 | The History of Antonio and Mellida |  |
ACTVS QVARTVS.
Enter Antonio, in his sea gowne running.Ant.
Stop, stop Antonio, stay Antonio.
Vaine breath, vaine breath, Antonio's lost;
He can not finde himselfe, not seize himselfe.
Alas, this that you see, is not Antonio,
His spirit houers in Piero's Court,
Hurling about his agill faculties,
To apprehend the sight of Mellida:
But poore, poore soule, wanting apt instruments
To speake or see, stands dumbe and blinde, sad spirit,
Roul'd vp in gloome clouds as black as ayor,
Through which the rustie coach of Night is drawne:
Tis so, ile giue you instance that tis so.
Within my palme, the rose being tane away,
My hand retaines a little breath of sweete:
So may mans trunke; his spirit slipt awaie,
Holds still a faint perfume of his sweet ghest.
Tis so; for when discursiue powers flie out,
And rome in progresse, through the boūds of heauen,
The soule it selfe gallops along with them,
As chiefetaine of this winged troope of thought,
Whilst the dull lodge of spirit standeth waste,
Vntill the soule returne from
What wast I said?
O, this is naught, but speckling melancholie.
I haue beene
That Morpheus tender skinp
Cosen germane
Beare with me good
Mellida: clod vpon clod thus fall.
Hell is beneath; yet heauen is ouer all.
Enter Andrugio, Lucio, Cole, and Norwod.
And.
Come Lucio, lets goe eat: what hast thou got?
Rootes, rootes? alas, they are seeded, new cut vp.
O, thou hast wronged Nature, Lucio:
But bootes not much; thou but pursu'st the world,
That cuts off vertue, fore it comes to growth,
Least it should seed, and so orerun her sonne,
Dull pore-blinde error. Giue me water, boy.
There is no poison in't I hope, they say
That lukes in massie plate: and yet the earth
Is so infected with a generall plague,
That hee's most wise, that thinks there's no man foole:
Great policy the least things to mistrust.
Giue me Assay How we mock greatnesse now!
Lu.
A strong conceipt is rich, so most men deeme:
If not to be, tis comfort yet to seeme.
And.
Why man, I neuer was a Prince till now.
Tis not the bared pate, the bended knees,
Guilt tipstaues, Tyrrian purple, chaires of state,
Troopes of pide butterflies, that flutter still
In greatnesse summer, that confirme a prince:
Tis not the vnsauory breath of multitudes,
Showting and clapping, with confused dinne;
That makes a Prince. No Lucio, he's a king,
A true right king, that dares doe aught, saue wrong,
Feares nothing mortall, but to be vniust,
Who is not blowne vp with the flattering puffes
Of spungy Sycophants: Who stands vnmou'd,
Despight the iustling of opinion:
Who can enjoy himselfe, maugre the throng
That striue to presse his quiet out of him:
Who sits vpon Ioues footestoole, as I doe,
Adoring, not affecting, maiestie:
Whose brow is wreathed with the siluer crowne
Of cleare content: this, Lucio, is a king.
And of this empire, euery man's possest,
That's worth his soule.
Lu.
My Lord, the Genowaies had wont to say
And.
Name not the Genowaies: that very word
Vnkings me quite, makes me vile passions slaue.
O, you that made open the glibbery Ice
Was neuer Prince with more applause confirm'd,
With louder shouts of tryumph launched out
Into the surgy maine of gouernment:
Was neuer Prince with more despight cast out,
Left shipwrackt, banisht, on more guiltlesse ground.
O rotten props of the craz'd multitude,
How you stil double, faulter, vnder the lightest chance
That straines your vaines. Alas, one battle lost,
Your whorish loue, your drunken healths, your houts
and shouts,
That tempts our quiet, to your hell of throngs.
Spit on me Lucio, for I am turnd slaue
Obserue how passion domineres ore me.
Lu.
No wonder, noble Lord, hauing lost a sonne,
A country, crowne, and
And.
I Lucio, hauing lost a sonne, a sonne,
A country, house, crowne, sonne. O lares, misereri lares.
Which shall I first deplore? My sonne, my sonne,
My deare sweete boy, my deare Antonio.
Ant.
Antonio?
And.
I, eccho, I; I meane Antonio.
Ant.
Antonio, who meanes Antonio?
And.
Where art? what art? know'st thou Antonio?
Ant.
Yes.
And.
Liues hee?
Ant.
No.
And.
Where lies hee deade?
Ant.
Here.
Where?
Ant.
Here.
Andr.
Art thou Antonio?
Ant.
I thinke I am.
And.
Dost thou but think? What, dost not know thy selfe?
Ant.
He is a foole that thinks he knowes himselfe.
And.
Vpon thy faith to heauen, giue thy name.
Ant.
I were not worthy of Andrugio's blood,
If I denied my name's Antonio.
And.
I were not worthy to be call'd thy father,
If I denied my name Andrugio.
And dost thou liue? O, let me kisse thy cheeke,
And deaw thy browe with trickling drops of ioy.
Now heauens will be done: for I haue liu'd
To see my ioy, my sonne Antonio.
Giue me thy hand; now fortune doe thy worst,
His blood, that lapt thy spirit in the wombe,
Thus (in his loue) will make his armes thy tombe.
Ant.
Blesse not the bodie with your twining armes,
Which is accurst of heauen. O, what black sinne
Hath bin committed by our auntient house,
Whose scalding vengeance lights vpon our heads,
That thus the world, and fortune casts vs out,
As loathed obiects, ruines branded slaues.
And.
Doe not expostulate the heauens will:
But, O, remember to forget thy felfe:
Forget remembrance what thou once hast bin.
Come, creepe with me from out this open ayre.
Euen trees haue tongues, and will betray our life.
I am a raising of our house, my boy:
And like the world (all durt) there shalt thou rippe
The inwards of thy fortunes, in mine eares,
Whilst I sit weeping, blinde with passions teares:
Then ile begin, and weele such order keepe,
That one shall still tell greefes, the other weepe.
Exit Andrugio, leauing Antonio, and his Page.
Ant.
Ile follow you. Boy, pree thee stay a little.
Thou hast had a good voice, if this colde marshe,
Wherein we lurke, haue not corrupted it.
Enter Mellida, standing out of sight, in her Pages suite.
I pree thee sing, but sirra (marke you me)
Let each note breath the heart of passion,
The sad extracture of extreamest griefe.
Make me a straine; speake, groning like a bell,
That towles departing soules.
Breath me a point that may inforce me weepe,
To wring my hands, to breake my cursed breast,
Raue, and exclaime, lie groueling on the earth,
Straight start vp frantick, crying, Mellida.
Sing but, Antonio hath lost Mellida,
And thou shalt see mee (like a man possest)
Howle out such passion, that euen this brinish marsh
Will squease out teares, from out his spungy cheekes,
The rocks euen groane, and
Pree thee, pree thee sing:
Or I shall nere ha done when I am in.
Tis harder for me end, then to begin.
The boy runnes a note, Antonio breakes it.
For looke thee boy, my griefe that hath no end,
CANTANT.
Mell.
Heauen keepe you sir.
An.
Heauen keepe you from me, sir.
Mell.
I must be acquainted with you, sir.
Ant.
Wherefore? Art thou infected with misery,
Sear'd with the anguish of calamitie?
Art thou true sorrow, hearty griefe, canst weepe?
I am not for thee if thou canst not raue,
Antonio fals on the ground.
Fall flat on the ground, and thus exclaime on heauen;
O trifling Nature, why enspiredst thou breath
Mell.
Stay sir, I thinke you named Mellida.
Ant.
Know'st thou Mellida?
Mel.
Yes.
Ant.
Hast thou seene Mellida?
Mell.
Yes.
Ant.
Then hast thou seene the glory of her sex,
The musick of Nature, the vnequall'd lustre
Of vnmatched excellence, the vnited sweete
Of heauens graces, the most adored beautie,
That euer strooke amazement in the world.
Mell.
You seeme to loue her.
Ant.
With my very soule.
Mell.
Shele not requite it: all her loue is fixt
Vpon a gallant, on Antonio,
The Duke of Genoas sonne. I was her Page:
And often as I waited, she would sigh;
Would clip my neck, and kisse, and kisse me thus.
Therefore leaue louing her: fa, faith me thinks,
Her beautie is not halfe so rauishing
As you discourse of; she hath a freckled face,
A lowe forehead, and a lumpish eye.
Ant.
O heauen, that I should heare such blasphemie.
Boy, rogue, thou liest, and
Spauento dell mio core dolce Mellida,
Di graua morte restoro vero dolce Mellida,
Celesta saluatrice sovrana Mellida
Del mio sperar; trofeo vero Mellida.
Mel.
Diletta & soaue anima mia Antonio,
Godeuole belezza cortese Antonio.
Signior mio & virginal amore bell' Antonio
Gusto delli mei sensi, car' Antonio.
Ant.
O suamisce il cor in vn soaue baccio,
Mel.
Murono i sensi nel desiato dessio:
Ant.
Nel Cielo puo lesser belta pia chiara.
Mel.
Nel mondo pol esser belta pia chiara?
Ant.
Dammi vn baccio da quella bocca beata,
Bassiammi, coglier l'aura odorata
Che in sua neggia in quello dolce labra.
Mel.
Dammi pimpero del tuo gradit' amore
Che beame, cosempiterno honore,
Cosi, cosi mi conuerra morir.
Good, sweet, scout ore the marsh: for my heart trembls
At euery little breath that strikes my eare,
When thou returnest: and ile discourse
How I deceiu'd the Court: then thou shall tell
With amorous kissing, kissing cōmaes, and euen suck
The liquid breath from out each others lips.
Ant.
Dul clod, no man but such sweeet fauour clips.
I goe, and yet my panting blood perswades me stay.
Turne coward in her sight? away, away.
I thinke confusion of Babell is falne vpon these louers,
that they change their language; but I feare mee, my
master hauing but fained the person of a woman, hath
got their vnfained imperfection, and is growne double
tongu'd: as for Mellida, she were no woman, if shee
could not yeelde strange language. But howsoeuer, if I
should sit in iudgement, tis an errour easier to be pardoned
by the auditors, then excused by the authours;
and yet some priuate respect may rebate the edge of
the keener censure.
Enter Piero, Castilio, Matzagente, Forobosco, Feliche, Galeatzo, Balurdo, and his Page, at another dore.
Pie.
This way shee took: search, my sweet gentlemē.
How now Balurdo, canst thou meete with any body?
Bal.
As I am true gentleman, I made my horse sweat,
that he hath nere a dry thread on him: and I can meete
with no liuing creature, but men & beastes, In good
sadnesse, I would haue sworne I had seene Mellida euen
now: for I sawe a thing stirre vnder a hedge, and I
peep't, and I spyed a thing: and I peer'd, and I tweerd
vnderneath: and truly a right wise man might haue
beene deceiued: for it was
What, in the name of heauen?
Bal.
A dun cowe.
Fel.
Sh'ad nere a kettle on her head?
Pie.
Boy, didst thou see a yong Lady passe this way?
Gal.
Why speake you not?
Bal.
Gods neakes, proud elfe, giue the Duke reuerence,
stand bare with a
Pie.
Where man, where?
Balur.
Turnd man, turnd man: women weare the
breaches, loe here,
Pie.
Light and vnduteous! kneele not, peeuish elfe,
Speake not, entreate not, shame vnto my house,
Curse to my honour. Where's Antonio?
Thou traitresse to my hate, what is he shipt
For England now? well whimpering harlot, hence.
Mell.
Good father
Pie.
Good me no goods. Seest thou that sprightly
youth? ere thou canst tearme to morrow morning old,
thou shalt call him thy husband, Lord and loue.
Mel.
Ay me.
Pie.
Blirt on your ay mees, gard her safely hence.
Drag her away, ile be your gard to night.
Young Prince, mount vp your spirits, and prepare
To solemnize your Nuptials eue with popme.
Gal.
The time is scant: now nimble wits appeare:
Phœbus begins gleame, the welkin's cleare.
Exeunt all, but Balurdo and his Page.
Bal.
Now nimble wits appeare: ile my selfe appeare,
Balurdo's selfe, that in quick wit doth surpasse,
Dil.
Asse, asse.
Bal.
Ile mount my courser, and most gallantly prick
Dil.
Gallantly prick is too long, and stands hardly
in the verse, sir.
Bal.
Ile speake pure rime, and will so brauely pranke
it, that ile tosse loue like a pranke, pranke it: a rime for
pranke it?
Dil.
Blank it.
Bal.
That ile tosse loue, like a dogge in a blanket: ha
ha, in deede law. I thinke, ha ha, I thinke ha ha, I think
I shall tickle the Muses. And I strike it not deade, say,
Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.
Dil.
Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.
Enter Andrugio and Antonio wreathed together, Lucio.
And.
Now, come vnited force of chap-falne death:
Come, power of fretting anguish, leaue distresse.
O, thus infoulded, we haue breasts of proofe,
Gainst all the venom'd stings of misery.
Ant:
Father, now I haue an antidote,
Gainst all the poyson that the world can breath.
My Mellida, my Mellida doth blesse
This bleak waste with her presence. How now boy,
Why dost thou weepe? alas, where's Mellida?
Ant.
Ay me, my Lord.
And.
A sodden horror doth inuade my blood,
My sinewes tremble, and my panting heart
Scuds round about my bosome to goe out,
O, be no tyrant, kill me with one blowe.
Speake quickly, briefely boy.
Pa.
Her father found, and seis'd her, she is gone.
And.
Son, heat thy bloode, be not frose vp with grief.
Courage, sweet boy, sinke not beneath the waight
Of crushing mischiefe. O where's thy dantlesse heart
Thy fathers spirit! I renounce thy blood,
If thou forsake thy valour.
Lu.
See how his grief speakes in his slow-pac't steps:
Alas, tis more than he can vtter, let him goe.
Dumbe solitary path best sureth woe.
And.
Giue me my armes, my armour Lucio.
Lu.
Deare Lord, what means this rage, when lacking vse
Scarce safes your life, will you in armour rise?
And.
Fortune feares valour, presseth cowardize.
Lu.
Then valour gets applause, when it hath place,
And meanes to blaze it.
And.
Nunquam potest non esse.
Lu.
Patience, my Lord, may bring your ils some end.
And.
What patience, friend, can ruin'd hopes attēd?
Come, let me die like old Andrugio:
Worthy my birth. O blood-true-honour'd graues
Are farre more blessed then base life of slaues.
Exeunt.
| The History of Antonio and Mellida | |