University of Virginia Library

Act. 1.

Scen. 1.

Enter Simo and Sosia with two or three seruants more bearing prouision from the Market.
Simo.
You sirs haue those things in: away I say.
Exeunt the seruants.
Sosia draw neere; I am to speak with you.

Sos.
Sir thinke th'errand giu'n; your meaning is
I looke to those things carefull cookery.

Sim.
No: tis another matter.

Sos.
Pray say on
What tis, my art may further doe for you.

Sim.
Here's neede of no such art, in what I purpose;
But of those parts which I haue euer noted
To dwell in thee; trust, and true secrecie.

Sos.
I waite your pleasure.

Sim.
Since I bought thee first
Being then a yongling, in what gentle sort,
In what due course, thou ledst thy seruice with me,
Thy selfe well know'st: and for I found thee carefull
In thy imployments, the best good I had
To answer it, I gaue thee; libertie.

Sos.
I spare it sir in minde.

Sim.
And I repent not.

Sos.
It is my harts ioy Master, if I did
Or, it can doe, ought to your satisfaction;
And further owe you thankes that you acknowledge
I well accepted: yet it troubles me,
For this remembrancing your benefit,
Seemes to vpbraid me, as forgetting it.
Pray in one word acquaint me with your pleasure.

Sim.
I will; but first I tell thee of this thing,
This which thou thinkst is no meant marriage.

Sos.
Why make you as it were then?

Sim.
Thou shalt heare
From the beginning all: and by that meanes
Shalt better know my Sonnes forepassed life,
My present purpose, and thy future charge.
My Sonne hauing past his childhood Sosia
Hath now more scope allowed him; before
How could one know or sift his disposition,
While tender age, feare, tutors awed him?

Sos.
Sir, you say right.

Sim.
What almost all youth doe,
To set their minde on one some chosen course;
That to breede Horse, this Hounds, and both to hunt,
A third to study of Phylosophie:
He none of these followed professedly,
Aboue the rest: but yet all moderately.
I ioyd at it.

Sos.
Sir, not without good cause:
“For to oredoe no one thing, in my sence
“To mans life is of chiefest consequence.

Sim.
Such his behauiour; all those gently
To beare and forbeare, that he kept withall;
Apply himselfe to please and humor all;
Crosse none, nor proudly seeke to ouertop
His young companions: so that easily
He got him friends and praise; yet without enuie.

Sos.
He bare him wisely: for in this times state
Sweet yeelding procures friends, blunt truth gets hate.

Sim.
Meane while a certaine woman three yeeres since
Drawne by her wants and kindreds negligence,
From Andros Isle came to our neighborhood;
Of passing beautie, flouring womanhood.

Sos.
I feare this Andrian woman bodes no good.

Sim.
She at the first a sparing chaste life led;
At Rocke and Loome, hard labord to get bread:
But when a first, a second, a third came;
Tendring their loues, gifts promis'd with the same,
(As all our natures are prone commonly
From labour vnto wanton libertie)
She stoop'd to lure, began the gainfull trade.
By those that then chiefe loue vnto her made,
My Sonne was drawne along occasionally
To banquet with 'hem; keepe 'hem company.
I to my selfe—Sure the young frie is tane:
H'as catcht the poisoned bait; with it, his bane.
These louers seruants passing to and fro
I eu'rie morning watch; and calling to
One that I spied, thus question; Prethee lad,
Who yesterday yond Chrysis company had?
So was the Andrian call'd.

Sos.
Sir. I conceaue you.

Sim.
The answer was, Phœdrus, or Nicerate,
Or Clinias (for at that time those three
Her ioyntly lou'd.) I reply presently,
And what did Pamphilus? what? (answers he.)
He stak'd his share, and supp'd: this gladded me.
At other times I cast more newes to learne;
Still nothing found that did my Sonne concerne.
I thought him now proofe-temper'd gainst excesse,
Great patterne of a setled staiednesse.
For he that deales with natures of this kinde,
Yet thereby growes not stagg'ring in his minde;
To such a mans owne hands thou maist be bold
To leaue the free reignes of his life in hold.
As this gaue me most satisfying pleasure,
So all tongues talk'd my good, proclaim'd my treasure,
In hauing such a qualified Sonne.
What should I make further relation?
Chremes our neighbour drawne by this same bruit,
Freely comes to me; and makes earnest suit
To place his daughter, yea his onely one
With a large dowre as wife vnto my Sonne:
I agreed the marriage, on his motion;
And this the day, it is appointed on.

Sos.
What barre now stoppeth? why in very deede
According to the shew, it not proceede?

Sim.
Ile tell thee: few dayes after this befell,
Our neighbour Chrysis died.

Sos.
That's chanced well.
You haue reuiu'd me; I much doubted her.

Sim.
With Chrysis louers still my Sonne comes there
Alike her funerall lookes to; alike cheere
Sometimes of sadnesse shewes, sometimes alike
Weepes with 'hem: I his carriage well did like.
Thus argued I; Her death how tenderly
For very small acquaintance doth he take?
What, if himselfe had lou'd her? what for me,
What will he doe for me, his Fathers sake?
All this I thought in my simplicitie,
Meerely the functions of humilitie,
And of kinde heart. Why lengthen I my tale?
My selfe for his sake tend the funerall,
Dreaming as yet no euill.

Sos.
Ha! what meanes this?

Sim.
Ile cause thee know. The dead corps is brought out;
Along we goe; now there amidst the throng
Of women, I a maiden very young
Perchance espied; of person—

Sos.
Perhaps handsome.

Sim.
I, and of countenance Sosia so delightsome,
So modest, faire, that nothing might her staine:
Who for she seem'd to me, in all the traine
Most to lament; and was aboue the rest
Of sweet and comely personage and face.
I prest neere to the Maids, askt what she was:
They told me Chrysis sister. Instantly
It strooke me cold at heart. Oh God! thought I,
Hence grew his teares: his tendernesse she breeds.

Sos.
How I doe feare whither your tale proceeds.

Sim.
The Funerall goes on: we attend the same
To th'Sepulchre she's come: into the flame
She's put: all weepe. The maid I named late
Approacht the fire, as carelesse, desperate;
To her euident danger: here my frighted Sonne
Well shewed his long concealed affection
So close dissembled: to her hies he fast,
And both his armes folding about her wast,
My deere Glycerium saies he, how doost? say,
What cause hast thou to make thy selfe away?
Then she (that all their indeard loue might spie)
Cast her selfe on him, weeping tenderly.

Sos.
How? what doe you say?

Sim.
Home I get mee streight,
Inrag'd and fretting; yet no cause of weight
Appeard to me to chide him: he might plead,
What foule fact haue I done? what merited?
Or wherein faulted, Father? one that sought
To burne her selfe, I hindred (as I ought)
And sau'd her life. It were a faire reply.

Sos.
You weigh things well: for if deseruedly
He may be chidden which help'd life to saue,
Who hurts or spoiles one, what should that man haue?

Sim.
Next day comes Chremes to me, vrging thus,
Oh case to be lamented! Pamphilus
(I finde cleare) holds yond stranger harlotrie
In place of a iust wife: this earnestly
I doe denie, he stifly holds. In fine,
I so part with him, as one vtterly
Denies to giue his Daughter to my Sonne.

Sos.
Chid you not Pamphilus yet?

Sim.
Nor yet I saw
A grounded cause to build a chiding on.

Sos.
Why I pray?

Sim.
Thus my Sonne might vrge his law:
Your selfe sir set a limitation
To this my course: the time is comming on,
I must my selfe to anothers will apply:
Let me ith interim mine owne satisfie.

Sos.
For what cause then of blaming will you tarrie?

Sim.
If for loose loue he shall denie to marrie:
That is the first occasion that I seeke
Against him; and the present way I make
By this false marriage, if he shew mislike
Is hereby true pretence of blame to take.
Besides, if wicked Dauus haue a foot
Any contriuement, that he now consume
His stocke of knauerie whil'st it cannot hurt
Who (I imagine) tooth and naile will practise,
And that with purpose rather to crosse me
Then please my Sonne.

Sos.
Why should you so conceaue?

Sim.
Mak'st thou a question? euill mindes, ill manners.
Whom if in any thing I shall discouer—
But what neede talke? if happily it fall
(As I doe wish) my Sonne be nothing backward,
It onely rests, that I perswade with Chremes:
Which I hope may be wrought. Now, be't your charge
Well to beare vp this seeming marriage;
Fright Dauus; obserue my Sonnes carriage;
And note their consultations.

Sos.
Tis enough, Ile see to't: shall we in.

Sim.
Goe before, I follow.
Exit Sosia.
There is no question, my Sonne would decline
This marriage; that I markt in Dauus feare,
When he had heard the wedding did goe forward.
But he himselfe comes forth.

Scen. 2.

Enter Dauus.
Dau.
I marld if this would end so, and still doubted
Whereto my Masters calme remisnesse tended:
Who when he saw his Sonne could haue no wife,
Neuer made word to vs on't; nor gaue signe
Of being troubled at it.

Sim.
Now he will
Talke to you on't; and as I doe suppose
To your no little cost.

Dau.
This was his cunning,
To lead vs on in faire fooles paradise;
And in our secure dreaming take vs napping,
Hauing no time to cast preuention.
A fox ifaith.

Sim.
What ist the knaue talkes on?

Dau.
My Master, and vnheeded!

Sim.
Dauus—

Dau.
Ha, what is the affaire?

Sim.
Come you hither to me.

Dau.
What now trow is in working?

Sim.
What saist thou?

Dau.
What sir the businesse?

Sim.
Dost thou demand that?
Folke talke my Sonne's in loue.

Dau.
That birladie
Concernes the world to thinke on.

Sim.
Dost marke me
In what I say or not?

Dau.
Oh, yes sir well.

Sim.
But now of this for me to make inquirie
Were no kinde Fathers part. What hitherto
H'as done, I passe not: while the time permitted
I gaue him way to take his course and pleasures:
His yeares now call for a new life, new manners.
Henceforward Dauus I require, or rather
(If the word may befit me) I request thee,
Retriue my Sonne from this loose libertie.

Dau.
What may this meane?

Sim.
All these loose libertines
That wantonly doe loue, cannot indure
To heare of wiuing.

Dau.
So indeede they say

Sim.
Beside, if such one chance to light vpon
Some patron of his inclination,
His raw greene sickly minde he commonly
Wonts to the worser part still to apply.

Dau.
Troth sir I vnderstand you not.

Sim.
How, not?

Dau.
No verily: I am your plaine man Dauus;
No riddle-teller, cunning Oedipus.

Sim.
Thould'st then in plaine tearmes haue me speake my minde?

Dau.
Yes, pray at any hand sir.

Sim.
If I finde
That thou to day vse any cunning crotchet,
Whereby to hinder this intended wedding;
Or faine wouldst shew thy wits fine nimblenesse:
When I haue first well whipt thee, in the Mill
Ile thrust thee, to thy very dying day:
With this prouiso and condition,
If euer I thence free thee, Ile grinde for thee.
What, vnderstand'st me yet, or not yet neither?

Dau.
Yes clearely now; y'haue vs'd no windeabouts,
But come to th'matter roundly.

Sim.
In ought else
Saue this, I better could indure a slighting.

Dau.
Pray sir good words yet.

Sim.
Mak'st thou a iest on't?
I know thee to a haire: but I doe tell thee,
Least thou shouldst rashly venture. Doe not say
But th'hast had faire warning giu'n thee: looke to't.
Exit Simo.

Scen. 3.

Dau.
Vpon my faith now Dauus here's no leasure
Left thee, to rest or dreame vpon the matter;
For ought I gather of the old mans purpose
Touching this wedding: which not wisely holpen
Me or young Master vndoes vtterly.
Nor can I iudge my best course, him to succour,
Or leane to the old mans counsell: forsake him?
I doubt his life; assist him? th'others threats;
Whom to o're reach it's hard. First h'as discouerd
All of their loue: then keepes hard watch o're me,
Least I should lead some trumping card in th'way:
Which if he finde, I'm lost: or else at pleasure
Heele take occasion, be it right, be it wrong;
And to the Mill I shall be tumbled headlong.
To all these hazards comes another mischiefe:
This Andrian woman, be she his wife, or lemman,
Is great with childe by him. Now, tis worth nothing
To heare their bold aduenture: none can iudge it
Fond louers fancie, but meere frenzie rather:
For whether boy or girle she shall bring forth,
They haue resolu'd to keepe and nourish it.
Besides they coyne a prettie cunning sable,
Among themselues, that shee's free Atticke borne.
There was long since (say they) an ancient Merchant
Shipwrackt on Andros Iland; who there died:
And that with him then saued, Chrysis Father
Tooke vp a little girle. Conceited fiction!
To me it seemes vnlikely: yet they sooth
Themselues ith' tale. But see Mysis comming
Enter Mysis.
From out Glyceriums house. Ile to the Market
To seeke out Pamphilus: for feare his Father
Vnwares doe presse him with this businesse.
Exit Dauus.

Scen. 4.

Mys.
Good God Archillis, I doe heare you woman:
You would haue Lesbia fetcht; vpon my word
She is a drunken gossip, and vnheedie:
And one scarce fit to whom you may commit
A woman in first childbirth: Yet Ile fetch her.
Note you the old ones importunitie!
None but her pot-companion will serue turne.
But I pray God grant this a good deliuery:
Enter Pamphilus.
And that the Midwife rather may elsewhere
Neglect, then here. But what may be the cause
I Pamph'lus see so much disquieted?
I feare what it may be. Ile stay a while
To know the reason of his troubled gesture.

Scen. 5.

Pam.
Is this kinde dealing? courteous attempt?
Is this a Fathers carriage?

Mys.
What is that?

Pam.
Oh gods and men your faith! what can be said,
Neglect, disgrace, or scorne, if this be none?
Say he had ment to marry me to day;
Ought I not haue foreknowne it? ought I not
Haue bin made priuie to it?

Mys.
Out alas,
Wretch that I am, what doe I heare him talke of?

Pam.
What should I thinke of Chremes? who denied
To trust me as a husband with his daughter?
Changeth he minde, because I rest vnchang'd?
That he should still thus obstinately indeauor
Me most accursed to diuorce and seuer
From my Glycerium? which, if it fall out,
I am vndone for euer. Amongst men
Was euer yet found out one more disgracefull?
More euery way vnhappy then my selfe?
Men, gods assist me! is there left no way
For me to shunne Chremes affinitie?
How many wayes haue I bin scorn'd? refus'd?
(All done, all ended) the other day cast of
Am now againe required: and why so?
Vnlesse (I guesse) h'has some deformed piece,
Which when he cannot fasten vpon any,
He seekes to forst on me?

Mys.
This talke of his
Kils me poore wretch with feare.

Pam.
For what should I
Now of my Father speake? Oh God! that he
So weightie a thing should doe so carelesly.
Passing now by me in the Market-place,
Goe, get you home, saies he; and fit your selfe:
This day you must be married Pamphilus.
To me his words seem'd of such sound and sence,
As he had said, get home and hang thy selfe.
I stood confounded at it. Doe you thinke
I had a word to vtter? any excuse?
Though foolish, false, vnfitting? I stood dumbe.
Yet had I known't afore, what could I doe?
If any now should aske me, I would surely
Vse other course, then (as I did) keepe silence.
But now what first thing shall I enter on?
So many cares, seuerall distraction,
Puzzles my minde: loue, pittie of her, feare
About this marriage so loath'd, so neare:
Then the respect I owe my Father, who
So mildely hath me suffred hitherto
Without restraint to runne my owne free race,
In euery course I listed: with what face
May I now crosse his pleasure? wretched me!
I know not what to rest on.

Mys.
I poore woman
Doubt th'end of this irresolution.
But now tis very needfull that I draw him
To speake with her; or else of her
Finde some discourse to him. Whil'st yet his minde
Hangs wauering, euery little moment turnes it.

Pam.
Who ist talkes hereabout? Mysis well met.

Mys.
Pamphilus and you.

Pam.
How does my dearest?

Mys.
How does she? marie sir in pangs of trauaile:
And many troublous thoughts come in her minde
About this day, once purpos'd for your wedding.
She further doubts, least you may minde to leaue her.

Pam.
May I be thought to minde a thing so foule?
And through my fault suffer mine owne deare soule
To be abus'd? trusting her heart, her life
To me? whom I haue made my dearest wife?
May I permit her chaste well trained minde
Inforced by foule want to change it kinde?
No, I will neuer doe it.

Mys.
If it lay
In you, I neede not feare: but how you may
Be forced by your Father, is the doubt.

Pam.
What Mysis dost thou thinke me such a lout?
So ingratefull further? so inhumane, bestiall?
That nor acquaintance, loue, or shame, at all
May moue or prompt me to keepe plighted faith?

Mys.
One thing I know, that she deserued hath
That you should minde her.

Pam.
Should minde her Mysis?
Euen now the very latest words of Chrysis
Touching Glycerium, rest imprinted here;
Here at my heart. Her last houre drawing neere,
She cald for me: I came to her: all you
Voided the roome: being alone we two
She thus began. Kinde Pamphilus you see
Glyceriums youth and beautie; verily
Two weake vnsafe guards (as your selfe perceiue)
To keepe her chaste, guard the small stocke I leaue.
Wherefore by this right hand I craue of thee,
By thy good nature, thy fidelitie:
I adiure thee by her here vnfriendednesse
Thou wouldst not leaue her: doe not part from her.
If as a brother I thee still respected,
If she of all men hath thee best affected,
As she in all things sought thy full contentment
In true obseruance, due obedience.
I leaue thee as a friend, a guardian, Father,
A husband to her. All the little wealth
I leaue behinde, I trust to thy disposing.
Then her hand taking, in my hand she clasp'd it;
And forthwith died. I then there receiu'd her;
Receiu'd will keepe.

Mys.
Indeede sir I hope so.

Pam.
But why dost now come from her?

Mys.
I am sent
To fetch the Midwife.

Pam.
Oh, I prethee hasten.
And heare you? see you mention not a word
About the marriage: least it may perhaps
Adde to her weaknesse.

Mys.
I doe minde it sir.

Exeunt Pamphilus and Mysis seuerall waies.