University of Virginia Library

ACTUS SECUNDUS.

Scena Prima.

Antonio and Trebutio.
Treb.
But is Emilia and young Millecert
Coupled so soone?

Anto.
They marryed in an instant.
Shee had no sooner cast of Aramant,
But greedily shee did persue his brother
And marryed him; making the willow wreath
That crown'd the one a bridall for the other.

Treb.
Did not I tell you, what a changing humor
Possest the sex?

Anto.
O that I had some venome,
Some oyle of woman in mee, that I might
Slip into rage. Is there a soule among 'em,
But what is sensitiue? Who shall we trust to,
When the great help of man thus failes? O woman,
Inconstant woman! hath the gaudie stamp
Of faire made such impression, that good
Must be incompitable? Subtile traitor,
Whose treason reaches to the hart, O shall,
Shall wee be lost in thee, in whome wee had
Our being first? Sure thy depraued nature
Hath wrought vs to this height of wickednes;
It is not from ourselues.

Treb.
How dos hee beare it?

Anto.
As one would beare a limb rent from his body
By cruell hands: and when his noble mind
Considers who his sword must make a way through
To his reuenge, it is to mee a wonder,
His great heart breaks not.

Enter Busiro, Pantarbo, Servius, and Tonsus.
Treb.
Here's the lord Busiro,
The duke's great officer.

Anto.
Then ther's a breast
That harbors more then innocence.

Treb.
Hee is
The great workemaster of the state, his braine
Moues all the ingins in't, and 'tis a crime
For any man to thinke hee is not honest.

Anto.
And if he bee soe hee's belyed. How many
That did oppose his ends haue mett with their's,
Through darke contriuances? Nay, Innocence
Herselfe, Bellaura, a child, the onely heire
To this great dukedome, posted hence toe soone;
And by his meanes, or elce hee is abus'd.

Treb.
Why is't not question'd?

Anto.
'Thas bene, and the duke
Will not beleeue it.

Treb.
But his sonne Pantarbo
I hope's no pollitician.

Anto.
'Las, good man,
Hee has a studied speech or two to vtter,
And hants vs euery where till they are vented.

Busi.
You are growne the may-game of the court, the boyes
Pick vp your rags of speeches for their sport,
And vent your serious folly. Leaue it, or—

Exit.
Pant.
I will ha' my humor, hee has his, old dotard—
And luckily heere is occacon offred.

Anto.
Now wee must stand the brunt; you know the answere.

Treb.
See, hee begins his charge. A prittie posture!

Pant.
I'me glad 'tis in my power to tell theise gentlemen,
The court is honor'd by them, not that I
Deserue that hapinesse, or the most worthie,
But because Fortune now hath cast it on mee
In this most blest incounter.

Both.
Hum! your lordship—

Pant.
And 'tis a happie one, for it doth bring
Good omens with it: for, as mariners
Joy in the sight of those admir'd twins
Castor and Pollux, in their brightest glorie,
And feare no danger, soe like those two starrs
Your presence ioyes the court, for 'tis a sea,
A rugged sea without you.

Both.
Hum! your lordship—

Pant.
A halcion calmenes now shall crowne the browes
Of the seuerest great ones, and the plotts
And practizes, that do disturbe their braines,
Shal be converted into proiects, how
To giue you entertainement.

Both.
Hum! your lordship—

Pant.
The ladies too will, like the mary-golds
Disclose themselues, and put on all their riches;
They'le search the deepes, and rob the Neirides
Of pearle to decke their breasts; their fairer haire
Shall not addorne the shrine of Venus more,
But your faire armes, and all their beauties bee
At your (but wisht) comandment.

Both.
Hum! your lordship,
At the next meeting wee will answere yee;
Wee haue now busines that doth more concerne vs.

Exeunt.
Pant.
What an absurd and sleight digression's this!
Are theise the witts?

Serv.
Your onely pollicie
Is to bee silent now.

Pant.
Why I haue studied
Theise speeches at the expence of many weekes.

Tons.
Your lordship is much disappointed truely.

Pant.
Disioynted, out of frame, put of the hookes;
My father's dreames did neuer vex mee soe.

Serv.
What dreames, sweet Morpheus?

Pant.
Visions in his sleepe,
That frights vs all; hee sayes a spirit hants him.

Tons.
It is a guiltie conscience, that persues him,
Which euer wakes.

Pant.
And then to comfort him,
(Nay I'le tell all, because hee angers mee,)
After such fearefull apparitions
Hee triggs it to Romilia's—

Serv.
Ther's a wench
Cockers him up with brothes of sparrowe's rumps,
Marrow of hee-goates, and the chines of weasells—
Wee know what you wo'd say.

Tons.
Shee keepes a bawdy house.

Pant.
Indeed ther's delicate wenches.

Serv.
Peace; not a word more.
Heere comes your father and lord Aramant.

Tons.
Alas! good gentleman, hee's much abus'd.

Enter Aramant and Busiro.
Ara.
My lord, my case is cleare, it beares an action
In court of conscience, and I cannot digg
The earth for hidden treasure, to make way
Vnto the justice of my cause. 'Tis true
Great officers doe pay well for their places,
Therefore they must bee brib'd. I know your lordship
(Though you be lecherous and haue your whores
Drest in more various shapes then Aretine
Could e're expresse,) yett y'are not such a villaine,
In the whole progresse of your pollicie
To murther aboue twentie.

Busi.
Hee's distracted.

Ara.
And yett sleepe soundly toe, and neuer fetch
A sigh or grone for't! D'ye heare, my lord,
Was not judge Minos a coukold? ther's a bull,
Women are no such creatures! D'ye thinke
I am soe madd to venture into hell,
As Orpheus did, to fetch a woman back?
Noe—lett 'em stay there.

Pant.
This is very prittie.

Ara.
Ha, ha, he! How the thing prances,
And sneres in's trappings. If I see an eliphant
With a castle on's back cutt out in clothes,
Shall I call it a man? Where lyes his witt then?
Belike 'twas mar'd y'the making, and soe lyes
Upon the taylor's hand. Prittie Prometheans,
Can they make men wise, vertuous, noble? Yes—
The world's meere out-side, if a man ha' money
Hee may bee any thing. You thinke I'me madd now?

Busi.
Indeed I thinke thou art.

Ara.
Who is not soe?
You grandies a'the court cannot take breath,
Nor breath in sweet ayre, besids putrid lungs,
For multitudes of suitors, that, like gnatts,
Doe buzz about your eares, and make yee madd.
And are not they soe that doe follow yee?
Yes—and you minor courtiers, that do flant it
And spend the maine stock out in expectation,
Are you not madd? Why here is my young lord
(Besides the anticke motions that do much
Perplexe his braine) bring him but to a wench
And hee's starke madd on't. Will not a good fee
Make lawyers baule as they were madd? And are not
They worse that hire 'em to't? An intemperate seazon,
Doth it not make the countrie people murmur
As they were madd? And then your cittisons—
They are horne-madd. So we are all madd. Ha, ha, he!

Pant.
Heere's a mad world indeed.

Ara.
All's in disorder.
But who dares now reforme what is amisse?
For tell a magistrate he turnes the edge
Of lawe on whome hee please; or a great lord,
That his good honest father sold no land
To purchace honor with; or aske my ladie
Why shee doth stripp her selfe so like a mermaid;
'Tis not her litle dog's fault. Touch a serpent
And it will sting yee: I, 'tis dangerous.
My lord, d'yee heare the newes?

Busi.
What?

Ara.
The great Turke
Is now confin'd vnto fiue hundred whores.
Is't not a fine life? And a'must not murther
More brothers—then a'has. 'Tis an ill way
To secure greatnes—I'le not murther mine.

Busi.
How his words grate my soule, and strike a horror
Through all my blood! A guiltie conscience
Is an vnquiet guest; what hee hath said
Doth trouble mee; though it may passe for madnes,
It is not soe. I'le haue his mouth stop't.

Exit.
Ara.
Goe—
Goe my young crinkler 'y the hams, goe, follow,
Follow thy dad, great Pluto goes to councell,
And Procerpine and hee'le meet soone. You may
Haue a speech readie to popp of in triumph.

Pant.
I am putt downe, I know not what to say.
I wo'd I co'd speake Welch, that's a madd language.

Serv.
Hee's strangely alter'd.

Exeunt.
Ara.
Nay, goe you along too;
Follow the sent: the puppie wants his couples.

Enter Antonio.
Anto.
How doe you, worthie sir?

Ara.
Why, very well.

Anto.
My lord Busiro do's complaine, you are
Toe liberall of your tougne. Though he deserues
More ill then you can speake, yet 'tis not good
To vtter all you knowe.

Ara.
What did I say?
Did I talke wildly? I doe feele I am not
As I was wont to bee, and yett I hope
It will not reach to madnes. O fraile man!
Why should thy proud aspiring thoughts seeke out
(Through thy soule's saftie) superioritie
Ouer thy equalls, when thou cans't not master
Thine owne weake passions?

Anto.
Now your soule flies high;
Keepe that pitch still, and be aboue theise mischeifes.

Ara.
What shall I doe? My brother is not dead yett;
I'de rather hee should die another way,
Then by my hand.

Anto.
Hee's dead, sir, to all goodnes.

Ara.
O bring mee to some place, where I may neuer
See him againe.

Anto.
And peace of mind dwell with thee.

Exeunt.

Scæna II.

Enter Cloris and Lauia.
Clo.
Lauia, good wench, how am I bound to thee
For thy assistance!

Lav.
Truly, I do pittie your youth and inocence, to see you cloister'd
And shutt vp from the world; my lady is
Toe cruell to you.

Clo.
Soe shee is indeed,
Since my deserts hath not pul'd on the rigor
Of her feirce anger.

Lav.
It is faut enough,
That you are hansomer, and shee do's know it;
And knowes how it wo'd derogate from her,
If you had freedome to bee seene.

Clo.
Alas!
My iniuries are poore when I but thinke
Vpon the noble, iniur'd Aramant:
His wrongs and sufferings shall out weare storie,
And lay a brand vpon our sex for euer.
No tougne shall speake of woman but with scorne;
Their teares shall sooner make hard marble melt,
Then bring the harts of men to find beleife,
That there is truth in woman.

Lav.
You deliuer
Your words with such an earnestnes, they speake
Loue in your lookes.

Clo.
I must confesse I loue him,
And do not blush to say, his miseries
Begott this loue in mee.

Lav.
Then you loue, madame,
The most accomplish'd gentleman in Burgundy.

Clo.
Thou oft hast told mee soe. I neuer saw him
But passing by my windowe, nor could that
Make this impression in mee, if his wrongs
Had not begott my pittie, and soft Pittie
Is Loue's first parent.

Lav.
But what hope haue you
In one that is distracted?

Clo.
'Tis not much;
His passions are not violent; I wish
This freedome onely to recouer him.
I haue a balme whose vertue is so pretious,
That in a moment it charmes all the thoughts,
And giues the spirits rest—How I gott this
Requires a storie—This I will applye,
And hope to giue him ease, for I thinke truly
Those powers that first inspir'd my mind to loue
Haue pointed out a way for mee to raise
The man my sister ruin'd.

Emil.
(calls within)
Lauia!

Lav.
Madame—
Wee have mispent our time in talking, goe—
My lady comes—The garden gate is open—
Away—away!

Exit Cloris.
Enter Emilia.
Emil.
What, Lauia!

Lav.
Madame.

Emil.
Where art, wench?
How do's my pritty sister, is shee well?

Lav.
Farr better now then shee hath bene of late.
Shee's out a'your reach.

Aside.
Emil.
'Tis well—Goe in—
If your lord aske for mee, direct him hether.
Exit Lavia.
I do not like his humor; he setts puling,
“What will the world thinke? How vnnaturall
Shall I be counted?” Hee's an naturall,
An asse, that doth prescribe the rule of 's actions
By the vulgar voice. They'le say, I am inconstant:
'Tis true—have I not reason? Will they blame mee
For being prouident? The vsurer
In his extreame extortion, is commended
Aboue the prodigall. What marchant is
Soe foolish to sell all his wealth away
Vnto a bankrupt, if hee be a knowne one?
Enter Antonio. (behind.)
I am so farr from thinking it a fault,
That if I were not tyed, this peeuish humor
Wo'd make mee change agen.

Anto.
It showes you woman.

Emil.
How now! Which way came you? vnmaner'd fellow,
To thrust vpon my priuacies!

Anto.
Your ladyship
Will indure more sometimes, and not be angrie.
For once I made your garden gate my way.

Emil.
Lauia! within there!

Anto.
Noe—you shall not sturr
Till I haue read my lecture: I am come
To ease my heart vpon you, which is readie
To breake for want of vent. You are a woman
The falcest, periurd'st, and the most inhumane
That euer added staine vnto the sex.
They all will blush for thee, and curse thy memorie:
For when posteritie shall tell the world
Thy crueltie, our youth, like phenixes,
From their owne ashes will produce a people,
And lett the virgins pine away in silence.
O thou hast wrong'd a man that hath more worth—

Emil.
Then thou hast witt. D'ye come to raile at mee
Y'my owne house?

Anto.
Yes, I ha' tied my hands vp,
And meane to strike thee with my tougne; that is
A weapon that can cheifely peirce the soule;
If thou hast any, 'tis as light as vanitie.
I am acquainted with your constitutions;
A taylor gotten y'the change of the moone
Is not soe fickle. What are all your dressings,
Your prunings, paintings, and bare necks, but emblems
Of a more loose mind? all your actions
Onely to make an noise, like children's ratles
For fooles to gaze at, with—There goes my lady!

Emil.
This fellow's madd.

Anto.
A goodly peece of puff pac't,
A litle lantified to hold the gilding;
Then, if your usher dwindells in his leggs,
Your freind must meet you at a ladie's chamber,
Or at a doctor of phisicks, who sometimes
May cast his figure on your ephemerides,
And hee will tell you who shal be the father
A'your first child: doctors are cunning fellowes,
And can giue drinks to procure loue; you ladies
Deale with such symples. If my young lord sees yee,
Hee takes you vp, and hurries you to Bedlam
As hee were madd. From thence to—

Emil.
Foule mouth'd fellow!
I'le not indure this grosse abuse. What, Lauia!

Anto.
No, no, no! This gallerie is farr from any call.
And then your women must be brib'd, they can
Discouer much elce, for if you should long
Vpon your breeding for a peece of flesh,
They are your onely ingeniers, and if
They gett a bitt by the way themselues, and take
A surfett on't, it must bee wisely carryed.
O, ther's a pollitique comonwealth within yee!

Emil.
This is such impudence!

Anto.
I haue not done yett.
A face is a faire baite, and a good legg
In a fine pleated stocking takes, prouided
You ieare your husbands, and protest to marry
Onely for land; and sweare t'haue stincking breathes.
No matter—you'le haue children, which hee shall
Thinke are his owne, and the good man must buy
More druggs to sett you vp againe, then wo'd
Furnish an hospitall: a ruin'd abby
Askes not so much repaire; for you must haue
Your teeth, like virginall iacks, pop in and out,
As you are ta'ne a peeces, and the haire
You lost y'the last incounter, furnished
The next asizes. Y'are indeed all sinne,
All shame, all woman—and till Aramant
Recouers his sad sicknes, I shall curse yee.
A litle more, and I ha' done—Your sister,
Your innocent sister—that small sentence speakes
Your pride and enuie; if the deuill bee
Your equall at all theise, I will turne Capuchin.
Soe farwell, Composition.

Exit.
Emil.
What ill starr
Procured mee this mischeife, that this slaue
Must baite mee heere to death, and I not haue
A meanes to bee reuenged? What, Lauia!
Enter Lavia.
O are yee come? Who lett this villaine in?
How comes the garden gate vnlockt?

Lav.
Is't open?

Emil.
Is't open! fury! so shall mine bee too.
Run to my sister's chamber quickly, see
If shee be there. The warring winds that meet
Exit Lavia.
And iustle vp the billowes till they rage,
Are calme to what I haue within mee. How now?

Reenter Lavia.
Lav.
Madame, she's gon.

Emil.
Gon! 'Twas a plot betwixt yee.
I am betraid—All my iust anger arme mee.

Exeunt.

Scena III.

Enter Antonio and Trebutio.
Anto.
I haue bene with my changable taffetie madame,
And read her such a lesson, that I hope
Shee'le cast vp her accounts and—hang herselfe.

Treb.
But did you see hope of amendment in her?
Did her eyes drowne themselues in teares?

Anto.
Yee may
As well draine corke as gett a teare from her:
Shee has her humors toe, but not soe watrish:
Her cesternes stand the other way. It is
The hardest harted peece of woman's flesh
That e're I sawe; sure 'tis some carman's bastard
Begotten at a great stop. Ther's more tendernes
To be expected from an executioner
Than her: her eyes, that should haue run in floods,
Were arm'd with arrowes of disdaine and anger.
O, 'tis a fury! If Don Belzebub
Wo'd haue a lep, this were a beast to breed on.

Treb.
Thou sett'st her out well yett.

Anto.
But how dos Aramant?

Treb.
Hee hath shrowd fitts still, and doth want but sleepe
To giue him ease, which his vnquiet mind
Will not admitt. Hee's got abroad againe
Into the woods.

Anto.
And is the duke a'hunting?

Treb.
Hee is, and sent for vs an hower since
To waite vpon him, but I could not find yee.

Anto.
Lett's away then; wee may find Aramant there.

Exeunt.

Scæna IV.

Enter Aramant.
Ara.
Here's no falce brothers, sure, nor no falce women;
Theise woods breed noe such monsters—I'le dwell heere—
The harmeles beasts are my companions.
Now I may sleepe secure, but that I feele
An vnkind noise that whispers to mee, Aramant,
Thou art vndone for euer. Where art, spirit?
I do coniure thee post away theise shapes
That hurry in my braines. Where shall I rest?
I shall find none here. Who's this come to vex mee?
More monsters yett!

Enter Cloris.
Clo.
Alas! hee raues.

Ara.
What art thou?
Art thou a daughter of thinne ayre or earth?
A child of night or day?

Clo.
I am a woman.

Ara.
Then none of theise, and yett compos'd of all,
A faire and firme, darke-minded vanitie.
But you do seeme to weepe! O, you haue teares,
Sad killing teares; weepe on I pray:—and vowes,
Haue you no blasting ones? Keepe of—What power
Makes vs affect that most, that is most hurtfull?
I will not looke vpon yee—I haue reason now—
Where abouts lyes thy soule?

Clo.
In euery part.

Ara.
No, there is none in thy face: that's not deform'd:
But draw that painted curtaine, wee shall find
A horrid figure vnder it, would fright
Man in his best of reason. But I like thee—
Speake truly what thou art.

Clo.
I am a spirit,
The genius of that loue once dwelling in thee;
Which had a noble habitation,
Till vnkind vsage forc't it from thy brest,
And then I went with it, to bring it back againe—
And I haue brought it for thee.

Ara.
O, where is it?

Clo.
Wrapt vp within my hart.

Ara.
How shall I come by 't?

Clo.
I will infuse it by some happie charme,
If you will leaue your rage.

Ara.
I pri'the doe then.

Clo.
But come not nere mee 'till I do present it,
Least it takes wing againe, for spirits are ayrie,
Not to bee toucht: this loue I bring is such
Vntill it bee applyed.

Ara.
Come, show thy skill,
Thou prittie spirit, for wee must giue way
Vnto those powers that dispose of vs.

He setts downe, she rubs his temples.
[Clo.]
SONG.

Clo.
Hee sleepes! A blessed silence crowne his ey-lids,
And shut vp all his rage! But where am I?
Am I not lost in finding him? O Loue,
How thou dost arme thy seruants! Wild beasts now
Cannot affright mee, nor my sister's anger,
Which is as terrible; I followed him
As eagerly as hunters doe their chace,
Or as the ayre persues an emptie place;
And yett I feale no vnchast thought within mee.
Bee witnes, you high powers, whose justice gards
The innocent; and as my spotles, free
And artlesse hart speakes truth, so prosper mee.

Enter The Duke.
Duke.
I haue lost all my people, and the sport—
But here's faire game indeed, a prittie wench!
Where dwel'st thou, faire one?

Clo.
At Besancon, sir.

Duke.
Thy name?

Clo.
Cloris.

Duke.
I'me sure thy birth is noble,
Thy countenance doth speake it. Wilt thou goe
With mee vnto the cittie?

Clo.
I haue, sir,
A brother heere, sick, that requires assistance,
And do intreat your pardon.

Duke.
I haue companie
Coming behind, will lend their care to him.
Pri'the go thou with mee, for I do find
Something in thy faire lookes, that bids mee loue thee.

Clo.
Sir, I beseech you robb mee not of all
My ioyes at once; I do but now begin
To find my happines.

Duke.
Come, y'are to blame,
And know not how to court the fortune followes yee.
A prince's eye commands, much more his tougne.

Clo.
As y'are my prince I kneele to you, and offer
Kneels.
Theise harmeles teares to be a ransome for mee.
Wo'd I were shutt vp in my cell againe,
That men may bee to mee obiects of wonder,
Since my first freedome fares so ill.

Duke.
Art thou
Emilia's sister?

Clo.
Yes, sir.

Duke.
Pri'the rise,
And I'le be bolder with thee, for I heare
Thou hast a vertue farr aboue thy sexe,
And I will neuer leaue it thus.

Clo.
But, sir—

Duke.
No more—

Clo.
I dare not call for feare of waking him.

Exeunt.
Enter Antonio, Trebutio, Pantarbo, Seruius, and Tonsus.
Anto.
A fellow told mee that the Duke went this way;
The stagg is downe long since.

Treb.
But his good lordship
Fell but iust now.

Anto.
The tamer beast, I trowe.

Pant.
Ouer and ouer, Kethay. Jade! H'as almost
Broken my crupper; alas, I am
A very grissell—

Anto.
To a beast of burthen:
You haue no brasen ribbs, nor huckle bones
Fitt to sett vp for monuments of giants.

Pant.
No, noe, I feele I haue not.

Anto.
You haue speches thoe
Are charmes for stumbling; co'd not you vse one of 'em?
Th'are ex'lent receites—as thus: Sweet rone,
Deare beast, looke to thy feet, some mole-hill may
Or traiterous stump in ambuscado lay,
And flowndring holes do flownce. I vow by Stix
'Tis hard to know which hath most coltish tricks:
And to giue each his due, as it is fitt,
The beast's head's greater, but the man's least witt.

Pant.
Come, Seruius, lett's away, they begin horse-play.

Anto.
Hee's gon. Gramarcy, horse!

Pant.
Tonsus, away.

Exeunt Pantarbo, Servius, and Tonsus.
Anto.
How hee do's muster vp his rancks! I wonder
Theise fellowes smell him not.

Treb.
'Tis their dependance:—
But you'le be iearing, and hee'le tell his father.

Anto.
Hang the old rotten stump (in barke of veluet)
With the greene withe his sonne. Shall I stand mewing
After such hee-catts, and make leggs, and thanke 'em
For being pollitique and humerous fooles?
I'le bee a porter first, and breake my back
With a great burthen at a ballad singer's.

Treb.
Who's that lies sleeping there?

Anto.
Wonder of man!
'Tis Aramant—I hope hee is not dead.

Treb.
No, no, he breathes. Stillnes possesse his veines,
And charme downe all his passions!

Anto.
Lett him rest.

Treb.
Hee sturrs: lett's speake to him.

Anto.
Stay a litle.

Ara.
Where am I?
How came I in theise woods? what dreame is this?
You are my freinds Antonio, and Trebutio;
Is it not soe?

Both.
Wee are.

Ara.
And was there no body elce heere?

Anto.
Who d'ye seeke soe?

Ara.
I haue incounter'd the most pleasing fancie.

Anto.
For loue's sake, what?

Ara.
Sawe you no woman heere?

Treb.
Hee raues still.

Anto.
Noe; for if there had bene one,
The Duke has such a pack of lime-hounds with him,
Shee could not scape their catch.

Ara.
'Tis very strange!
Why then it was an angell.

Anto.
A woman and an angell! this is madnes.

Treb.
It seemes it is some light one then.

Ara.
She spake to mee
With such a charming voice, till heauy sleepe
Did lay his leaden wings vpon myne eyes,
And then shee vanisht; yett methinks I see her
In my mind's eye.

Anto.
Bee blind to theise distempers;
They are but darke perturbers of the braine.

Ara.
Nay, this is true; I saw her, my hart sees her;
And if my eyes be euer blest againe
With that faire obiect, you shall see her toe
To bring your wonder to beleife.

Anto.
It must bee
In fairy land then; where if e're I come
To ride with Oberon in cockle shells
Drawne by two pish-mares, let some courtier beg mee.

Treb.
Lett's gett him home.

Anto.
Come, will you goe with vs?

Ara.
Yes, I will goe, in hope to find this faire one;
For I haue now quite lost my old desire,
And in that losse haue found a fresher fire.

Exeunt.