University of Virginia Library

SCÆNA. 3.

Enter Gismond di Visselli, and after him Barbarossa.
Bar.

Dio viguarda Signior illustrissimo: whether in such hast
my noble Lord thus early?

Gis.

Signior Barbarossa in happy time well encountred, for I
haue some businesse this morning with my brother the Duke
of Candie, wherein I would both vse your counsell and countenance.

Bar.

My good Lord Viselli, the countenance of your deuoted
poore friend, is of lesse value then his counsell, yet both of very
small validity: such as they be, with his life and best fortunes he
sincerely sacrificeth all to your seruice.

Gis.

Pardon mee deere sir no seruice more then reciprocall,
and in due paritie betwixt vs, and since wee be so neere it, let vs
not passe Pasquill without an Aue: what scandalous hyerogliphickes
haue wee heere?

A. S. P. M.

Auaritia, Superbia, Perfidia, Malitia,

Alexander, Sextus, Pontifex, Maximus.

Against my Lord the Popes holinesse such blasphemous impudence,
such intollerable bitternesse!

M. P. S. A. These are the same letters with the first beginning
at the last, Magnum Petrum Sequitur Antichristus, Phy
Diabolo, our blessed Alexander (beeing Saint Peeters successor)
this diuilish libeller calls Antichrist.

Bar.

Pause there my Lord a litle, some-what here concernes
my Lord the Cardinall Borgia.

Gis.

Read it good Barbarossa.

Bar.

Alexander Cæsarem suum Galero et purpura donauit vt
menstruoso spiritus sui veneno, vniuersum simul conclaue suffocaret.

Gis.

Oh most intollerable abhomination?

Bar.

Alexander adopted his sonne Cæsar into the fellowship
of Cardinalls, that he with the menstruous poyson of his
breath might choake the whole Conclaue.

Gis.

By the blessed alter of Saint Peeter this villanie surpasseth
patience.

Bar.

My Lord here's a long libell.

Gis.

Read it good Barbarossa: more mischeife of my wife nay
read it.

Bar.
Quid mirum? Romæ facta est Lucretia Thais,
Vnica Alexandri filia, sponsa nurus.
The same in effect inseueth.
Welcome good Post from Rome tell vs some newes,
Lucrece is turned Thayis of the stewes:
In whome her father Alexander saw,
His onely daughter, wife, and daughter in law,
Shall I read on my Lord? here is much more.

Gis.
Nay read out all, it is but of a whore.

Bar.
Francesco di Gonsaga was the first,
That married Lucrece Alexanders daughter,
And yet the Pope those bains of bridale burst,
And made of marriage sacrament a laughter,
His reason was because that fellow poore,
Lackt maintenance for such a noble whore.

Gis.
Malignant aspect of vngratious stars,
Why haue you poynted at my miseries?

Bar.
Haue patience good my Lord and here the rest,

Gis.
Patienza per forza, but this wounds to th'quick.

Bar.
Iohn Sforza now Lord Marques of Pescare,
Was second husband to this ioly dame,
Of natures faculties he being bare,
In like state with his predecessor came,
Because he, when he should haue writ his mind,
Paper well might; but pen or incke none finde.

Gis.
Oh villainies of monstrous people,
Fashions and times deformed and vnseasonable,

Bar.

Yet my Lord a little haue patience in your
owne cause.

Gis.
Mallice performe thy worst least comming late,
I with anticipation crosse that fate. Read it, toot man.

Bar.
Gismond Viselli, nobly descended,
Is for his shamefull match much discommended.
For neuer was the shamelesse Fuluia,
Nor Lais noted for so many wooers,
Nor that vnchast profuse Sempronia.
A common dealer with so many dooers,
So proud, so faithlesse, and so voyd of shame,
As is new brodell bride Lucretia,
Take to thee Gismond both the skorne and shame,
And liue long iealous of Lucretia.
With pushing hornes keepe out all commers in,
For now thy mortall miseries begin.

Gis.
Mortall miseries? but we are all mortall,
Fortune I scorne thy malice, and thy meed,
Keepe them vp safe that I may shew them to his holines,
Is this the licence which our citty Rome
Hath giuen to beastly Bardes, and satyrists,
Ribbaldly Rimesters, and malicious curs,
To leaue no state of Church nor seculer,
Free from their ordure, and polution.
Good Barbarossa beare me Company:
Exile and Punishment for such base poets,
And stripes with wiery scourges were too litle.
Which breathing here in Rome, and taking grace:
From the faire Sunne-shine of this hemisphere,
Contaminate that ayre with their vile breath,
Obumbrating this light by which they liue,
If these were truth: this times impietie,
May soone sincke downe vnder the diety.

Exeunt.