 | The Inconstant Lady |  |
67
ACTUS QUARTUS.
Scena Prima.
Antonio and Trebutio.Anto.
But is not Millecert yet heard of?
Treb.
Noe.
Anto.
Well, 'tis a noble part of him to giue
The land agen; that is some recompence;
For 'tis not now in fashion to restore
Ill gotten goods, or 'knowledge iniuries.
Justice, that shelters others, cannot now
Preserue her owne hide in securitie:
Shee's gon at comon law, man.
Treb.
What a sea,
A troubled and vnbounded sea this world is
For our great men to wade in.
Anto.
Yet they doe
Some things, sometimes, they ha' but little ground for.
Treb.
O they diue deepe then.
Anto.
They will measure out
This span of life by a long fathome line,
As if it had no end; and, to tell truth,
All that they doe is to as litle purpose.
Treb.
Methinks the duke of late is strangely alter'd.
Anto.
Hee is in loue, and that will alter any man.
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Since our good dutches died, he hath not lookt
Vpon a woman that way.
Anto.
But the fitt
Is now come on him, and I wonder Cloris
Is so reseru'd; shee comes of a good straine:
Here sister wo'd not bee soe.
Treb.
Heere comes Aramant.
Enter Aramant.
Anto.
How do's my freind?
Ara.
Sick! almost mad agen!
Anto.
Cannot thy land restore thee?
Ara.
'Tis but drosse,
And sauers of the minds that are possest wo't.
Can I bee well, and haue my great preseruer
Imprisoned by this rigorous duke? My soule
Suffers in her affliction. O my freinds,
Thinke but how much I'me bound in gratitude
To loue this harmeles maid! Call it not change,
Or ficklenes; brute beasts affect good turnes,
And oft requite 'em—Shall I bee more sauage?
Treb.
If this bee shee, how do you know she loues you?
Ara.
I'me sure 'tis shee, and I know I am bound
Howeuer to loue her; doe but consider
What she indur'd for mee, when shee expos'd
Her life to wild beasts, and her dearer honor
To men more cruell! If you haue a charitie,
A loue to goodnes, thinke what this can merrit.
Anto.
Come, leaue this whining—y'aue bene vext enough
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In any of the tribe?
Ara.
In her I doe.
Anto.
There is no safetie in the sexe.
Ara.
Forbeare,
Pri'thee forbeare to say soe. Which of you
Can lett so great a benefitt be lost,
And not find recompence?
Anto.
Why, that can I.
Ara.
You are hard harted then.
Treb.
Here's one to match him.
Enter Busiro and Emilia.
Anto.
This is a match indeed wo'd blow mee vp.
Take heed, old gunpowder! Now they are hatching
Cockatrice eggs, and yet they shall not breed
Worse monsters then themselues.
Emil.
His name is Gratus,
A man of such parts, as are seldome found
In one of his ranke; doe but heare him speake;
His words caught mee. Your lordship may haue vse
Of such a seruant.
Busi.
Madame, for your sake,
Hee shall haue more then ordinarie trust.
I'le put him to bee keeper to your sister.
Emil.
And hee'le discharge it well. Now I may bee
Aside.
Reveng'd on Millecert for sleighting mee.
I ha' the plott all ready, and this Gratus
Shal be my agent. My lord, your fauor
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Busi.
It is your merrit, ladie.
Anto.
Take heed, old lord, you are beseidg'd: there is
A pettard hanging at your port, that breaks
Downe all before it.
Busi.
Madame, giue noe eare
To theise vnciuill men. I must withdrawe
Vnto my charge.
Exit.
Emil.
I find a shame about mee,
That makes a barr betwixt your innocence
And my great guilt, elce I sho'd aske your pardon;
But my offences are soe great, they cannot
Hope such a fauor.
Ara.
This is prittie language!
Emil.
Sir, I haue wrong'd you much, and baffeld yee,
Taken your yonger brother and abus'd him:
I vrged him to forsake mee for some ends,
Which now I much repent of; and your freinds,
Your noble freinds, (whose vertues I admire
For being constant in calamitie
To those they loue,) shal be a witnes for mee,
How much I loath myselfe.
Ara.
If this be serious,
I doe forgiue thee.
Treb.
So doe I.
Anto.
And I: and that is strange, I sho'd be drawne to't.
But I'le be sworne I loue thee now.
Emil.
Ha, ha, ha!
Anto.
Wee are abus'd!
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Yee shotten witted fellowes,
D'yee thinke that I can beare your frumps and ieares
Without reuenge? I wil be armed for yee
At your owne weapon. And you, wandring mastiff,
That baited mee y'my owne house, I'le haue
A fellowship for you y'the beare's colledge,
And haue you tied vp with a studded coller.
Anto.
Here's a wench, lads, to fright a constable,
And the whole watch with!
Emil.
And for light-braines, your brother,
That now hath purg'd himself of his estate
As well as of his witt, I'le phisick him for 't.
Farewell, good sheepe's-heads!
Exit Emilia.
Anto.
Pry'thee let me beat her;
My fingers ytch.
Treb.
Nay, Antonio, you loue her!
Anto.
I'le loue a furie first. This is th'old dam of 'em;
And if I thought the rage and spight of time
Wo'd blast the world with such another spirit,
I wo'd turne coniurer, and 'countermyne wo'tt.
Ara.
Lett vs not thinke of her, not loose a thought
Vpon so wild a creature. I am now
Soe hardned with her follies, that they touch me not.
Betwixt her sister and her ther's strange disparitie,
Nature ne're held greater antipithie.
I must do something for that gentle maid;
The help shee brought mee in my miserie
Claimes the like gratitude.
Anto.
'Tis dangerous—
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For those that feare; but I will sett her free,
Or bee her partner in captiuitie.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Seruant.Serv.
Since my lord entertain'd his last new seruant
I can haue no admittance: hee's a fauorit
At the first dash; I feare there is small good
Intended, that Emilia did prefer him;
I do not like that skirtfoist. Leave your bouncing!
Knock without.
My lord 'le bee out on's witts to see this swarme
Of suitors knocking at the gates. Bee quiett,
Knock.
Or hee will quiet yee. Who wo'd be great
To be thus hated? They do curse and sweare
To pull him out of's house. They will be righted.
Knock.
Knock till your harts ake: if the people's voice
Can make men guilty, hee is soe. Hee comes heere,
And his new seruant with him.
Enter Busiro; Millecert disguis'd.
Busi.
What's the matter?
Without.
My lord, our case is desperate; wee must speake wi' yee.
Busi.
I will not heare yee; neuer was man
Pester'd with raskalls soe.
Without.
Giue vs our due then.
Busi.
Go, tell the duke; I doe defie you all:
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Without.
Wee thanke you yett for this.
Exit Ser.
Busi.
Looke the dores be fast; this scum of people
Doth vex mee terribly—but to our busines.
Hast thou the art to tie the female fancie
To the beleife of thy alluring tougne?
Mille.
No magick stronger; let mee but haue time
And place, the instruments whereby wee worke,
And, like a subtill ingenier, myne art
Shall vndermyne 'em; not a chastitie
Shall haue the power to stand the batterie
Of my temptations.
Busi.
But how do you this?
Mille.
Why not the woman's way, your female baud,
To tempt 'em with new gownes, rings, or such toyes,
Or warme their cold bloods with the ambition
To bee a great man's mistris; that's too comon.
Busi.
This is a cunning fellow.
Mille.
No; my way
Is more sublime. When I ha' found her humor,
I'le creepe into her heart, and cloth my words
Soe suitable vnto her owne desires,
Mixt with such innocencie and smooth language,
It shall not find resistance; nay, sometimes
Drawe teares to win beleife, till the warme dropps
Soften the virgin waxe, and make it take
Any impression.
Busi.
Wee shall try your skill.
Haue you bene yett with Cloris?
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Yes, my lord.
Busi.
How doe you find her?
Mille.
'Tis a gentle sweetnes.
Busi.
May shee be wonne?
Mille.
No doubt, my lord.
Busi.
The duke
Loues her extreamely. May shee not be drawne
To loue an old man too?
Mille.
With no great difficultie.
Sin, thou art euer youthfull!
Aside.
Busi.
Why should I
Add more vnto my crimes?
Aside.
Enter The Duke.
Duke.
How now, Busiro!
Is this the man?
Busi.
It is, my gratious lord.
Duke.
And wilt thou vndertake so great a taske
With perill of thy life?
Mille.
I'le doe my best, sir.
Duke.
Thou run'st a dangerous hazard. 'Tis more easie
To plough the frozen North, and force a way
Vnto the Eastern world; or scale the Alpes,
When the cold Eurus, with his snowy wings,
Doth couer their rough topps, then alter Cloris
In her most firme resolues.
Mille.
Yett I will venture.
Duke.
What is thy name?
Mille.
Gratus.
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Go on then, Gratus,
And vse what skill thou can'st to make her loue mee.
I need not teach thee what to say, thou hast
An art beyond mee; for my elloquence,
Like a rude blast of wind beating against
That marble-harted heauen, doth find resistance,
So that it onely serues to fann my fires:
But pri'thee vse her gently; do not hurt her—
I wo'd not haue her hurt for all the blessings
This world affords. Busiro, I must chide you;
I cannot bee at quiet for complaints
That come against you.
Busi.
'Tis your highnes' fauor
That pulls this enuie on mee.
Duke.
So you say still.
But it behoues a prince that wo'd be iust
To search the corners of corrupted courts,
Which oft contract foule matter. The sun's beames
Sometimes produces serpents, wormes and monsters,
Yett 'tis not his fault, but the soyle's distempers
Whereon his beames reflect; for otherwise
His light doth cherish and reuiue. Soe fauors
Proceeding from a prince may bee abus'd,
And proue obnoxious. Take heed, old man!
Busi.
My lord, they are a people full of mallice
That thus informes you, opposit to greatnes,
And swolne with enuie breake out to distroy
What you haue planted. But my seruices—
Duke.
No more, I do beleeue thee. Now, good Gratus,
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But still be faithfull, or expect the furie
Of an abused prince.
Exeunt Duke and Busiro.
Mille.
I waigh it not—
My life I value meanely, soe I may
Repaire the wrongs my noble brother suffers.
The woman's yoke I haue shak'd of, and giuen him
His land agen, but that is not enough.
I heard that hee lou'd Cloris and shee him,
Therefore I tooke this shape, and made my way
To lord Busiro. Little thinks Emilia,
Whome shee did recommend. O woman, woman!
What fatall tempest droue mee on this rock,
Vnhappie that I am?
Enter Aramant.
Who's this? my brother!
Hee shall not know mee, till I doe appeare
More louely to him.
Ara.
Heere about it is;
Within theise rotten walls there lyes inclos'd
The world's cheife beautie. Cloris, my faire saint,
It is thy patient calls. I'le gett some ladders
Shall reach to my desires. Where are my witts?
My loue and gratitude is dull and stupid.
Mille.
Who's there?
Ara.
I am discouer'd.
Drawes.
Mille.
Sir, this place
Is, by the duke's command, prohibited.
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Stand further of! The duke may chaine my bodie,
But cannot keepe my mind from mounting with
The wings of loue vnto this place of rest.
Mille.
Are you not Aramant?
Ara.
The same.
Mille.
I pitty yee
For your great iniuries: putt vp your sword;
Your worth hath made a place within my breast
That time shall not demolish.
Ara.
May I trust thee?
Thou art a stranger to mee.
Mille.
Lett the obiect
You do incounter next beare witnes for mee,
How much I prise your loue.
Exit.
Ara.
This fellow may
Betray mee to the duke, but I'me resolu'd
To beare the worst of mallice.
Enter Cloris.
'Tis faire Cloris!
My angell guardian! How shall I appeare
Before you, madame, to expresse a mind
Thankfull for all your mercies? If there bee
Any thing in mee capable of gratitude
Your charitie gaue it life; you fram'd mee new,
Built mee from ruines—This poore tenement
Had perished, and bene vnfitt for euer
For Reason to abide in, if your goodnes
Had not repair'd it, for which I must owe you
All that I doe, or euer can, call happie.
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Are you the iniur'd Aramant, that drawes
A pitty from all eyes?
Ara.
Madame, I am
That Aramant that calls them happie howers
That gaue his crosses birth, since they deriue
A pittie from such sweetnes.
Clo.
'Tis true, Aramant,
Your many wrongs did worke vpon my easines,
And mou'd compassion. Your iniuries
I suffer'd with as much affliction,
As if they 'had bene my owne. Judge mildly of mee,
'Twas a meere pittie.
Ara.
Giu 't some other name—
Call it, deare saint, a loue, and make the ioy
You haue inspir'd into mee such a comfort
As none can wonder at, but those that haue
Arriued at so much blisse.
Clo.
Alas, my loue
Can yeild small benefitt vnto your wishes;
I am a pris'ner heere, and who doth know
If theise vnhappie eyes shall euer blesse
The ayre you breath in more.
Ara.
Then I shall take
A sad leaue of my selfe: I must confesse
You may misdoubt my faith, because your eares
Haue not bene pester'd yett with protestations;
But I want art to make my loue suspected,
For they, that marke my words, may trace their stepps
Along the snowie path of innocence
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Clo.
I thinke yee noble.
Ara.
And lett not my credulitie begett
Beleife in you, that I am apt to change,
Because I did once fix my mind vpon
Your worthlesse sister: ther's a higher power
That doth dispose my loue now; 'tis a loue
Aboue joy, pleasure, or delight;
Without feare, ielousie, or appetite.
Then doe not shame to name it, and that word,
That litle word, will add a spirit vnto mee
Aboue all power of man, equall to it selfe.
Clo.
But dare you trust a woman? I had thought
My sister's wickednes had blasted all
Respect vnto the sex.
Ara.
O neuer, madame,
When it comes guarded with such innocence!
I must confesse, if your faire vertues had not
Giuen a new stamp vnto the rugged thoughts
That crosse-peece of your sex imprinted in mee,
I should haue buried all my hopes in her,
Which now reuiue in you.
Clo.
Bee not too confident,
Before you find iust cause. And yett you may,
For I will ne're proue falce.
Ara.
Will you be mine then?
Why should I aske more? I will tak't as granted.
Lett me be found but worthie of this blessing,
And I shall thinke my crosses were but stepps
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Clo.
But ther's no hope
Of freedome from this prison, for the duke
Solicites howerly, by all meanes, to shake
My fixed thoughts, which seeke no other obiect.
Ara.
I know his loue is arm'd with violence:
For princes iudge of all things by their lusts,
And measure loue by will, as if it were
To be constrain'd, like the hott sun that burnes
What it might cherish with a gentle warmth.
They will, because they will; and doe confine
Others to lawes which they themselues neglect.
O, where is justice, that thou causelessly
Should'st be imprison'd? Such a horrid parent
Can ne're begett loue, though a monster like it.
Clo.
Mistake not, sir; for if there be a vertue
That man can iustly call his owne, it dwells
In this most noble prince. 'Tis true hee loues mee;
And that great power, that doth distinguish loue
In his effects, makes mee loue him agen.
Be not you sad at this—it is his goodnes,
That, with a free soule, I admire and loue.
A secret inspiration touches mee
With reuerence to his person; and if you
Had not possesst my heart before, I should
Esteeme this seruitude the greatest freedome,
That e're I co'd attaine to.
Ara.
I am chang'd then—
For I had strange thoughts hammering in my breast,
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For thy deliuerie, through the jawes of danger.
Clo.
Thinke not of any thing beares such a front,
But let time worke. Beleeue mee, ther's noe prison,
No power, nor no respect, no life, no death,
Nor any thing that may invite, or threat,
Shall hinder mee from truly loving thee.
Doe I not blush to speake theise words?
Ara.
They are
Like gold refin'd by triall. Cease, my ioyes,
And prize this vertue rightly to the value;
Tell her my actions shall—
Clo.
Peace, here's my keeper—
Enter Millecert.
Yett hee's a good man, and doth promise mee
His best assistance.
Ara.
O, my worthie freind,
How shall I merrit this?
Mille.
Lett not that trouble yee:
When you shall find my seruice meet your wishes,
Esteeme mee then. For this time I must part you;
I feare the coming of some visitants.
I must be circumspect—the next occasion
Expect a happier meeting.
Clo.
Farewell, Aramant,
Thinke of poore Cloris.
Exeunt Cloris and Millecert.
Ara.
Louely saint, farwell.
Thinke of poore Cloris! When my thoughts shall leaue
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Of earth, that doth inclose 'em, fall to dust!
I'le thinke of thee, and raise a spirit vp
Shall toyle for thee, for I will either haue
Thy freedome, or prepare myselfe a graue.
Exit.
Scena Tertia.
Enter Emilia and Millecert.Emil.
This is the place; I'le knock. Gratus, well mett;
How do's thy charge?
Mille.
Hard harted to the duke still.
Emil.
It speakes her pride and folly; shee deserues not
So great a fortune; the pure adamant
Turnes to the eleuated North, but shee
Is countersett, and the disparitie
Betwixt their bloods doth draw her courser nature
To this disvnion; 'tis the hand of Fate
To keepe the duke from coupling with such basenes.
Mille.
Shee is your sister, madame.
Emil.
I dispise her;
Shee hath no part of blood in mee, but borrowes
The name of sister onely; were shee noble,
It would appeare in this; for noblenes
Finds out its proper object.
Mille.
Then how came you
To call her sister?
Emil.
I did euer thinke
Shee was so, till my father on his death-bed
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Wrapt in a mantle) in the groues of Cloris,
(From whence shee had her name,) being expos'd there
Vnto the fury of wild beasts: hee bred her
(I being then but young) as his owne daughter,
And dying left vs equall portions;
But her great beautie adding to my anger
To see my selfe so mated by an outcast,
When hee was dead, I kept her close from viewe,
'Till shee stole from mee—and this is Cloris.
Mille.
Shee may bee basely-borne then?
Emil.
'Tis my feare,
Which made mee breake this to thee. Thou art wise,
And hast the duke's eare; 'tis not fitt his greatnes
Should be diminisht thus, to match with one,
That may add shame to his posteritie,
And lay a brand vpon his name! I charge thee,
As thou dost prize his well growne happines,
Put out this soudaine flame.
Mille.
The duke's affection
Is violent, and I shall run a hazard
Equall to ruine, if I should neglect
His strickt command.
Emil.
Turne it some other way then.
Let the swift currant of his loue find out
A nobler source. Wilt thou be secret, Gratus?
Thy lookes are full of honestie; I dare
Vnrip my breast to thee—I loue the duke!
Mille.
I smell this changeling out; she blasts her sister
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Aside.
Emil.
And it is in thy power
To meet my wishes. Can'st thou not convert
That loue to mee, that hee doth beare to Cloris?
Me thinks 'twere easie.
Mille.
To be dam'd—Why, madame,
Aside.
Ther's danger in such enterprises; how
Can't possibly bee effected?
Emil.
You may feed
The duke with hope of Cloris' loue, and when
His expectation is drawne high, how soone
May his desires be changed by the obiect!
I am not much lesse faire.
Mille.
But I haue heard,
You haue a husband, lady, nobly borne,
Whose spirit will neuer brooke to meet a riuall,
Or yeild to any second.
Emil.
Hee's a foole,
An narrow harted man, and my spirit cannot
Stoope to such weaknes; meaner thoughts are fitter
For his cold temper, mine are fram'd for princes;
The great duke now is all my ayme; I am
Me thinks inthron'd alreadie, and the great ones
Pay homage to mee, while my Gratus shall
Diuide the pretious spoile with his Emilia:
Wee'le part our glorie. Wilt thou work for mee?
Mille.
This I will promise you, the duke shall neuer
Inioy faire Cloris.
Emil.
Doe but add the rest,
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To bee thy seruant.
Mille.
I'le do something for you.
Quench not my reason, (frailtie;) 'tis a woman,
Aside.
I should run mad elce; but in this is heap'd
The whole contracted venome of the sex;
Yet shee shall help to salue this wound, as poison
Doth cleare distempers; Cloris shall be free,
And rescued by her greatest enemie.—
I ha' bene studying for you, madame, and
Find your's the best way; you shall vrge the duke
For leaue to visitt Cloris, with pretence
Of pleading for him; which effected, 'tis
But a mistake to bring him to your bed
Instead of her's, and hee shall think it Cloris.
But to dispose of her—
Emil.
Leaue that to mee.
Exit Emilia.
Mille.
But I will watch yee; for thou shalt not bee
Wicked by my meanes. This inconstant woman
Persues her falcehood, wil be true to no man.
Enter Busiro.
Busi.
Gratus, how goes it now? the duke's impatient
Of theise delayes.
Mille.
My lord, shee doth begin
To melt alreadie. Pray, inform his highnes
There is a ioy approaching, that will raise
His drooping spirits.
Busi.
But a sadnes must
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Mille.
How do's your lordship? are you well? distempers
Are but a superfluitie of humour,
That in the growth wil be disperc'd: but once
Growne to a head may proue incurable—
Bee well aduis'd.
Busi.
I wo'd I had bene soe.
Mille.
Heere is some hidden thing I must worke out.
Aside.
The bodies' greifs (my lord) want not their cures
Either to discipate, or to preuent
Th'insuing ills; the minds that are sublime
And more elated, working on its passions,
Doth find best cure in councell; I haue skill
In both: you great men run a hazard
Daring and dangerous; if your consciences
Fall sick and faint, they may be comforted
By good aduice; it is the prop that keepes 'em
From swift precipitation, which missing,
Their owne waight beares 'em downe.
Busi.
I haue bene wicked.
Mille.
Vnload yourselfe of that great burthen to mee,
And I may bring you ease.
Busi.
I thinke thee honest,
And thou shalt know my heart. Let vs withdrawe.
Mille.
If't bee not treason, I wil be your cabinet.
Exeunt.
| The Inconstant Lady | |