University of Virginia Library

Scæna prima.

Enter the King of Portugall, Isabella the Queene, the Lord Bonavida, two other Lords, Centella, Pineda, with a great traine of Attendants.
King.
The united blood of Spaine and Portugall,
Now meetes in us; the Hereditary hopes,
That were but in Conception, now have birth,
And what was but Idea, till this day,
Hath put on essence.

Omnes.
Ioy to the Prince and Princesse.

King.
This Hayle from you, wee count a blessing to us,
And more then common greeting, as from Gentlemen,
Crown'd both in blood, and vertue.

Isabel.
These perhapps,
See with judiciall eyes unto those joyes
You gaine by enjoying us.

King.
Wee find them great.

Isabel.
But great? wee look'd for a superlative,
And if there be a fit, and knowne degree,
Above compare, to have binne mark'd with this
Wee would not have a thought conceiv'd of us
But should be mix'd with rapture, and what yon
Terme joy, transported into extasie,
But great?

Bona.
Mee-thinkes addition great enough
For any mortall Woman.

Cent.
To such goodnesse,
Your highnesse might have lent an attribute
Of farre more weight, and splendor.

King.
Teach us that?

Isabel.
I shall, who would be weigh'd unto my worth,
And yet in all my poyse not loose a dram,
Put you the prowdest Lady in one scale,
And mee into another.

Bona.
You shall mount her—If pride will do 't.

Isabel.
This Beauty, Vertue, Birth,
Shall unto mine owne Center sinke my selfe,
And lift her, unto nought save smoake and Ayre.

Pine.
Nay, that upon my knowledge.

King.
Faire Isabella,
Instruct mee modestly in what I erre,
And if I shall but skant you in the least,
Ile make you large amends.

Isabel.
Why even in that,
In tearming mee but faire, faire Isabella?
It is a Milke-maides title, every Swaine
Bestowes it on his Mistris, nere so meane,
Your City damsell scornes the word, because
'Tis common in the Country; and shall wee
Bred in the Courts rich glory, intertain't?
What's great and faire? wee would be term'd divine.
Such as would give us our full character,
Must search for Epithites, and studie phrase.

Bona.

Examine but plaine Mantuan, and hee'l tell you, what
woman is.

Isabel.
Great Prince of Portugall,
Observe in me thine happinesse, thanke not Heaven
So much that thou wert borne, nor borne a Prince,
But that thou injoy'st us: For that great blessing
Give thy Creation thankes.

Cent.
So he well may.

Isabel.
Behold I here expose me to all eyes,
To universal censure, Lives a Lady
Greater in Blood? if any that gainesay
Spaine shall maintaine it by her potency;
Search Italy and all these Climes beyond,
Come by the Alps backe, and view France throughout,
Produce me the most excellent German Froae,
Examine England, which some say breeds beauties
Beyond all these, and Prince; your Portugall
To equall this; this? doe I boast of those
That are not mine? say wee ascribe our birth
Onely to Fortune, and to nature forme,
Count both these accidentall, there's a third
Vertue remaines: and even in that wee dare
With any Princesse of the World contest.
Come, your free censures Lords.

Pineda,
Madam I hold you
In least of these not to be parallell'd.

Centella,
In my opinion, Madam, you so farre
Exceed all these that yet mine eyes have seene
Nay heard, or read of.

Bonavid.
O base flattery!

Cent.
That unto those beforetime wondred at,
You in our age appeare a miracle,
And never to be matcht.

Isabella.
We observe in you,
A kind of inforct silence mixt with scornes,
Your tongue hath beene so back-ward to pronounce
So definitive a sentence.

Bonavid.
Know then Madam,
I must confesse (although a womans sonne)
Yet cannot I dissemble, neither would I,
Should I be rackt and tortured, then with pardon
Vnto the Prince and you, thus much I thinke,
I not deny, but you by birth are royall.
Beautious, or else I should condemne mine eyes,
And say they wore false lights; for your knowne vertues,
Traytor he were, that should but question them,
I make this attestation, yet sweet Princesse,
These praises you conferre upon your selfe
Though they be just and true from your owne Tongue
Loose part of their great luster, in these, or mee,
They would have had more sweetnesse, better sownd,
But from a Tuskan tongue, or Porteguise,
English or French, or any Strangers mouth,
Much more harmonious relish; I have held it
Still as a Maxime, my best Iudging dayes,
Such doubt their worths, are forc'd themselues to prayse.

Isa.
Who fitter to speake trueth, then Trueth's own tongue?

Bona.
Yet arrogance in Trueth may blemish it.

Isabel.
Of Arrogance us?

Bona.
Call 't if you please, Selfe-love:
Besides in man or woman, since the first
Nature hath yee ded none so absolute,
To whom she made no fellow. First for beautie,
If Greece afforded a fayre Hellen, Troy
Her paralleld with a Polyxena:
For Wisedome, Rome presented a Cornelia,
And Lidia a Sosipatra: Chastity?
Lucrece, of whom the Romanes so much boast:
Did not the selfe same Citie breede a Portia,
Who when she heard her husband Brutus slaine,
Kept from all other Engines, swallowed fire,
And by that meanes to meete with him in death,
Of such I could produce yet Infinite;
And Madam though I must confesse you rare,
And most compleatly perfect in all these,
Yet not so choice a piece, but the wide world
May yeeld you a competitor.

Isabel.
As you are, Prince,
And ever hope to have the sweete fruition
Of those pure gifts, that man so much disdaines;
Grant mee one free demand.

King.
Speake and obtaine.

Isabel.
His banishment from Spaine and Portugall,
Never hereafter to bee capable
Of Honor, of Renowne, place, or office,
Till hee can find, produce, and set before vs,
Our match in Face and bosome, birth wee set by,
But be shee woman, and can ballance us,
In both, or either, he redeemes his exile
Without such, to returne, forfeits his head,
Denie this Prince, you banish us your bed.

King.
Most unpeer'd Lady, that, not for ten Worlds,
For if an husband can a vassaile bee,
To such approved vertues; I am hee:
Lord Bonavida, you have from her tongue
An expresse doome, that cannot bee revok't;
Tis like the Persian seale vnalterable:
And come my divine Princesse; Hee shall knowe,
In his Iust doome, what zeale to you wee owe.

Exit K. & Isa.
Bona.
Is this Trueth's merit? Can the Court find place
For none but flatterers, and must I be made
The first example of her Tyrannie?
Shall I be made a president through Spaine,
To deterre men from speaking in the Court
What 's Iust and honest? Nay, wee terme this law,
Or meere oppression. What an Infinite taske
Am I confin'd too? One as vertuous
No Cloister scarce but could supply me with,
And never travell further; but the doubt is,
Whether it harbour in so smooth a skinne;
As faire a face, I might with ease produce,
But Where's the Vertue then? since few there are
That weare both these ascriptions, Chaste, and fayre:
In all his twelue great labours, Hercules
Was not thus task'd by Iuno.

Enter the Clowne.
Clow.

Ill newes flies apace, and hath pluck't mee by the eares
already, well, whosoever pronounc'd that sentence; I hope no
body heares mee: I would his Portugall skinne were tann'd into
Spanish Leather, and either cut into some slovenly Boote, to
be dabled in the durt without a Galoach, or snip'd into a Saint
Martines Ierkin, that never came within the sent of a perfumers
shoppe.

Bona.
Had shee propos'd to find her match for pride,
There had binne then no helpe, no hope at all;
For that had bin the harder taske of two.

Clow.

In stead of confin'd had his doome beene to have been
coffin'd, there had beene some comfort, he might have still kept
his Country, but in plaine Portenguise and Spanish, both banisht

Bona.

I am sure thou hearest the newes.

Clow.

How can I chuse, being in the mouth of every Diego,
which I no sooner heard, but I so sought that I might finde you,
and so finde you neuer hereafter to lose you, for without you
this is no place for mee, and without mee no Country can bee a
Country for you. And so a Figge for Spaine, and a Prune for
Portugall.

Bona.
I both accept and will reward thy love,
If ere my Fate be to revisite home.
First these, then severall Countries we will trie,
To finde out this choyse peece.

Clow.
That's you and I.

Exeunt
Enter Petrocella, Aldana her father.
Ald.

Why how! mistris daughter, have you conquered the
West Indies, that you weare a gold Mine on your backe, this
wearing will make your fathers revenewes shrink.

Petr.

Ile be so bold as stretch them on the tenters and they do

Ald.

Y'are a good Iewell the whilst.

Petr.

And Iewels must be set in gold father, Ile not lose the
least dram of my lustre.

Ald.

You will not, and to what end suits all this bravery pray?

Petr.

To a good end if my Ayme bee steady. Heare you the
Newes at Court.

Ald.

Of Valladauraes fight at Sea; is this golden baite for him?

Petr.

'Las poore Sea-calfe: 'tis not his love I angle for, I fish
deeper streames and for a richer draught, have you not heard of
Bonavida's fortunes?

Ald.

To parallell the Queene in beauty and vertue? which he
can never doe.

Petr.

Which he may easily doe, her Prerogative of birth set
apart what blemish doe you see in mee that I may not bee the
woman?

Ald.

Thou foolish girle: then compare a Glow-worme

with a Starre, a Starre with the Sunne.

Petr.

And the Sunne with a Burning glasse: Come, come,
you 're dim-sighted Father, could you see with my eyes, and
judge with my understanding, your comparison would hold
è contrario I assure you: thy hasty newes?

Enter servant.
Ser.

A Noble Gentleman—

Petr.

Would speake with mee; (Bonavide in my Conscience)
Is't not so fellow?

Ser.

I am not familliar with his name: He is of a noble aspect.

Petr.

It can be none but hee, give mee fresh ornaments, see
your errour now father, Cupid and Venus, rich and new attires:
Bonavide come? live in my cheeke sweet beauty: Eloquence attend
my tongue, and perfection my behaviour: Came hee on
horsebacke or Caroach't.

Ser.

Neither of either. He is new come from Sea.

Petr.

Certainely he having lost his labour in forraine search
he meetes his hopes at home, the more my honour still: flye and
admit him. Your Counsell father, shall I seeme strange or familiar,
wanton or serious, affable or peevish, I am as full of humors
as an April day of variety, how shall I beare my selfe?

Ald.

Ene in the mid'st meane, daughter, or let me see and thou
wilt be ruld by me, beare thy selfe—E'ne how thou wilt, provided
it be to thine owne profit, and my further honour: Noble
Bonavide has Valladaur a Daughter? do you know this gallant?

Petr.

Valladaura I hate, this gentleman acquainted with my
beauty, reveald it to Bonavide: Sir you have bound mee to you,
and comes to usher him to my presence.

Ald.
Marry and wellcome, my further honour still.

Petr.
We stay his comming, pray Sir so returne him.

Vall.
Whose comming?

Petr.
His, your Masters Bonavides.

Vall.
You speake Riddles to me.

Petr.
Be your owne OEdipus and dissolve them then.

Ald.
Come not you Nuntius from Bonavida Sir?

Vall.
I am mine owne Nuntius and my Errand's love.

Ald.
I heare no hurt, my further honour still.

Vall.
Which I am come in person to deliver
To this rare beauty.

Ald.
Honour upon honour.

Petr.

My fortunes flie of to strong a wing, to stoope so low
a pitch, is not Bonavida come yet?

Ald.

As much as ere he will I thinke, Valladauras a prettie
piece of flesh ceaze him: play not Esops cur, lose not the substance
in expectation of the shadow: 'tis a dog trick many Ladies have
practis'd: bosome him, doe.

Petr.

What, this meane creature?

Ald.

And he were meaner, so thou getst profit, and thy father
honour by't.

Vall.

Are all my hopes repaid with scorne?

Ald.

He begins to recoyle, clap him close to thy breast, hee's
gone else.

Petr.
Nay, Valladaura.

Vall.
Have I laid out more breath
In sacrificing vowes, and fruitlesse Sonnets
Vnto that beautious shrine, than ere man did?

Petr.

Come, be not passionate, though I know both my worth
and beauty, and understand what Orbe they move into? I am
not so much infected with that same Court-sicknesse Philantia,
or selfe-love, to scorne the service of any generous Spirit.

Ald.

How, neither for thy profit, nor thy fathers honour?

Petr.

In sober conference then, what bounded service, have you
ever done my beauty, that may challenge the least interest in
my love?

Vall.
As many as man can, I writ my selfe
(And truly) lover ere I could write man,
Passing my service as a star, where she
The blest Jdea of thy glorious feature,
Drawne by the curious working of my thoughts,
Gave me the better, I put out to Sea,
And there—

Petr.
What did you?

Ald.
For thy honour now; what didst at Sea?

Vall.
As much as any man—

Ald.
That did no more than thou didst, thy further honor stil.

Vall.
Somewhat I did: but what, let these deepe wounds
Vndrest and unbound up deliver.

Petr.

They are tonguetide, and cannot speak for blushing, pretty
ornaments for a souldier, how came you by them tro? honestly

Vall.
As noble Hector did by his, but by
An enemy farre more valiant than his.

Ald.
I like that well, thy further honour still.

Vall.
At Sea I met with a bold man of war,
And somewhat more, an Englishman: Oh had
Your eye (but fate denied that blessednesse)
Witnest our bearing, and how far the thought
Of you and your rare beauty carried me
Above my strength.

Petr.

I should have said what you are forc't to acknowledge
that my beauty had been the better man.

Ald.

I am proud of that, my further honour still.

Pe.

All this while you are beholding to my beauty, & I nothing
in debt to your valour, which for ought I gather, is nothing at all

Vall.
Nothing? to enter, and hold single combat
With such a daring opposite, nothing, to take
These dangerous wounds, and bring 'em home undrest?

Petr.

'Twas I confesse somewhat to take these wounds, yet in
my minde he that gives the cognizance has more reason to boast
of it, than hee that weares it: shew mee the man that gave you
these wounds and I'le commend his valour.

Ald.

For giving of 'em? Knight there's small honour in taking
of 'em though in my judgement, but what was he?

Vall.

A man whose noble valour I must speake.

Petr.

Good reason, he has paid you soundly for't afore hand.

Vall.

In love and honour I shall ever serve him.

Petr.

So I thought, for you weare a livery of his, cut to the skin
and lin'd with Crimson: had you gin't him, I should have tane
you for the Master. But pardon me, I soare too high for a serving-man,
your eare, I am modest, away, hie to the suburbes, bribe
some honest Barbarsurgeon to wash off your dishonor and heale
your infamy.

That done once, learne this tenet of the war,
The honour's more to give than weare a scar.
Each coward may doe that.

Exit.
Vall.
'Tis not my fate but mine owne imperfection,
That makes the act in it selfe good and laudable,
Ill and distastfull, were my services
Done by some other, they must needs become
And grace the owner, were my words deliv'rd
From any tongue but mine, they could not choose
But win attention: Had my love beene bred
In any breast but mine, it could not thus
Be scorn'd and bafled. I of all the world
Am most infortunate, neither act, word, or love
Can please your audience, or compassion move.

Exit.