University of Virginia Library

Act. 3.

Scæne 1.

Enter Angelo solus.
Ange.
My yong and simple friend, Paulo Ferneze,
Bound me with mighty solemne coniurations,
To be true to him, in his loue, to Rachel,
And to solicite his remembrance still,
In his enforced absence, much, I faith.
True to my friend in cases of affection?
In womens cases? what a iest it is?
How silly he is, that imagines it!
He is an asse that will keepe promise stricktly
In any thing that checkes his priuate pleasure;
Chiefly in loue. S'bloud am not I a man?
Haue I not eyes that are as free to looke?
And bloud to be enflam'd as well as his?
And when it is so, shall I not pursue
Mine owne loues longings, but preferre my friends?
I tis a good foole, do so, hang me then,
Because I swore, alas, who doo's not know,
That louers periuries are ridiculous?
Haue at thee Rachel: Ile go court her sure:
For now I know her father is abroad.
Enter Iaques.
S'bloud see, he is here, ô what damn'd lucke is this?
This labour's lost, I must by no meanes see him.

tau, dery, dery, Exit.

Scæne 2.

Iaques, Christophero.
Iaq.
Mischiefe and hell, what is this man a spirit,
Haunts he my houses ghost? still at my doore?
He has beene at my doore, he has beene in,
In my deere doore: pray God my gold be safe.
Enter Christophero.
Gods pitty, heres another. Rachel, ho Rachel.

Chris.
God saue you honest father.

Iaq.
Rachel, Gods light, come to me, Rachel, Rachel!

Exit.
Chris.
Now in Gods name what ayles he? this is strange!
He loues his daughter so, Ile lay my life,
That hee's afraid, hauing beene now abroad,
I come to seeke her loue vnlawfully.

Enter Iaques.
Iaq.
Tis safe, tis safe, they haue not rob'd my treasure.

Chris.
Let it not seeme offensiue to you sir.

Iaq.
Sir, Gods my life sir, sir, call me sir.

Chris.
Good father here me.

Iaq.
You are most welcome sir,
I meant almost; and would your worship speake?
Would you abase your selfe to speake to me?

Chris.
Tis no abasing father: my intent
Is to do further honour to you sir
Then onely speake: which is to be your sonne.

Iaq.
My gold is in his nostrels, he has smelt it,
Breake breast, breake heart, fall on the earth my entrailes,
With this same bursting admiration!
He knowes my gold, he knowes of all my treasure,
How do you know sir? whereby do you guesse?

Chris.
At what sir? what isl you meane?

Iaq.

I aske, an't please your Gentle worship, how you
know?

I meane, how I should make your worship know
That I haue nothing—
To giue with my poore daughter? I haue nothing:
The very aire, bounteous to euery man,
Is scant to me, sir.

Chris.
I do thinke good father, you are but poore,

Iaq.
He thinkes so, harke, but thinke so:
He thinkes not so, he knowes of all my treasure.

Exit. Christ.
Chris.
Poore man he is so ouerioyed to heare
His daughter may be past his hopes bestowed,
That betwixt feare and hope (if I meane simply)
He is thus passionate.

Enter Iaques.
Iaq.
Yet all is safe within, is none without?
No body breake my walles?

Chris.
What say you father, shall I haue your daughter?

Iaq.
I haue no dowry to bestow vpon her.

Chris.
I do expect none, father.

Iaq.
That is well,
Then I beseech your worship make no question
Of that you wish, tis too much fauour to me.

Chris.
Ile leaue him now to giue his passions breath,
Which being setled, I will fetch his daughter:
I shall but moue too much, to speake now to him.
Exit Christophero.

Iaq.
So, hee's gone, would all were dead and gone,
That I might liue with my deere gold alone.

Scæne 3.

Iaques, Count.
Count.
Here is the poore old man,

Iaq.
Out of my soule another, comes he hither?

Count.
Be not dismaid old man, I come to cheere you.

Iaq.
To me by heauen,
Turne ribs to brasse, turne voice into a trumpet,
To rattle out the barrels of my thoughts,
One comes to hold me talke, while th'other robbes me.

Exit.
Count.
He has forgot me sure: what should this meane?
He feares authority, and my want of wife
Will take his daughter from him to defame her:
He that hath naught on earth but one poore daughter,
May take this extasie of care to keepe her.

Enter Iaques.
Iaq.
And yet tis safe: they meane not to vse force,
But fawning comming. I shall easly know
By his next question, if he thinke me rich,
Whom see I? my good Lord?

Count.

Stand vp good father, I call thee not father for thy
age;

But that I gladly wish to be thy sonne,
In honoured marriage with thy beauteous daughter.

Iaq.
O, so, so, so, so, so, this is for gold,
Now it is sure, this is my daughters neatnesse,
Makes them beleeue me rich. No, my good Lord,
Ile tell you all; how my poore haplesse daughter
Got that attire she weares from top to toe.

Count.
Why father, this is nothing.

Iaq.
O yes, good my Lord.

Count.
Indeed it is not.

Iaq.
Nay sweet Lord pardon me? do not dissemble,
Heare your poore beads-man speake; tis requisite
That I (so huge a beggar) make account
Of things that passe my calling: she was borne
T'enioy nothing vnderneath the sonne:
But that, if she had more then other beggars
She should be enuied: I will tell you then
How she had all she weares, her warme shooes (God wot)
A kind maide gaue her, seeing her go barefoot
In a cold frosty morning; God requite her;
Her homely stockings

Count.
Father, Ile heare no more, thou mou'st too much
With thy too curious answere for thy daughter,
That doth deserue a thousand times as much,
Ile be thy Sonne in law, and she shall weare
Th'attire of Countesses.

Iaq.
O good my Lord,
Mock not the poore, remembers not your Lordship,
That pouerty is the piccious gift of God.
As well as riches, tread vpon me, rather
Then mocke my poorenes.

Count.
Rise I say:
When I mocke poorenes, then heauens make me poore.

Enter Nuntius.

Scæne 7.

Nuncio, Count.
Nvn.
See heres the Count Ferneze, I will tell him
The haplesse accident of his braue sonne,
That hee may seeke the sooner to redeeme him,
Exit Iaques:
God saue your Lordship.

Count.
You are right welcome sir.

Nun.
I would brought such newes as might deserue it.

Count.
What, bring you me ill newes?

Nun.
Tis ill my Lord,
Yet such as vsuall chance of warre affoords,
And for which all men are prepar'd that vse it,
And those that vse it not, but in their friends,
Or in their children.

Count.
Ill newes of my sonne?
My deere and onely sonne, Ile lay my soule,
Ay me accurs'd, thought of his death doth wound me,
And the report of it will kill me quite.

Nun.
Tis not so ill my Lord.

Count.
How then?

Nun.
Hee's taken prisoner, and that's all.

Count.
That's enough, enough,
I set my thoughts on loue, on seruile loue,
Forget my vertuous wife, feele not the dangers,
The bands and wounds of mine owne flesh and bloud,
And therein am a mad man: therein plagu'd,
With the most iust affliction vnder heauen.
Is Maximilian taken prisoner to?

Nun.
My good my Lord, he is return'd with prisoners.

Count.
Ist possible, can Maximilian?
Returne, and view my face without my sonne,
For whom he swore such care as for himselfe?

Nun.
My Lord no care can change the euents of war.

Count.
O! in what tempests do my fortunes saile,
Still wrackt with winds more foule and contrary,
Then any northen guest, or Southerne flawe?
That euer yet inforc't the sea to gape,
And swallow the poore Marchants traffique vp?
First in Vicenza, lost I my first sonne;
Next here in Millaine my most deere lou'd Lady:
And now my Paulo, prisoner to the French,
Which last being printed with my other griefes,
Doth make so huge a volume, that my brest
Cannot containe them. But this is my loue:
I must make loue to Rachel, heauen hath throwne,
This vengeance on me most deseruedly:
Were it for nought but wronging of my steward.

Nun.
My Lord since onely mony may redresse
The worst of this misfortune, be not griued,
Prepare his ransome and your noble sonne
Shall greete your cheered eyes, with the more honour.

Count.
I will prepare his ransome: gratious heauen
Grant his imprisonment may be his worst,
Honored and souldier-like imprisonment,
And that he be not manacled and made
A drudge to his proude foe. And here I vow,
Neuer to dreame of seeme-les amorous toyes,
Nor aime at other ioy on earth,
But the fruition of my onely sonne.

Exunt

Scæne 5.

Enter Iaques with his gold and a scuttle full of horse-dung.
Iaq,
He's gone: I knew it; this is our hot louer,
I will beleeue them! If they may come in
Like simple woers, and be arrant theeues,
And I not know them! tis not to be told,
What seruile villanies, men will do for gold,
O it began to haue a huge strong smell,
Which lying so long together in a place;
Ile giue it vent, it shall ha shift inough,
And if the diuell, that enuies all goodnesse,
Haue told them of my gold, and where I kept it,
Ile set his burning nose once more a worke,
To smell where I remou'd it, here it is:
Ile hide and couer it with this horse-dung:
Who will suppose that such a preciousness
Is crownd with such a dunghill excrement?
In my deere life, sleepe sweetly my deere child.
“Scarce lawfully begotten, but yet gotten,
“And thats enough, Rot all hands that come neere thee
Except mine owne. Burne out all eyes that see thee,
Except mine owne. All thoughts of thee be poyson
To their enamor'd harts, except mine owne,
Ile take no leaue, sweet Prince great Emperour,
But see thee euery minute, King of Kings,
Ile not be rude to thee, and turne my backe,
In going from thee, but go backward out:
With my face toward thee, with humble curtesies,
None is within. None ouerlookes my wall.
To haue gold, and to haue it safe, is all.

Exit.