 | Antonio's Reuenge |  |
SCENA TERTIA.
Enter Antonio, Galeatzo, Matzagente, Balurdo, Pandulpho Feliche, Alberto, Forobosco, Castilio, and a Page.Ant.
Darknesse is fled: looke, infant morn hath drawne
Bright siluer curtains, 'bout the couch of night:
And now Auroras horse trots azure rings,
Breathing faire light about the firmament,
Stand, what's that?
Mat.
And if a horned diuell should burst forth,
I would passe on him with a mortall stocke.
Alb.
Oh, a horned diuell would prooue ominous,
Vnto a bridegroomes eyes,
Mat.
A horned diuel? good, good: ha ha ha, very good.
Al.
Good tand prince laugh not. By the ioyes of loue,
When thou dost girne, thy rusty face doth looke
Like the head of a rosted rabbit: fie vpont.
Bal.
By my troth, me thinks his nose is iust colour de Roy
Mat.
I tel thee foole, my nose will abide no iest.
Bal.
No in truth, I doe not ieast, I speake truth. Truth
is the touchstone of all things: and if your nose
will not abide the truth, your nose will not abide the
touch: and if your nose will not abide the touch, your
nose is a copper nose, and must be nail'd vp for a slip.
Mat.
I scorne to retort the obtuse ieast of a foole.
Balurdo drawes out his writing tables, and writes.
Bal.
Retort and obtuse, good words, very good words.
Young Prince, looke sprightly; fie, a bridegroom
sadde!
Bal.
In truth, if he were retort, and obtuse, no question,
hee would bee merrie: but and please my Genius,
I will be most retort and obtuse ere night. Ile tell you,
what Ile beare soone at night in my shielde, for my
deuice.
Gal.
What, good Balurdo?
Bal.
O, doe me right: sir Gefferey Balurdo: sir, sir, as
long as yee liue, sir.
Gal.
What, good sir Geffery Balurdo?
Ba.
Marry forsooth, Ile carrie for my deuice, my grand
fathers great stone-hors, flinging vp his head, & ierking
out his left legge. The word; Wighy Purt. As I am a
true knight, wil't not bee most retort and obtuse, ha?
Ant.
Blowe hence these saplesse iestes. I tell you bloods
My spirit's heauie, and the iuyce of life
Creepes slowly through my stifned arteries.
Last sleep, my sense was steep't in horrid dreames:
Three parrs of night were swallow'd in the gulfe
Of rauenous time, when to my slumbring powers,
Two meager ghosts made apparition.
The on's breast seem'd fresh pauncht with bleeding wounds:
Whose bubling gore sprang in frighted eyes.
The other ghost assum'd my fathers shape:
Both cride Reuenge. At which my trembling ioynts
(Iced quite ouer with a froz'd cold sweate)
Leap't forth the sheets. Three times I gasp't at shades:
And thrice, deluded by erroneous sense,
I forc't my thoughts make stand; when loe, I op't
Struck terror to my soule. The verge of heauen
Was ringd with flames, and all the vpper vault
Thick lac't with flakes of fire; in midst whereof
A blazing Comet shot his threatning traine
Iust on my face. Viewing these prodigies,
I bow'd my naked knee, and pierc't the starre,
With an outfacing eye; pronouncing thus;
Deus imperat astris. At which, my nose straight bled:
Then doubl'd I my word, so slunke to bed.
Ba.
Verely, sir Gefferey had a monstrous strange dream
the last night. For mee thought I dreamt I was asleepe,
and me thought the ground yaun'd and belkt vp the
abhominable ghost of a mishapen Simile, with two
vgly Pages; the one called master, euen as going before;
and the other Mounser, euen so following after;
whil'st Signior Simile stalked most prodigiously in
the midst. At which I bewrayed the fearefulnesse of
my nature: and being readie to forsake the fortresse of
my wit, start vp, called for a cleane shirt, eate a messe
of broth, and with that I awakt.
Ant.
I pree thee peace. I tell you gentlemen,
The frightfull shades of night yet shake my braine:
My gellied blood's not thaw'd: the sulphur damps,
That flowe in winged lightning 'bout my couch,
Yet stick within my sense, my soule is great,
In expectation of dire prodigies.
Pan.
Tut, my young Prince, let not thy fortunes see
Their Lord a coward. He, thats nobly borne,
Abhorres to feare. Base feare's the brand of slaues.
Was neuer cast in mould of noble spright.
Ga.
Tush, there's a sun will straight exhale these damps
Of chilling feare. Come, shal's salute the bride?
Ant.
Castilio, I pree the mixe thy breath with his:
Sing one of Signior Renaldo's ayres,
To rouse the slumbring bride from gluttoning,
In surfet of superfluous sleepe. Good Signior, sing.
CANTANT.
What meanes this silence and vnmooued calme!
Boy, winde thy Cornet: force the leaden gates
Of lasie sleepe fly open, with thy breath,
My Mellida not vp? not stirring yet? vmh.
Ma.
That voice, should be my sonnes Antonio's.
Antonio?
Ant.
Here, who cals? here stands Antonio.
Mari.
Sweete sonne.
Ant.
Deare mother.
Ma.
Faire honour of a chast and loyall bed,
Thy fathers beautie, thy sad mothers loue,
Were I as powrefull as the voice of fate,
Felicitie compleat should sweete thy state:
But all the blessings, that a poore banisht wretch,
Can powre vpon thy heade, take gentle sonne:
Liue, gratious youth, to close thy mothers eyes,
Lou'd of thy parents, till their latest hower:
How cheares my Lord, thy father? O sweet boy,
Part of him thus I clip, my deare, deare ioy.
Madam, last night I kist his princely hand,
And tooke a treasur'd blessing from his lips:
O mother, you arriue in Iubile,
And firme attonement of all boystrous rage:
Pleasure, vnited loue, protested faith,
Guard my lou'd father, as sworne Pensioners:
The Dukes are leagu'd in firmest bond of loue,
And you arriue euen in the Solsticie,
And highest point of sun-shine happinesse.
One windes a Cornet within.
Harke Madam, how yon Cornet ierketh vp
His straind shrill accents, in the capering ayre;
As proud to summon vp my bright cheek't loue.
Now, mother, ope wide expectation:
Let loose your amplest sense, to entertaine
Th'impression of an obiect of such worth,
That life's too poore to
Gal.
Nay leaue Hyperboles.
Ant.
I tel thee prince, that presence straight appears,
Of which thou canst not forme Hyperboles,
The trophy of tryumphing excellence:
The heart of beautie, Mellida appeares.
See, looke, the curtaine stirs, shine natures pride,
Loues vitall spirit, deare Antonio's bride.
The Curtain's drawne, and the bodie of Feliche, stabd thick with wounds, appeares hung vp.
What villaine bloods the window of my loue?
What slaue hath hung yon gorie ensigne vp,
In flat defiance of humanitie?
Awake thou faire vnspotted puritie.
Antonio cals.
| Antonio's Reuenge | |