 | The Opportvnitie |  |
Actus Quartus.
Enter Mercutio and Borgia at severall dores.Mer.
Sonne y'are well met.
Bo.
Your pleasure Sir.
Mer.
No great pleasure, I am almost hoarse with
Enquiring for you, I must aske you a question,
First let me examine your countenance.
Bo.
Your meaning Sir?
Mer.
I have no skill in Metaposcopie,
De'e know me?
Bo.
I am not discover'd sure,
What crotchet's this?
Mer.
Hee's proud, he wonnot know me:
'Tis so, hee's lost, he is undone, nay, nay,
It will become me to stand bare to you Sir,
And teach my hammes the officious cringe; be cover'd.
Bo.
I know not how to interpret Sir your language;
Yet I would hope you mocke me not, altho
It was the Dutchesse pleasure to create
Mirth from this barren heape, and counterfeit
Favors to try my duty, joyne not you
With others to enlarge my scorne, I am not
So tame of soule, but I have sense of all
Their Ieeres.
Mer.
Their Ieeres? whom doe you point upon?
Bo.
I dare not name the Dutchesse; I am all
Obedience to her person, yet she might
Have plac'd her giddy humor somewhere else
It swells not me with expectation,
I was not made for state.
Mer.
Doe not you then
Thinke to be Duke.
Should any but your selfe
Name such a title to me, I should answer
His question with a frowne, and something else
To waite upon't, tho I engag'd my life
To a fresh danger, but I am instructed
By nature and religion to be calme
At what you say.
Mer.
On this condition
Ile give thee leave to beate me, 'twas my feare
Thou hadst an easie faith, and wert transported
Indeede out of thy wits, but since I see
Thou art not madde, I will commend a wife to thee.
Bor.
To me, I thanke you Sir, not yet,
I shall be madde indeed then, I will marry
None but my sister, take my word.
Mer.
Thy sister?
Bo.
I cannot raile upon the Dutchesse safely;
A wife, my mother's dead.
Mer.
Thoud'st not have her?
Bo.
I thinke you wod not have her out of heaven.
T'were little Charity, and the whole sex
Were in a dead sleepe wer't not sinne to wake 'em;
A wife, Ile seeke my sister.
Mer.
Stay and take
My keyes, this opens to my gold, goe home
And take out ten bagges.
Bo.
What to doe Sir?
Mer.
To spend 'em, all's thine owne, leave something for
Cornelia, because perhaps shee'l marry,
And I am satisfied, a prudent boy,
How am I bound to heaven that hee's not proud,
Nor taken in the subtle toyles of women?
Hee'l never marry, how shall I consume
My estate? Dost heare, a little portion
Will serve Ursini with thy sister.
Bo.
Must
He marry her?
Mer.
I let him, we shall please
The Dutchesse too, and when she is dispos'd,
The rest is ours to revell with.
Bo.
Ile thinke ont.
Exit.
Enter Iulio and Lucio.
Mer.
Did you not meet my sonne?
Iu.
Yes somewhat melancholy.
You are deceiv'd, hee's cholericke, and let
Me advise you gentlemen, although I know
He loves you, doe not mocke him, hee's no foole;
No bladder to be swolne with breath of praise
And Ladies Iigges, he is sensible he is,
And will not be the hatefull stocke of pastime
To Groomes and Pages.
Lu.
What doe you meane my Lord?
Mer.
Call him not Duke, I counsell you.
Iu.
We doe not.
Mer.
Nor do'e not thinke it possible it may be.
Lu.
Have patience, and we doe not, we have alter'd
Our opinions, and are cleare of your side now.
Iu.
As the wheeles move we doe thinke nothing lesse,
Your sonne shall not be Duke, there is no feare on't
Whilst Ferrara lives.
Mer.
He shall not.
Iu.
So we say, sleepe quietly.
Mer.
He shall not, very peremptory,
You are no Oracles, would I were Dutchesse
For halfe an houre, he shud be Duke, de'e heare now;
No matter who repented: I thought you
Had beene his friend, he shannot be a Duke?
How ere I thought on't, it becomes not you
To circumscribe his fortune, he can number
Descents of noble blood, and had his breeding;
Has none of the worst faces, heads, nor hearts,
How ere you value him and discharge your boults
At randome thus, he shannot.
Lu.
Heare us Sir.
Mer.
He shall not be a Duke.
Exit.
Lu.
Did not I say he was mad?
Iu.
That was dissembled,
He has cause now to see a turne i'th streame,
And Ferrara onely hopefull with the Dutchesse,
Enter Pisauro and Ascanio.
What thing is that?
Pis.
Is he so confident?
As.
He will lay about like a Prince, de'e thinke
The word Ile winde him up to an Emperour.
Pis.
Keep thy shape boy, we wonnot lose the sport,
And happily I will acquaint these gentlemen.
As.
If I
Should be whipt heartily for my conceit,
The little high German wud not take it kindly,
It may be the court largesse; but no matter,
I have some gold and dare venter the last
At any time for coyne of this complexion.
Lu.
Are you in earnest.
Iu.
'Twill be excellent,
And please her highnesse, she has commanded
All libertie of mirth, Ile undertake
To prepare her.
Pis.
About it then, Ile have
My part i'th enterlude, lose no time boy,
Thou shalt be Prince of Pigmieland for this:
The Dutchesse, Ile withdraw.
Enter Dutchesse, Ferrara, Ursini, Borgia, Cornelia Ladies.
Dut.
My Lord, you make me wonder, challenge me
Of promises? tho I acknowledge it,
No act that could reflect with a dishonour
Vpon our person, yet we must not be
So jeasted into marriage, you are a Prince
Of an unquestiond merit, take not these
Imaginary wayes to advance your hopes
In us, we are yet free as you my Lord,
And shall not in a dreame give up our selfe,
Were we disposd to marry or contract
Our selfe, the day shall witnesse it without
A blush, let guiltie soules call night to cover
Their promises, we are innocent.
Fer.
Good Madam
Render me not so lost to my owne senses,
To the honour of a Prince basely to coine
A language for my purpose, though you may
Repent the last nights freedome, and correct
Your judgement of me, make me not so miserable
As destitute of nobler wayes to move you,
But I presume this is to try my patience
And make my joyes at last more pretious
By this delay; I know you are all vertue
And cannot staine your selfe by a denyall
Of any syllable you speake.
Dut.
With pardon
Of your grace, I shall laugh if you persist thus:
You had a pleasant dreame, but lovers
Are flatterd in their sleepe, I speake to you.
Fer.
Then Madam I take leave, to tell you tis not
Done like a Princesse of that character
We have receiv'd, and if I had no witnesse
I see what mirth we are prepar'd for.
Dut.
Witnesse
There is too much at stake my Lord already,
To racke this argument for your owne fame,
Proceede not to enlarge it, we would rather
Confesse some guilt against our selfe, then let
You honour be expos'd to such strait censure
For loving us, yet if you would be silent
In this we shall be proud, in other things
To have denyed you nothing, and be asham'd
You tooke our Court so unprepard to honour you.
Fer.
Was ever such a mockery, I see
I must produce more testimony, you see
Can justifie if you please, I have affirm'd
Nothing but truth, altho my willing eare
Catch'd up the voyce, she spake it to you signior.
Bo.
What my good Lord?
Fer.
That she resolv'd to marry us.
Bo.
Your excellence
Must pardon me, I heard her highnesse speake
No language to that purpose.
Dut.
We honour
You Borgia for acquitting us.
Cor.
Tis truth her highnesse never spake so, but I did
Sound hope in him to be so negative.
Fer.
It seemes you have concluded, Madam, I
Must be the generall mirth.
Dut.
I finde Cornelias
Cunning in this, and must apply some complement
For our owne honour, good my Lord your privacie.
Bo.
How er'e her grace be a little impudent
I had beene madde to justifie the Duke
In such a cause, she has no minde to marry him,
And perhaps talk'd to me last night to try
My strength of wit, women are subtill creatures,
No matter tho Ursini court my sister,
My ambitions faire a tother side agen.
Enter Iulio, and Lucio, and whisper with the Dutchesse.
Vrs.
Tis strange the Dutchesse should so mistake.
Cor.
Vpon
My conscience she heard the words.
Urs.
Yet She denies.
Cor.
I must beleeve her too:
Urs.
You speak a riddle Maddam.
Du.
Will you my Lord
Admit of so much mirth.
Fer.
You shall command me.
Dut.
Remit 'em then, the rest Ile cleare hereafter
To your satisfaction.
Enter Ascanio, Pimponio, Pisauro
Pis.
De'e heare, what Prince de'e meane to call your selfe?
Pim.
Why any Prince in Spaine.
Pis.
No Ile advise you
You shall be an Italian Prince in Spanish habit,
Now I thinke better on't, tis queint, and will
Be gratefull for the witty noveltie:
Every common Prince goes in his countries fashion;
Such as you are not ordinary, be bold.
Bo.
Why didst bring him hither?
Pis.
Peace I may doe you a curtesie,
Keepe your owne counsell and be ignorant
Of this strange Creature, say you are—
The Duke of—thus disguisd for reasons
Knowne to your selfe.
Duke of—let me alone.
Pis.
And be not beaten out of't.
Pim.
I wonnot, let the high German first present mee in a speech,
Is that the Dutchesse? so, so.
As.
I warrant you.
Pim.
My master or his ghost?
Pis.
You wonnot be a foole and lose your selfe,
And heaven knowes what; scorne to take notice on him,
Remember who you are.
Pim.
Vmp, umph, stand by fellow.
As.
Dutchesse of Urbin, never was your Court
Grac'd with the presence of so brave a Prince
As this, the darling and delight of Christendome.
Dut.
He seemes no lesse.
Urs.
What pageants ha' we got.
As.
And cosen not your selves he is no Spaniard.
But of Italian sprightly breed, a man
Famous in Arts and Armes, as shall appeare
If any man dares question him, should your grace
But see him at some royall exercise
You wud thinke him more then mortall, he shall pitch
The Barre with any of your Guard, or drink with 'em;
Wrastle with both the West and North Olympicks,
Sings like the Arabian Bird, and can out-dance.
The nimble Elephant, so rarely skil'd
In musicke, that he has a great ambition
To goe to hell to challenge Orpheus
To play with him, on any Instrument
From the Organ to the Iewes-trumpe.
Dut.
Miracles!
As.
These are the outside of his qualities,
But looke within him, and your grace shall finde
Enough to ravish you.
Pim.
Tell how I love her.
As.
With all these vertues and advantages
Of blood and state he comes to court your highnesse.
Dut.
We are infinitely honord, and wud thank him,
But that we know not yet this Princes name.
As.
Duke of Ferrara, Madam, is his title.
How sirrah?
Iu.
That is the Duke of Ferrara, what de'e meane?
Pis.
Stand too't and say he is a counterfeit
A meere impostor, be not beaten out on't.
Fer.
Are you Duke of Ferrara sirrah, ha.
Pim.
I am Duke of all the world; what's that to thee?
High German stand close to me.
As.
A true Prince needs no buckler.
Exit.
Fer.
Sirrah darst usurpe my name?
Pim.
Tis mine, thou art a counterfeit,
I hope your grace will know me another time.
Urs.
A base affront my Lord, and suspect
A plot of Borgias to dishonour you,
He durst not stay to face it.
Fer.
Ile have's heart,
As for this wretch.
Pim.
Doe, doe, I look'd for this, a true Prince can beare.
Fer.
Madam you have not usd me well.
I say no more.
Exit. Fer. and Urs.
Pim.
Let him goe madam, Ile call him to account hereafter.
Dut.
We are displeasd, hence with that foole and whip him.
Exit.
Pim.
Whats the matter?
Iu.
You must be whipt and strip'd my scurvie Don.
Pim.
Whip a Prince? what de'e meane?
Lu.
You must be Duke of Ferrara.
Pim.
Duke of a Fiddle-sticke, you doe not meane, to let me
Catch an Ague Gentlemen?
Iu.
The lash when the fit comes will keepe you warme, doe
you know one Pimponio, he was a footman, you will be in case
to overtake him presently, hee has the heeles on you, and you
cannot give him so much weight, now you are light, stay but a
little wee'l send you a whip.
Exit.
Pim.
How am I transform'd, Duke of Ferrara quotha, wud I
were any thing, I know not what I am as they have handled me.
Enter Dutchesse and Pietro.
Dut.
Is the Duke gone?
Pie.
Yes Madam.
Ile have the foole hang'd then.
Pim.
That's I.
Dut.
Alas poore fellow, ha, ha, ha, what art thou?
Pim.
Nothing, I hope she does not know me agen, I must deny my selfe.
Dut.
Come hither Sirrah,
Whose devise was it to bid you say you were
Duke of Ferrara?
Pim.
Alas not I Madam, he is gone.
Dut.
Who is gone?
Pim.
The insolent fellow that made a foole of your highnesse.
Dut.
Whether is he gone?
Pim.
To obey your grace and be whip'd.
Dut.
Why doe you shake so?
Pim.
I'me very warme and please your grace.
Dut.
Where be your cloathes?
Pim.
My cloathes? I never wore any more in my life, I sweat with these.
Dut.
He has punishment enough, who waites?
Bid Borgia attend us.
Pie.
I shall Madam.
Exit.
Enter Borgia.
Bor.
How now sirrah, what are you?
Pim.
A Tumbler, doe you know me?
Bor.
I know thee?
Pim.
What not Pimp. honest Pimponio.
Enter Pietro.
Pie.
Signior Borgia her grace calls for you.
Bo.
I attend.
Exit.
Pim.
How signior Borgia? then I am not I, and there is no
Staying here to finde my selfe, as I remember some friends of
mine, did promise me a comfortable whip, Ile rather venture a
cold then stay fort, I must be Dukified, be perswaded into
kickes—they'l returne, I wonnot tempt my destinie, she promisd
to hang me, and I can doe that for my selfe when I have
a minde toot.
Enter Iulio, and Lucio.
Ju.
Kicke that fellow out of the Court.
Pim.
You are mistaken Sir, he meanes some body else, I have beene kicked already.
Exit.
Enter Dutchesse and Borgia.
Bo.
Madam you let fall.
Let it reward your paines.
Iu.
Observ'd you that.
Dut.
Convey this to Mercutio, it creates him
Controuler of our houshold, this I hope
Will merit more of his acquaintance with
Our Court.
Bo.
You honour your poore creatures.
Dut.
Leave us,
Exit.
You may stay Sir, what suite, what that you named?
Bo.
Suite Madam?
Dut.
Did not you say you had a suite to us,
I hope your modestie will teach you how
To limit your request, that it may be
Such as may both become our grant and your
Acceptance, speake what i'st.
Bo.
My suite Madam?
Dut.
But in the confidence of your discretion
Name and enjoy what you desire.
Bo.
This bounty
Of language is beyond all my ambition.
Dut.
Well Sir to'th purpose, I would have you speake
To purpose now.
Bo.
To purpose, would I durst,
This exceeds all the rest, shall I be mad
And lose this opportunitie.
Dut.
We are prepar'd
Bo.
Better? my happinesse flowes upon me
My suite is Madam, you would be pleas'd to—
What shall I say, she lookes so keene and tempting,
I have a great mind to kisse her.
Dut.
Not resolv'd yet?
Bo.
Long since, my humble suite is to you Madam, that—
Dut.
What?
Dut.
I may be number'd still among your creatures
And keepe a blessing in your gracious smiles
Vpon my humble service.
Dut.
A smile and humblest service, is this all?
You wonnot purchase much by being a Courtier.
The greatest rise by favour, I ha lost
An opportunitie.
Dut.
Is there nothing else?
Bo.
She Askes agen, now Ile put her toot,
We are private, I have another suite Madam.
Dut.
A courtier should have many, what i'st made on?
Bo.
Of love.
Dut.
A prettie winter wearing, and keepes well
In fashion.
Bo.
May I presume to as aske your grace.
Dut.
A question? yes Sir.
Bo.
Doe you love me Madam?
Dut.
How Sir?
Bo.
Does your grace love me?
Dut.
Audacious Groome, how dares thy soule imagine
So great an impudence, almost treason to us,
Are all our favours thought so cheape? and we
Consider'd in the crowd of other women
Fit for your mixture, to be stain'd with loose
And desperate proffers of your wanton service?
Have we no more distinction in our birth
And titles? Or de'e hope we are disarm'd
Of strength to punish such an insolence?
Had smiles tane such possession of our brow
Thou couldst expect no killing frowne for this?
Was our eye growne so tame nothing could quicken it
Into a flame, into a consuming lightning,
When such an object durst appeare to vex it?
Thus we could spurne thy sawcy head off—but
We pardon it, de'e heare? we freely pardon it,
To shew mercy is above all fault,
And that we are at home Queene of our passions,
Nor shall you suffer under the remembrance,
Tis now as it had never beene, and you keepe
The first place in our thoughts.
Bo.
Ha'?
Dut.
Wisely preserve 'em
And rather chide your timerous understanding
We should have met it charitably, come,
You are our Secretary, write as we shall dictate.
Bo.
Did ever Sunne-shine breake so suddenly
From such a blacke and most prodigious cloud?
I would ha' sold my body for a beane stalke
Within two minuts, sh'as an excellent wit
And cunningly she reines it, whats your pleasure
I shall write Madam?
Dut.
A letter, a love letter, are you ready,
Write as I bid upon your life,—I love you.
Bo.
I am perpar'd.
Dut.
Write I love you Sir, de'e not understand me?
Bo.
Shee'l make me mad, I ha' done, I love you.
Dut.
How Sir?
Bo.
There wanted Sir, I love you Sir.
Dut.
And if you be not short of apprehension.
Bo.
And if, &c.
Dut.
You'l wisely entertaine it.
Bo.
You'l wisely, &c.
Dut.
All errors be forgot, meete me this evening
Bo.
All errors, &c.
Dut.
I'th privie Garden, and receive more testimony.
Bo.
I'th privie garden, &c.
Dut.
Meane time heere is my hand, that in the morning I'le marry you.
Bo.
Meane time, &c.—What a divell does she meane?
I ha' done, it wants your confirmation—so.
To whom shall I direct it?
Dut.
You will be trustie, there's danger else.
Bo.
To whom?
Dut.
To him that loves me best,
Deceive me not farewell.
Exit.
Bo.
I love you Sir, &c. tis a letter, and I wrote it,
To whom, to him that loves her best, if none love her better,
Tis to my selfe? Why am I so scrupulous?
She has made me Chancellor in the cause,
There's noe particular nam'd, yet she was angry,
Yet she was pleasd agen, and had my crime
Beene greater, she had met it charitably.
Come I perceive the whole device as sure
And tries me at the last weapon of wit
How Ile behave my selfe, are you there Dutchesse;
She is my owne, and this invites me to
The close of all my happinesse, if I
Forfeit this opportunitie, let Midas
Transplant his goodly eares to this dull head,
And let all women laugh at me, my starres
I bow to you, and kisse your influence,
I am exalted to your spheare already,
Where, with the Dutchesse I will fit and shine
A constellation.
Enter Ferrara.
Fer.
Y'are well met Sir,
Borgia I take it.
Bor.
You may change that name
And call me servant.
Fer.
You have prostrate language,
But carry treason in your heart, you know me?
Bo.
Duke of Ferrara.
Fer.
So, was't your plot to bring
That puppet to affront me 'fore the Dutchesse?
Was there noe other name to be usurp'd,
Dishonor'd, and prophan'd by hounds and monkies
But mine?
Bo.
I understand you not, your anger
Is not directed right my Lord, I am not
Guiltie in thought.
Fer.
Your feares shall not excuse.
Bo.
You are abus'd.
Fer.
I know I am Sir, and
Will print revenge upon your heart, 'tshall carry
The character of a villaine.
Bo.
I must tell you Duke.
Fer.
What Sir?
Bo.
Were you master of the world,
Could you shoot death beyond a Basiliske,
Or had you mischiefe in your breath above
The Lernean vapours, or the killing steame
Of the hot lake that poysons innocent Birds
But daring to flie over, I would rise
As I would quench my thirst, or chide my Groome
The drudges for me, Duke I am no villaine,
And tho my blood runnes not so deepe a purple
There's no corruption in the chapest veine
My Liver feeds, 'tis cleare and honest sir,
In thy owne Court Ile meet and tell thee so
Mauger thy guards, and gawdy Butter-flies,
I dare, by innocence, I dare.
Fer.
You thinke
The place protects you now.
Bo.
Were it in a Church
No drop of mine could staine it, Duke I cannot
Feare and be master of a sword, that needs
No valour in a cause so just as mine
To stirre the point, by all my hopes.
Fer.
Thy hopes,
Of what reversion? what Groomes place is vacant?
Bo.
Come tis not done becommingly
To insult because you have a priviledge
Of Duke above you, I am here a servant
To a most gracious Princesse.
Fer.
At that name I drew
New flame, and should I credit thy soule free
From this dishonour, thou hast sinne enough
In thy ambition to pull ruine on thee,
Are we too fit to be in competition Sir?
Hast thou a thought so proud, so daring in thee
To be my rivall? Have I courted her
To her owne height, a Prince? and shall her vassall
Looke on her with an eye, lesse then serves
The Altar with, because she is pleasd some time
To laugh, and seeme indulgent to your services
For her owne sake, can you have braine to thinke
Such treason to her judgement, that she loves you?
Or can she be so lost to truth and honour
Not to make good her promises to me
Religious as a contract, has she not
Declard me worthy of her, and my love
Bo.
How was that Sir?
Fer.
The best of all the world, tis not that I
Can be so poore in my esteeme of her
Whose mention is sacred, or my selfe
That I have any jealousie thou canst
Inherit possibly the hundredth part
Of any thought that points upon affection
Hast thou no soule to apprehend thy scorne?
Nay did she not, fearing thou might'st grow insolent
Vpon her favours late declare herselfe,
It was not love but mirth and wantonnesse
Of revelling nights, commanding on thy life
Thou feede no ambition higher, or feede a thought
To her, beyond what waited upon dutie
You may remember this.
Bo.
Tis cleare, this none
Could tell him but her selfe, I finde too plaine
Who is the may-game of the Court, this last
Convinces me, your pardon mightie Sir
You love the Dutchesse.
Fer.
Best she will acknowledge
Of all mankind.
Bo.
I have a letter to you,
I will not doubt my pardon when you reade it,
Tis to you Sir if there can bee a joy beyond what's there contain'd
Fer.
Ha? I am blest,
Borgia let me imbrace thee my best friend
Dwell in my heart, divide with me Ferrara
Or Urbin, any thing but the Dutchesse, say
Ile meet her in the Garden were it walld
With flaming Dragons, I have not a soule
Spacious enough to entertaine this happinesse
Beyond my hope, above my life deare Borgia.
Exit.
Bo.
Beyond his hope? it seemes this joy was not
Expected umph, and I had no commission
To give it him, after all this if shee
Meant it not this way, I ha' made fine worke,
She might ha' namd him, wud I had the paper
Agen, now doe I prophesie I have
That I should meet her, curse upon my easinesse;
I have lost an opportunitie, no fate
Flatterd a mortall with the like, dull braines,
There's yet prevention, genius I thanke thee,
Tis possible I may secure the Garden
And boldly meet her first, if any destinie
Owe me this blessing with this art I may
Redeeme my folly, never man but I
Wud lose so rich an opportunitie.
Exit.
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