 | The Gamester |  |
Act. IIII.
Enter Hazard and Wilding.Wi.
How now Will, thou lookst desperatly this morning.
Didst sleepe well to night?
Ha.
Yes, 'tis very like
I went to sleepe; but such a bed-fellow!
Wi.
What ailes she; was she dull?
Ha.
Do not enquire
But curse your selfe till noone, I am charitable
I do not bid thee hange thy selfe, and yet
I have cause to thanke thee, I would not have lost
The turne, for all the monie I wonne last night Jacke,
Such a delicious thieft.
Wi.
I thinke so.
Ha.
I found it so and dare make my affidavit.
Wi.
Thou didst not see her?
Ha.
Nor speake to her, to what purpose.
Shee was so handsome i'th darke, you know
My meaning, had beene pittie any light
Or voyce should interrupt us.
Wi.
Now doe I
Grow melancholy.
Ha.
If thou do'st envie mee
There is some reason for't, thou do'st imagine
Never, so sweete a skirmish, how like joy
Shee grew to my embraces, not a kisse
But had Elisium in't.
Wi.
I was a rascall.
Ha.
If thou didst know but halfe so much as I
Or couldst imagine it, thou wouldst acknowledge
Thy selfe worse then a rascall on Record.
I have not words to expresse, how soft, how bountious
How everie thing a man with full desires
Could wish a Lady, do not question mee
Further; tis too much happines to remember
I am sorry I have said so much.
Wi.
Was not I curst
To loose my monie, and such delicate sport?
Ha.
But that I love thee well shud'st nere injoy her.
Wi.
Why?
Ha.
I would almost cut thy throate.
Wi.
You wod not.
Ha.
But take her, and if thou part'st with her, one night
more for lesse then both the Indies thou't loose by her, shee
has paid me for my service, I aske nothing else.
Wi.
If she be such a precious armefull Will
I thinke you may be satisfied.
Ha.
Take heede,
And understand thy selfe a little better:
I thinke you may be satisfied with what?
A handsome wench 'tis heresie recant it
I never shall be satisfied.
Wi.
You do not purpose.
Purpose a new incounter.
Ha.
For thy sake
Tis possible I may not, I would have
My game kept for me; what I have done
Was upon your entreatie, if you have
The like occasion hereafter I
Should have a hard heart to deny thee Jacke.
VVi.
Thou hast fir'd my blood, that I could call backe time,
And be possest of what my indiscretion
She thinks 'twas I, and we hereafter may
Be free in our delights: now, sir, the newes
With you?
Enter Page.
Pa.
My mistresse did command my diligence
To find you out and pray you come to speake with her.
Wi.
When I am at leasure.
Pa.
Tis of consequence,
Shee sayes, and much concernes you.
Wi.
Is Penelope
With her?
Pa.
Not when she sent mee forth.
Wi.
Let her expect: waite you on me.
Ha.
I spie my blustering Gamester.
Wi.
The yonger ferret.
Ha.
I care not if I allow thee a fit of mirth,
But your boy must be in comfort.
Enter Nephew and Dwindle.
Dwi.
Pray sir, do not behave your selfe so furiouslie,
Your breath is able to blow downe a house, sir.
Ne.
My Uncle shall build 'em up againe, oh Dwindle,
Thou dost not know what honor 'tis to bee
So boisterous, I would take the wall now
Of my Lord Maiors Gyants.
Wi.
Doe as I bid you, sirra.
Pa.
Alas, sir, hee'le devoure me.
Ha.
He shanot hurt thee.
Pa.
Be at my backe then pray, sir, now I thinke on't
I have the beard here too with which I frighted
Our maides last night.
Dwi.
You know these gentlemen.
Ne.
Hazard, and Wilding? how i'st? how i'st Bulchins?
Wo'd ye had beene with us; I ha so mald a Captaine
O'th traine band yonder.
Pa.
Is not your name Barnacle?
Ha.
Ancient Petarre?
Ne.
What's this?
Wi.
The admiration of the Towne.
For what?
Wi.
For valour.
Ne.
This inch and a halfe?
Wi.
Ther's the wonder, oh the spirit, the tall spirit
Within him he has the soule of a Giant.
Ne.
He has but a dwarfs body, ancient Petarre.
Pa.
Sirra, how dare you name a Captaine?
Thou tunne of ignorance, he shall eate my Pistoll,
And save me the discharge.
Ne.
Tell me of a tun? i'le drinke twenty tunnes to thy
Health, who shall hinder me if I have a
Minde too't, your Pistol's a Pepper-corne, I will eate
Up an armory, if my stomacke serve, so long as I
Have mony to pay for't, and you were as little agen
As you are: fright me with your potguns, my name's
Barnacle, sir, call me what you please, and my
Mans name's Dwindle, and you goe there to, do not
Thinke but I have seene fire-Dakes afore now though
I never talk'd on't, and Rackets too, though my man
Be a Coxcombe here, and balls of wild-fire, no dispraise
To you; d'ee thinke to thunder me with your Picke
Tooth by your side?
Pa.
Let my sword shew him but one flash of lightning
To singe the haire of his head off.
Ha.
Good ancient Petarre.
Dwi.
Tis a very divell in decimo sexto: Peter d'ee call him?
Pa.
Thou dogbolt and cozen germane to Cerberus.
Ha.
Two heads once remov'd, hee's somewhat like him.
Ne.
I begin to thinke.
Dwi.
And I begin to—
Pa.
Agen.
Wi.
He does but thinke.
Pa.
He thinke? is this a place for him to thinke in?
Minotaure, vanish immediately, or I will shoot death
From my Mustachios and kill thee like a Procupine.
Ne.
Ancient Petarre, I know thy name and I
Honor it, thar't one of the most vaine glorious
Peeces of fire-worke that ever water wet. I am a
Gentleman, and if I have say'd any thing to disgust
Proudest vassell on 'em all, extend thy paw, thou
Invincible Epitome of Hercules, and let thy servant
Kisse it.
Wi.
Come pray, sir, be reconcil'd; he submits.
Pa.
I see thou hast something in thee of a Soldier, to no Purpose,
and I will cherish it. Thou art a raskall in thy understanding,
thou shat excuse me, Turke, in honorable love: I remember
thy great grand-Father was hang'd for robbing a Pedler-woman
of sixe yards of inckle, and thou mayst, (mauger
the Herald.) in a right line, challenge the gallowes by his
copie; mongrell of mongrell Hall, I am thy humble servant,
and will cut the throate of any man that sayes thou hast eyther
wit or honesty more then is fit for a gentleman. Command
my sword, my lungs, my life, thou art a puffe, a mulligrube, a
Metaphysicall Coxcombe, and I honour you with all my
hart.
Ne.
I thanke you noble ancient, and kinde gentlemen.
Come Dwindle, wee'le go rore somewhere else.
Wi.
Was ever such an offe?
Exit.
Ha.
The boy did hit his humour excellently.
Here, cherish thy wit.
Pa.
Now shall I tell my mistresse you'le come to her?
VVi.
How officious you are for your mistresse, sirra?
What said shee I came not home all night?
Pa.
Nothing to me; but my eyes ne're beheld
Her looke more pleasantly.
Ha.
Now farewell Jacke, I neede not urge your secresie
Touching your mistres, I have mounted for you:
Only i'le caution you, looke when you meete
That you performe your busines handsomely.
I ha begun so well shee may suspect else,
And put thee out of service, if shee doe,
You know your wages, I shall laugh at thee,
And hartilie; so farewell, farewell Jacke.
Exit.
VVi.
To say the truth I have shewed my selfe a coxcombe.
A pox a play that made me double looser.
For ought I know, she may admit me never
To such a turne agen, and then I ha punished
Enter Mistris Wilding, Penelope, and Mistris Leonora, a Servant waiting upon them.
My wife.
Pag.
My Mistresse, sir.
Wi.
Keepe you at distance, Penelope, and Leonora,
Shee's as the boy reported something more
Pleasant then ordinarie.
Mi.
Tis hee good cozen,
Pretend some busines, offer at some wares,
Or aske the Gold-smith what your Diamond's worth,
Something to trifle time away, while I
Speake with my husband a few words.
Wi.
Shee comes toward me.
Mi.
I can containe no longer.
How d'ee sweete-hart?
Wi.
Well, but a little melancholy.
You looke more sprightfully wife, something has pleas'd you.
Mi.
It has indeede, and if it be no staine
To modestie, I would enquire how you
Sped the last night.
Wi.
I loft my money.
Mi.
I doe not meane that gaine.
Wi.
I am not betrai'd I hope; do not meane that game?
Mi.
Y'are a fine gentleman.
Wi.
Tis so, could she not keepe her owne counsell?
Mi.
And have behav'd your selfe most wittilie,
And I may say most wrongfully: this will
Bee much for your honor, when 'tis knowne.
Wi.
What will be knowne?
Mi.
Do you not blush? oh fie.
Is there no modestie in man?
Wi.
What riddle
Have you got now? I wonot yet seeme conscious.
Mi.
Tis time then to be plaine, it was a wonder
I could be so long silent, did you like
Your last nights lodging?
Wil.
Very, very well;
Mi.
You did not lie with
Mistresse Penelope my kinswoman?
Wi.
Refuse me if I did.
Mi.
You neede not sweare;
But 'twas no fault of yours, no fault no vertue:
But 'tis no place to expostulate these actions.
In breife know 'twas my plott, for I observ'd
Which way your warme affection mov'd, & wrought
So with my honest cozen to supplie
Her wanton place, that with some shame at last,
I might deceive your hard heart into kindnes.
Wi.
That, that agen sweete wife, and be a little
Serious; was it your plott to excuse your cozen,
And be the bed-fellow?
Mi.
Heaven knowes 'tis truth.
Wi.
I am fitted, fitted with a paire of hornes
Of my owne making.
Mi.
Thanke, and thinke upon
That providence that would not have you lost
In such a Forrest of loose thoughts, and bee
Your selfe agen; I am your hand-maid still,
And have learned so much pietie to conceale
What ever should dishonor you.
Wi.
It budds,
It budds alreadie. I shall turne starke mad,
Horne mad.
Mi.
What aile you? are you vext because
Your wantonnesse thriv'd so well?
Wi.
Well with a vengeance.
Mi.
I did expect your thanks.
Wi.
Yes, I do thanke you, thanke you heartilie,
Most infinitly thanke you.
Mi.
Doth this merit
No other payment but your scorne, then know
Bad man, 'tis in my power to be reveng'd,
And what I had a resolution
Should sleepe in silent darknes, now shall looke
Day in the face, i'le publish to the World
You have despis'd the cure of your owne fame;
Nor shall my Cozen suffer in her honor.
I stoope as low as earth to shew my dutie,
But too much trampl'd on I rise to tell
The World I am a woman.
VVi.
No, no; harke you,
I doe not mocke you, I am taken with
The conceit, what a fine thing I have made my selfe.
Nere speake on't, thy device shall take; i'le love thee,
And kisse thee for't, tha'st paid me handsomelie:
An admirable plot, and follow'd cunninglie,
I'le see thee anon agen, and lie with thee
To night, without a stratagemme. The gentlewomen
Expect thee; keepe all close, deare wife, no sentences.
I am trick'd and trim'd at my owne charges rarely,
I'le seeke out some body agen.
Exit.
Mi.
I have presum'd too much upon your patience,
I have discover'd, and I hope t'will take.
Pene.
I wish it may.
Mi.
You are sad still, Leonora.
Remove these thoughts: come i'le waite on you now
To the Exchange: some toyes may there strike off
Their sad remembrance.
Leo.
I attend you.
Mi.
Farewell.
Enter Beaumont, and his keeper.
Ke.
The gentleman that was yesterday to speake with you
Is come againe to visite you.
Beo.
S. Richard Hurry?
Ke.
The same, sir.
Bar.
You may admit him.
Ke.
Men of his quality
Do seldome court affliction, this, I must
Allow, is a most noble gratitude
For those good offices my father did him.
Enter Sr. Richard.
Hu.
Sir, the respects I owe you make me againe
Solliciter for your saftie, and although
Strange to you, and perhapps incredible,
Which might dispose you to the slow embrace
Of what I tendred, yet againe brought to you
After a time to examine and consider
What most concernes you, I am confident,
You will accept, and thanke me.
Beo.
Noble sir.
You doe expresse so rare a bountie, men
Will sloely imitate; I am not soe
Lost in my wilde misfortune, but my reason
Will guide me to acknowledge and paie backe
My service and my selfe, for so much charity
As you have pleas'd to shew me.
Enter Violante.
Vio.
Here's for thy paines: they are the same; make good
Thy word, and place me where I may unseene
Heare their discourse.
Ke.
This way.
Beo.
But with your pardon,
I would desire to heare agen how much
I shall be oblig'd that knowing the extent
Of your desert I maie pay backe a duty,
That may in every circumstance become
My fortune and the benefit.
Hu.
Then thus: you are a Prisoner; that alone
Is misery,
But yours the greater, in that guilt of blood,
Not summes that may bee recompenc'd, detaine you.
I'le not dispute the circumstance, Delamore
Slaine by your hand.
Beo.
I have confest,
The first jurie having found it murder.
Hu.
His blood calls to the law for justice, and you cannot
Left to your selfe, and looking on the fact,
Expect with any comfort what must follow.
Yet I in pity of your suffrings,
In pity of your youth which would bee else
Untimely blasted, offer to remove
With cleere satisfaction to the Law.
Beo.
Good sir,
Pray give me leave to doubt here. I see not
How ere your will and charitie may bee active
In my desiresse to save me, that you can
Assure my life and freedome, since in causes
Of such high nature, lawes must have their course:
Whose streame as it were wickednesse to pollute,
It were vanitie for any private man
To thinke he could resist. I speake not this
To have you imagine I despise my life,
But to expresse my feares your will does flatter you
Bove what your power can reach.
Fa.
For that I urge not
My beeing a Commissioner alone
To doe you service, I have friends in Court,
And great ones, when the rigor of the Law
Hath sentenc'd you to mediate your pardon:
Nor takes it from the justice of a Prince,
Where provocation and not malice makes
Guilty, to save, whom the sharpe letter doomes
Sometimes to execution: I am to farre
From doubting your discharge, that I dare forfeit
My life if I secure not yours from any
Danger for this offence.
Beo.
You speake all comfort
Which way can I deserve this?
Ha.
That i'le shew you.
I had an obligation to your father
Whose love when all my fortunes were i'th ebbe,
And desperatelie, releev'd mee with large summes;
By whose carefull manage I arryu'd at what
I am, and I should be a rebell to
Nature and goodnesse not to love the sonne
Of such a friend by his misfortune made
Ripe for my gratitude.
Beo.
You speake your bountie,
But teach not all this while how to deserve it.
Tis done by your acceptance of my daughter
To bee your Bride.
Be.
To be my Bride? pray tell tell me
Is she deform'd or wanton, what vice has shee?
Ha.
Vice, sir, she will deserve as good a husband,
Shee is handsome though I say't, and shall be rich too.
Beo.
Shee is too good, if she be faire or vertuous.
Pardon, I know she is both: but you amaze me,
I did expect conditions of danger:
A good wife is a blessing above health;
You teach mee to deserve my life first from you
By offering a happinesse beyond it.
Hu.
If you finde love to accept, 'tis the reward
I looke for, Leonora shall obey
Or quit a father.
Be.
Ha goodnesse defend.
I know you doe but mocke me, and upbraid
My act, that kild her servant: wound mee still,
I have deserv'd her curse: I see her weepe,
And every teare accuse me.
Hu.
May I never
Thrive in my Prayers to Heaven, if what I offer
I wish not heartilie confirm'd.
Bu.
I now
Suspect you are not Leonora father,
'Twere better you dissembled, then made her
So past all hope of beeing cur'd agen:
I marry Leonora! can her soule
Thinke on so foule a rape, she cannot sure.
Ha.
Shee shall; I command.
Be.
By vertue, but
Shee shanot, nor would I to graspe an Empire
Tempt her to so much staine, let her tell downe
Her Virgin teares, on Delamores cold Marble,
Sigh to his dust, and call revenge upon
His head whose anger sent him to those shades,
From whence she nere must see him; this will justifie
Shee lov'd the dead: it were impietie
One smile should blesse her murderer, and how ere
I know she cannot finde one thought without her
So foule to looke upon me.
Hu.
Let it rest on that, will you consent and timely make
provision for your saftie?
Beo.
For my life
You meane, now on the chance, then I may live
You are confident, and thinke it not impossible
Your daughter may affect me; ther's at once
Two blessings, are they not and mightie ones,
Considering what I am, how low, how lost
T'oth common aire?
Hu.
Now you are wise.
Beo.
But if
Your daughter would confirme this, and propound
Her selfe my victorie.
Hu.
What then?
Beo.
I should condemne her, and despise the conquest:
These things may bribe an Atheist not a Lover.
But you perhaps are ignorant, I have given
My faith away irrevocablie, 'tis
The wealth of Violante, and I wonot
Basely steale backe a thought, and yet I thanke you,
I am not so inhumane.
Hu.
Will you not
Preferre your life
To honor and religion?
Beo.
For shame be silent could you make me Lord
Of my owne destiny, and that Leonora
Had empires for her dower, and courted mee
With all the flatteries of life, to quit
My vowes to Violante, I would fire
Upon her bosome to meete death:
Hu.
And death
You must expect which will take off this braverie.
Beo.
And I will kisse it, kisse it, like a Bride.
Hu.
So resolute?
Beo.
And if I cannot live
My Violantes, I will die her sacrifice.
The quiet of a Prisoner, thus that cannot
Be a too carefull Steward of those minuts
Left him to make his peace, tempt me no further:
The Earth is not so fixt as my resolues,
Rather to die then in one thought transplant
My love from Violante.
Hu.
Bee undone,
And this contempt, shall hasten the divorce
Of soule and love, die and be soone forgotten.
Exit.
Enter Violante.
Beo.
My Violante, if there can be any joy
Neighbour too so much greife, i'le powre it out
To pay thy bounteous visit, if my eyes
Admit no fellowship in weeping, 'tis
Because my heart which saw thee first, would bid
Thee welcome thither, scorning to acknowledge
There can be any thing but joy where thou art.
Vio.
But sadnes my deere Beaumont, while there is
A cause that makes thee Prisoner, I must weepe
And empty many springs, my eyes are now
No prophets of thy sorrow but the witnes,
And when I thinke of death that waits upon thee
I wither to a Ghost.
Beo.
Why Violante,
We must all die, restraine these weeping Fountaines,
Keepe 'em till I am dead, dispence 'em then
Upon my grave, and I shall grow agen,
And in the sweete disguise of a faire Garden
Salute the spring that gave mee greene and odour.
Why should not love transforme us?
Vio.
Bee not lost
In these imaginations.
Beo.
Or perhapps
'Thast ambition, she whose love made up
A wonder to the World, beside the pledge
Of duty to her Lord, fam'd Arthemisia
Shall bee no more in storie for her Tombe:
For on the Earth that weighes my body downe
Of Heaven congeal'd to Beaumonts memorie,
Shall raise a monument of Pearle to out doe
The great Mausolus Sepulcher.
Vio.
No more
Of this vaine language, if you have any pittie
On the poore Violante.
Ber.
I ha done,
And yet I am going now to a long silence;
Allow my sorrow to take leave Violante
Vio.
It shall be so, be valiant my heart
Beaumont I come not to take leave of thee.
Be.
Perhapps you'le see me agen.
Vio.
Agen and often,
Thy starres are gentle to thee, many daies,
And yeeres are yet betweene thee and that time
That threatens losse of breath; see, I can thus
Disperse the Clouds sate heavie on my brow,
Wipe the moisture hence, tis day agen;
Take beames into thy eye, and let them sinke
Upon thy better fortune, live, live happilie.
Be.
Is Delamore alive?
Vio.
Dead and interr'd.
Be.
From what can this hope rise?
Vio.
From thy selfe Beaumont;
If thou wilt save thy selfe, I have heard all,
And by the duty of my love am bound
To hide your resolution, can you be
So merciles to your selfe to refuse life
When it is offer'd with the best advantage
Is Leonoras love? a price that should
Buy you from all the World? be counsell'd sir,
Oh, do not loose your selfe in a vaine passion
For thought of me, I cancell all your vowes,
And give you backe your heart, bee free againe
If you will promise me to live and love.
Be.
Leonora.
Vio.
That best of woman-kinde, a mine of sweetnes.
Be.
But can you leave mee then?
I justifie
Thy choice of me in that, that to preserve thee
Dare give thee backe agen, be Leonoras,
For being mine th'art lost to all the World
Better a thousand times, thou be made hers
Then we both loose, i'le pawne my faith sheele love thee
I'le be content to heare my Beaumonts well,
And visite thee sometimes like a glad sister,
And never beg a kisse, but if I weepe
At any time when we are together,
Do not beleeve 'tis sorrow makes my eyes
So wet, but joy to see my Beaumont living:
As it is now to hope.
Be.
If thou dost meane thus
Thou dost the more to inflame me to be constant,
Be not a miracle and I may be tempted
To love my life above thee, by this kisse,
Oh, give me but another in my death
It will restore me by this innocent hand,
While as I wish my soule I wonot leave thee
For the Worlds Kingdome.
Vio.
But you must, unlesse
You change for Leonora, thinke of that,
Thinke ere you be to rash.
Be.
I'le thinke of thee,
And honor to be read, I love Violante
But never could deserve her, live thou happie,
And by thy vertue teach a neerer way
To heaven, we may meete yonder, do not make me
More miserable then I am, by adding perjurie
To my bloody sinne, the memory of thee
Will at my execution advance
My spirit to a—that men shall thinke
I have chang'd my cause for martyrdome.
Vio.
Then here
As of a dying man I take my leave,
Farewell unhappie Beaumont, i'le pray for thee.
Beo.
Tis possible I may live yet and be thine.
Vio.
These teares embalme thee
My life is buried in thy winding sheete.
Beo.
This exceeds all my sorrow.
| The Gamester | |