 | The Humorous Lieutenant |  |
Scæne 8.
Enter Leontius.Leo.
There's no way now to get in: all the lights stopt too;
Nor can I heare a sound of him: pray heaven
He use no violence: I thinke he has more soule
Stronger, and I hope nobler: would I could but see once
This beauty he groanes under, or come to know
But any circumstance. What noise is that there?
I thinke I heard him groane: here are some comming;
A woman too, Ile stand aloof, and view 'em.
Enter Menippus, Celia, Lords.
Cel.
Well, some of ye have been too blame in this point,
But I forgive ye: The King might have pickt out too
Some fitter woman to have tride his valour.
Men.
Twas all to the best meant, Lady.
Cel.
I must thinke so,
For how to mend it now: hee's here you tell me?
Men.
Hee's Madam, and the joy to see you only
Will draw him out.
Leo.
I know that womans tongue,
I thinke I have seene her face too: Ile goe nearer:
If this be she, he has some cause of sorrow:
'Tis the same face; the same, most excellent woman.
Cel.
This should be Lord Leontius: I remember him.
Leo.
Lady, I thinke ye know me.
Cel.
Speake soft, good souldier:
I do, and know ye worthy, know ye noble:
Know not me yet openly, as you love me;
But let me see ye againe, Ile satisfie ye:
I am wondrous glad to see those eyes.
Leo.
You have charged me.
Cel.
You shall know where I am.
Leo.
I will not off yet:
She goes to knocke at's doore: This must be she
The fellow told me of: right glad I am on't,
He will bolt now for certaine.
Cel.
Are ye within sir?
Ile trouble you no more: I thanke your curtesie,
Pray leave me now.
All., Me.
We rest your humble servants.
Ex. Men. &c.
Cel.
So now my gyves are off: pray heaven he be here!
Master, my royall sir: doe you heare who cals ye?
Love my Demetrius.
Leo.
These are pretty quaile-pipes,
The Corke will come anon.
Cel.
Can ye be drowsie,
When I call at your window?
Leo.
I heare him stirring:
Enter Demetrius.
Now he comes wondring out.
Dem.
Tis Celias sound sure:
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There stands the shape too.
Leu.
How he stares upon her?
Dem.
Ha? do mine eyes abuse me?
'Tis she, the living Celia: your hand Lady?
Cel.
What should this meane?
Dem.
The very selfesame Celia.
Cel.
How do ye sir?
Dem.
Only turn'd brave.
I heard you were dead my deare on: compleat,
She is wondrous brave, a wondrous gallant Courtier.
Cel.
How he surveies me round? here has been foule play.
Dem.
How came she thus?
Cel.
It was a kind of death sir,
I suffered in your absence, meu'd up here,
And kept conceal'd I know not how.
Dem.
'Tis likely:
How came you hether Celia? wondrous gallant:
Did my father send for ye?
Cel.
So they told me Sir,
And one command too.
Dem.
I hope you were obedient?
Cel.
I was so ever.
Dem.
And ye were bravely us'd?
Cel.
I wanted nothing:
My maiden-head to a mote i'th' Sun, he's jealous:
I must now play the knave with him, to dye for't,
'Tis in me nature.
Dem.
Her very eyes are alter'd:
Jewels, and rich ones too, I never saw yet—
And what were those came for ye?
Cel.
Monstrous jealous:
Have I liv'd at the rate of these scorn'd questions?
They seemed of good sort Gentlemen.
Dem.
Kind men?
Cel.
They were wondrous kind:
I was much beholding to 'em;
There was one Menippus sir.
Dem.
Ha?
Cel.
One Menippus,
A notable merry Lord, and a good companion.
Dem.
And one Charinthus too?
Cel.
Yes, there was such a one.
Dem.
And Timon?
Cel.
'Tis most true.
Dem.
And thou most treacherous:
My fathers bawdes by—they never misse course;
And were these daily with ye?
Cel.
Every houre sir.
Dem.
And was there not a Lady, a fat Lady?
Cel.
O Yes; a notable good wench:
Dem.
The devill fetch her.
Cel.
'Tis ev'n the merriest wench—
Dem.
Did she keepe with ye too?
Cel.
She was all in all; my bedfellow, eate with me,
Brought me acquainted.
Dem.
You are well knowne here then?
Cel.
There is no living here a stranger I thinke.
Dem.
How came ye by this brave gowne?
Cel.
This is a poore one:
Alas, I have twenty richer: do you see these jewels?
Why, they are the poorest things, to those are sent me,
And sent me hourely too.
Dem.
Is there no modestie?
No faith in this faire Sexe?
Leo.
What will this prove too?
For yet with all my wits, I understand not.
Dem.
Come hether; thou art dead indeed, lost, tainted;
All that I left thee faire, and innocent,
Sweet as thy youth, and carrying comfort in't;
All that I hoped for vertuous, is fled from thee,
Turn'd backe, and banckrupt.
Leo.
By'r Lady, this cuts shrewdly.
Dem.
Thou art dead, for ever dead; sins surfet slew thee;
The ambition of those wanton eyes betraid thee;
Go from me grave of honor; go thou foule one,
Thou glory of thy sin; go thou dispis'd one,
And where there is no vertue, nor no virgin;
Where Chastitie was never knowne, nor heard of;
Where nothing reigns but imperious lust, and losers faces
Goe thether, child of bloud, and sing my doating.
Cel.
You do not speake this seriously I hope sir;
I did but jest with you.
Dem.
Looke not upon me,
There is more hell in those eyes, then hell harbours;
And when they flame, more torments.
Cel.
Dare ye trust me?
You durst once even with all you had: your love sir?
By this faire light I am honest.
Dem.
Thou subtle Circes,
Cast not upon the maiden light eclipses:
Curse not the day.
Cel.
Come, come, you shall not do this:
How faine you would seeme angry now, to fright me;
You are not in the field among your enemies;
Come, I must coole this courage.
Dem.
Out thou impudence,
Thou ulcer of thy Sexe; when I first saw thee,
I drew into mine eyes mine owne destruction,
I puld into my heart that sudden poyson,
That now consumes my deare content to sinders:
I am not now Demetrius, thou hast chang'd me;
Thou woman with thy thousand wiles hast chang'd me;
Thou Serpent with thy angell-eyes hast slaine me;
And where, before I touch'd on this faire ruine,
I was a man, and reason made, and mov'd me,
Now one great lump of griefe. I grow and wander.
Cel.
And as you are noble, do you thinke I did this?
Dem.
Put all the devills wings on, and flie from me.
Cel.
I will go from ye, never more to see ye:
I will flie from ye, as a plague hangs o're me;
And through the progresse of my life hereafter;
Where ever I shall find a foole, a false man,
One that ne're knew the worth of pollish'd vertue;
A base suspecter of a virgins honour,
A child that flings away the wealth he cride for,
Him will I call Demetrius: that foole Demetrius,
That mad man a Demetrius; and that false man,
The Prince of broken faiths, even Prince Demetrius.
You thinke now, I should cry, and kneele down to ye,
Petition for my peace; let those that feele here
The weight of evill, waite for such a favour,
I am above your hate, as far above it,
In all the actions of an innocent life,
As the pure Stars are from the muddy meators:
Crye when you know your folly: howle and curse then,
Beate that unmanly breast, that holds a false heart
When ye shall come to know, whom ye have flung from ye.
Dem.
Pray ye stay a little.
Cel.
Not your hopes can alter me,
Then let a thousand backe thoughts muster in ye,
And with those enter in a thousand doatings;
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My innocence for ever haunt and fright ye:
Those armes together grow in folds; that tongue,
That bold bad tongue that barkes out these disgraces.
When you shall come to know how nobly vertuous
I have preserv'd my life, rot, rot within ye.
Dem.
What shall I doe?
Cel.
Live a lost man for ever.
Goe aske your fathers conscience what I suffered,
And through what seas of hazards I sayl'd through:
Mine honour still advanced in spight of tempests,
Then take your leave of love; and confesse freely,
You were never worthy of this heart that serv'd ye,
And so farewell ungratefull—
Exit.
Dem.
Is she gone?
Leo.
Ile follow her, and will find out this matter.
Exit.
Enter Antigonus, and Lords.
Antig.
Are ye pleas'd now? have you got your heart again?
Have I restor'd ye that?
Dem.
Sir: even for heavens sake,
And sacred truth sake, tell me how ye found her.
Antig.
I will, and in few words. Before I tride her,
'Tis true, I thought her most unfit your fellowship,
And fear'd her too: which feare begot that story
I told ye first: but since, like gold I toucht her.
Dem.
And how deare sir?
Antig.
Heavens holy light's not purer:
The constancy and goodnesse of all women
That ever liv'd, to win the names of worthy,
This noble Maid has doubled in her: honour,
All promises of wealth, all art to win her,
And by all tongues imploy'd, wrought as much on her
As one may doe upon the Sun at noone day
By lighting Candles up: her shape is heavenly,
And to that heavenly shape her thoughts are angells.
Dem.
Why did you tell me sir?
Antig.
'Tis true, I err'd in't:
But since I made a full proofe of her vertue,
I find a King too poore a servant for her.
Love her, and honour her; in all observe her.
She must be something more then time yet tels her:
And certaine I beleeve him blest, enjoyes her:
I would not lose the hope of such a daughter,
To adde another Empire to my honour.
Exit.
Dem.
O wretched state! to what end shall I turn me?
And where begins my penance? now, what service
Will win her love againe? my death must doe it:
And if that sacrifice can purge my follies,
Be pleas'd, O mightie Love, I dye thy servant.—
Exit.
| The Humorous Lieutenant | |