 | Bussy D'Ambois, [1607] |  |
Actus primi
Scena prima.
Bussysolus.
Fortune, not Reason, rules the state of things,
Reward goes backwards, Honor on his head;
Who is not poore, is monstrous; only Need
Giues forme & worth to euery humane seed.
As Cedars beaten with incessant stormes,
So great men flourish; and doe imitate
Vnskilfull statuaries, who suppose
(In forging a Colossus) if they make him
Stroddle enough, stroote, and looke big, and gape,
Their worke is goodly: so our Tympanouse statists
(In their affected grauitie of voice,
Sowernesse of countenance, maners crueltie,
Authoritie, wealth, and all the spawne of Fortune)
Thinke they beare all the kingdomes worth before them;
Yet differ not from those Colossicke Statues,
Which with Heroique formes, without o'respread,
Within are nought but morter, flint and lead.
Man is a Torch borne in the winde; a Dreame
But of a shadow, summ'd with all his substance;
And as great Seamen vsing all their powers
And skils in Neptunes deepe inuisible pathes,
In tall ships richly built and ribd with brasse,
To put a Girdle round about the world,
Are glad to giue a warning peece, and call
A poore staid fisher-man, that neuer past
His Contries sight, to waft and guide them in:
So when we wander furthest through the waues
Of Glassie Glorie and the Gulfes of State,
Topt with all Titles, spreading all our reaches,
As if each priuate Arme would sphere the world;
Wee must to vertue for her guide resort,
Or wee shall shipwracke in our safest Port.
Procumbit.
Monsieur
with two Pages.
There is no second place in Numerous State
That holds more than a Cypher: In a King
All places are contain'd. His words and lookes
Are like the flashes and the bolts of Ioue,
His deedes inimitable, like the Sea
That shuts still as it opes, and leaues no tracts,
Nor prints of President for poore mens facts:
There's but a Thred betwixt me and a Croune;
I would not wish it cut, vnlesse by nature;
Yet to prepare mee for that likely Fortune,
Tis fit I get resolued spirits about mee.
I followd D'Ambois to this greene Retreat;
A man of spirit beyond the reach of feare,
Who (discontent with his neglected worth)
Neglects the light, and loues obscure Abodes;
But he is yoong and haughtie, apt to take
Fire at aduancement, to beare state and flourish;
In his Rise therefore shall my bounties shine:
None lothes the world so much, nor loues to scoffe it,
But gold and grace will make him surfet of it.
What, D'Ambois?
Buss.
He sir.
Mons.
Turn'd to Earth, aliue?
Vp man, the Sunne shines on thee.
Buss.
Let it shine.
I am no more to play in't, as great men are.
Think'st thou men great in state, motes in the sunne?
They say so that would haue thee freeze in shades,
That (like the grosse Sicilian Gurmundist)
Emptie their Noses in the Cates they loue,
That none may eat but they. Do thou but bring
Light to the Banquet Fortune sets before thee,
And thou wilt loth leane Darkenesse like thy Death.
Who would beleeue thy Mettall could let sloth
Rust and consume it? If Themistocles
Had liued obscur'd thus in th'Athenian state,
Xerxes had made both him and it his slaues.
If braue Camillus had lurckt so in Rome,
He had not fiue times beene dictator there,
Nor foure times triumpht. If Epaminondas
(Who liu'd twice twentie yeeres obscur'd in Thebs)
Had liu'd so still, he had beene still vnnam'd,
And paid his Countrie nor himselfe their right:
But putting foorth his strength, he rescude both
From imminent ruine; and like Burnisht Steele,
After long vse he shin'd; for as the light
Not only serues to shew, but render vs
Mutually profitable; so our liues
In acts exemplarie, not only winne
Our selues good Names, but doth to others giue
Matter for vertuous Deedes, by which wee liue.
Buss.
What would you wish me doe?
Mons.
Leaue the troubled streames,
And liue as Thriuers doe at the Well head.
Buss.
At the Well head? Alas what should I doe
With that enchanted Glasse? See diuels there?
Or (like a strumpet) learne to set my lookes
In an eternall Brake, or practise iuggling,
To keepe my face still fast, my hart still loose;
Or beare (like Dames Schoolemistresses their Riddles)
Two Tongues, and be good only for a shift;
Flatter great Lords, to put them still in minde
Why they were made Lords: or please portly Ladies
With a good carriage, tell them idle Tales,
In sights and visitations, that will make
His eies as hollow as his Mistresse heart:
To doe none good, but those that haue no neede;
To gaine being forward, though you breake for haste
All the Commandements ere you breake your fast?
But Beleeue backewards, make your Period
And Creedes last Article; I beleeue in God:
And (hearing villanies preacht) t'vnfold their Art
Learne to commit them, Tis a great mans Part.
Shall I learne this there?
Mons.
No, thou needst not learne,
Thou hast the Theorie, now goe there and practise.
Buss.
I, in a thridbare suit; when men come there,
They must haue high Naps, and goe from thence bare:
A man may drowne the parts of ten rich men
In one poore suit; Braue Barks, and outward Glosse
Attract Court eies, be in parts ne're so grosse.
Mons.
Thou shalt haue Glosse enough, and all things fit
T'enchase in all shew, thy long smothered spirit:
Be rul'd by me then. The rude Scythians
Painted blinde Fortunes powerfull hands with wings,
To shew her gifts come swift and suddenly,
Which if her Fauorite be not swift to take,
He loses them foreuer. Then be rul'd:
Stay but a while heere, and I'le send to thee.
Exit Mons. Manet Buss.
Buss.
What will he send? some Crounes? It is to sow them
Vpon my spirit, and make them spring a Croune
Worth Millions of the seede Crounes he will send:
But hee's no husband heere; A smooth plaine ground
Will neuer nourish any politicke seede;
I am for honest Actions, not for great:
If I may bring vp a new fashion,
And rise in Court with vertue; speede his plow:
The King hath knowne me long as well as hee,
Yet could my Fortune neuer fit the length
Of both their vnderstandings till this houre.
There is a deepe nicke in times restlesse wheele
As Rhetoricke, yet workes not perswasion,
But only is a meane to make it worke:
So no man riseth by his reall merit,
But when it cries Clincke in his Raisers spirit:
Many will say, that cannot rise at all,
Mans first houres rise, is first steppe to his fall.
Il'e venture that; men that fall low must die,
As well as men cast headlong from the skie.
Ent. Maffe.
Humor of Princes. Is this man indu'd
With any merit worth a thousand Crounes?
Will my Lord haue me be so ill a Steward
Of his Reuenue, to dispose a summe
So great with so small cause as shewes in him?
I must examine this: Is your name D'Ambois?
Buss.
Sir.
Maff.
Is your name D'Ambois?
Buss.
Who haue wee heere?
Serue you the Monsieur?
Maff.
How?
Buss.
Serue you the Monsieur?
Maff.
Sir, y'are very hot. I serue the Monsieur;
But in such place as giues me the Command
Of all his other seruants: And because
His Graces pleasure is, to giue your good
A Passe through my Command; Me thinks you might
Vse me with more good fashion.
Buss.
Crie you mercie.
Now you haue opened my dull eies, I see you;
And would be glad to see the good you speake of:
What might I call your name?
Maff.
Monsieur Maffe.
Buss.
Monsieur Maffe? Then good Monsieur Maffe,
Pray let me know you better.
Maff.
Pray doe so,
That you may vse me better, For your selfe,
To be a Poet; Haue you giuen my Lord
Some Pamphlet?
Buss.
Pamphlet?
Maff.
Pamphlet sir, I say.
Buss.
Did his wise excellencie leaue the good
That is to passe your charge, to my poore vse,
To your discretion?
Maff.
Though he did not sir,
I hope tis no bad office to aske reason,
How that his grace giues mee in charge, goes from me?
Buss.
That's very perfect sir.
Maff.
Why very good sir;
I pray then giue me leaue: If for no Pamphlet,
May I not know what other merit in you,
Makes his compunction willing to relieue you?
Buss.
No merit in the world sir.
Maff.
That is strange.
Y'are a poore souldier, are you?
Buss.
That I am sir.
Maff.
And haue Commanded?
Buss.
I, and gone without sir.
Maff.
I see the man: A hundred Crounes will make him
Swagger, and drinke healths to his highnes bountie;
And sweare he could not be more bountifull.
So ther's nine hundred Crounes, saft; heere tall souldier,
His grace hath sent you a whole hundred Crounes.
Buss.
A hundred sir? naie doe his Highnes right;
I know his hand is larger, and perhaps
I may deserue more than my outside shewes:
I am a scholar, as I am a souldier,
And I can Poetise; and (being well encourag'd)
May sing his Fame for giuing; yours for deliuering
(Like a most faithfull Steward) what he giues.
Maff.
What shall your subiect be?
Buss.
I care not much,
If to his excellence I sing the praise
Of faire great Noses, And to your Deserts
What Qualities haue you sir (beside your chaine
And veluet Iacket) Can your worship dance?
Maff.
A merrie Fellow faith: It seemes my Lord
Will haue him for his Iester; And beleeue it,
Such men are now no fooles, Tis a Knights place:
If I (to saue my Lord some Crounes) should vrge him
T'abate his Bountie, I should not be heard;
I would to heauen I were an errant Asse,
For then I should be sure to haue the Eares
Of these great men, where now their Iesters haue them:
Tis good to please him, yet Ile take no notice
Of his preferment, but in policie
Will still be graue and serious, lest he thinke
I feare his wodden dagger: Heere sir Ambo,
A thousand Crounes I bring you from my Lord;
Serue God, play the good husband, you may make
This a good standing liuing, Tis a Bountie,
His Highnes might perhaps haue bestow'd better.
D'Amb.
Goe, y'are a Rascall; hence, Away you Rogue.
Maff.
What meane you sir?
D'Amb.
Hence; prate no more;
Or by thy villans blood thou prat'st thy last:
A Barbarous Groome, grudge at his masters Bountie:
But since I know he would as much abhorre
His hinde should argue what he giues his friend,
Take that Sir, for your aptnesse to dispute.
Exit.
Maff.
These Crounes are sown in blood, blood be their fruit.
Exit.
Henry, Guise, Montsurry, Elenor, Tamyra, Beaupre, Pero, Charlotte, Pyr, Annable.
Henr.
Dutchesse of Guise, your Grace is much enricht,
In the attendance of this English virgin,
That will initiate her Prime of youth,
(Dispos'd to Court conditions) vnder hand
Of your preferd instructions and Command,
Whose Ladies are not matcht in Christendome,
For gracefull and confirm'd behauiours;
More than the Court, where they are bred is equall'd.
Guis.
I like not their Court forme, it is too crestfalne,
In all obseruance; making Semi-gods
Of their great Nobles; and of their old Queene
An euer-yoong, and most immortall Goddesse.
Henr.
Assure you Cosen Guise, so great a Courtier,
So full of maiestie and Roiall parts,
No Queene in Christendome may boast her selfe,
Her Court approoues it, Thats a Court indeede;
Not mixt with Rudenesse vs'd in common houses;
But, as Courts should be th'abstracts of their kingdomes,
In all the Beautie, State, and Worth they hold;
So is hers, amplie, and by her inform'd.
The world is not contracted in a man,
With more proportion and expression
Than in her Court, her Kingdome: Our French Court
Is a meere mirror of confusion to it:
The King and subiect, Lord and euerie slaue
Dance a continuall Haie; Our Roomes of State,
Kept like our stables; No place more obseru'd
Than a rude Market place: And though our Custome
Keepe this assur'd deformitie from our sight,
Tis nere the lesse essentiallie vnsightlie,
Which they would soone see, would they change their forme
To this of ours, and then compare them both;
Which we must not affect, because in Kingdomes,
Where the Kings change doth breede the Subiects terror,
Pure Innouation is more grosse than error.
Mont.
No Question we shall see them imitate
(Though a farre off) the fashions of our Courts,
As they haue euer Ap't vs in attire;
Neuer were men so wearie of their Skins,
And apt to leape out of themselues as they;
Who when they trauell to bring foorth rare men,
Come home deliuered of a fine French suit:
For their most compleat issue; Hee's first borne
To all the morall vertues, that first greetes
The light with a new fashion, which becomes them
Like Apes, disfigur'd with the attires of men.
Henr.
No Question they much wrong their reall worth,
In affectation of outlandish Scumme;
But they haue faults, and wee; They foolish-proud,
To be the Pictures of our vanitie;
We proud, that they are proud of foolerie.
Enter Monsieur, D'Ambois.
Mons.
Come mine owne sweet heart I will enter thee.
Sir, I haue brought this Gentleman t'attend you;
And pray, you would vouchsafe to doe him grace.
Henr.
D'Ambois, I thinke.
D'Amb.
Thats still my name, my Lord, though I be something
altered in attire.
Henr.
I like your alteration, and must tell you,
I haue expected th'offer of your seruice;
For we (in feare to make milde vertue proud)
Vse not to seeke her out in any man.
D'Amb.
Nor doth she vse to seeke out any man:
He that will winne, must wooe her; shee's not shamelesse.
Mons.
I vrg'd her modestie in him, my Lord, and gaue her
those Rites, that he saies shee merits.
Henr.
If you haue woo'd and won, then Brother weare him.
Mons.
Th'art mine, my loue; See here's the Guises Duches.
The Countesse of Mountsurreaue; Beaupres, come I'le enseame
thee; Ladies, y'are too many to be in Counsell: I haue heere a
friend, that I would gladlie enter in your Graces.
Duch.
If you enter him in our Graces, me thinks by his blunt
behauiour, he should come out of himselfe.
Tam.
Has he neuer beene Courtier, my Lord?
Mons.
Neuer, my Ladie.
Beaup.
And why did the Toy take him in th'head now?
D'Amb.
Tis leape yeere, Ladie, and therefore verie good to
Tam.
The man's a Courtier at first sight.
D'Amb.
I can sing prickesong, Ladie, at first sight; and
why not be a Courtier as suddenly?
Beaup.
Heere's a Courtier rotten before he be ripe.
D'Amb.
Thinke mee not impudent, Ladie, I am yet no
Courtier, I desire to be one, and would gladly take entrance
(Madam) vnder your Princely Colours.
Gui.
Sir, know you me?
D'Amb.
My Lord?
Gui.
I know not you: Whom doe you serue?
D'Amb.
Serue, my Lord?
Gui.
Go to Companion; Your Courtship's too saucie.
D'Amb.
Saucie? Companion? Tis the Guise, but yet those
termes might haue beene spar'd of the Guiserd.
Companion? Hee's iealous by this light: are you blinde of that
side Sir? Ile to her againe for that. Forth Madam, for the honour
of Courtship.
Gui.
Cease your Courtshippe, or by heauen Ile cut your
throat.
D'Amb.
Cut my throat? cut a whetstone; good Accius
Nœuius, doe as much with your tongue as he did with a Rasor;
cut my throat?
Gui.
Ile doe't by this hand.
D'Amb.
That hand dares not doe't; y'aue cut too many
Throates alreadie Guise; and Robb'd the Realme of
Many thousand Soules, more precious than thine owne.
Come Madam, talke on; Sfoote, can you not talke?
Talke on I say, more Courtship, as you loue it.
Enter Barrisor, L'Anou, Pyrlot.
Bar.
What new-come Gallant haue wee heere, that dares
mate the Guise thus?
L'An.
Sfoote tis D'Ambois; The Duke mistakes him (on
my life) for some Knight of the new edition.
D'Amb.
Cut my throat? I would the King fear'd thy cutting
of his throat no more than I feare thy cutting of mine.
Gui.
So Sir, so.
Heere's some strange distemper.
Bar.
Heere's a sudden transmigration with D'Ambois, out
of the Knights ward, into the Duches bed.
L'An.
See what a Metamorphosis a braue suit can worke.
Pyr.
Slight step to the Guise and discouer him.
Bar.
By no meanes, let the new suit worke, wee'll see the
issue.
Gui.
Leaue your Courtship.
D'Amb.
I will not. I say mistresse, and I will stand vnto it,
that if a woman may haue three seruants, a man may haue
threescore mistresses.
Gui.
Sirha, Ile haue you whipt out of the Court for this insolence.
D'Amb.
Whipt? Such another syllable out a th'presence, if
thou dar'st for thy Dukedome.
Gui.
Remember, Poultron.
Mons.
Pray thee forbeare.
Buss.
Passion of death! Were not the King heere, he should
strow the Chamber like a rush.
Mons.
But leaue Courting his wife then.
Buss.
I will not: Ile Court her in despight of him Not Court
her! Come Madam, talke on; Feare me nothing: Well maist
thou driue thy master from the Court; but neuer D'Ambois.
Mons.
His great heart will not downe, tis like the Sea
That partly by his owne internall heat,
Partly the starr's dailie and nightly motion,
Ardor and light, and partly of the place,
The diuers frames; And chiefly by the Moone,
Bristled with surges, neuer will be wonne,
(No, not when th'hearts of all those powers are burst)
To make retreat into his setled home,
Till he be croun'd with his owne quiet fome.
Henr.
You haue the mate. Another.
Gui.
No more.
Exit Guise, after him the King, Mons. whispering.
Bar.
Why heer's the Lion, skard with the throat of a dunghill
Cocke; a fellow that has newlie shak'd off his shackles;
L'An.
Tis one of the best Iigges that euer was acted.
Pyr.
Whom does the Guise suppose him to be troe?
L'An.
Out of doubt, some new denizond Lord; and thinks
that suit come new out a th'Mercers bookes.
Bar.
I haue heard of a fellow, that by a fixt imagination looking
vpon a Bulbaiting, had a visible paire of hornes grew out
of his forhead: and I beleeue this Gallant ouerioied with the
conceit of Monsieurs cast suit, imagines himselfe to be the Monsieur.
L'An.
And why not? as well as the Asse, stalking in the Lions
case, beare himselfe like a Lion, roaring all the huger beasts
out of the Forrest?
Pyr.
Peace, he lookes this way.
Bar.
Marrie let him looke sir, what will you say now if the
Guise be gone to fetch a blanquet for him?
L'An.
Faith I beleeue it for his honour.
Pyr.
But, if D'Ambois carrie it cleane?
Bar.
True, when he curuets in the blanquet.
Pyr.
I marie sir.
L'An.
Sfoote, see how he stares on's.
Bar.
Lord blesse vs, let's away.
Buss.
Now sir, take your full view: how does the Obiect
please ye?
Bar.
If you aske my opinion sir, I thinke your suit sits as well
as if't had beene made for you.
Buss.
So sir, and was that the subiect of your ridiculous ioilitie?
L'An.
What's that to you sir?
Buss.
Sir, I haue obseru'd all your fleerings; and resolue your
selues yee shall giue a strickt account for't.
Enter Brisac Melynell.
Pyr.
O strange credulitie! Doe you thinke your selfe
Such a singular subiect for laughter, that none can fall into
Our meriment but you?
Bar.
This iealousie of yours sir, confesses some close defect
in your selfe, that wee neuer dream'd of.
We held discourse of a perfum'd Asse, that being disguis'd
with a Lions case, imagin'd himselfe a Lion: I hope that
toucht not you.
Buss.
So sir: Your descants doe maruellous well fit this
ground, wee shall meete where your Buffonly laughters will
cost ye the best blood in your bodies.
Bar.
For lifes sake let's be gone; hee'll kill's outright.
Buss.
Goe at your pleasures, Ile be your Ghost to haunt you,
and yee sleepe an't, hang mee.
L'An.
Goe, goe sir, Court your mistresse.
Pyr.
And be aduis'd: we shall haue odds against you.
Buss.
Tush, valour stands not in number: Ile maintaine it,
that one man may beat three boies.
Bris.
Nay you shall haue no ods of him in number sir: hee's
a gentleman as good as the proudest of you, and yee shall not
wrong him.
Bar.
Not sir.
Mely.
Not sir: Though he be not so rich, hee's a better man
than the best of you; And I will not endure it.
L'An.
Not you sir?
Bris.
No sir, nor I.
Buss.
I should thanke you for this kindnesse, if I thought these
perfum'd muske-Cats (being out of this priuiledge) durst but
once mew at vs.
Bar.
Does your confident spirit doubt that sir? Come follow
vs and trie.
L'An.
Come sir, wee'll lead you a dance.
Exeunt.
| Bussy D'Ambois, [1607] | |