 | The wonder of A Kingdome |  |
Actus quartus.
Scæna prima.
Trumpets sounding. Enter Torrenti very brave, betweene the two Dukes, attended by all the Courtiers, wondring at his costly habit. Enter a mask women in strang habitts, Dance. Exit. He gives jewells, and ropes of pearle to the Duke; and a chaine of gold to every Courtier. Exit. Nicholetti and he stay.Tor.
Thou art my noble kinsman, and but thy mother
(Vpon my soule) was chast I should beleeve
Some Emperor begot thee,
Tor.
Why pray Vncle?
Nico.
Suppose all kingdomes on the earth were balls,
And that thou held'st a racket in thy hand,
To tosse em as thou wu'd'st, how wo'dt thou play?
Tor.
Why? as with balls, bandy 'em quite away.
Nico.
A tennes-court of kings could do no more;
But faith what doest thou thinke, that I now think,
Of thy this days expence?
Torr.
That it was brave.
Nico.
I thinke thee a proud vaine-glorious bragging knaue,
That golden wombe thy father left so full, thou
Vulture-like eat'st thorough: oh heeres trimstuffe,
A good-mans state, in Gartyres, strings and ruffe;
Hast not a saffron shirt on too? I feare th'art
Troubled with the greene-sicknes, thou look'st wan.
Tor.
With anger at thy snarling must my hoase
Match your old greasy cod-piece?
Nico.
No, but I'de have thee live in compasse.
Tor.
Foole, I'le be
As the sun in the Zodiack; I am he
On the whole world to be heavens charioteire,
(As he was) but one day.
Nico.
Vaine riotous cockscombe,
Tha'st fier'd to much already, Parkes, Forrests, chases,
Have no part left of them, but names and places;
'Tis voic'd abroad thy lands are all ar pawne.
Tor.
They are, what then?
Nico.
And that the mony went to
Entertaine the Popes great Nuntio,
On whom you spent the ransome of a king.
Tor.
You lye.
Nico.
I thanke you Sr,
Tor.
Say all this true
That I spent millions, what's that to you.
Were there for every day i'th'yeare a Pope,
For every houre i'th'yeare a Cardinall;
I'd melt both Indies, but I'de feast 'em all.
Nico.
And leave your Curtezans bare, that leaving bare,
Will one day leave thee naked, one nights waking,
With a fresh-whore, cost thee 4000. duckets,
Else the bawd lies.
Tor.
Wert thou nor mine uncle
I'de send thee with thy frozen-beard where furies
Should sindge it off with fire-brands touching
Wenching, that art thy selfe an old rotten whore-master.
Nico.
I a whore-master?
To shew how much I hate it, harke, when next thy tomblers
Come to dance upon the ropes,
Play this jigg to'em.
Tor.
Goe, goe, idle droane,
Thou enviest bees with stings, because thine is gone,
Plate, jewells, revenues all shall flie.
Nico.
They shall.
Tor.
And then Sir I'le turne pickled theefe, a Pirate,
For as I to feed Rayot, a world did crave,
So nothing but the sea shall be my grave,
Meane time that circle few began I've runne, tho' the
Devill stand i'th' Center.
Nico.
What's that circle?
Torr.
The vanitie of all man-kinde be mine,
Wine, harlots, surfetts, rich embroidered cloaths,
Fashions, all sensuall sins, all new coin'd oathes,
Shall feed me, fill me; Ile feast every sence,
Nought shall become me ill, but innocence.
Exit.
Nico.
I hope a wallet hanging at thy backe,
Who spends all young, ere age comes, all will lacke.
Exit.
Enter an Apothecary giue a seruing-man gold, Iacomo, Servants in blew-coats: Stew. Broker, Goldsmith, Torrenti's Brother, a Trumpet.
Gent.
What sounds this trumpet for?
Omnes.
Dinner my Lord,
Gent.
To feast whome this day are my tables spread?
St.
For sea-men, wrack't, aged, or sicke, or lame,
And the late ransom'd captives from the Turke.
Gent.
Cheere them with harty welcomes in my name,
Attend them as great Lords, let no man dare,
To send 'em sad hence, bounty shall be plac'd
At the boards upper end; For Marriners
Are clocks of danger that do ne're stand still,
Their dialls-hand ere points to'th stroke of death,
And (albeit seldome windlesse) loose their breath;
I love 'em, for they eat the dearest bread,
That life can buy, when the elements make warrs;
Water and aire, they are savd by their good starrs.
And for the gally-slaves, make much of those, love that man
Who suffers onely for being christian; What suiters waite?
St.
Come neere, one at once, keep back pray.
Bro.
A sorry man, a very sorry man.
Gen.
What makes thee sorry?
Brok.
All I had is burnt, and that which touches me to the
quick a boxe of my sweete evidence my Lord.
Gent.
Show me some proofe of this.
Brok.
Alas too good proofe, all burnt, nor stick, nor stone, left.
Gent.
What wodst have me doe?
Brok.
Bestow but a bare 100. l. on me, to set me up.
Gent.
Steward deliver him a 100. l.
Brok.
Now all the—
Gent.
Nay kneele not Sir, but heare me.
Brok.
Oh my hony Lord!
Gent.
Faces are speaking pictures, thine's a booke,
Which if the leafe be truly printed shews
A page of close dissembling.
Brok.
Oh my Lord!
But say thou art such, yet the monie's thine,
Which I to Charitie give, not to her shrine;
If thou cheat'st me, thou art cheated? how? th'hast got
(Being licorish) rats-bane from a gally-pot,
Taking it for sugar; thou art now my debtor,
I am not hurt, nor thou I feare, much better; farewell.
Enter lame legg'd Souldier.
Soul.
Cannons defend me. Gun-powder of hell,
Whom doest thou blow up heere?
Broak.
Some honest scullar, row this lame dog to hanging.
Gent.
What noise is that?
Stew.
My Lord calls to you.
Soul.
Was there ever call'd
A devill by name from hell? then this is one.
Gent.
My friend, what is hee?
Soul.
A Citie pestilence,
A moath that eates up gownes, doublets and hose,
One that with Bills, leades smocks and shirts together
To linnen close adultery, and upon them
Strowes lavender, so strongly, that the owners
Dare never smell them after; hee's a broaker.
Gent.
Suppose all this, what hurt hath hee done thee?
Soul.
More then my limbs losse; in one weeke he eate
My wife up, and three children, this christian Iew did;
Ha's a long lane of hellish Tenements,
Built all with pawnes.
Gen.
All that he had is burnt.
Soul.
He keepes a whore indeede, this is the Raven,
Cryed knocke before you call, he may be fir'd,
His lowsie wardropes are not; to this hell-hound
I pawn'd my weapons to buy browne bread
To feede my brats and me; (they forfited)
Twice so much as his money him I gave,
To have my Armes redeem'd, the griping slave
Swore (not to save my soule) vnlesse that I
Laid downe my stumpe heere, for the Interest,
And so hop home.
Gent.
Vnheard of villaine!
Broker, is this true?
Brok.
'Twere sinne my Lord, to lie.
Gent.
Souldier, what is't thou now crau'st at my hands?
Soul.
This my Pitition was, which now I teare,
My suite here was, When the next place did fall,
But now I come most pitiously complaining
Against this three-pile rascall, widowes decayer,
The Orphans beggerer, and the poores betrayer;
Give him the Russian law for all these sinnes.
Gent.
How?
Soul.
But one hundred blowes on his bare shins
Br.
Come home and take thine Arms.
So.
Ile have those leggs
Gent.
Broaker, my soule foresaw goods thus ill got,
Would as ill thrive, you ask'd a hundred pound,
'Tis yours; but crafty Broaker, you plaid the knave
To begg, not needing. This man now must have
His request too, 'tis honest, faire, and just,
Take hence that varlet therefore, and on his shinnes,
In ready payment, give him an hundred blowes.
Rroak.
My Lord, my pitifull Lord.
Soul.
I must bestirre my stumps too. Iustice; my Lord.
Gent.
I will not ravill out time; Broaker, I offer you
A hundred for a hundred.
Soul.
That's his owne usury.
Gent.
A hundred pound, or else a hundred blowes,
Give him that money, he shall release you those.
Brok.
Take it, and may'st thou rot with't.
Exit.
Soul.
Follow thee thy curse,
Wo'd blowes might make all Broakers still disburse.
Gent.
What next?
Serv.
The Party sir:
Gent.
What party sir?
If honest, speake, I love no whisperer.
Serv.
This Gentleman is a great shuter.
Gent.
In a Long-bow? how farre shootes hee?
Serv.
To your Lordship, to be your Apothecary.
Gent.
Vmph; what spie you in my face, that I sho'd buy
Your druggs and drenches? beares not my cheeke a colour
As fresh as any old mans? doe my bones
Ake with youth's ryotts? or my blood boile hot
With feavers? or is't num'd with dropsies, cold
Coughes, Rhumes, Catarrhes, Gowts, Apoplexie fits?
The common soares of age, on me never ran,
Nor Galenist, nor Paracelsian,
Shall ere reade Phisicall Lecture upon me.
Apot.
Two excellent fellowes my Lord.
I honour their profession,
What the Creator does, they in part doe,
For a Phisician's a man-maker too,—but honest friend,
My kitchin is my Doctor, and my Garden,
Trustie Apothecarie; when they give me pills,
So gently worke they, I'me not choak'd with bills,
Which area stronger purge then the disease.
Apo.
Alas my Lord, and 'twere not for bills, our shops wo'd downe.
Gent.
Sir, I beleeve you, bills nor pills Ile take;
I stand on sicknes shoare, and see men tost
From one disease to another, at last lost;
But to such seas of surfetts, where they're drown'd,
I never ventering, am ever sound.
Apo.
Ever sound my Lord? if all our gallants sho'd bee so, Doctors,
Pothecaries, and Barber-surgeons, might feed upon Onyons
and Butter-milke; ever sound! a brave world then.
Gent.
'Tis their owne fault, if they feare springs or falls,
Wine-glasses fill'd too fast, make urynalls;
Man was at first borne sound, and hee growes ill
Seldome by course of nature, but by will—
Distempers are not ours, there should be then
(Were wee ourselues) no Phisicke, men to men
Are both diseases cause, and the disease,
I'me free from (thankes good fate) either of these.
Apo.
My 50. Crownes.
Ser.
Not I.
Apo.
No, must I give you a Glister?
Ser.
Hist, hist.
Apo.
If your Lordship will not allow me minister to your selfe,
pray let me give our man a purgation.
Ser.
Me a Purgation? my Lord, I me passing well.
Gent.
Him a Purge, why?
Apo.
Or rather a vomit, that hee may cast up 50 Crownes—
Which he swallowed as a Bribe to preferre me.
Gent.
My health is bought and sold sir then by you,
A Doctor baits you next, whose mesh of potions
Striking me full of vleers, a gibberish Surgion,
For 50. Crownes more, comes to drawe my will,
For mony, slaves their Soveraignes thus kill;
Nay, nay, so got, so keepe it; for his Fifty,
Aym'd at my health I know, and not at ill:
Fare you well sir.
Apo.
Who payes mee sir?
Ser.
Follow me, I sir.
Exit Ser. & Apothe. Enter Gold-smith.
Gold.
The fellow, my Lord, is fast.
Gent.
What fellow sir?
Gold.
The thiefe that stole this Iewell from your honour,
Hee came unto my stall my Lord.
Gent.
So.
Gold.
And ask'd mee
Not the fourth part in money it was worth,
And so smelling him out.
Gent.
You did.
Golds.
I did sir,
Smell him out presently, and under hand
Sent for a Constable, examined him,
And finding that he is your Stewards man,
Committed him toth' Iale.
Gent.
What money had hee upon this Iewell of you?
Golds.
None my good Lord, after I heard it yours.
Gent.
Else you had bought it,
And beene the thiefes receiver, y'ar a varlet,
Go to, a sawcie knave; if I want money,
And send my servants servant (cause the world
Shall not take notice of it) to pawne, or sell
Iewells, or Plate, tho' I loose halfe in halfe,
Must you sir, play the Marshall, and commit him,
As if he were a rogue; goe and release him,
Send him home presently, and pay his fees, doe you see sir.
Gold.
My Lord, I do see.
Gent.
Least by the Innocent fellow,
I lay you fast byth' heeles, doe this y'are best;
You may be gone.
Gold.
Heere's a most excellent jeast.
Exit.
Enter Steward.
Gent.
Harke you, the Duke of Florence sent me once
A Iewell, have ye it? For you laid it up.
Ste.
My Lord, I have it.
Gent.
Are you sure you have it?
Why change you colour? Know you this? doe you know
Your man, you sent to sell it? You be like
Thought in thy memory it had beene dead,
And so your honesty too came buried,
'Tis well, out of mine eye; what wo'd you with mee?
Broth.
Your pitty on a wretch late wrackt at sea.
Beaten a shore by penury, 3. yeares a Turkish
Gally-slave.
Gent.
Your birth?
Broth.
Such Sir,
As I dare write my selfe a gentlema,
In Florence stood my cradle, my house great,
In mony, not in mercy; I am poore,
And dare not with the begger passe their doore.
Gent.
Name them, they shalbe forc't to thy reliefe.
To steale compassion from them like a thiefe,
Good my Lord pardon me, under your noble wing,
I had rather sit, then on the highest tree sing,
That shadowes their gay buildings.
Gent.
Young man I doe commend thee, where's my steward?
Give me thy hand, I entertaine thee mine,
Make perfect your accounts, and see the books deliver'd
To this Gentleman.
St.
This poore rogue Sir?
Gent.
Thou art a villaine, so to tearme the man,
Whom I to liking take; Sir I discharge you;
I regard no mans out-side, 'tis the lineings
Which I take care for.
St.
Not if you knew how louzie they were.
Gent.
Cast not thy scorne up on him, prove thou but just,
He raise the Cedars spring out first from dust.
Exit.
Enter Nicolletto, Dariene, Alphons. Alisandra, Tibaldo, Cargo.
Nic.
Madam this night I have received from court,
A booke of deepe import, which I must reade,
And for that purpose will I he alone.
Dar.
Be Mr. of your owne content my Lord,
Ile change you for some femall bed-fellow.
Nic.
With all my heart.
Tib.
Pray madam then take me.
Nic.
Doe prethee wife.
Dar.
And St. she is most welcome.
Nic.
Wo'ld I were at it, for it is a booke,
My fingers itch till I be turning o're;
Good rest faire Alphonsina you'le not faile.
Alp.
No, feare me not.
Nic.
All all to bed, to bed.
Alp.
Mine eyes are full of sleepe; Ile follow you
Exit.
I to my closet, and then bed-fellow
Expect your company
Tibal.
I will be for your Lady.
Aless.
Madam so please you forfeit to my mother,
And let your selfe and I be bed-fellowes.
Tib.
Deare heart I humbly thanke you, but I must not.
Aless.
Lady I rather wish your company,
Because I know one maiden best conceales,
What's bosom'd in another: but Ile waite
With patience a fitting.
Tib.
Worthy Lady,
This time is yours and mine.
Aless.
Thus I begin then,
And if I cannot woe reliefe from you,
Let me at least win pitty, I have fixt
Mine eye upon your brother; whom I never
But once beheld here in this house yet wish
That he beheld me now and heard me;
You are so like your brother, that me thinkes I speake to him,
And that provokes a blush to assaile my cheeke;
He smiles like you, his eyes like you; pray Lady
Where is the gentleman? 'twas for his sake
I would have lien with you, wo'd it were as lawfull to fellow
nights with him.
Tib.
Troth I do wish it.
Aless.
And if in this you inrich me with your counsell, Ile
Be a gratefull taker.
Tib.
Sure my brother
Is blest in your affection, and shall have
Good time to understand so.
Dar.
Alesandra
within.
Aless.
Madam.
Dar.
A word, come quickly.
Exit.
Tib.
O ye heavens! how strangely one houre works upon an
other. It was but now heart-sick, and long for meat,
Alp.
Brother.
Enter Alphonsina.
Tib.
What frights you thus from your chamber?
Alp.
Such a fury as thou.
Tib.
How now? hast lost thy witts?
Alp.
Ile sweare thou hast, for thou hast candled
Thy sweete but poysonous language to dishonour
Me thy most wretched sister, who no better then a vile
Instrument to thy desires, deserves to be stil'd,
Baud, worie then the bauds.
Tib.
Ha' patience dearest sister; I protest,
By all the graces that become a man,
I have not wrong'd Dariene nor her Lord.
Alp.
Thou shalt not then by heaven.
Tib.
By all goodnes, not
With a well blush discourse faire Alissandra
Supposing me your sister hath discover'd
The true pangs of her fancy towards Tibaldo,
And in it crav'd my aide, which heard, Even then,
My Brutish purpose broke its neck, and I
Will proue the daughters husband, that came hither,
A traytour to the Mother.
Alp.
My noble brother,
Our doings are alike, for by Trebatio
(Whome I with honour name) his fathers foulenes shall be
Cut off and crost.
Tib.
Get to your chamber;
No longer will I play the womans part,
This night shall change my habit with my heart.
Exit.
Enter Nicoletti with a light.
Nichol.
In this chamber she lies, and that's her window wo'd
I were in: the aire bites, but the bit that I shall bite anon sharpens.
my stomack, the watch-word is a cornet,
(Cornet within)
it
speakes, she bids me come without a light, and reason shes light
enough herselfe; wincke thou one-eyed baud, be thou an embleme
of thy Mr. and burne in secret.
Enter Alphonsina, above.
Alp.
My Lord.
Nic.
What sayes my most moist-handed sweete Lady.
Alp.
Who is there with you?
Nico.
No christian creature, I enter solus.
Alp.
I feare I must entreate you to stay a little.
Nic.
As long as thou desir'st, but-wilt come downe?
Alp.
I would be loth to loose all upon rest,
Nic.
Shall I mount then?
Alp.
For mine honour being once crack't.
Nic.
Crack a pudding: Ile not meddle with thine honour.
Alp.
Say you should get me with childe.
Nic.
I hope I am not the first Lord has got a lady with childe.
Alp.
Is the night hush't?
Ther's nothing stirring, the very mice are a sleeepe, as I
am noble, Ile deale with thee like a gentleman.
Alp.
Ile doe that then, which some Citizens will not doe, to
some Lord.
Nico.
What's that?
Alp.
Take your word, I come.
Nico.
Vd's my life!
Alp.
What's the matter sir?
Musicke within.
Nico.
I heare a lute, and sure it comes this way.
Alp.
My most lov'd Lord, step you aside, I would not have you
seene for the saving of my right hand, preserve mine honour, as
I preserve your love.
Enter Trebatio with Musicke.
Nico.
Pox on your Catts guts.
Alp.
To an unworthy window, who is thus kind?
Treb.
Looke out of it, and 'tis the richest casement
That ever let in Ayre.
Alp.
Trebatio.
Treb.
I, my most faire Mistris.
Alp.
Neither of both good sir;
Pray play upon some other, you abuse mee,
And that which seemes worse, in your fathers house.
Nico.
Brave girle.
Alp.
But you are young enough to be forgiven,
If you will mend hereafter, the night has in it
Vnwholsome foggs, and blasts; to bed my Lord,
Least they attach your beautie: nothing more,
Ile pay you for your song.
Exit.
Treb.
Are you gone so?
Well, you hard-hearted one, you shall not ever
Be Lady of your selfe—away.
Exit.
Enter Cargo running.
Car.
Oh my Lord, I have stood Centinell as you bad me, but
I am frighted.
Nico.
With what?
Carg.
The Night-mare rides you, my Lady is conjured up.
Nic.
Now the devill lay her down, prevented in the very Act.
Carg.
She workes by magick, and knowes all.
Enter Dariene.
Dari.
Doe you shrinke backe my Lord? you may with shame,
Have I tane you napping my Lord?
Nico.
But not with the manner my Lady.
Dar.
Have you no bird to flie at, but what sits on your owne
sonnes fiste?
Nicho.
How! my sonnes fiste?
Darie.
Yes, the Lady whom you wrought to have bin your Harlot
Your sonne has long since wonne to be his bride,
Both they and I have this night exercis'd
Nico.
Am I then gull'd?
Dare.
Yes my Lord, and bull'd too, yonders Tibaldo Neri
come this morning.
Dare.
So early, Is his sister with him?
Car.
Not that I saw, but I saw him kisse my yong Mistris, three
or foure times, I thinke twere good to aske the banes of Matrimony.
Nico.
Wo't twere no worse, let's in, and give 'em the
mornings Salutation.
Dare.
Ile tell him all.
Nicho.
Sweete Lady, seal my pardon with a kisse,
He ne're was borne, that never did amisse.
Exeunt.
| The wonder of A Kingdome | |