 | The History of Antonio and Mellida |  |
ACTVS QVINTVS.
Enter Balurdo, a Painter with two pictures, and Dildo.
And are you a painter sir, can you drawe, can
you drawe?
Pay.
Yes sir.
Ba.
Indeede lawe? now so can my fathers forehore
horse. And are these the workmanshippe of your
hands?
Payn.
I did lymne them.
Bal.
Lymne them? a good word, lymne them: whose
picture is this? Anno Domini 1599. Beleeue mee,
master Anno Domini was a good settled age when
you lymn'd him. 1599. yeares old? Lets see the other.
Etatis suæ 24. Bir Ladie he is somwhat younger. Belike
master Etatis suæ was Anno Dominies sonne.
Pa.
Is not your master a
Dil.
He hath a little procliuitie to him
Pa.
Procliuitie, good youth? I thank you for your
courtly procliuitie.
Bal.
Approach good sir. I did send for you to drawe
me a deuise, an Imprezza, by Sinecdoche a Mott. By
Phœbus crymson taffata mantle, I thinke I speake as
melodiously, looke you sir, how thinke you ont? I wold
haue you paint mee, for my deuice, a good fat legge of
ewe mutton, swimming in stewde broth of plummes
(boy keele your mouth, it runnes ouer) and the word
shall be; Holde my dish, whilst I spill my pottage. Sure, in
my conscience, twould be the most sweete deuice,
now.
Pa.
Twould sent of kitchin-stuffe too much.
Bal.
Gods neakes, now I remember mee, I ha
you paint me a driueling reeling song, & let the word
be, Vh.
Payn.
A belch.
Bal.
O, no no: Vh, paint me vh, or nothing.
Pay.
It can not be done sir, but by a seeming kinde of
drunkennesse.
Bal.
No? well, let me haue a good maffie ring, with
your owne poesie grauen in it, that must sing a small
trebble, worde for word, thus; And if you will my
true louer be,
Pa.
O Lord, sir, I can not make a picture sing.
B.
Why? z'lid, I haue seen painted things sing as sweet:
But I hau't will tickle it, for a conceipt ifaith.
Enter Feliche, and Alberto.
Alb.
O deare Feliche, giue me thy deuice.
How shall I purchase loue of Rossaline?
Fel.
S'will, flatter her soundly.
Alb.
Her loue is such, I can not flatter her:
But with my vtmost vehemence of speach,
I haue ador'd her beauties.
Fel.
Hast writ good mouing vnaffected rimes to
her.
Alb.
O, yes, Feliche, but she scornes my writ.
Fel.
Hast thou presented her with sumptuous gifts?
Alb.
Alas, my fortunes are too weake to offer them.
Fell.
O, then I haue it, ile tell thee what to doe.
Alb.
What, good Feliche?
Fel.
Goe and hang thy selfe, I say, goe hang thy selfe,
Ile rime thee dead, or verse thee to the rope.
How thinkst thou of a Poet that sung thus;
Munera sola pacant, sola addunt muner a formam:
Munere solicites Pallada, Cypris erit.
Munera, munera.
Alb.
Ile goe and breath my woes vnto the rocks,
And spend my griefe vpon the deafest seas.
Ile weepe my passion to the senselesse trees,
And load most solitarie ayre with plaints.
For wods, trees, sea, or rocky Appenine,
Is not so ruthlesse as my Rossaline.
Farewell deare friend, expect no more of mee,
Here ends my part, in this loues Comedy.
Exit Alb.
Exit Paynter.
Fel.
Now master Balurdo, whether are you going, ha?
Bal.
Signior Feliche, how doe you faith, & by my
troth, how doe you?
Fel.
Whether art thou going, bully?
Bal.
And as heauen helpe mee, how doe you?
How, doe you ifaith he?
Fel.
Whether art going man?
Ball.
O god, to the Court, ile be willing to giue you
grace and good countnance, if I may but see you in
the presence.
Fel.
O to court? farewell.
Bal.
If you see one in a yellow taffata dubblet, cut
vpon carnation valure, a greene hat, a blewe paire of
veluet hose, a gilt rapier, and an orenge tauny pair of
worsted silke stockings, thats I, thats I.
Very good, farewell.
Bal.
Ho, you shall knowe me as easily, I ha bought
mee a newe greene feather with a red sprig, you shall
see my wrought shirt hang out at my breeches, you
shall know me.
Fel.
Very good, very good, farewell.
Ball.
Marrie in the maske twill be somewhat harde.
But if you heare any bodie speake so wittily, that hee
makes all the roome laugh; that's I, that's I. Farewell
good Signior.
Enter Forobosco, Castilio, a boy carying a gilt harpe: Piero, Mellida in night apparrell, Rossaline, Flauia, two Pages.
Pier.
Aduance the musiques prize, now capring wits,
Rise to your highest mount; let choyce delight
Garland the browe of this tryumphant night.
Sfoote, a sits like Lucifer himselfe.
Rossa.
Good sweete Duke, first let their voyces strain
for musicks price. Giue mee the golden harpe: faith
with your fauour, ile be vmperesse.
Pi.
Sweet neece cōtent: boyes cleare your voice & sing.
1. CANTAT.
Rossa.
By this gould, I had rather haue a seruant with a
short nose, and a thinne haire, then haue such a high
stretcht minikin voice.
Pie.
Faire neece, your reason?
By the sweete of loue, I should feare extreamely
that he were an Eunuch.
Cast.
Sparke spirit, how like you his voice?
Ross.
Spark spirit, how like you his voice?
So helpe me, youth, thy voice squeakes like a dry cork
shoe: come, come, lets heare the next.
2. CANTAT.
Pie.
Trust me, a good strong meane, Well sung my
boy.
Enter Balurdo.
Bal.
Hold, hold, hold: are yee blind, could you not see
my voice comming for the harpe. And I knock not diuision
on the head, take hence the harpe, make mee a
slip, and let me goe but for nine pence. Sir Marke, strike
vp for master Balurdo.
Iudgemēt gentlemen, iudgemēt. Wast not aboue line?
I appeale to your mouthes that heard my song.
Doe me right, and dub me knight Balurdo.
Ros.
Kneele downe, and ile dub thee knight of the
golden harpe.
Ba.
Indeed law, doe, and ile make you Ladie of the siluer fiddlestick,
Ross.
Come, kneele, kneele.
Enter a Page to Balurdo,
Bal.
My troth, I thank you, it hath neuer a whistle in't—
Ro.
Naie, good sweet cuz raise vp your drooping eies,
day forward, I would be asham'd to looke thus lumpish.
What my prettie Cuz, tis but the losse of an od
maidenhead: shall's daunce? thou art so sad, harke in
mine eare. I was about to say, but ile forbeare.
Ba.
I come, I come, more then most hunny-suckle
sweete Ladies, pine not for my presence, ile returne
in pompe. Well spoke sir Ieffrey Balurdo. As I am a true
knight, I feele honourable eloquence begin to grope
mee alreadie.
Exit.
Pie.
Faith, mad neece, I wonder when thou wilt
marrie?
Rossa.
Faith, kinde vncle, when men abandon ielosy,
forsake taking of Tobacco, and cease to weare their
beardes so rudely long. Oh, to haue a husband with
a mouth continually smoaking, with a bush of furs on
the ridge of his chinne, readie still to slop into his foming
chaps; ah, tis more than most intollerable.
Pier.
Nay faith, sweete neece, I was mightie strong
in thought we should haue shut vp night with an ould
Comedie: the Prince of Millane shall haue Mellida, &
thou shouldst haue
Ros.
No bodie, good sweete vncle. I tell you, sir, I
haue 39. seruants, and my munkey that makes the fortieth.
Now I loue al of them lightly for something, but
affect none of them seriously for any thing. One's a
passionate foole, and hee flatters mee aboue beliefe:
the second's a teastie ape, and hee railes at me beyond
reason: the third's as graue as some Censor, and hee
strokes vp his mustachoes three times, and makes six
fourth's as dry, as the burre of an heartichoke; the fifth
paints, and hath alwaies a good colour for what hee
speakes: the sixt
Pie.
Stay, stay, sweet neece, what makes you thus suspect
young gallants worth.
Ross.
Oh, when I see one were a perewig, I dreade his
haire; another wallowe in a great sloppe, I mistrust
the proportion of his thigh; and wears a ruffled boot,
I feare the fashion of his legge. Thus, something in each
thing, one tricke in euery thing makes me mistrust imperfection
in all parts; and there's the full point of my
addiction.
The Cornets sound a cynet.
Enter Galeatzo, Matzagente, and Balurdo in maskery.
Pier.
The roome's too scant: boyes, stand in there, close.
Mel.
In faith, faire sir, I am too sad to daunce.
Pie.
How's that, how's that? too sad? By heauen dance,
And grace him to, or, goe to, I say no more.
Mell.
A burning glasse, the word splendente Phœbo?
Tis too curious, I conceipt it not.
Gal.
Faith, ile tel thee. Ile no longer burne, then youle
shine and smile vpon my loue. For looke yee fairest, by
your pure sweets,
And faith, vnlesse you shed your brightest beames
Of sunny fauour, and acceptiue grace
Vpon my tender loue, I doe not burne:
Marry but shine, and ile reflect your beames,
with feruent ardor. Faith I wold be loath to flatter thee
faire soule, because I loue, not doat, court like thy husband;
which thy father sweares, to morrowe morne I
must be. This is all, and now from henceforth, trust me
Mellida, Ile not speake one wise word to thee more.
Mell.
I trust yee.
Gal.
By my troth, Ile speak pure foole to thee now.
Mel.
You will speake the liker your selfe.
Gal.
Good faith, Ile accept of the cockescombe, so
you will not refuse the bable.
Mel.
Nay good sweet, keepe them both, I am enamour'd
of neither.
Gal.
Goe to, I must take you downe for this. Lende
me your eare.
Ros.
A glowe worme, the word? Splendescit tantùm tenebris.
Matz.
O, Ladie, the glowe worme figurates my valour:
which shineth brightest in most darke, dismall and horrid
atchieuements.
Ross.
Or rather, your glowe worme represents your
wit, which only seems to haue fire in it, though indeed
tis but an ignis fatuus, and shines onely in the darke
deade night of fooles admiration.
Matz.
Ladie, my wit hath spurs, if it were dispos'd to
ride you.
Ross.
Faith sir, your wits spurs haue but walking rowels;
dull, blunt, they will not drawe blood: the gentlemen
vshers may admit them the Presence, for anie
wrong they can doe to Ladies.
Bal.
Truely, I haue strained a note aboue Ela, for a deuise;
word, Perfect, if it were prickt.
Fla.
Though you are mask't, I can guesse who you
are by your wit. You are not the exquisite Balurdo, the
most rarely shap't Balurdo.
Ba.
Who, I? No I am not sir Ieffrey Balurdo. I am not
as well knowne by my wit, as an alehouse by a red lattice.
I am not worthy to loue and be belou'd of Flauia,
Fla.
I will not scorne to fauour such good parts, as
are applauded in your rarest selfe.
Bal.
Truely, you speake wisely, and like a Iantlewoman
of foureteene yeares of age. You know the stone
called lapis; the nearer it comes to the fire, the hotter
it is: and the bird, which the Geometricians cal Auis,
the farther it is from the earth, the nearer it is to the
heauen: and loue, the nigher it is to the flame, the
more remote (ther's a word, remote) the more remote
it is from the frost, Your wit is quicke, a little thinge
pleaseth a young Ladie, and a smal fauour contenteth
an ould Courtier; and so, sweete mistresse I trusse my
codpeece point.
Enter Feliche.
Pier.
What might import this florish? bring vs word.
Fel.
Stand away: here's such a companie of flibotes,
hulling about this galleasse of greatnesse, that there's
no boarding him.
Pie.
How now blunt Feliche, what's the newes?
Fel.
Yonder's a knight, hath brought Andrugio's
head, & craues admittance to your chaire of state.
Cornets sound a Cynet: enter Andrugio in armour.
Conduct him with attendance sumptuous,
Sound all the pleasing instruments of ioy:
Make tryumph, stand on tiptoe whil'st wee meete:
O sight most gratious, o reuenge most sweete!
And.
We vowe, by the honour of our birth, to recompence
any man that bringeth Andrugio's head, with twentie thousand
double Pistolets, and the endeering to our choysest loue.
Pie.
We still with most vnmou'd resolu'd confirme
Our large munificence: and here breath
A sad and solemne protestation:
When I recall this vowe, O, let our house
Be euen commaunded, staind, and trampled on,
As worthlesse rubbish of nobilitie.
And.
Then, here, Piero, is Andrugios head,
Royally casked in a helme of steele:
Giue me thy loue, and take it. My dauntlesse soule
Hath that vnbounded vigor in his spirits,
That it can beare more ranke indignitie,
With lesse impatience, then thy cancred hate
Can sting and venome his vntainted worth,
With the most viperous sound of malice. Strike;
O, let no glimse of honour light thy thoughts,
If there be any heat of royall breath
Creeping in thy vaines, O stifle it.
Be still thy selfe, bloodie and trecherous.
Fame not thy house with an admired acte
Of princely pittie. Piero, I am come,
To soyle thy house with an eternall blot
Of sauage crueltie; strike, or bid me strike.
I pray my death; that thy nere dying shame
Come, be a princely hangman, stoppe my breath.
O dread thou shame, no more then I dread death.
Pie.
We are amaz'd, our royall spirits numm'd,
In stiffe astonisht wonder at thy prowesse,
Most mightie, valiant, and high towring heart.
We blush, and turne our hate vpon our selues,
For hating such an vnpeer'd excellence.
I ioy my state: him whome I loath'd before,
That now I honour, loue; nay more, adore.
The still Flutes sound a mournfull Cynet. Enter a Cofin.
But stay: what tragick spectacle appeares,
Whose bodie beare you in that mournefull hearse?
Lu.
The breathlesse trunke of young Antonio.
Mell.
Antonio (aye me) my Lord, my loue, my
And.
Sweete pretious issue of most honor'd blood,
Rich hope, ripe vertue, O vntimely losse.
Come hither friend. Pree thee doe not weepe:
Why, I am glad hee's deade, he shall not see
His fathers vanquisht, by his enemie.
Euen in princely honour, nay pree thee speake.
How dy'd the wretched boy?
Lu.
My Lord
And.
I hope he dyed yet like my sonne, ifaith.
Lu.
Alas, my Lord
And.
He died vnforst, I trust, and valiantly.
Lu.
Poore gentleman, being
And.
Did his hand shake, or his eye looke dull,
His thoughts reele, fearefull when he struck the stroke?
Rip vp his cearecloth, mangle his bleake face;
That when he comes to heauen, the powers diuino
Shall nere take notice that he was my sonne.
Ile quite disclaime his birth: nay pree thee speake:
And twere not hoopt with steel, my brest wold break.
Mel.
O that my spirit in a sigh could mount,
Into the Spheare, where thy sweet soule doth rest.
Pie.
O that my teares, bedeawing thy wan cheeke,
Could make new spirit sprout in thy could blood.
Bal.
Verely, he lookes as pittifully, as a poore Iohn: as
I am true knight, I could weepe like a ston'd horse.
And.
Villaine, tis thou hast murdred my sonne.
Thy vnrelenting spirit (thou black dogge,
That took'st no passion of his fatall loue)
Hath forst him giue his life vntimely end.
Pie.
Oh that my life, her loue, my dearest blood
Would but redeeme one minute of his breath.
Ant.
I seize that breath. Stād not amaz'd great states:
I rise from death, that neuer liu'd till now.
Piero, keepe thy vowe, and I enioy
More vnexpressed height of happinesse,
Then power of thought can reach: if not, loe here
There stands my toumbe, and here a pleasing stage:
Most wisht spectators of my Tragedie,
To this end haue I fain'd, that her faire eye,
For whome I liu'd, might blesse me ere I die.
Mell, Can breath depaint my vncōceiued thoughts?
Can words describe my infinite delight,
Of seeing thee, my Lord Antonio?
Whil'st I instill the deawe of my sweete blisse,
In the soft pressure of a melting kisse;
Sic, sic iuuat ire sub vmbras.
Pie.
Faire sonne (now Ile be proud to call thee sonne)
Enioy me thus; my verie breast is thine:
Possesse me freely, I am wholly thine.
Ant,
Deare father.
And.
Sweet son, sweet son; I can speake no more:
My ioyes passion flowes aboue the shoare,
And choakes the current of my speach.
Pie.
Young Florence prince, to you my lips must beg,
For a remittance of your interest.
Gal.
In your faire daughter, with all my thought,
So helpe me faith, the naked truth Ile vnfold;
He that was nere hot, will soone be cold,
Pie.
No man els makes claime vnto her.
Matz.
The valiant speake truth in briefe: no
Bal.
Trulie, for sir Ieffrey Balurdo, he disclaimes to haue
had anie thing in her,
Pie.
Then here I giue her to Antonio.
Royall, valiant, most respected prince,
Let's clippe our hands; Ile thus obserue my vowe;
I promis'd twentie thousand double Pistolets,
With the indeering to my dearest loue,
To him that brought thy head; thine be the golde,
To solemnize our houses vnitie:
My loue be thine, the all I haue be thine.
Fill vs fresh wine, the forme weele take by this:
Weele drinke a health, while they two sip a kisse.
Harsh accents to the eare of our accord:
So please your neece to match.
Ross.
Troth vncle, when my sweet fac't cuz hath tolde
me how she likes the thing, call'd wedlock; may be Ile
take a suruey of the checkroll of my seruants; & he that
hath the best parts of, Ile pricke him downe for my
husband.
Bal.
For passion of loue now, remember me to my
mistresse, Lady Rossaline, when she is pricking down the
good parts of her seruants. As I am true knight, I grow
stiffe: I shall carry it.
Pie.
I will.
Sound Lidian wires, once make a pleasing note,
On Nectar streames of your sweete ayres, to flote.
Ant.
Here ends the comick crosses of true loue:
Oh may the passage most succesfull proue.
| The History of Antonio and Mellida | |