 | A Tragedy called All's Lost by Lvst |  |
Actus secundus.
Enter Lothario, and Malena.Lo.
Come old reuerence, if euer thou hadst musique in thee,
To inchant a maydenhead, now strike vp.
Mal.
You play well
On the Pandora, Sir I wonder your skill.
Failes to make her dance after it.
Lo.
Tush, I giue thee
The precedence, wire strings will not doote, it must be
A winde Instrument thats gouern'd with stopping of holes,
Which thou playest well on, my old Violl de gamb,
Come, thou shalt haue reward.
Ma.
And what pay haue you for pandership,
Lo.
Little or nothing, it comes short of the bawd alwaies.
Ma.
A bawd, why whats a bawd, pander?
Lo.
Why bawd, Ile tell thee what a bawd is.
Mal.
Then pander I will tell thee what a pander is.
Lo.
A bawds a thing that when the deuil plaies at maw,
He turnes vp trump, because shees a helpe.
Mal.
But the pander playing with the deuill robs the bawd
To make his hand the stronger, and the cards being
The deuils, he makes out a little heart (and thats all
He has) into the stocke.
Lo.
The deuill vyes it with the bawd.
Mal.
The pander being drunke sees the deuill.
Lo.
The deuill playes on, and looses the bawd.
Mal.
And takes away the knaue (which is the pander)
With his fiue finger.
Lo.
And fearing he has not tricks enough
Giues vp his dealing to the bawd, so they shuffle agen.
Mal.
Enough of this game.
Lo.
Well, the maidenhead is
In this enchanted Castle, thou must blow vp,
If thou failst too the king comes with a murdering piece
In the rere; oh tis a royall seruice.
Mal.
Well, leaue it to me Sir.
Enter Iacinta.
Lo.
She, she sallyes vpon thee, Asmotheus, Cerothus, and all the fiends of the flesh
Stand at thine elbow.
Exit Lothario.
Mal.
Blesse ye faire Virgin:
Iac.
From your age with a virgine Epitaph, if you
No better be then I esteeme you.
Mal.
Twere pity
Indeed you should be a virgin to my age
Sweet beauty, you woud be like a garment long laid by,
And out of fashion, which tho new, woud not be worth a wearing:
Iac.
Is that your companion
Parted with you?
Mal.
No companion Lady,
But a friend of mine, as I hope he is of yours.
Iac.
Y'are both naught then, and neither friends of mine,
But here you haue me prisoner in your power
If you haue ought to speake to me out with't.
Mal.
Ya're belou'd Lady, and which is more,
Yea most,
Of a king beloude.
Iac.
A good induction;
And all this I may deserue being a loyall subiect.
Mal.
Your loyalty may be mixt with his royalty,
If youle be rulde, vnderstand, kings are not common things,
Nor are their actions common; all things are
Proper, and peculiar vnto them; so Ladies
Whom they loue, are commonly proper Ladies, who being
Proper, cannot be counted common.
Iac.
Tis all
My pride, I'le be accounted proper.
Mal.
Onely to a king.
And common to all the world besides,
That were grosse.
Mal.
You wrest my meaning virgin, I woud not haue you be
Iac.
A virgin, is not that your meaning?
Mal.
Now you come to me;
Tis true: For what is a virgin? knew you as much
As I youde nere be a virgin.
Iac.
I dare sweare I shoud not.
Mal.
A virgin? why tis as much as to say because
You were borne a childe you shoud euer be so;
This were ridiculous. Virginity,
Why tis a Iewell kaptin a Casket,
Which neuer open'd, as good you neuer had it;
Shall muske be alwayes kept in the Cod, how shall
The sweetnesse be tasted then? Virginity is
Like a false friend to you, which indeed is better lost then kept,
Iac.
Out shame of women, thou the falsest art,
Be lost for euer looking on my face,
Or loose those instruments thou lookst withall;
Immodestyes in men are veniall,
When women rebell against their weaker selues.
Out hag, turne thee into some other shape,
Or I shall curse my selfe for being one
Of thy bad sex.
Enter Rodorique.
Mal.
Nay, I haue done with you Lady,
If Flags of truce will not serue, you must look
For defiance, and here he comes that brings it with him.
Iac.
All powers of goodnesse guard me.
Rod.
Speake, is she pliant?
Mal.
Stubborn as an Elephants leg, no bending in her,
You know what you haue to do my Leige, trees that
Will not yeeld their fruit by gentle shaking, must
Be climde, and haue it pulde by violence.
Rod.
Giue leaue.
Mal.
I woud she woud giue leaue as soone
From me, I woud fall at your feet my Leige.
Exit.
Rod.
Why turne you from us Lady?
Iac.
O my Leige,
I turne not from your face, but from your power,
You bring a frowne, I dare not looke upon.
Rod.
Your thoughts instruct you ill, I do not frowne,
But smile vpon you.
Iac.
I craue your pardon, and bend
My knee, your true obedient servant, my life
I'le lay an offering at your feet, what more
Woud you from your humble vassayle?
Rod.
Nothing so much,
But for lesse then eyther, thy love faire virgin.
Iac.
Keeping that name, you have it ever.
Rod.
What name?
Iac.
A virgin; you have my prayers dayly to heaven
For your long soveraignties, your honours health and victoryes.
Rod.
T'is good, and will you deny your selfe, what you wish
From others? I would atchieve a victory from you.
Iac.
Sir, I am not your foe.
Rod.
Concluded well;
Approue your selfe a friend, the war is love,
Wherein we two must strive make it no warre,
But yeeld it freely.
Iac.
It is not love you seeke;
But an Antipathy as dissonant
As heaven and hell, the musique of the spheares.
Comparde with gnashings, and the howles below.
Can lust be cal'd love, then let men seeke hell,
For there that fiery diety doth dwell.
Rod.
We come not to dispute of good, and bad,
Do as your sex has done, tast what's forbid,
And then distinguish of the difference,
I come not now to war with eloquence,
Those treaties are all past, if you embrace
Our profferd love, wele pray; or call it lust,
Iac.
Will you be a Rauisher?
Rod.
Cal't as you please,
We haue a burning feauer, and the disease
You must lay balsum to.
Iac.
Poyson be it,
A serpentine, and deadly aconite,
Neuer survive to know what you haue done,
But perish in the deed, or ere begun.
Rod.
These blasts are Zephires breath, a gentle gale
When it blows high.
Iac.
Then let my teares preuaile.
Rod.
The sacrifice of fooles, the proverbs scorne,
None pitties womens teares, but Ideots borne.
Iac.
Remember what my Father does for you,
Hees gone to brandish gainst your enemies,
Hees fetching you honour home; while at home
You will dishonour him.
Rod.
My purpose twas,
To send him forth the better to atchieve
My conquest here.
Iac.
Tyranous vnkingly.
Rod.
Tush, I have no eares.
Iac.
Hele be reveng'd:
Rod.
Pitty, nor future feares.
Iac.
Help, help, some good hand help:
Rod.
Thers none within thy call.
Iac.
Heaven heares.
Rod.
Tush, tis far of.
Iac.
See heaven, a wicked king, lust staynes his Crowne,
Or strike me dead, or throw a vengeance downe.
Rod.
Tush heaven is deafe, and hell laughs at thy crye.
Iac.
Be cursed in the act, and cursed dye.
Rod.
Ile stop the rest within thee.
Exit dragging her.
Iul.
Not the messenger returnd from the Castle
With answer from Alonzo?
Enter Alonso and Dionisia.
Med.
See my Lord, they come together.
Alon.
Noble Iulianus, the dignity of generall
You weare, be with your valour individuall,
Till we haue made it triple by our conquests,
Then let that threefold one, impale your browes,
And beare it to king Rodorique in triumph.
Iul.
Worthy Alonzo you must helpe your wishes
Ere they can take effect, your approved arme
Will be a good assistant, but I pray Sir,
How have you kept your Castle so unbruis'd?
The foe not far distant, have you not tane
Nor given? no sallying forth, no buffetting?
Alon.
My Lord, we have beene yet as quiet as in league,
Which makes me guesse their number is not full,
They have not yet, unlesse with grim aspects
So much as frighted this my tender daughter.
Dio.
Tender father, I pray let not your pitty disparadge me,
I have seene a sword whipt out starke naked in my time,
And never squeakt ; Do you thinke a Sarazius head,
Or a Blackamoores face can affright me, let me then
Be afraid of every chimney sweeper.
Iul.
Good spirit yffaith;
Even such a souldier have I left behinde,
I had much adoe to keepe her from the field;
Poore Iacinta, had I knowne such a sworne sister for her
I should almost have given her leave.
Alon.
I'le tell you Sir,
Were there a band of buskind Amazons
That woud tucke up their skirts, and strike indeed
My girle shoud weare bright Menalippæes belt
Laz.
Is she such a striker, my Lord?
Dio.
All at head,
No where else, beleeve me Sir, we hold it base
To strike below the wast.
Laz.
You fight high Lady.
Ant.
So she does at heart I thinke.
Iul.
So, so, to her batchellours,
Antonio, Lazarello, Medina, Come Alonzo,
You and I must treate more seriously upon our war intendments.
Laz.
The generall wrongs you to call you batchellour, Antonio.
Ant.
Woud he did not wrong me.
Laz.
Have not you a Cordiake
A heart sever now, ha? Do you thinke there is
A Phenix now, is there but one good face
In the world?
Ant.
I see nothing in her face,
Prethee attempt to make her speake agen.
Laz.
Her tongue? nay if you like her tongue, you must needs
Like her tayle, for the one utters the other: Lady
What would you give now for Moores heads by the dozen?
Dio.
I would buy by the score Sir.
Laz.
And what a score then?
Dio.
Chalks best for the score, every alewise knows that.
Laz.
You talke of chalke, and I of cheese.
Dio.
Hees in the last dish, pray take him away here.
Laz.
I have not done yet, will you buy any ware of me?
Dio.
What? proffer'd ware? foh.
Ant.
Give o're, thou wilt be foyl'd else.
Laza.
Why, heres a wench now, I had rather Ile with her
Witt, then with the best piece of flesh in Christendome,
I could beget young Mercuries on her, with
The very conceit: would you had had a good paire
Of eyes in your head.
Ant.
They are false glasses, and will
Deceive me.
My Lords to armes, the foe discover'd,
Marching amaine upon you.
Iul.
We are in readinesse, our Councels broke,
Advice must be all blows, Ladie to your hold,
And at advantage, see what these youths will do;
To gaine your love; nobly for Spaine speake drum,
And if they call, answer for us, they come.
Exeunt.
Alarum. Enter Mully Mumen King of the Moores.
Mull.
Descend thy spheare, thou burning Diety,
Haste from our shame, go blushing to thy bed;
Thy sonnes we are, thou euerlasting ball,
Yet never shamde these our impressive brows
Till now; we that are stampt with thine owne seale,
Which the whole ocean cannot wash away:
Shall those cold ague cheeks that nature moulds
Within her winter shop, those smoothe white skins,
That with a palsey hand she paints the limbes,
Make us recoyle.
Enter Zacharia.
Zac.
Great Mullymumen haste,
Either give heart to our retyring troupe
By a fresh onset; or haste to saftie by
Flight and basenesse: Bennizaverians slaine.
Mull.
Where's our brother Mahu Mahomet?
Zac.
Rounded with danger,
Where he behaves himselfe nobly Haldillinbaiday,
Enaser, and fiue Alchaides more are gone
Vp to his rescue, and if not more he dies,
Or is captiv'de.
Mull:
Wele partake either or both with him,
They are both noble; but too basely flie
Fall then my flesh, so there survive my name,
Who flies from honour, followes after shame.
Exeunt.
Alarum. Enter Iulianus, Antonio, and Alonzo.
Iul.
Antonio, now by the Saint of Spaine
You haue made your selfe remarkable to day,
Valour, exceeding valour, was not lookt for
Which you have showne to day.
Alon.
So nobly Sir, that I could wish my daughter
Were in love with you, and your vertues; would you
Requite it, her dowry should be 50 thousand crownes,
More then I ever meant it.
Ant.
O heart, thou speak'st too late.
My Lords your praises, and your noble wishes
Makes me esteeme my selfe behinde hand with fame
Heres yet more worke to do.
Iul.
One Mully we have tane,
If Mumen flie not, hees his fellow-captive.
Ant.
There my new fortunes shall their honour prove,
Then fare well war, next wele war faire with love.
Exeunt.
Alarum. Excursions. Enter Iulianus and Medina, with two prisoners.
Iul.
Medina, post to king Rodorique, do thus and thus,
Tell our royall Master what worke we have done him:
You see and know, and it needs no relation,
Here are royall prisoners.
Moores.
How will you use us?
Iul.
As in captivity we wish our selves.
Amb.
May we not be ransomde?
Iul.
As from the king
We shall receive: as his pleasure returnes us,
Meane time you shall have cause to blame
Your fortunes, not your conquerours; where's Antonio
Med.
Retirde to his tent.
Iul.
Not wounded, is he?
Med.
No my Lord, but weary.
Iul.
So we are all,
Now we have time to rest, and get new breath,
We conquer to the life, and not to death.
Exeunt.
Enter Antonio reading a letter, Lazarello.
Laza.
Now Antonio, where's Margaretta now?
Ant.
Here.
Laza.
Whose that in your hand then?
Ant.
I know not, looke, tis gone.
Laz.
Fie, youle take it up againe; come, come, sloope,
This is Dionisiaci character: a hand worth your heart,
Peruse it better, so, so, tis well:
Ladies faire hands must not be rejected so,
I did foresee this dangerous relapse,
You are in love.
Ant.
With Margaretta.
Laz.
With Dionisia;
Nor do you shame it, rather cherish it.
It is a choise befitting your high bloud;
What you have done, make it as a say
Vnto your best desires.
Ant.
O Lazarello!
Thou giv'st me poyson to recure a wound
Already mortall.
Laz.
Why this is speedlesse haste,
I know your sated pleasures would throw up
Their over-cloyde receit; you have beene noble
In your brave deeds of armes; who shall boast it,
Your beggars issue? they are Antipathies;
How would it sound to heare poore Margaret say
Her Lord hath brought home honour from the warres:
T'woud staine your worth to be so vainly boasted.
No, this Lady would multiply your praises with her phrase.
Won the palme of victory, then y'are thronde,
And musique gracing the solemnitie.
Ant.
One word confutes thee, ever into silence,
I am married.
Laz.
A mistake in private, who knows that?
Ant.
Margaretta,
And my selfe, besides a thousand witnesses within
Laz.
Quit you those, and who dares speake it else?
Ant.
Who dares not speake a truth.
La.
Dares not, who dares?
What danger is more great then to speake truth?
If poore ones durst speake plaine of great mens faults,
There needed no libelling.
Ant.
I'le choake freedome;
Oh what a bed of snakes struggle within me.
La.
Tush, they are but wormes, and I'le give thee seed and reasons
To destroy 'em; yo'are married.
Ant.
A good physitian;
Thou kill'st me quickly to haste me out of paine.
La.
Tush, I must first draw the corruption forth,
And then apply the healing medicine.
Ant.
Perswade me to turne Turk, or Moore Mahometan,
For by the lustfull lawes of Mahomet
I may have three wives more.
La.
And concubines besides; turne Moore?
Do you expect such counsell from your friend?
Wrong me not so, I'le shew you a Christian way
At least a way dispenc'd with Christians,
Say you distaste your match, as well you may,
When truth shall be unmask't, and shame walke by,
Bearing a blushing torch to light them both.
Mend then the cause before it take effect,
Annihillate your marriage, that's the cause,
Tis private yet, let it be private ever:
Allow your Margaret a pension,
She may be glad to embrace that, twere pride
For some thing that may breed from what is done,
Better her shame then yours; a common thing:
Poore beauties are proud of noble bassardie.
Ant.
Fearfull counsell.
La.
Does your Margaret love you?
Ant.
Beyond her life.
La.
Good, marry Dionisa, griefe kills her, then are you a widower.
Ant.
Horrible murther; twere lesse tyrany
To kill at once, then by a lingring poyson.
La.
Ha? poyson? what white devill prompted that?
Poyson, brave, the very change of friendship, the triall
Of a friends love to death, would you make sure
Of a friends constancy, a swift poyson will strike it dead.
And tis the easiest way, and may be done
Even in the termes of love, as thus, I drinke to you,
Or accept these gloves, the taste, the touch, the sight,
Tush, any sence will take it kindly.
Ant.
I'le heare no more from thee, thou studiest to make worse
A positive bad, by a vilde performance.
Enter Dionisa.
La.
Ha?
Looke yonder, there's an eye speakes better oratory
In very silence, where's poore Margaret now?
Ant:
Oh my heart.
La.
Looke upon that face; well, y'are my friend,
And by that true loves knot; had I that face
But in reversion after your decease,
I thinke I should give you physicke fort.
Dio.
Worthy Sir,
My noble father intreats some words with you.
Ant.
A happy messenger invites me to him,
How shall I quit your paines?
Dio.
I'le take my travell fort Sir.
Ant.
Tis too little.
Dio.
I thinke it too much Sir,
Obedience tide me toot.
Ant.
Y'are too quicke.
Dio.
Too quicke Sir, why what occasion have I given you
To wish me dead?
Ant.
I cannot keepe this pace with you, Lady,
I'le go speake with your father.
Dio.
I pray stay Sir, I'le speake with you my selfe.
Ant.
Before your father.
Dio.
No, here in private by your selfe.
La.
I'le stop my cares, Madam.
Dio.
Why, are they running away from your head Sir?
Laz.
I meane I'le seale them up from hearing, Lady.
Dio.
You may, no doubt they have wax o'their owne.
Ant.
Venture thy eares no farther good Lazarellos,
She will endanger 'em, but Lady now I thinke on
Speake, is not this your hand?
Dio.
I have three then it should seeme,
For I have two of my owne fingring.
Ant.
This is your letter?
Dio.
You know my minde then by this time.
Ant.
If I may be your expositor, Lady, I thinke I do.
Dio.
And how do you expound me Sir?
Ant.
Kinde and loving.
Dio.
Kinde and loving: t'were a good commendation:
For a sow and her pigs.
Ant.
You aske me the reason why I enquirde your age of your father.
Dio.
Tis true Sir, for what have you to do with my age?
Ant.
I'de rather have to do with your youth Lady:
Dio.
Who, my page?
Ant.
Fye Madam, y'are too apprehensive, too dexterious,
Your wit has two edges I protest.
Dio.
What a cut would that giue to a bald crowne.
Ant.
My crowne itches not at that, Lady.
Dio.
Yet you may scratch it though.
Ant.
Come, come, your wits a good one, do not tyre it.
Dio.
Vnlesse it remove out of my head, I must,
Ant.
I thinke you love me.
Dio.
You and I may be of two opinions,
I thinke not so now.
Ant.
Come, your hand has betraid you,
Do not you plainly say here, we two should be well matcht?
Dio.
O strange, he steals halfe a text to uphold
His heresie; but what follows, we should be well matcht
At a game of shittlecocke, the meaning is,
For a couple of light headed things we could not be over matcht;
He might have conceited that that could have but said
B to a battleder: but come Sir, you have said
Enough to me, will you go speake with my father?
Ant.
This I'le adde first, which I'le avouch unto
Your fathers face, I love you.
Dio.
This I'le confirme to you,
And to my fathers face, but I'le not promise you,
Whether I blush or no, I do not hate you.
Ant.
I'le follow you, yet give me leave ere you go
To give a gratitude unto your lip.
Dio.
My lips do not stand in the high way to beg
A charity, as open as they appeare to you.
You'le follow me Sir.
Ant.
I cannot stay long after.
Dio.
Soft I'me in your debt Sir, did you bestow a kisse on me?
Ant.
I did so farre presume.
Dio.
Take it againe—
So now I am out of your debt, hereafter never feare
To lend freely to one that payes so willingly.
Exit.
Laz.
Now Sir, what do you do?
Ant.
I am dissolving an Enigma.
La.
Let me helpe you, what ist.
Ant.
I would faine know
What kinde of thing a mans heart is.
Laz.
Were you never
At Barbar Surgeons hall to see a dissection?
I'le report it to you, tis a thing framde
With divers corners, and into every corner
The proverbe, a man may love one well, and yet
Retaine a friend in a corner.
Ant.
Tush, tis not
The reall heart, but the unseene faculties.
Laz.
Those I'le decipher unto you, for surely
The most part are but ciphers; the heart indeed
For the most part doth keepe a better guest
Then himselfe in him, that is the soule: now the soule
Being a tree, there are divers branches spreading out of it,
As loving affection, suffering sorrowes, and the like,
Then Sir, these affections, or sorrowes, being but branches,
Are sometimes lopt off, or of themselves wither,
And new shoot in their roomes. As for example;
Your friend dies, there appeares sorrow, but it quickly
Withers, then is that branch gone; Againe you love a friend,
There affection springs forth, at last you distaste,
Then that branch withers againe, and another buds
In his roome, shall I give you history to this morall?
Ant.
No, I can doot my selfe; oh Margaretta.
La.
So shees in the vocative case already; if she slide
Into the ablative, shees thrush quite out of the number.
Ant.
I am lost Lazarello.
La.
I shall finde you againe
In Dionisaes armes.
Ant.
Must I backe slide.
La:
If you can finde in your heart, you must.
Ant.
My hearts
A rebell to me.
La.
Faith all your body
Will be accessary toot, I'me a friend,
Come, come, league with your thoughts, you are too nice.
Ant.
How ill thou speakest of good, how good of vice?
Tis now concluded in me, I will on,
I must, although I meet destruction:
Downe hill we run, climbe upward a slow pace:
Easie discents to hell, steepe steps to grace.
Exeunt.
| A Tragedy called All's Lost by Lvst | |