hear it.

Pe. You shall, my lord. _What’s that, that being most rare’s most cheap? That when you sow, you never reap? 275 That when it grows most, most you thin[1024] it? And still you lose it when you win it; That when ’tis commonest, ’tis dearest, And when ’tis farthest off, ’tis nearest?_

Mo. Is this your great portion? 280

Pe. Even this, my lord.

Mo. Believe me, I cannot riddle it.

Pe. No, my lord: ’tis my chastity, which you shall neither riddle nor fiddle.

Mo. Your chastity? Let me begin with the (285) end of it; how is a woman’s chastity nearest a man when ’tis furthest off?

Pe. Why, my lord, when you cannot get it, it goes to th’ heart on you: and that, I think, comes most near you: and I am sure it 290 shall be far enough off. And so we leave you to our mercies. Exeunt Women.

Mo. Farewell, riddle.

Gu. Farewell, medlar.

Mont. Farewell, winter plum. 295

Mo. Now, my lords, what fruit of our inquisition? Feel you nothing budding yet? Speak, good my Lord Montsurry.

Mont. Nothing but this: D’Ambois is thought negligent in observing the duchess, and (300) therefore she is suspicious that your niece or my wife closely entertains him.

Mo. Your wife, my lord? Think you that possible?

Mont. Alas, I know she flies him like her last hour. 306

Mo. Her last hour? Why, that comes upon her the more she flies it. Does D’Ambois so, think you?

Mont. That’s not worth the answering. ’Tis miraculous to think with what monsters (311) women’s imaginations engross them when they are once enamour’d, and what wonders they will work for their satisfaction. They will make sheep valiant, a lion fearful. 315

Mo. [Aside.] And an ass confident.—Well, my lord, more will come forth shortly; get you to the banquet.

Gu. Come, my lord; I have the blind side of one of them. Exit GUISE cum MONTSURRY. 320

Mo. Oh, the unsounded sea of women’s bloods, That when ’tis calmest, is most dangerous; Not any wrinkle creaming in their faces When in their hearts are Scylla and Charybdis, Which still are hid in dark and standing fogs, 325 Where never day shines, nothing never grows But weeds and poisons, that no statesman knows, Nor Cerberus ever saw the damned nooks Hid with the veils of women’s virtuous looks. [1025]But what a cloud of sulphur have I drawn 330 Up to my bosom in this dangerous secret! Which if my haste with any spark should light, Ere D’Ambois were engag’d in some sure plot, I were blown up; he would be sure my death. Would I had never known it, for before 335 I shall persuade th’ importance to Montsurry, And make him with some studied stratagem Train D’Ambois to his wreak, his maid may tell it, Or I (out of my fiery thirst to play With the fell tiger, up in darkness tied, 340 And give it some light) make it quite break loose. I fear it, afore heaven, and will not see D’Ambois again, till I have told Montsurry And set a snare with him to free my fears: Who’s there?

Enter MAFFE.

Ma. My lord?

Mo. Go call the Count Montsurry, And make the doors fast; I will speak with none 346 Till he come to me.

Ma. Well, my lord. Exiturus.

Mo. Or else Send you some other, and see all the doors Made safe yourself, I pray; haste, fly about it.

Ma. You’ll speak with none but with the Count Montsurry? 351

Mo. With none but he, except it be the Guise.

Ma. See even by this, there’s one exception more! Your grace must be more firm in the command, Or else shall I as weakly execute. 355 The Guise shall speak with you?

Mo. He shall, I say.

Ma. And Count Montsurry?

Mo. Ay, and Count Montsurry.

Ma. Your grace must pardon me, that I am bold To urge the clear and full sense of your pleasure; Which whensoever I have known, I hope 360 Your grace will say, I hit it to a hair.

Mo. You have.

Ma. I hope so, or I would be glad—

Mo. I pray thee get thee gone, thou art so tedious In the strict form of all thy services That I had better have one negligent. 365 You hit my pleasure well, when D’Ambois hit you; Did you not, think you?

Ma. D’Ambois? Why, my lord—

Mo. I pray thee talk no more, but shut the doors: Do what I charge thee.

Ma. I will, my lord, and yet I would be glad the wrong I had of D’Ambois—

Mo. Precious! then it is a fate that plagues me 371 In this man’s foolery; I may be murdered While he stands on protection of his folly. Avaunt about thy charge.

Ma. I go, my lord.— I had my head broke in his faithful service; 375 I had no suit the more, nor any thanks, And yet my teeth must still be hit with D’Ambois: D’Ambois, my lord, shall know—

Mo. The devil and D’Ambois! Exit MAFFE. How am I tortur’d with this trusty fool! Never was any curious in his place 380 To do things justly, but he was an ass; We cannot find one trusty that is witty,[1026] And therefore bear their disproportion. Grant thou, great star and angel of my life, A sure lease of it but for some few days, 385 That I may clear my bosom of the snake I cherisht there, and I will then defy All check to it but Nature’s, and her altars Shall crack with vessels crown’d with every liquor Drawn from her highest and most bloody humours. 390 I fear him strangely, his advanced valour Is like a spirit rais’d without a circle, Endangering him that ignorantly rais’d him, And for whose fury he hath learnt no limit.

Enter MAFFE hastily.

Ma. I cannot help it: what should I do more? 395 As I was gathering a fit guard to make My passage to the doors, and the doors sure, The man of blood is enter’d.

Mo. Rage of death! If I had told the secret, and he knew it, Thus had I been endanger’d. Enter D’AMBOIS. My sweet heart! How now, what leap’st thou at?

Bu. O royal object!

Mo. Thou dream’st, awake; object in th’ empty air? 402

Bu. Worthy the brows of Titan, worth his chair.

Mo. Pray thee, what mean’st thou?

Bu. See you not a crown Impale the forehead of the great King Monsieur? 405

Mo. Oh, fie upon thee!

Bu. Prince, that is the subject Of all these your retir’d and sole discourses.

Mo. Wilt thou not leave that wrongful supposition?

Bu. Why wrongful, to suppose the doubtless right To the succession worth the thinking on? 410

Mo. Well, leave these jests. How I am overjoyed With thy wish’d presence, and how fit thou com’st, For of mine honour I was sending for thee.

Bu. To what end?

Mo. Only for thy company, Which I have still in thought; but that’s no payment 415 On thy part made with personal appearance. Thy absence so long suffered, oftentimes Put me in some little doubt thou dost not love me. Wilt thou do one thing therefore now sincerely?

Bu. Ay, anything, but killing of the King.

Mo. Still in that discord, and ill-taken note? How most unseasonable thou play’st the cuckoo, 422 In this thy fall of friendship!

Bu. Then do not doubt, That there is any act within my nerves But killing of the King, that is not yours. 425

Mo. I will not, then; to prove which by my love Shown to thy virtues, and by all fruits else Already sprung from that still-flourishing tree, With whatsoever may hereafter spring, I charge thee utter (even with all the freedom Both of thy noble nature and thy friendship) 431 The full and plain state of me in thy thoughts.

Bu. What, utter plainly what I think of you?

Mo. Plain as truth.

Bu. Why, this swims quite against the stream of greatness; 435 Great men would rather hear their flatteries, And if they be not made fools, are not wise.

Mo. I am no such great fool, and therefore charge thee Even from the root of thy free heart, display me.

Bu. Since you affect[1027] it in such serious terms, If yourself first will tell me what you think 441 As freely and as heartily of me, I’ll be as open in my thoughts of you.

Mo. A bargain, of mine honour; and make this, That prove we in our full dissection 445 Never so foul, live still the sounder friends.

Bu. What else, sir? Come, pay me home; I’ll bide it bravely.

Mo. I will swear. I think thee then a man That dares as much as a wild horse or tiger; As headstrong and as bloody; and to feed 450 The ravenous wolf of thy most cannibal valour, (Rather than not employ it) thou wouldst turn Hackster[1028] to any whore, slave to a Jew Or English usurer, to force possessions (And cut men’s throats) of mortgaged estates; Or thou wouldst ’tire thee like a tinker’s strumpet, 456 And murder market-folks, quarrel with sheep, And run as mad as Ajax; serve a butcher, Do anything but killing of the King; That in thy valour th’art like other naturals[1029] That have strange gifts in nature, but no soul 461 Diffus’d quite through, to make them of a piece, But stop at humours that are more absurd, Childish and villanous than that hackster, whore, Slave, cut-throat, tinker’s bitch, compar’d before; 465 And in those humours wouldst envy, betray, Slander, blaspheme, change each hour a religion; Do anything but killing of the King: That in thy valour (which is still the dung-hill, To which hath reference all filth in thy house) Th’art more ridiculous and vain-glorious 471 Than any mountebank, and impudent Than any painted bawd; which, not to soothe And glorify thee like a Jupiter Hammon, Thou eat’st thy heart in vinegar; and thy gall Turns all thy blood to poison, which is cause 476 Of that toad-pool that stands in thy complexion, And makes thee with a cold and earthy moisture, (Which is the dam of putrefaction) As plague to thy damn’d pride, rot as thou liv’st; 480 To study calumnies and treacheries; To thy friends’ slaughters like a screech-owl sing, And do all mischiefs—but to kill the King.

Bu. So! have you said?

Mo. How think’st thou? Do I flatter? Speak I not like a trusty friend to thee? 485

Bu. That ever any man was blest withal. So here’s for me. I think you are (at worst) No devil, since y’are like to be no king; Of which, with any friend of yours, I’ll lay This poor stillado[1030] here, ’gainst all the stars, Ay, and ’gainst all your treacheries, which are more; 491 That you did never good, but to do ill; But ill of all sorts, free and for itself: That (like a murdering piece, making lanes in armies, The first man of a rank, the whole rank falling) If you have wrong’d one man, you are so far 495 From making him amends that all his race, Friends, and associates, fall into your chase: That y’are for perjuries the very prince Of all intelligencers;[1031] and your voice 500 Is like an eastern wind, that where it flies Knits nets of caterpillars, with which you catch The prime of all the fruits the kingdom yields. That your political head is the curst fount Of all the violence, rapine, cruelty, 505 Tyranny, and atheism flowing through the realm. That y’ave a tongue so scandalous, ’t will cut The purest crystal; and a breath that will Kill to[1032] that wall a spider. You will jest With God, and your soul to the devil tender 510 For lust; kiss horror, and with death engender. That your foul body is a Lernean fen Of all the maladies breeding in all men; That you are utterly without a soul; 514 And, for your life, the thread of that was spun When Clotho slept, and let her breathing rock[1033] Fall in the dirt; and Lachesis still draws it, Dipping her twisting fingers in a bowl Defil’d, and crown’d with virtue’s forced soul. And lastly (which I must for gratitude 520 Ever remember) that of all my height And dearest life, you are the only spring, Only in royal hope to kill the king.

Mo. Why, now I see thou lov’st me. Come to the banquet. Exeunt.

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Act IV, Scene I — [1034]

[Enter] HENRY, Monsieur, with a letter; GUISE, MONTSURRY, BUSSY, ELENOR, TAMYRA, BEAUPRE, PERO, CHARLOTTE, ANNABELLE, PYRA, with four Pages.

He. Ladies, ye have not done our banquet right, Nor lookt upon it with those cheerful rays That lately turn’d your breaths to floods of gold; Your looks, methinks, are not drawn out with thoughts So clear and free as heretofore, but foul, 5 As if the thick complexions of men Govern’d within them.

Bu. ’Tis not like, my lord, That men in women rule, but contrary; For as the moon (of all things God created) Not only is the most appropriate image 10 Or glass to show them how they wax and wane, But in her height and motion likewise bears Imperial influences that command In all their powers, and make them wax and wane; 14 So women, that (of all things made of nothing) Are the most perfect idols of the moon, Or still-unwean’d sweet moon-calves with white faces, Not only are patterns of change to men, But as the tender moonshine of their beauties Clears or is cloudy, make men glad or sad; 20 So then they rule in men, not men in them.

Mo. But here the moons are chang’d, (as the King notes) And either men rule in them, or some power Beyond their voluntary faculty, For nothing can recover their lost faces. 25

Mont. None can be always one: our griefs and joys Hold several sceptres in us, and have times For their divided empires: which grief now, in them Doth prove as proper to his diadem.

Bu. And grief’s a natural sickness of the blood, 30 That time to part asks, as his coming had; Only slight fools griev’d suddenly are glad. A man may say t’ a dead man, “Be reviv’d,” As well as to one sorrowful, “Be not griev’d,” And therefore, princely mistress,[1035] in all wars 35 Against these base foes that insult on weakness, And still fight hous’d behind the shield of Nature, Of privilege, law, treachery, or beastly need, Your servant[1036] cannot help; authority here Goes with corruption: something like some states, 40 That back worst men: valour to them must creep That, to themselves left, would fear him asleep.

Du. Ye all take that for granted that doth rest Yet to be prov’d; we all are as we were, As merry and as free in thought as ever. 45

Gu. And why then can ye not disclose your thoughts?

Ta. Methinks the man hath answer’d for us well.

Mo. The man? Why, madam, d’ ye not know his name?

Ta. Man is a name of honour for a king: 49 Additions[1037] take away from each chief thing: The school of modesty not to learn learns dames: They sit in high forms[1038] there, that know men’s names.

Mo. [to BUSSY.] Hark! sweetheart, here’s a bar set to your valour; It cannot enter here; no, not to notice 54 Of what your name is. Your great eagle’s beak (Should you fly at her) had as good encounter An Albion cliff, as her more craggy liver.[1039]

Bu. I’ll not attempt her, sir; her sight and name (By which I only know her) doth deter me. 59

He. So do they all men else.

Mo. You would say so If you knew all.

Ta. Knew all, my lord? What mean you?

Mo. All that I know, madam.

Ta. That you know? Speak it.

Mo. No, ’tis enough. I feel it.

He. But, methinks Her courtship is more pure than heretofore; 64 True courtiers should be modest, but not nice;[1040] Bold, but not impudent; pleasure love, not vice.

Mo. Sweetheart! come hither, what if one should make Horns at Montsurry? Would it not strike him jealous Through all the proofs of his chaste lady’s virtues?

Bu. If he be wise, not. 70

Mo. What? Not if I should name the gardener That I would have him think hath grafted him?

Bu. So the large licence that your greatness uses To jest at all men may be taught indeed To make a difference of the grounds you play on, 75 Both in the men you scandal, and the matter.

Mo. As how? as how?

Bu. Perhaps led with a train, Where you may have your nose made less and slit, Your eyes thrust out.

Mo. Peace, peace, I pray thee peace. 79 Who dares do that? The brother of his king?

Bu. Were your king brother in you; all your powers (Stretcht in the arms of great men and their bawds), Set close down by you; all your stormy laws Spouted with lawyers’ mouths, and gushing blood Like to so many torrents; all your glories 85 Making you terrible, like enchanted flames Fed with bare cockscombs[1041] and with crooked hams;[1041] All your prerogatives, your shames, and tortures; All daring heaven, and opening hell about you;— 89 Were I the man ye wrong’d so and provok’d, Though ne’er so much beneath you, like a box-tree I would out of the roughness of my root Ram hardness, in my lowness, and like death Mounted on earthquakes, I would trot through all Honours and horrors, thorough foul and fair, 95 And from your whole strength toss you into the air.

Mo. Go, th’art a devil; such another spirit Could not be ’still’d from all th’ Armenian dragons. O my love’s glory! Heir to all I have, (That’s all I can say, and that all I swear) 100 If thou outlive me, as I know thou must, Or else hath nature no proportion’d end To her great labours; she hath breath’d a mind Into thy entrails, of desert to swell Into another great Augustus Cæsar; 105 Organs and faculties fitted to her greatness; And should that perish like a common spirit, Nature’s a courtier and regards no merit.

He. Here’s nought but whispering with us; like a calm Before a tempest, when the silent air 110 Lays her soft ear close to the earth to hearken For that she fears steals on to ravish her; Some fate doth join our ears to hear it coming. Come, my brave eagle, let’s to covert fly; I see almighty Aether in the smoke 115 Of all his clouds descending; and the sky Hid in the dim ostents[1042] of tragedy. Exit HENRY with D’AMBOIS and Ladies.

Gu. Now stir the humour, and begin the brawl.

Mont. The King and D’Ambois now are grown all one. 119

Mo. Nay, they are two,[1043] my lord.

Mont. How’s that?

Mo. No more.

Mont. I must have more, my lord.

Mo. What, more than two?

Mont. How monstrous is this!

Mo. Why?

Mont. You make me horns.

Mo. Not I; it is a work without my power, Married men’s ensigns are not made with fingers; Of divine fabric they are, not men’s hands. 125 Your wife, you know, is a mere[1044] Cynthia, And she must fashion horns out of her nature.

Mont. But doth she—dare you charge her? Speak, false prince.

Mo. I must not speak, my lord; but if you’ll use The learning of a nobleman, and read, 130 Here’s something to those points; soft, you must pawn[1045] Your honour having read it to return it.

Mont. Not I. I pawn my honour for a paper!

Mo. You must not buy it under. Exeunt GUISE and Monsieur.

Mont. Keep it then, And keep fire in your bosom.

Ta. What says he?

Mont. You must make good the rest.

Ta. How fares my lord? Takes my love anything to heart he says? 137

Mont. Come y’ are a——

Ta. What, my lord?

Mont. The plague of Herod Feast in his rotten entrails.

Ta. Will you wreak Your anger’s just cause given by him, on me?

Mont. By him?

Ta. By him, my lord. I have admir’d[1046] You could all this time be at concord with him, That still hath play’d such discords on your honour. 143

Mont. Perhaps ’tis with some proud string of my wife’s.

Ta. How’s that, my lord?

Mont. Your tongue will still admire, 145 Till my head be the miracle of the world.

Ta. Oh, woe is me! She seems to swound.

Pe. What does your lordship mean? Madam, be comforted; my lord but tries you. Madam! Help, good my lord, are you not mov’d? Do your set looks print in your words your thoughts? 150 Sweet lord, clear up those eyes, Unbend that masking forehead; whence is it You rush upon her with these Irish wars, More full of sound than hurt? But it is enough; You have shot home, your words are in her heart; 155 She has not liv’d to bear a trial now.

Mont. Look up, my love, and by this kiss receive My soul amongst the spirits for supply To thine, chas’d with my fury.

Ta. Oh, my lord, I have too long liv’d to hear this from you. 160

Mont. ’T was from my troubled blood, and not from me. I know not how I fare; a sudden night Flows through my entrails, and a headlong chaos Murmurs within me, which I must digest, And not drown her in my confusions, 165 That was my life’s joy, being best inform’d. Sweet, you must needs forgive me, that my love (Like to a fire disdaining his suppression) Rag’d being discourag’d; my whole heart is wounded 170 When any least thought in you is but toucht, And shall be till I know your former merits; Your name and memory altogether crave In just oblivion their eternal grave; And then you must hear from me, there’s no mean In any passion I shall feel for you. 176 Love is a razor, cleansing being well us’d, But fetcheth blood still being the least abus’d. To tell you briefly all: the man that left me When you appear’d, did turn me worse than woman, And stabb’d me to the heart thus, with his fingers.[1047] 180

Ta. Oh, happy woman! Comes my stain from him, It is my beauty, and that innocence proves That slew Chimaera, rescued Peleus From all the savage beasts in Pelion; And rais’d the chaste Athenian prince[1048] from hell; 185 All suffering with me, they for women’s lusts, I for a man’s, that the Augean stable Of his foul sin would empty in my lap. How his guilt shunn’d me, sacred innocence That where thou fear’st, art dreadful![1049] and his face 190 Turn’d in flight from thee, that had thee in chase! Come, bring me to him; I will tell the serpent Even to his venom’d teeth (from whose curst seed A pitcht field starts up ’twixt my lord and me) That his throat lies, and he shall curse his fingers, 195 For being so govern’d by his filthy soul.

Mont. I know not if himself will vaunt t’ have been The princely author of the slavish sin, Or any other; he would have resolv’d[1050] me Had you not come; not by his word, but writing, Would I have sworn to give it him again, 201 And pawn’d mine honour to him for a paper.

Ta. See how he flies me still; ’tis a foul heart That fears his own hand. Good my lord, make haste To see the dangerous paper; papers hold Oft-times the forms and copies of our souls, 206 And, though the world despise them, are the prizes Of all our honours; make your honour then A hostage for it, and with it confer My nearest woman here, in all she knows; 210 Who (if the sun or Cerberus could have seen Any stain in me) might as well as they; And, Pero, here I charge thee by my love, And all proofs of it (which I might call bounties), By all that thou hast seen seem good in me, 215 And all the ill which thou shouldst spit from thee, By pity of the wound this touch hath given me, Not as thy mistress now, but a poor woman, To death given over, rid me of my pains, 219 Pour on thy powder; clear thy breast of me; My lord is only here; here speak thy worst, Thy best will do me mischief. If thou spar’st me, Never shine good thought on thy memory! Resolve, my lord, and leave me desperate.

Pe. My lord! My lord hath play’d a prodigal’s part, 225 To break his stock for nothing; and an insolent, To cut a gordian when he could not loose it. What violence is this, to put true fire To a false train? to blow up long-crown’d peace With sudden outrage, and believe a man 230 Sworn to the shame of women, ’gainst a woman, Born to their honours? But I will to him.

Ta. No, I will write (for I shall never more Meet with the fugitive) where I will defy him, Were he ten times the brother of my king. 235 To him, my lord, and I’ll to cursing him. Exeunt.

[SCENE II.][1051]

Enter D’AMBOIS and Friar.

Bu. I am suspicious, my most honour’d father, By some of Monsieur’s cunning passages, That his still ranging and contentious nostrils, To scent the haunts of mischief have so us’d The vicious virtue of his busy sense, 5 That he trails hotly of him, and will rouse him, Driving him all enrag’d and foaming, on us; And therefore have entreated your deep skill In the command of good aerial spirits, To assume these magic rites, and call up one 10 To know if any have reveal’d unto him Anything touching my dear love and me.

Fr. Good son, you have amaz’d me but to make The least doubt of it, it concerns so nearly The faith and reverence of my name and order. Yet will I justify, upon my soul, 15 All I have done. If any spirit i’ the earth or air Can give you the resolve,[1052] do not despair.

Music. TAMYRA enters with PERO, her maid, bearing a letter.

Ta. Away, deliver it: Exit PERO. O may my lines Fill’d with the poison of a woman’s hate 21 When he shall open them, shrink up his curst eyes With torturous darkness, such as stands in hell, Stuck full of inward horrors, never lighted; With which are all things to be fear’d, affrighted; 25 [Father! Ascendit BUSSY with Friar.][1053]

Bu. How is it with my honour’d mistress?

Ta. O servant, help, and save me from the gripes Of shame and infamy. Our love is known: Your Monsieur hath a paper where is writ Some secret tokens that decipher it. 30

Bu. What cold dull northern brain, what fool but he Durst take into his Epimethean breast A box of such plagues as the danger yields Incurr’d in this discovery? He had better Ventur’d his breast in the consuming reach 35 Of the hot surfeits cast out of the clouds, Or stood the bullets that (to wreak the sky) The Cyclops ram in Jove’s artillery.

Fr. We soon will take the darkness from his face That did that deed of darkness; we will know 40 What now the Monsieur and your husband do; What is contain’d within the secret paper Offer’d by Monsieur, and your love’s events: To which ends, honour’d daughter, at your motion, I have put on these exorcising rites, 45 And, by my power of learned holiness Vouchsaft me from above, I will command Our resolution[1054] of a raised spirit.

Ta. Good father, raise him in some beauteous form That with least terror I may brook his sight. 50

Fr. Stand sure together, then, whate’er ye see, And stir not, as ye tender all our lives. He puts on his robes. Occidentalium legionum spiritualium imperator (magnus ille Behemoth) veni, veni, comitatus cum Asaroth locotenente invicto Adjurote per Stygis (55) inscrutabilia arcana, per ipsos irremeabiles anfractus Averni: adesto o Behemoth, tu cui pervia sunt Magnatum scrinia; veni, per Noctis & tenebrarum abdita profundissima; per labentia sidera, per ipsos motus horarum furtivos, Hecatesque altum dentium. 60 Appare in forma spiritali, lucente, splendida & amabili. [Thunder. Ascendit Behemoth with Cartophylax and other spirits.]

Beh. What would the holy Friar?

Fr. I would see What now the Monsieur and Montsurry do; And see the secret paper that the Monsieur 65 Offer’d to Count Montsurry, longing much To know on what events the secret loves Of these two honour’d persons shall arrive.

Beh. Why call’dst thou me to this accursed light To these light purposes? I am emperor 70 Of that inscrutable darkness where are hid All deepest truths, and secrets never seen, All which I know; and command legions Of knowing spirits that can do more than these. Any of this my guard that circle me 75 In these blue fires, and out of whose dim fumes Vast murmurs use to break, and from their sounds Articulate voices, can do ten parts more Than open such slight truths as you require.

Fr. From the last night’s black depth I call’d up one 80 Of the inferior ablest ministers, And he could not resolve me. Send one then Out of thine own command, to fetch the paper That Monsieur hath to show to Count Montsurry.

Beh. I will. Cartophylax, thou that properly Hast in thy power all papers so inscrib’d, 86 Glide through all bars to it and fetch that paper.

Cartoph. I will. A torch removes.

Fr. Till he returns, great prince of darkness, Tell me if Monsieur and the Count Montsurry Are yet encounter’d?

Beh. Both them and the Guise Are now together.

Fr. Show us all their persons, 91 And represent the place, with all their actions.

Beh. The spirit will straight return; and then I’ll show thee. See, he is come; why brought’st thou not the paper?

Cartoph. He hath prevented me, and got a spirit Rais’d by another, great in our command, 96 To take the guard of it before I came.

Beh. This is your slackness, not t’ invoke our powers When first your acts set forth to their effects; Yet shall you see it and themselves. Behold They come here, and the Earl now holds the paper. 101

Enter Monsieur, GUISE, MONTSURRY, with a paper.

Bu. May we not hear them?

Fr. No, be still and see.

Bu. I will go fetch the paper.

Fr. Do not stir; There’s too much distance and too many locks ’Twixt you and them, how near soe’er they seem, For any man to interrupt their secrets. 106

Ta. O honour’d spirit, fly into the fancy Of my offended lord, and do not let him Believe what there the wicked man hath written.

Beh. Persuasion hath already enter’d him 110 Beyond reflection; peace till their departure!

Mo.[1055] There is a glass of ink[1056] where you may see How to make ready black-fac’d tragedy. You now discern, I hope, through all her paintings, Her gasping wrinkles, and fame’s sepulchres. 115

Gu. Think you he feigns, my lord? What hold you now? Do we malign your wife, or honour you?

Mo. What, stricken dumb! Nay fie, lord, be not daunted; Your case is common; were it ne’er so rare, Bear it as rarely. Now to laugh were manly. 120 A worthy man should imitate the weather That sings in tempests, and being clear is silent.

Gu. Go home, my lord, and force your wife to write Such loving lines to D’Ambois as she us’d When she desir’d his presence.

Mo. Do, my lord, 125 And make her name her conceal’d messenger, That close and most inennerable[1057] pander, That passeth all our studies to exquire;[1058] By whom convey the letter to her love: And so you shall be sure to have him come 130 Within the thirsty reach of your revenge; Before which, lodge an ambush in her chamber Behind the arrras, of your stoutest men All close[1059] and soundly arm’d; and let them share A spirit amongst them that would serve a thousand. 135

Enter PERO with a letter.

Gu. Yet stay a little; see, she sends for you.

Mo. Poor, loving lady; she’ll make all good yet, Think you not so, my lord?

MONTSURRY stabs PERO and exit.

Gu. Alas, poor soul!

Mo. That was cruelly done, i’ faith.

Pe. ’T was nobly done. And I forgive his lordship from my soul. 140

Mo. Then much good do’t thee, Pero! Hast a letter?

Pe. I hope it rather be a bitter volume Of worthy curses for your perjury.

Gu. To you, my lord.

Mo. To me? Now, out upon her.

Gu. Let me see, my lord. 145

Mo. You shall presently. How fares my Pero? Enter Servant. Who’s there? Take in this maid, sh’as caught a clap, And fetch my surgeon to her. Come, my lord, We’ll now peruse our letter. Exeunt Monsieur, GUISE. Lead her out.

Pe. Furies rise Out of the black lines, and torment his soul. 150

Ta. Hath my lord slain my woman?

Beh. No, she lives.

Fr. What shall become of us?

Beh. All I can say, Being call’d thus late is brief, and darkly this: If D’Ambois’ mistress dye not her[1060] white hand In her forc’d blood, he shall remain untoucht: So, father, shall yourself, but by yourself. 156 To make this augury plainer: when the voice Of D’Ambois shall invoke me, I will rise, Shining in greater light: and show him all That will betide ye all. Meantime be wise, And curb his valour with your policies. 161 Descendit cum suis.

Bu. Will he appear to me when I invoke him?

Fr. He will, be sure.

Bu. It must be shortly then: For his dark words have tied my thoughts on knots, Till he dissolve, and free them.

Ta. In meantime, 165 Dear servant, till your powerful voice revoke[1061] him, Be sure to use the policy he advis’d; Lest fury in your too quick knowledge taken Of our abuse, and your defence of me, Accuse me more than any enemy; 170 And, father, you must on my lord impose Your holiest charges, and the Church’s power To temper his hot spirit and disperse The cruelty and the blood I know his hand Will shower upon our heads, if you put not 175 Your finger to the storm, and hold it up, As my dear servant here must do with Monsieur.

Bu. I ’ll soothe his plots, and strow my hate with smiles, Till all at once the close mines of my heart Rise at full date, and rush into his blood. 180 I ’ll bind his arm in silk, and rub his flesh, To make the vein swell, that his soul may gush Into some kennel, where it longs to lie, And policy shall be flankt[1062] with policy. Yet shall the feeling centre where we meet 185 Groan with the weight of my approaching feet; I ’ll make th’ inspired thresholds of his court Sweat with the weather of my horrid steps, Before I enter; yet will I appear Like calm security before a ruin. 190 A politician must, like lightning, melt The very marrow, and not taint the skin: His ways must not be seen; the superficies Of the green centre[1063] must not taste his feet, When hell is plow’d up with his wounding tracts; And all his harvest reapt by hellish facts. 196 Exeunt.

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