 | The Widdovves Teares |  |
Actus Quarti.
Scœna Prima.
Tharsalio, Lycus, with his Arme in a skarfe, a night-cap on's head.Lyc.
I hope Sir by this time.
Thar.
Put on man, by our selues.
Lyc.
The edge of your confidence is well taken off;
would you not bee content to with-draw your
Thar.
Faith fellow Lycus, if my wager were weakely
built, this vnexpected accident might stagger it. For the
truth is, this strain is extraordinarie, to follow her husbands
bodie into the Tombe, and there for his companie to burie
her selfe quick: it's new and stirring, but for all this, Ile not
despaire of my wager.
Lyc.
Why Sir, can you thinke such a passion dissembl'd?
Thar.
All's one for that, What I thinke I thinke; In the
meane time forget not to write to my Brother, how the
plot hath succeeded, that the newes of his death hath taken;
a funerall solemnitie perform'd, his suppos'd Corse
bestow'd in the monument of our Familie, thou and I horrible
mourners: But aboue all that his intollerable vertuous
Widow, for his loue; (and for her loue) Ero her hand-maid,
are discended with his Corse into the vault; There wipe
their eies time out of minde, drinke nothing but their own
teares, and by this time are almost dead with famine.
There's a point will sting it (for you say tis true) where left
you him?
Lyc.
At Dipolis Sir, some twentie miles hence.
Thar.
He keepes close.
Lyc.
I sir, by all meanes; skulks unknowne vnder the
name of a strange Knight.
Thar.
That may carrie him without discrying, for there's
a number of strange Knights abroad. You left him well.
Lyc.
Well Sir, but for this iealous humour that hants
him.
Thar.
Well, this newes will absolutely purge that humor.
Write all, forget not to describe her passion at thy discouerie
of his slaughter: did shee performe it well for her husbands
wager?
Lyc.
Performe it, call you it? you may iest; men hunt
Hares to death for their sports, but the poore beasts die in
earnest: you wager of her passions for your pleasure, but
shee takes little pleasure in those earnest passions. I neuer
saw such an extasie of sorrow, since I knew the name of
her beauties in her discheuel'd haire, & wept as she would
turne fountaine. I would you and her husband had beene
behind the Arras but to haue heard her. I assure you Sir,
I was so transported with the spectacle, that in despight of
my discretion, I was forc't to turne woman, and beare a
part with her. Humanitie broke loose from my heart, and
stream'd through mine eies.
Thar.
In prose, thou weptst. So haue I seen many a moist
Auditor doe at a play; when the storie was but a meere fiction:
And didst act the Nuntius well, would I had heard
it: could'st thou dresse thy lookes in a mournefull habite?
Lyc.
Not without preparation Sir; no more then my
speech, twas a plaine acting of an enterlude to me, to pronounce
the part.
Thar.
As how for heauens sake?
Lyc.
Phœbus addrest his chariot towards the West
To change his wearied Coursers, and so forth.
Thar.
Nay on, and thou lou'st me.
Lyc.
Lysander and my selfe beguild the way
With enterchang'd discourse, but our chiefe Theame,
Was of your dearest selfe, his honour'd wife;
Your loue, your vertue, wondrous constancie.
Thar.
Then was her Cu to whimper; on.
Lyc.
When sodainly appear'd as far as sight
A troope of horse, arm'd as we might descerne,
With Iauelines, Speares, and such accoutrements.
He doubted nought (As Innocencie euer
Is free from doubting ill.)
Thar.
There dropt a teare.
Lyc.
My minde misgaue me.
They might be mountaners. At their approch
They vs'd no other language but their weapons,
To tell vs what they were; Lysander drew,
And bore himselfe Achilles like in fight,
And as a Mower sweepes off t'heads of Bents,
So did Lysanders sword shaue off the points
His horse at last, sore hurt, fell under him;
I seeing I could not rescue, vs'd my spurres
To flie away.
Thar.
What from thy friend?
Lyc.
I in a good quarrell, why not?
Thar.
Good; I am answer'd.
Lyc.
A lance pursued me, brought me back againe;
And with these wounds left me t'accompanie
Dying Lysander: Then they rifl'd vs,
And left vs.
They gone; my breath not yet gone, gan to striue
And reuiue sense: I with my feeble ioynts
Crawl'd to Lysander, stirr'd him, and withall
He gaspt; cried Cynthia! and breath'd no more.
Thar.
O then shee howl'd out right.
Lyc.
Passengers came and in a Chariot brought vs
Streight to a Neighbour Towne; where I forthwith
Coffind my friend in leade; and so conuaid him
To this sad place.
Thar.
'Twas well; and could not show but strangely.
Lyc.
Well Sir, This tale pronounc't with terrour, suited
with action clothed with such likely circumstance; My
wounds in shew, her husbands herse in sight, thinke what
effect it wrought: And if you doubt, let the sad consequence
of her retreat to his Tombe, bee your wofull instructer.
Thar.
For all this, Ile not despaire of my wager: These
Grieues that sound so lowd, proue alwaies light,
True sorrow euermore keepes out of sight.
This straine of mourning with Sepulcher, like an ouer-doing
Actor, affects grosly, and is indeede so farre forc't from
the life, that it bewraies it selfe to be altogether artificiall.
To set open a shop of mourning! Tis palpable.
Truth, the substance, hunts not after the shadow of popular
Fame. Her officious ostentation of sorrow condemnes her
sinceritie. When did euer woman mourne so vnmeasurably,
Lyc.
O Gods! a passion thus borne; thus apparell'd with
teares, sighes, swownings, and all the badges of true sorrow,
to be dissembl'd! by Uenus I am sorrie I euer set
foot in't. Could shee, if shee dissembl'd, thus dally with
hunger, be deafe to the barking of her appetite, not hauing
these foure daies relieu'd nature with one dramme of sustenance.
Thar.
For this does shee looke to bee Deified, to haue
Hymnes made of her, nay to her: The Tomb where she is
to be no more reputed the ancient monument of our Familie
the Lysandri; but the new erected Altar of Cynthia: To
which all the Paphian widdowes shall after their husbands
Funeralls, offer their wet muckinders, for monuments of
the danger they haue past, as Sea-men doe their wet garments
at Neptunes Temple after a ship wracke.
Lyc.
Well, Ile apprehend you, at your pleasure: I for my
part will say; that if her faith bee as constant as her loue is
heartie, and unaffected, her vertues may iustly challenge a
Deitie to enshrine them.
Thar.
I, there's an other point too. But one of those vertues
is enough at once. All natures are not capable of all
gifts. If the braine of the West, were in the heads of the
learned; then might Parish-Clerkes be common counsaile
men, and Poets Aldermens deputies. My sister may turne
Niobe for loue; but till Niobe bee turn'd to a Marble, Ile
not despaire but shee may proue a woman. Let the triall
runne on, if shee doe not out-runne it, Ile say Poets are no
Prophets, Prognosticators are but Mountibankes, & none
tell true but wood-mongers.
Exit.
Lyc.
A sweet Gentleman you are. I meruaile what man?
what woman? what name? what action doth his tongue
glide ouer, but it leaues a slime vpon't. Well, Ile presently
to Dipolis, where Lysander staies; and will not say but
shee may proue fraile: But this Ile say, If she should chance
to breake, Her teares are true, though womens truths are
weake.
Exit.
[Lys.]
O miracle of nature! womens glorie;
Mens shame; and enuie of the Deities!
Yet must these matchlesse creatures be suspected;
Accus'd; condemn'd!
Now by th'immortall Gods,
They rather merit Altars, Sacrifice,
Then loue and courtship.
Yet see the Queene of these lies here interred;
Tearing her haire; and drowned in her teares.
Which Ioue should turne to Christall; and a Mirrour
Make of them; wherein men may see and wonder
At womens vertues. Shall shee famish then?
Will men (without disswasions) suffer thus
So bright an Ornament to earth, tomb'd quick.
In Earths darke bosome: Ho!
Who's in the Tombe there?
Ero.
Who calls? whence are you?
Lys.
I am a Souldier of the watch and must enter.
Ero.
Amongst the dead?
Lys.
Doe the dead speake? ope or Ile force it open.
Ero.
What violence is this? what seeke you here
Where nought but death and her attendants dwell.
Lys.
What wretched soules are you that thus by night
lurke here amongst the dead?
Ero.
Good Souldier doe not stirre her,
Shee's weake, and quickly seiz'd with swowning and passions,
and with much trouble shall we both recall her fainting
spirits.
Fiue daies thus hath shee wasted; and not once season'd
her Pallate with the tast of meate; her powers of life
are spent; and what remaines of her famisht spirit, serues
not to breath but sigh.
She hath exil'd her eies from sleepe, or sight, and giuen
them wholly up to ceaselesse teares ouer that ruthfull herse
Lysander.
Lysand.
And hopes shee with these heauie notes and cries
to call him from the dead? in these fiue daies hath shee but
made him stirre a finger or fetch one gasp of that forsaken
life shee mournes?
But must reproue this vaine excesse of mone;
Rowse your selfe Ladie, and looke vp from death,
Well said, tis well; stay by my hand and rise.
This Face hath beene maintain'd with better huswiferie.
Cyn.
What are you?
Lys.
Ladie, I am Sentinell,
Set in this hallowed place, to watch and guard
On forfait of my life, these monuments
From Rape, and spoil'd of sacrilegious handes,
And saue the bodies, that without you see
Of crucified offenders; that no friends
May beare them hence, to honour'd buriall.
Cyn.
Thou seem'st an honest Souldier; pray thee then
Be as thou seem'st; betake thee to thy charge
And leaue this place; adde not affliction
To the afflicted.
Lys.
You misname the children.
For what you terme affliction now, in you
Is but selfe-humour; voluntarie Penance
Impos'd vpon your selfe: and you lament
As did the Satyre once, that ran affrighted
From that hornes sound that he himselfe had winded.
Which humor to abate, my counsaile tending your term'd affliction,
What I for Phisicke giue, you take for poison.
I tell you honour'd Mistris, these ingredients
Are wholesome, though perhaps they seeme vntoothsome.
Ero.
This Souldier sure, is some decai'd pothecarie.
Lys.
Deere Ghost be wise, and pittie your faire selfe
Thus, by your selfe vnnaturally afflicted:
Restore them to their first creation:
Windowes for light; not sluces made for teares.
Beate not the senselesse aire with needlesse cries,
Banefull to life, and bootlesse to the dead.
This is the Inne, where all Deucalions race
Sooner or later, must take vp their lodging;
No priuiledge can free vs from this prison;
No teares, no praiers, can redeeme from hence
A captiu'd soule; Make vse of what you see:
Let this affrighting spectacle of death
Teach you to nourish life.
Ero.
Good heare him: this is a rare Souldier.
Lysan.
Say that with abstinence you should vnlose the knot
of life: Suppose that in this Tombe for your deare Spouse,
you should entomb your selfe a liuing Corse; Say that before
your houre without due Summons from the Fates, you
send your hastie soule to hell: can your deare Spouse take
notice of your faith and constancie? Shall your deare
Spouse reuiue to giue you thankes?
Cynth.
Idle discourser.
Lysan.
No, your moanes are idle.
Goe to I say, be counsail'd; raise your selfe:
Enioy the fruits of life, there's viands for you,
Now, liue for a better husband.
No? will you none?
Ero.
For loue of courtesie, good Mistris, eate,
Doe not reiect so kinde and sweet an offer,
Who knowes but this may be some Mercurie
Disguis'de, and sent from Iuno to relieue vs?
Did euer any lend unwilling eares
To those that came with messages of life?
Cynth.
I pray thee leaue thy Rhetorique.
Ero.
By my soule; to speake plaine truth, I could rather
wish t'employ my teeth then my tongue, so your example
would be my warrant.
Cynth.
Thou hast my warrant.
Well then, eate my wench,
Let obstinacie starue.
Fall to.
Ero.
Perswade my Mistris first.
Lysand.
Slight tell me Ladie,
Are you resolu'd to die? If that be so,
Choose not (for shame) a base, and beggars death:
Die not for hunger, like a Spartane Ladie;
Fall valiantly vpon a sword, or drinke
Noble death, expell your griefe with poison,
There 'tis, seize it.—Tush you dare not die.
Come Wench thou hast not lost a husband;
Thou shalt eate, th'art now within
The place where I command.
Ero.
I protest sir.
Lys.
Well said; eate, and protest, or Ile protest
And doe thou eate; thou eat'st against thy will,
That's it thou would'st say.
Ero.
It is.
Lys.
And under such a protestation
Thou lost' thy Maiden-head.
For your owne sake good Ladie forget this husband,
Come you are now become a happy Widdow,
A blessednesse that many would be glad of.
That and your hvsbands Inuentorie together,
Will raise you vp husbands enow.
What thinke you of me?
Cynth.
Trifler, pursie this wanton Theame no further;
Lest (which I would be loth) your speech prouoke
Vnciuill language from me; I must tell you,
One ioynt of him I lost, was much more worth
Then the rackt valew of thy entire bodie.
Ero.
O know what ioynt shee meanes.
Lys.
Well, I haue done.
And well done frailtie; proface, how lik'st thou it.
Ero.
Very toothsome Ingrediens surely sir,
Want but some lycor to incorporate them.
There tis, carouse.
Ero.
I humbly thanke you Sir.
Lys.
Hold pledge me now.
Ero.
Tis the poison Sir,
That preserues life, I take it.
bibit Ancill.
Lys.
Doe so, take it.
Ero.
Sighing has made me somthing short-winded.
Ile pledge y'at twice.
Lys.
Tis well done; doe me right.
Ero.
I pray sir, haue you beene a Pothecarie?
Lys.
Marrie haue I wench; A womans Pothecarie.
Ero.
Haue you good Ingredients?
I like your Bottle well. Good Mistris tast it.
Trie but the operation, twill fetch vp
The Roses in your cheekes againe.
Doctor Verolles bottles are not like it;
There's no Guaicum here, I can assure you.
Lys.
This will doe well anone.
Ero.
Now fie vpon't.
O I haue lost my tongue in this same lymbo.
The spring ants, spoil'd me thinkes; it goes not off
With the old twange.
Lys.
Well said wench, oile it well; twill make it slide well.
Ero.
Aristotle saies sir, in his Posterionds.
Lys.
This wench is learned; And what sales he?
Ero.
That when a man dies, the last thing that moues is
his heart, in a woman her tongue.
Lys.
Right; and addes further, that you women are a kind
of spinners; if their legs be pluckt off, yet still they'le wag
them; so will you your tongues.
Of women, slip from one extreame t'another?
All these attractions take no hold of her;
No not to take refection; 'T must not be thus.
Well said wench; Tickle that Helicon.
But shall we quit the field with this disgrace
Giuen to our Oratorie? Both not gaine
Ero.
Faith the truth is sir; you are no fit Organe
For this businesse;
Tis quite out of your Element:
Let vs alone, sheele eate I haue no feare;
A womans tongue best fits a womans eare.
Ioue neuer did employ Mercurie,
But Iris for his Messenger to Iuno.
Lys.
Come, let me kisse thee wench; wilt vndertake
To make thy Mistris eate?
Ero.
It shall goe hard Sir
But I will make her turne flesh and bloud,
And learne to liue as other mortalls doe.
Lys.
Well said: the morning hasts; next night expect me.
Ero.
With more prouision good Sir.
Lys.
Very good.
Exiturus.
Ero.
And bring more wine.
Shee shuts vp the Tomb.
Lys.
What else; shalt haue enough:
O Cynthia, heire of her bright puritie,
Whose name thou dost inherit; Thow disdainst
(Seuer'd from all concretion) to feede
Vpon the base foode of grosse Elements.
Thou all art soule; All immortalitie.
Thou fasts for Nectar and Ambrosia,
Which till thou find'st, and eat'st aboue the starres,
To all foode here thou bidd'st celestiall warrs.
Exit.
Cynthia, Ero, the Tomb opening.
Ero.
So; lets aire our dampish spirits, almost stifl'd in this
grose muddie Element.
Cyn.
How sweet a breath the calmnesse of the night inspires
the aire withall?
Ero.
Well said; Now y'are your selfe: did not I tell you
how sweet an operation the Souldiers bottle had? And if
there be such vertue in the bottle; what is there in the
Souldier? know, and acknowledge his worth when hee
comes in any case Mistris.
Cyn.
So Maide.
Gods my patience? did you looke forsooth that Iuno
should haue sent you meate from her owne Trencher, in
reward of your widdowes teares? you might sit and sigh
first till your heart-strings broke, Ile able't.
Cyn.
I feare me thy lips haue gone so oft to the bottle, that
thy tongue-strings are come broken home.
Ero.
Faith the truth is, my tongue hath beene so long tied
vp, that tis couer'd with rust, & I rub it against my pallat as
wee doe suspected coines, to trie whether it bee currant
or no. But now Mistris for an vpshot of this bottle; let's
haue one carouse to the good speede of my old Master, and
the good speede of my new.
Cyn.
So Damzell.
Ero.
You must pledge it, here's to it. Doe me right I pray.
Cyn.
You say I must.
Ero.
Must? what else?
Cyn.
How excellent ill this humour suites our habite?
Ero.
Go to Mistris, do not thinke but you and I shall haue
good sport with this iest, when we are in priuate at home.
I would to Venus we had some honest shift or other to get
off withall; for Ile no more ant; Ile not turne Salt-peeter
in this uault for neuer a mans companie liuing; much lesse
for a womans. Sure I am the wonder's ouer, and 'twas only
for that, that I endur'd this; and so a my conscience did
you. Neuer denie it.
Cyn.
Nay pray thee take it to thee.
Enter Lysander.
Cyn.
Hearke I heare some footing neare vs.
Ero.
Gods me 'tis the Souldier Mistris, by Venvs if you
fall to your late black Santus againe, Ile discouer you.
Lys.
What's here? The maid hath certainly preuail'd with
her; mee thinkes those cloudes that last night couer'd her
lookes are now disperst: Ile trie this further. Saue you Lady.
Ero.
Honorable Souldier? y'are welcome; please you step
in sir?
Lys.
With all my heart sweet heart; by your patience Ladie;
why this beares some shape of life yet. Damzell, th'ast
vnrewarded.
Ero.
Faith Sir, you are in the way to doe it once, if you
haue the heart to hold on.
Cyn.
Your bottle has poisond this wench sir.
Lys.
A wholsome poison it is Ladie, if I may be iudge; of
which sort here is one better bottle more.
Whom wofull starres distemper; let him drinke.
I am most glad I haue beene some meane to this part of
your recouerie, and will drinke to the rest of it.
Ero.
Goe to Mistris, pray simper no more; pledge the
man of Warre here.
Cyn.
Come y'are too rude.
Ero.
Good.
Lys.
Good sooth Ladie y'are honour'd in her seruice; I
would haue you liue, and shee would haue you liue freely;
without which life is but death. To liue freely is to feast
our appetites freely; without which humanes are stones; to
the satisfaction whereof I drinke Ladie.
Cyn.
Ile pledge you Sir.
Ero.
Said like a Mistris; and the Mistris of your selfe;
pledge him in loue too: I see hee loues you; Shee's silent,
shee consents sir.
Lys.
O happy starres. And now pardon Ladie; me thinks
these are all of a peece.
Ero.
Nay, if you kisse all of a peece wee shall n'ere haue
done: Well twas well offer'd, and as well taken.
Cyn.
If the world should see this.
Lys.
The world! should one so rare as your selfe, respect
the vulgar world?
Cyn.
The praise I haue had, I would continue.
Lys.
What of the vulgar? Who hates not the vulgar, deserues
not loue of the vertuous. And to affect praise of that
we despite, how ridiculous it is?
Ero.
Comfortable doctrine Mistris, edifie, edifie.
Me thinkes euen thus it was when Dido
Me thinks I heare some of the hunters.
She shuts the tomb.
| The Widdovves Teares | |