University of Virginia Library

Scene 4.

Lady.
Lovel. Tipto. Latimer. Beaufort. Pru. Franke. Nurse. Host.
Seruant, what haue you there?

Lou.
A meditation,
Or rather a vision, Madam, and of Beauty
Our former subiect.

Lad.
Pray you let vs heare it.

Lov.

Lad.
They are gentle words, and would deserue a note,
Set to 'hem, as gentle.

Lov.
I haue tri'd my skill.
To close the second houre, if you will heare them,
My boy by that time will haue got it perfect.

Lad.
Yes, gentle seruant. In what calme he speakes,
After this noise, and tumult, so vnmou'd,
With that serenity of countenance,
As if his thoughts did acquiesce in that
Which is the obiect of the second houre,
And nothing else.

Pru.
Well then summon the Court.

Lad.
I haue a sute to the Soueraigne of loue,
If it may stand with the honour of the Court,
To change the question but from loue, to valour,
To heare, it said, but, what true valour is,
Which oft begets true loue.

Lat.
It is a question
Fit for the Court, to take true knowledge of,
And hath my iust assent.

Pru.
Content.

Bea.
Content.

Fra.
Content. I am content, giue him his oath.

Host.

Herebert Lovel, Thou shalt sweare vpon the testament
of loue, To make answer to this question propounded
to thee by the Court, What true valour is.
And therein to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing
but the truth. So help thee loue, and thy bright
sword at need.

Lov.
So help me loue and my good sword at need.
It is the greatest vertue, and the safety
Of all mankinde, the obiect of it is danger.
A certaine meane 'twixt feare, and confidence:
No inconsiderate rashnesse, or vaine appetite
Of false encountring formidable things;
But a true science of distinguishing
What's good or euill. It springs out of reason,
And tends to perfect honesty, the scope
Is alwayes honour, and the publique good:
It is no valour for a priuate cause.

Bea.
No? not for reputation?

Lov
That's mans Idoll,
Set vp 'gainst God, the maker of all lawes,
Who hath commanded vs we should not kill;
And yet we say, we must for reputation.
What honest man can either feare his owne,
Or else will hurt anothers reputation?
Feare to doe base, vnworthy things, is valour,
If they be done to vs, to suffer them,
Is valour too. The office of a man
Thats truly valiant, is considerable
Three wayes: The first is in respect of matter,
Which still is danger; in respect of forme,
Wherein he must preserue his dignity;
And in the end, which must be euer lawfull.

Lat.
But men, when they are heated, and in passion,
Cannot consider.

Lov.
Then it is not valour.
I neuer thought an angry person valiant:
Vertue is neuer ayded by a vice.
What need is there of anger, and of tumult?
When reason can doe the same things, or more?

Bea.
O yes, 'tis profitable, and of vse,
It makes vs fierce, and fit to vndertake.

Lov.
Why so will drink make vs both bold, and rash.
Or phrensie if you will, doe these make valiant?
They are poore helps, and vertue needs them not.
No man is valianter by being angry,
But he that could not valiant be without:
So, that it comes not in the aid of vertue,
But in the stead of it.

Lat.
He holds the right.

Lov.
And 'tis an odious kinde of remedy,
To owe our health to a disease.

Tip.
If man
Should follow the dictamen of his passion,
He could not scape—

Bea.
To discompose himselfe.

Lat.
According to Don Lewis!

Host.
Or Caranza!

Lov.
Good Colonel Glorious, whilst we treat of valour,
Dismisse your selfe.

Lat.
You are not concern'd.

Lov.
Go drink,
And congregate the Hostlers, and the Tapsters,
The vnder-officers o' your regiment;
Compose with them, and be not angry valiant!

Tipto goes out.
Bea.
How do's that differ from true valour?

Lov.
Thus.
In the efficient, or that which makes it,
For it proceeds from passion, not from iudgement:
Then brute beasts haue it, wicked-persons, there
It differs in the subiect: in the forme,
'Tis carried rashly, and with violence:
Then i'the end, where it respects not truth,
Or publique honesty; but mere reuenge.
Now confident, and vndertaking valour,
Swayes from the true, two other wayes; as being
A trust in our owne faculties, skill, or strength,
And not the right, or conscience o'the cause,
That workes it: Then i'the end, which is the victory,
And not the honour.

Bea.
But the ignorant valour
That knowes not why it undertakes, but doth it
T'escape the infamy merely—

Lov.
Is worst of all:
That valour lies, i'the eyes o'the lookers on;
And is cal'd valour with a witnesse.

Bea.
Right:

Lov.
The things true valour is exercis'd about,
Are pouerty, restraint, captiuity,
Banishment, losse of children, long disease:
The least is death. Here valour is beheld,
Properly seene; about these it is present:
Not triuiall things, which but require our confidence.
And, yet to those, we must obiect our selues,
Only for honesty: if any other
Respect be mixt, we quite put out her light.
And as all knowledge, when it is remou'd
Or separate from iustice, is cal'd craft,
Rather then wisdome: so a minde affecting,
Or vndertaking dangers, for ambition,
Or any selfe pretext, not for the publique,
Deserues the name of daring, not of valour.
And ouer-daring is as great a vice,
As ouer-fearing.

Lat.
Yes, and often greater.

Lov.
But as is not the mere punishment,
But cause that, makes a martyr, so it is not
Fighting, or dying; hut the manner of it
Renders a man himselfe. A valiant man
Ought not to vndergoe, or tempt a danger,
But worthily, and by selected wayes:
He vndertakes with reason, not by chance.
His valour is the salt to his other vertues,
They are all vnseason'd without it. The waiting maids,
Or the concomitants of it, are his patience,
His magnanimity, his confidence,
His constancy, security, and quiet;
He can assure himselfe against all rumour!
Despaires of nothing! laughs at contumelies!
As knowing himselfe, aduanced in a height
Where iniury cannot reach him, nor aspersion
Touch him with soyle!

Lad.
Most manly vtterd all!
As if Achilles had the chaire in valour,
And Hercules were but a Lecturer!
Who would not hang vpon those lips for euer!
That strike such musique? I could run on them;
But modesty is such a schoole mistresse,
To keepe our sexe in awe.

Pru.
Or you can faine! my
Subtill and dissembling Lady mistresse.

Lat.
I feare she meanes it, Pru, in too good earnest!

Lov.
The purpose of an iniury 'tis to vexe
And trouble me: now, nothing can doe that,
To him that's valiant. He that is affected
With the least iniury, is lesse then it.
It is but reasonable, to conclude
That should be stronger, still, which hurts, then that
Which is hurt. Now no wickednesse is stronger,
Then what opposeth it: Not Fortunes selfe,
When she encounters vertue, but comes off
Both lame, and lesse! why should a wise man then,
Confesse himselfe the weaker, by the feeling
Of a fooles wrong? There may an iniury
Be meant me, I may choose, if I will take it.
But we are, now, come to that delicacie,
And tendernesse of sense, we thinke an insolence
Worse then an iniury, beare words worse then deeds;
We are not so much troubled with the wrong,
As with the opinion of the wrong! like children,
We are made afraid with visors! Such poore sounds
As is the lie, or common words of spight.
Wise lawes thought neuer worthy a reuenge;
And 'tis the narrownesse of humane nature,
Our pouerty, and beggery of spirit,
To take exception at these things. He laugh'd at me!
He broke a iest! a third tooke place of me!
How most ridiculous quarrels are all these?
Notes of a queasie, and sick stomack, labouring
With want of a true iniury! the maine part
Of the wrong, is, our vice of taking it.

Lat.
Or our interpreting it to be such.

Lov.
You take it rightly. If a woman, or child
Giue me the lie, would I be angry? no,
Not if I were i'my wits, sure I should thinke it
No spice of a disgrace. No more is theirs,
If I will thinke it, who are to be held
In as contemptible a ranke, or worse,
I am kept out a Masque, sometime thrust out,
Made wait a day, two, three, for a great word,
Which (when it comes forth) is all frown, and forehead!
What laughter should this breed, rather then anger!
Out of the tumult, of so many errors,
To feele, with contemplation, mine owne quiet?
If a great person doe me an affront,
A Giant of the time, sure, I will beare it
Or out of patience, or necessity!
Shall I doe more for feare, then for my iudgement?
For me now to be angry with Hodge Huffle,
Or Burst (his broken charge) if he be sawcy,
Or our owne type of Spanish valour, Tipto,
(Who were he now necessited to beg
Would aske an almes, like Conde Oliuares)
Were iust to make my selfe, such a vaine Animal
As one of them. If light wrongs touch me not,
No more shall great; if not a few, not many.
There's nought so sacred with vs but may finde
A sacrilegious person, yet the thing is
No lesse diuine, cause the prophane can reach it.
He is shot-free, in battayle, is not hurt,
Not he that is not hit. So he is valiant,
That yeelds not vnto wrongs; not he that scapes 'hem:
They that do pull downe Churches, and deface
The holiest Altars, cannot hurt the God-head.
A calme wise man may shew as much true valour,
Amid'st these popular prouocations,
As can an able Captaine shew security,
By his braue conduct, through an enemies country.
A wise man neuer goes the peoples way,
But as the Planets still moue contrary
To the worlds motion; so doth he, to opinion:
He will examine, if those accidents
(Which common fame cals iniuries) happen to him
Deseruedly, or no? come they deseruedly,
They are no wrongs then, but his punishments:
If vndeseruedly, and he not guilty,
The doer of them, first, should blush, not he.

Lat.
Excellent!

Bea.
Truth, and right!

Fra.
An Oracle
Could not haue spoken more!

Lad.
Beene more beleeu'd!

Pru.
The whole Court runnes into your sentence, Sir!
And see, your second houre is almost ended.

Lad.
It cannot be! O clip the wings of time,
Good Pru, or make him stand still with a charme.
Distill the gout into it, cramps, all diseases
T'arrest him in the foot, and fix him here:
O, for an engine, to keepe backe all clocks!
Or make the Sunne forget his motion!
If I but knew what drinke the Time now lou'd,
To set my Trundle at him, mine owne Barnabe!

Pru.
Why? I'le consult our Sheele nien, To-mas.

Nur.
Er grae Chreest.

Bea.
Wake her not.

Nur.
Tower een Cuppan
D'vsque bagh doone.

Pru.
Usque bagh's her drinke.
But 'twi' not make the time drunke.

Host.
As't hath her,
Away with her, my Lord, but marry her first. Pru,

Pru.
I, that 'll be sport anone too, for my Lady.
But she hath other game to fly at yet:
The houre is come, your kisse.

Lad.
My seruants song, first.

Pru.
I say the kisse, first; and I so enioyn'd it:
At your owne perill, doe, make the contempt.

Lad.
Well Sir, you must be pay'd, and legally.

Pru.
Nay nothing, Sir, beyond.

Lov.
One more—I except.
This was but halfe a kisse, and I would change it.

Pur.
The Court's dissolu'd, remou'd, and the play ended.
No sound, or aire of Loue more, I decree it.

Lov.
From what a happinesse hath that one word
Throwne me, into the gulfe of misery?
To what a bottomlesse despaire? how like
A Court remoouing, or an ended Play
Shewes, my abrupt precipitate estate,
By how much more my vaine hopes were encreas'd
By these false houres of conuersation?
Did not I prophesie this, of my selfe,
And gaue the true prognosticks? o my braine!
How art thou turned! and my blood congeald!
My sinewes slackned! and my marrow melted!
That I remember not where I haue bin,
Or what I am? Only my tongue's on fire;
And burning downward, hurles forth coales, & cinders,
To tell, this temple of loue, will soone be ashes!
Come Indignation, now, and be my mistresse,
No more of Loues ingratefull tyranny.
His wheele of torture, and his pits of bird-lime,
His nets of nooses, whirle-pooles of vexation,
His mils, to grind his seruants into powder—
I will goe catch the wind first in a sieue,
Weigh smoak, and measure shadowes, plough the water,
And sow my hopes there, ere I stay in Loue.

Lat.
My iealousie is off, I am now secure.

Lov.
Farewell the craft of crocodiles, womens piety,
And practise of it, in this art of flattering,
And fooling men I ha' not lost my reason,
Though I haue lent my selfe out, for two howres,
Thus to be baffuld by a Chambermaid,
And the good Actor, her Lady, afore mine Host,
Of the light Heart, here, that hath laught at all—

Host.
Who I?

Lov.
Laugh on, Sir, Ile to bed, and sleepe,
And dreame away the vapour of Loue, if th'house
And your leere drunkards let me.

Lad.
Pru.

Pru.
Sweet Madame.

Lad.
Why would you let him goe thus?

Pru.
In whose power
Was it to stay him, prop'rer then my Ladies!

Lad.
Why, in her Ladies? Are not you the Soueraigne?

Pru.
Would you, in conscience, Madame, ha'me vexe
His patience more?

Lad.
Not but apply the cure,
Now it is vex't.

Pru.
That's but one bodies worke.
Two cannot doe the same thing handsomely.

Lad.
But had not you the authority, absolute?

Pru.
And were not you i'rebellion, Lady Frampal,
From the beginning?

Lad.
I was somewhat froward,
I must confesse, but frowardnesse sometime
Becomes a beauty, being but a visor
Put on. You'l let a Lady weare her masque, Pru.

Pru.
But how do I know, when her Ladiship is pleas'd
To leaue it off, except she tell me so?

Lad.
You might ha' knowne that by my lookes, and language,
Had you beene or regardant, or obseruant.
One woman, reads anothers character,
Without the tedious trouble of deciphering:
If she but giue her mind to't, you knew well,
It could not sort with any reputation
Of mine, to come in first, hauing stood out
So long, without conditions, for mine honor.

Pru.
I thought you did expect none, you so jeer'd him,
And put him off with scorne—

Lad.
Who, I, with scorn?
I did expresse my loue, to idolatry rather,
And so am iustly plagu'd, not vnderstood.

Pru.
I sweare, I thought you had dissembled, Madam,
And doubt, you do so yet.

Lad.
Dull, stupid, wench!
Stay i'thy state of ignorance still, be damn'd,
An idiot Chambermayd! Hath all my care,
My breeding thee in fashion, thy rich clothes,
Honours, and titles wrought no brighter effects
On thy darke soule, then thus? Well! go thy wayes,
Were not the Tailors wife, to be demolish'd,
Ruin'd, vncas'd, thou shouldst be she, I vow.

Pru.
Why, take your spangled properties, your gown,
And scarses.

Lad.
Pru, Pru, what doest thou meane?

Pru.
I will not buy this play-boyes brauery,
At such a price, to be vpbraided for it,
Thus, euery minute.

Lad.
Take it not to heart so.

Pru.
The Taylors wife? There was a word of scorn!

Lad.
It was a word fell from me, Pru, by chance.

Pru.
Good Madame, please to vndeceaue your selfe,
I know when words do slip, and when they are darted
With all their bitternesse: vncas'd? demolish't?
An idiot—Chambermaid, stupid, and dull?
Be damn'd for ignorance? I will be so.
And thinke I doe deserue it, that, and more,
Much more I do.

Lad.
Here comes mine Host! No crying!
Good Pru. Where is my seruant Lovel, Host?

Hos.
Yo ha sent him vp to bed, would, you would follow him!
And make my house amends!

Lad.
Would you aduise it?

Hos.
I would I could command it. My light heart
Should leape till midnight.

Lad.
Pray thee be not sollen,
I yet must ha' thy counsell. Thou shalt weare, Pru,
The new gowne, yet.

Pru.
After the Taylours wife?

Lad.
Come, be not angrie, or grieu'd: I haue a proiect.

Hos.
Wake Sheleemen Thomas! Is this your Heraldrie?
And keeping of records, to loose the maine?
Where is your charge?

Nur.
Gra chreest!

Hos.
Goe aske th'oracle
O'the bottle, at your girdle, there you lost it:
You are a sober setter of the watch.