 | Bussy D'Ambois, [1641] |  |
Actus Tertij
Scena Prima.
Enter D' Ambois, Tamyra, with a Chaine of Pearle.D' Amb.
Sweet Mistresse cease, your conference is too nice,
And bites too hotly of the Puritanespice.
Tam.
O my deare servant, in thy close embraces,
I have set open all the dores of danger
To my encompast honour, and my life:
Before I was secure against death and hell;
But now am subject to the heartlesse feare,
Of every shadow, and of every breath,
And would change firmnesse with an aspen leafe:
So confident a spotlesse conscience is;
So weake a guilty: O the dangerous siege
Sinne layes about us? and the tyrannie
He exercises when he hath expugn'd:
Like to the horror of a Winters thunder,
Mixt with a gushing storme, that suffer nothing
To stirre abroad on earth, but their own rages,
Is sinne, when it hath gathered head above us,
No roofe, no shelter can secure us so,
But he will drowne our cheeks in feare or woe.
D' Ambois.
Sin is a coward Madam, and insults
But on our weaknesse, in his truest valour:
And so our ignorance tames us, that we let
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In which our faulty apprehensions forge
The formes of Dragons, Lions, Elephants,
When they hold no proportion: the slie charmes
Of the witch policy makes him, like a Monster
Kept onely to shew men for Servile money:
That false hagge often paints him in her cloth
Ten times more monstrous than he is in troth:
In three of us, the secret of our meeting,
Is onely guarded, and three friends as one
Have ever beene esteem'd: as our three powers
That in one soule, are, as one united:
Why should we feare then? for my selfe I sweare
Sooner shall torture be the Sire to pleasure,
And health be grievous to one long time sick,
Than the deare jewell of your fame in me,
Be made an out-cast to your infamy;
Nor shall my value (sacred to your vertues)
Onely give free course to it, from my selfe:
But make it flie out of the mouths of Kings
In golden vapours, and with awfull wings.
Tam.
It rests as all Kings seales were set in thee.
Now let us call my Father, whom I sweare
I could extreamly chide, but that I feare
To make him so suspicious of my love
Of which (sweet servant) doe not let him know
For all the world.
D' Amb.
Alas! he will not think it?
Tam.
Come then—ho? Father, ope, and take your friend.
Ascendit Frier.
Frier.
Now honour'd daughter, is your doubt resolv'd.
Tam.
I Father, but you went away too sonne.
Fryer.
Too soone?
Tam.
Indeed you did, you should have stayed;
Had not your worthy friend beene of your bringing,
And that containes all lawes to temper me,
Not all the fearefull danger that besieged us,
Had aw'd my throat from exclamation.
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I know your serious disposition well.
Come sonne the morne comes on.
D' Amb.
Now honour'd Mistresse
Till farther service call, all blisse supply you.
Tamy.
And you this chaine of pearle, and my love onely.
It is not I, but urgent destiny,
Descendit Frier and D' Amb.
That (as great States-men for their generall end
In politique justice, make poore men offend)
Enforceth my offence to make it just:
What shall weak Dames doe, 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 layes still
Our powers to it: as to the line, the stone,
Not to the stone, the line should be oppos'd.
We cannot keepe our constant course in vertue:
What is alike at all parts? every day
Differs from other: every houre and minute:
I, every thought in our false clock of life,
Oft times inverts the whole circumference:
We must be sometimes one, sometimes another:
Our bodies are but thick clouds to our soules;
Through which they cannot shine when they desire:
When all the starres, and even the sunne himselfe,
Must stay the vapours times that he exhales
Before he can make good his beames to us:
O how can we, that are but motes to him,
Wandring at randon in his ordered rayes,
Disperse our passions fumes, with our weak labours,
That are more thick and black than all earths vapours?
Enter Mont.
Mon.
Good day, my love: what up and ready too!
Tam.
Both, (my deare Lord) not all this night made I
My selfe unready, or could sleep a wink.
Mont.
Alas, what troubled my true Love? my peace,
From being at peace within her better selfe?
Or how could sleepe forbeare to seize thine eyes
When he might challenge them as his just prise?
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I am in no powre earthly, but in yours;
To what end should I goe to bed my Lord,
That wholly mist the comfort of my bed?
Or how should sleepe possesse my faculties,
Wanting the proper closer of mine eyes?
Mont.
Then will I never more sleepe night from thee:
All mine owne Businesse, all the Kings affaires,
Shall take the day to serve them: Every night
Ile ever dedicate to thy delights.
Tam.
Nay, good my Lord esteeme not my desires
Such doters on their humours, that my judgement
Cannot subdue them to your worthier pleasure:
A wives pleas'd husband must her object be
In all her acts, not her sooth'd fantasie.
Mont.
Then come my Love, Now pay those Rites to sleepe
Thy faire eyes owe him: shall we now to bed?
Tam.
O no my Lord, your holy Frier sayes,
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.
Mont.
Hee's a most learned and Religious man:
Come to the Presence then, and see great D' Ambois
(Fortunes proud mushrome shot up in a night)
Stand like an Atlas under our Kings arme;
Which greatnesse with him Monsieur now envies
As bitterly and deadly as the Guise.
Tam.
What, he that was but yesterday his maker?
His raiser and preserver?
Mont.
Even the same.
Each naturall agent works but to this end,
To render that it works on, like it selfe;
Which since the Monsieur in his act on D' Ambois,
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 Monsieurs aime on his owne breast,
He turnes his outward love to inward hate:
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Which no man can embrace, but must consume.
Exeunt.
Henry, D' Ambois, Monsieur, Guise, Dutches Annabell, Charlot, Attendants.
Henr.
Speak home Bussy, thy impartiall words
Are like brave Faulcons that dare trusse a Fowle
Much greater than themselves; Flatterers are Kites
That check at Sparrowes; thou shalt be my Eagle,
And beare my thunder underneath thy wings:
Truths words like jewels hang in th'eares of Kings.
Buss.
Would I might live to see no Jewes hang there
In steed of jewels; sycophants I meane,
Who use truth like the Devill, his true Foe,
Cast by the Angell to the pit of feares,
And bound in chaines; truth seldome decks Kings eares:
Slave flattery (like a Rippiers legs rowl'd up
In boots of hay-ropes) with Kings soothed guts
Swadled and strappl'd, now lives onely free.
O tis a subtle knave; how like the plague
Unfelt, he strikes into the braine of man,
And rageth in his entrailes when he can,
Worse than the poison of a red hair'd man?
Henr.
Fly at him and his brood, I cast thee off,
And once more give thee surname of mine Eagle.
Buss.
Ile make you sport enough then, let me have
My lucerns too, (or dogs inur'd to hunt
Beasts of most rapine) but to put them up,
And if I trusse not, let me not be trusted:
Shew me a great man (by the peoples voice,
Which is the voice of God) that by his greatnesse
Bumbasts his private roofes, with publique riches;
That affects royaltie, rising from a clapdish;
That rules so much more by his suffering King,
That he makes Kings of his subordinate slaves:
Himselfe 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
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Keepe all upright; let me but hawlk at him,
Ile play the Vulture, and so thump his liver,
That (like a huge unlading Argosea)
He shall confesse all, and you then may hang him.
Shew me a Clergie man, that is in voice
A Lark of Heaven, in heart a Mowle 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 Phesants and your Partriches;
Venting their Quintessence as men read Hebrew:
Let me but hawlk at him, and, like the other,
He shall confesse all, and you then may hang him.
Shew me a Lawyer that turnes sacred law
(The equall rendrer of each man his owne,
The scourge of Rapine and Extortion,
The Sanctuary and impregnable defence
Of retir'd learning, and besieged vertue)
Into a Harpy, that eates all but's owne,
Into the damned sinnes it punisheth;
Into the Synagogue of theeves and Atheists;
Blood into gold, and justice into lust:
Let me but hawlk at him, as at the rest,
He shall confesse all, and you then may hang him.
Enter Mont-Surrey, Tamira, and Pero.
Gui.
Where will you find such game as you would hawlk at?
Buss.
Ile hawlk about your house for one of them.
Gui.
Come, y'are a glorious Ruffin, and runne proud
Of the Kings headlong graces; hold your breath,
Or by that poyson'd vapour not the King
Shall back your murtherous valour against me.
Buss.
I would the King would make his presence free
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 soule sits and braves thy soveraigne.
Mons.
Peace, peace, I pray thee peace.
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Let him peace first that made the first warre.
Mons.
He's the better man.
Buss.
And therefore may doe worst?
Mons.
He has more titles.
Buss.
So Hydra had more heads.
Mons.
He's greater knowne.
Buss.
His greatnesse is the peoples, mine's mine owne.
Mons.
He's nobly borne.
Buss.
He is not, I am noble.
And noblesse in his blood hath no gradation,
But in his merit,
Gui.
Th'art not nobly borne,
But bastard to the Cardinall of Ambois.
Buss.
Thou liest proud Guiserd; let me flie (my Lord.)
Henr.
Not in my face; (my Eagle) violence flies
The Sanctuaries of a Princes eyes.
Buss.
Still shall we chide? and fome upon this bit?
Is the Guise onely great in faction?
Stands he not by himselfe? Proves he th'Opinion
That mens soules are without them? Be a Duke,
And lead me to the field.
Guis.
Come, follow me.
Henr.
Stay them, stay D' Ambois; Cosen Guise, I wonder
Your honour'd disposition brooks so ill
A man so good, that only would uphold
Man in his native noblesse, from whose fall
All our dissentions rise; that in himselfe
(Without the outward patches of our frailty,
Riches and honour) knowes he comprehends
Worth with the greatest: Kings had never borne
Such boundlesse Empire over other men,
Had all maintain'd the spirit and state of D' Ambois;
Nor had the full impartiall hand of nature
That all things gave in her originall,
Without these definite terms of Mine and Thine,
Beene turn'd unjustly to the hand of Fortune,
Had all preserv'd her in her prime, like D' Ambois;
No envie, no disiunction had dissolv'd,
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In which the world of Saturne bound our lifes,
Had all beene held together with the nerves,
The genius and th'ingenious soule of D' Ambois.
Let my hand therefore be the Hermean rod
To part and reconcile, and so conserve you,
As my combin'd embracers and supporters.
Buss.
Tis our Kings motion, and we shall not seeme
(To worst eies) womanish, though we change thus soone.
Never so great grudge for his greater pleasure.
Gui.
I seale to that, and so the manly freedome
That you so much professe, hereafter prove not
A bold and glorious licence to deprave,
To me his hand shall hold the Hermean vertue
His grace affects, in which submissive signe
On this his sacred right hand, I lay mine.
Buss.
Tis well my Lord, and so your worthy greatnesse
Decline not to the greater insolence,
Nor make you think it a Prerogative,
To rack mens freedomes with the ruder wrongs;
My hand (stuck full of lawrell, in true signe
Tis wholly dedicate to righteous peace)
In all submission kisseth th'other side.
Hen.
Thanks to ye both: and kindly I invite ye
Both to a banquet where weele sacrifice
Full cups to confirmation of your loves;
At which (faire Ladies) I entreat your presence.
And hope you Madam will take one carowse
For reconcilement of your Lord and servant.
Duches.
If I should faile my Lord, some other Lady
Would be found there to doe that for my servant.
Mons.
Any of these here?
Duches.
Nay, I know not that.
D' Amb.
Think your thoughts, like my Mistresse, honour'd Lady.
Tamy.
I think not on you Sir, y'are one I know not.
D' Amb.
Cry you mercy Madam.
Exeunt Henry, D' Amb. Ladies.
Monts.
Oh Sir, has she met you?
Mons.
What had my bounty drunk when it rais'd him?
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Y'ave stuck us up a very worthy flag,
That takes more winde than we with all our failes.
Mons.
O so he spreds and flourishes.
Gui.
He must downe,
Upstarts should never perch too neere a crowne.
Mons.
Tis true my Lord; and as this doting hand,
Even out of earth, (like Juno) struck this Giant,
So Joves great ordnance shall be here implide
To strike him under th' Ætna of his pride:
To which work lend your hands and let us cast
Where we may set snares for his ranging greatnes:
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 mens rising: if great men
And wise make scapes to please advantage,
Tis with a woman: women that worst may
Still hold mens candels: they direct and know
All things amisse in all men; and their women
All things amisse in them: through whose charm'd mouthes
We may see all the close scapes of the Court:
When the most royall beast of chase, the Hart
(Being old; and cunning in his layres and haunts)
Can never be discovered to the bow
The peece or hound: yet where (behind some Queich)
He breaks his gall, and rutteth with his hinde,
The place is maskt, and by his Venery
He still is taken. Shall we then attempt
The chiefest meane to that discovery here,
And court our greatest Ladies chiefest women,
With shewes of love, and liberall promises?
Tis but our breath. If something given in hand,
Sharpen their hopes of more, 'twill be well ventur'd.
Gui.
No doubt of that: and 'tis the cunningst point
Of our devis'd investigation.
Mons.
I have broken
The yce to it already with the woman
Of your chast Lady, and conceive good hope,
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At our next meeting.
Monts.
Nay, there's small hope there.
Guise.
Take say of her my Lord, she comes most fitly.
Mons.
Starting back?
Enter Charlot, Anable, Pero.
Gui.
Y'are ingag'd indeed.
Char.
Nay, pray my Lord forbeare.
Mont.
What skittish, servant?
An.
No my Lord, I am not so fit for your service.
Char.
Pray pardon me now my Lord? my Lady expects me.
Gui.
Ile satisfie her expectation, as far as an Vnkle may.
Mons.
Well said: a spirit of Courtship of all hands:
Now mine owne Pero: hast thou remembred me
For the discovery I entreated thee to make of thy Mistresse?
speak boldly, and be sure, of all things I have sworne to thee.
Pero.
Building on that assurance (my Lord) I may speak: and
much the rather, because my Lady hath not trusted me with that
I can tell you; for now I cannot be said to betray her.
Mons.
That's all one, so wee reach our objects: forth I beseech
thee.
Per.
To tell you truth, my Lord, I have made a strange discovery.
Mons.
Excellent! Pero thou reviv'st me: may I sink quick to
perdition, if my tongue discover it.
Per.
Tis thus then: This last night my Lord lay forth: and I
watching my Ladies sitting up, stole up at midnight from my
pallat, and (having before made a hole both through the wall
and arras to her inmost chamber) I saw D' Ambois and her selfe
reading a letter.
Mons.
D' Ambois?
Per.
Even he my Lord.
Mons.
Do'st thou not dreame wench?
Per.
I sweare, he is the man.
Mons.
The devill he is, and thy Lady his dam: Why this
was the happiest shot? that ever flewe the just plague of hypocrisie
level'd it, Oh the infinite regions betwixt a womans
tongue and her heart: is this our Goddesse of chastity? I thought
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and therefore plotted this with her woman: never dreaming of
D' Amboys. Deare Pero I will advance thee for ever: but tell
me now: Gods pretious it transformes mee with admiration:
sweet Pero, whom should she trust with this conveyance? Or,
all the dores being made sure, how should his conveyance be
made?
Per.
Nay my Lord, that amazes me: I cannot by any study so
much as guesse at it.
Mons.
Well, let's favour our apprehensions with forbearing
that a little: for if my heart were not hoopt with adamant, the
conceipt of this would have burst it: but heark thee.
Whispers.
Mont.
I pray thee resolve mee: the Duke will never imagine
that I am busie about's wife: hath D' Ambois any privy
accesse to her?
An.
No my Lord, D' Ambois neglects her (as shee takes it)
and is therefore suspicious that either your Lady, or the Lady
Beaupre hath closely entertain'd him.
Mont.
Ber lady a likely suspition, and very neere the life;
especially of my wife.
Mons.
Come, we'l disguise all, with seeming onely to have
courted; away dry palm: sh'as a livor as dry as a bisket: a man
may goe a whole voyage with her, and get nothing but tempests
from her windpipe.
Gui.
Here's one, (I think) has swallowed a Porcupine, shee
casts pricks from her tongue so.
Mont.
And here's a Peacock seemes to have devour'd one of
the Alpes, she has so swelling a spirit, & is so cold of her kindnes.
Char.
We are no windfalls my Lord; ye must gather us with
the ladder of matrimony, or we'l hang till we be rotten.
Mons.
Indeed that's the way to make ye right openarses. But
alas ye have no portions fit for such husbands as we wish you.
Per.
Portions my Lord, yes and such portions as your principality
cannot purchase.
Mons.
What woman? what are those portions?
Per.
Riddle my riddle my Lord.
Mons.
I marry wench, I think thy portion is a right riddle,
a man shall never finde it out: but let's heare it.
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You shall my Lord.
What's that, that being most rar's most cheap?
That when you sow, you never reap?
That when it growes most, most you in it?
And still you lose it when you win it?
That when tis commonest, tis dearest,
And when tis farthest off, 'tis neerest?
Mons.
Is this your great portion?
Per.
Even this my Lord.
Mons.
Beleeve me I cannot riddle it.
Per.
No my Lord, tis my chastity, which you shall neither
riddle nor fiddle.
Mons.
Your chastity? let me begin with the end of it; how
is a womans chastity neerest a man, when tis furthest off?
Per.
Why my Lord, when you cannot get it, it goes to th'
heart on you; and that I think comes most neere you: and I am
sure it shall be farre enough off; and so wee leave you to our
mercies.
Exeunt women.
Mons.
Farewell riddle.
Gui.
Farewell Medlar.
Mont.
Farewell winter plum.
Mons.
Now my Lords, what fruit of our inquisition? feele
you nothing budding yet? Speak good my Lord Mountsurry.
Mont.
Nothing but this: D' Ambois is thought negligent in
observing the Duchesse, and therefore she is suspicious that your
Neece or my wife closely entertaines him.
Mons.
Your wife, my Lord? Think you that possible?
Mont.
Alas, I know she flies him like her last houre.
Mons.
Her last houre? 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 womens imaginations engrosse them
when they are once enamour'd, and what wonders they will
work for their satisfaction. They will make a sheepe valiant, a
Lion fearefull.
Mons.
And an Asse confident, well my Lord, more will come
forth shortly, get you to the banquet.
Guise.
Come my Lord, I have the blind side of one of them.
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Mouns.
O the unsounded Sea of womens bloods,
That when tis calmest, is most dangerous;
Not any wrinkle creaming in their faces,
When in their hearts are Scylla and Caribdis,
Which still are hid in dark and standing foggs,
Where never day shines, nothing ever growes,
But weeds and poysons, that no States-man knowes;
Not Cerberus ever saw the damned nookes
Hid with the veiles of womens vertuous lookes.
But what a cloud of sulphur have I drawne
Up to my bosome in this dangerous secret?
Which if my hast (with any spark) should light
Ere D' Ambois were engag'd in some sure plot
I were blowne up; He would be sure, my death.
Would I had never knowne it, for before
I shall perswade 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 Tyger, up in darknesse tyed,
And give it some light) make it quite break loose.
I feare it afore heaven, and will not see
D' Ambois againe, till I have told Montsurry,
And set a snare with him to free my feares: whose there?
Enter Maffe.
Maffe.
My Lord?
Mons.
Goe call the Count Montsurry,
And make the dores fast, I will speak with none
Till he come to me.
Maffe.
Well my Lord.
Exiturus.
Mons.
Or else
Send you some other, and see all the dores
Made safe your selfe I pray, hast, flie about it.
Maffe.
You'l speak with none but with the Count Montsurry.
Mont.
With none but hee except it be the Guise.
Maffe.
See even by this, there's one exception more,
Your Grace must be more firme in the command,
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The Guise shall speak with you?
Mons.
He shall I say.
Maffe.
And Count Montsurry?
Mons.
I, and Count Montsurry.
Maffe.
Your Grace must pardon me, that I am bold
To urge the cleare and full sence of your pleasure;
Which when so ever I have knowne, I hope
Your Grace will say, I hit it to a haire.
Mons.
You have.
Maffe.
I hope so, or I would be glad.—
Mons.
I pray thee get thee gone, thou art so tedious
In the strickt forme of all thy services,
That I had better have one negligent.
You hit my pleasure well, when D' Ambois hit you,
Did you not, think you?
Maffe.
D' Ambois? why my Lord?
Mons.
I pray thee talk no more, but shut the dores.
Doe what I charge thee.
Maffe.
I will my Lord, and yet
I would be glad the wrong I had of D' Ambois—
Mons.
Precious! then it is a Fate that plagues me
In this mans foolery, I may be murthered
While he stands on protection of his folly.
Avant about thy charge.
Maffe.
I goe my Lord.
I had my head broke in his faithfull service,
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.—
Mons.
The devill and D' Ambois.
Exit Maffe.
How am I tortur'd with this trusty foole?
Never was any curious in his place
To doe things justly, but he was an Asse:
We cannot finde one trusty that is witty,
And therefore beare their disproportion.
Grant thou great starre, and angell of my life,
A sure lease of it but for some few dayes,
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I cherisht there, and I will then defie
All check to it but Natures, and her Altars
Shall crack with vessels crown'd with ev'ry liquor
Drawn from her highest, and most bloudy humors.
I feare 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.
Maffe.
I cannot help it, what should I do more?
As I was gathering a fit Guard to make
My passage to the dores, and the dores sure,
The man of bloud is enter'd.
Mons.
Rage of death.
If I had told the secret, and he knew it,
Thus had I bin endanger'd:—My sweet heart!
How now? what leap'st thou at?
Enter D' Ambois.
D' Amb.
O royall object.
Mons.
Thou dream'st awake: Object in th'empty aire?
D' Amb.
Worthy the browes of Titan, worth his chaire.
Mons.
Pray thee what mean'st thou?
D' Amb.
See you not a Crowne
Empale the forehead of the great King Monsieur?
Mons.
O fie upon thee.
D' Amb.
Prince, that is the Subject
Of all these your retir'd and sole discourses.
Mons.
Wilt thou not leave that wrongfull supposition?
D' Amb.
Why wrongfull? to suppose the doubtlesse right
To the succession worth the thinking on.
Mons.
Well, leave these jests, how I am over-joyed
With thy wish'd presence, and how fit thou com'st,
For of mine honour I was sending for thee.
D' Amb.
To what end?
Mons.
Onely for thy company,
Which I have still in thought, but that's no payment
On thy part made with personall appearance.
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Put me in some little doubt thou do'st not love me.
Wilt thou doe one thing therefore now sincerely?
D' Amb.
I, any thing, but killing of the King.
Mons.
Still in that discor'd, and ill taken note?
How most unseasonable thou playest the Cucko,
In this thy fall of friendship?
D' Amb.
Then doe not doubt,
That there is any act within my nerves,
But killing of the King that is not yours.
Mons.
I will not then; to prove which by my love
Shewne to thy vertues, 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 freedome
Both of thy noble nature and thy friendship)
The full and plaine state of me in thy thoughts.
D' Amb.
What, utter plainly what I think of you?
Mons.
Plaine as truth.
D' Amb.
Why this swims quite against the stream of greatnes.
Great men would rather heare their flatteries,
And if they be not made fooles, are not wise.
Mons.
I am no such great foole, and therefore charge thee
Even from the root of thy free heart display mee.
D' Amb.
Since you affect it in such serious termes,
If your selfe first will tell me what you think
As freely and as heartily of me,
I'le be as open in my thoughts of you.
Mons.
A bargain of mine honour; and make this,
That prove we in our full dissection
Never so foule, live still the sounder friends.
D' Amb.
What else Sir t'come pay me home, ile bide it bravely.
Mons.
I will I sweare. I think thee then a man,
That dares as much as a wilde horse or Tyger;
As headstrong and as bloody; and so feed
The ravenous wolfe of thy most Caniball valour,
(Rather than not employ it) thou would'st turne
Hackster to any whore, slave to a Jew,
43
And cut men's throats of morgaged estates;
Or thou would'st tire thee like a Tinkers strumpet.
And murther market folks, quarrell with sheepe,
And runne as mad as Ajax; serve a Butcher,
Doe any thing but killing of the King:
That in thy valour th'art like other naturalls,
That have strange gifts in nature, but no soule
Diffus'd quite through, to make them of a peece,
But stop at humours, that are more absurd,
Childish and villanous than that hackster; whore,
Slave, cut-throat, Tinkers bitch, compar'd before:
And in those humours would'st envie, betray,
Slander, blaspheme, change each houre a religion;
Doe any thing, but killing of the King;
That in thy valour (which is still the dunghill,
To which hath reference all filth in thy house)
Th'art more ridiculous and vaine-glorious
Than any Mountibank; and impudent
Than any painted Bawd; which, not to sooth
And glorifie thee like a Iupiter Hammon,
Thou eat'st thy heart in vineger; and thy gall
Turns all thy blood to poyson, which is cause
Of that Toad-poole that stands in thy complexion;
And makes thee (with a cold and earthy moisture,
Which is the damme of portifaction,
As plague to thy damn'd pride) rot as thou liv'st;
To study calumnies and treacheries;
To thy friends slaughters, like a Scrich-owle sing,
And to all mischiefes, but to kill the King.
D' Amb.
So: Have you said?
Mons.
How thinkest thou? Doe I flatter?
Speak I not like a trusty friend to thee?
D' Amb.
That ever any man was blest withall;
So here's for me. I think you are (at worst)
No devill, since y'are like to be no King;
Of which, with any friend of yours Ile lay
This poore Stillado here, 'gainst all the starres,
44
That you did never good, but to doe ill;
But ill of all sorts, free and for it selfe:
That (like a murthering peece, making lanes in Armies
The first man of a rank, the whole rank falling)
If you have wrong'd one man, you are so farre
From making him amends, that all his race,
Friends and associates fall into your chace:
That y'are for perjuries the very prince
Of all intelligencers; and your voice
Is like an Easterne winde, that where it flies,
Knits nets of Catterpillars, with which you catch
The prime of all the fruits the Kingdome yeelds.
That your politicall head is the curst fount
Of all the violence, rapine, cruelty,
Tyrannie & Atheisme flowing through the realme.
That y'ave a tongue so scandalous, 'twill cut
The purest Christall; and a breath that will
Kill to that wall a spider; you will jest
With God, and your soule to the devill tender
For lust; kisse horror, and with death engender.
That your foule body is a Lernean fenne
Of all the maladies breeding in all men.
That you are utterly without a soule:
And (for your life) the thred of that was spunne,
When Clotho slept, and let her breathing rock
Fall in the durt; and Lachesit still drawes it,
Dipping her twisting fingers in a boule
Defil'd, and crown'd with vertues forced soule.
And lastly (which I must for Gratitude
Ever remember) That of all my height
And dearest life, you are the onely spring,
Onely in royall hope to kill the King.
Mons.
Why now I see thou lov'st me, come to the banquet.
Exeunt.
Finis Actus tertij.
| Bussy D'Ambois, [1641] | |