 | Antonio's Reuenge |  |
SCENA SECVNDA.
Enter Pandulfo.Pan.
No no, Piero, weeping for my sinnes:
Had I bin a good father, he had bin a gratious sonne.
Pie.
Pollution must be purg'd.
Pan.
Why taintst thou then the ayre with stench of flesh,
And humane putrifactions noysome sent?
I pray his bodie. Who lesse boone can craue,
Than to bestowe vpon the deade, his graue?
Pie.
Graue? why? think'st thou he deserues a graue,
That hath defil'd the temple of
Pan.
Peace, peace:
Me thinks I heare a humming murmur creepe
From out his gelli'd wounds. Looke on those lips,
Those now lawne pillowes, on whose tender softnesse,
Chaste modest speach, stealing from out his breast,
Had wont to rest it selfe, as loath to poast
From out so faire an Inne: look, look, they seeme to stir,
And breath defyance to black obloquie.
Pie.
Think'st thou thy sonne could suffer wrongfully?
Pan.
A wise man wrongfully, but neuer wrong
Can take: his breast's of such well tempered proofe,
It may be rac'd, not pearc't by sauage tooth
Of foaming malice: showers of dartes may darke
Heauens ample browe: but not strike out a sparke;
Much lesse pearce the Suns cheek. Such songs as these,
But now I turne plaine foole (alas) I weepe.
Pie.
Fore heauen he makes me shrug: wold a were deade:
He is a vertuous man. What has our court to doe
With vertue, in the diuels name! Pandulpho, harke.
My lustfull daughter dies: start not, she dies.
I pursue iustice, I loue sanctitie,
And an vndefiled temple of pure thoughts.
Shall I speake freely? Good Andrugio's dead:
And I doe feare a fetch; but (vmh) would I durst speake.
I doe mistrust; but (vmh) death: is he all, all man:
Hath he no part of mother in him, ha?
No licorish womanish inquisitiuenesse?
Pan.
Andrugio's deade!
Pie.
I, and I feare, his owne vnnaturall blood,
To whome he gaue life, hath giuen death for life.
How could he come on, I see false suspect
Is vicde; wrung hardly in a vertuous heart.
Well, I could giue you reason for my doubts.
You are of honour'd birth, my very friende.
You know how god-like tis to roote out sin.
Antonio is a villaine. Will you ioyne
In oath with me, against the traitors life,
And sweare, you knewe, he sought his fathers death?
I lou'd him well, yet I loue iustice more:
Our friends we should affect, iustice adore.
Pan.
My Lord, the clapper of my mouth's not glibd
With court oyle, twill not strike on both sides yet.
Pie.
Tis iust that subiectes acte commaunds of kings.
Pan.
Commaund then iust and honorable things,
Euen so my selfe then will traduce his guilt.
Pan.
Beware, take heed least guiltlesse blood be spilt.
Pie.
Where onely honest deeds to kings are free,
It is no empire, but a beggery.
Pan.
Where more than noble deeds to kings are free,
It is no empire, but a tyranny.
Pie.
Tush iuicelesse graybeard, tis immunity,
Proper to princes, that our state exactes,
Our subiects not alone to beare, but praise our acts.
Pan.
O, but that prince that worthfull praise aspires,
From hearts, and not from lips, applause desires.
Pie.
Pish, true praise, the brow of common men doth ring,
False, only girts the temple of a king,
He that hath strength, and's ignorant of power,
He was not made to rule, but to be rul'd.
Pan.
Tis praise to doe, not what we can, but should.
Pie.
Hence doting Stoick: by my hope of blisse,
Ile make thee wretched.
Pan.
Defyance to thy power, thou rifted Iawne.
Now, by the lou'd heauen, sooner thou shalt
Rince thy foule ribs from the black filth of sinne,
That soots thy heart, then make me wretched. Pish,
Thou canst not coupe me vp. Hadst thou a Iaile
With trebble walles, like antick Babilon,
Pandulpho can get out. I tell thee Duke,
I haue ould Fortunatus wishing cappe:
And can be where I list, euen in a trice.
Ile skippe from earth into the armes of heauen:
And from tryumphall arch of blessednesse,
Spit on thy froathy breast. Thou canst not slaue
Maugre the bearde of greatnesse. The port holes
Of sheathed spirit are nere corb'd vp:
But still stand open readie to discharge
Their pretious shot into the shrowds of heauen.
Pie.
O torture! slaue, I banish thee the towne,
Thy natiue seate of birth.
Pa.
How proud thou speak'st! I tell thee Duke, the blasts
Of the swolne cheekt winds, nor all the breath of kings
Can puffe me out my natiue seat of birth.
The earth's my bodies, and the heauen's my soules
Most natiue place of birth, which they will keepe:
Despite the menace of mortalitie—
Why Duke:
That's not my natiue place, where I was rockt.
A wise mans home is wheresoere he is wise.
Now that, from man, not from the place doth rise.
Pie.
Wold I were deafe (ô plague) hence dotard wretch:
Tread not in court. All that thou hast, I seize.
His quiet's firmer then I can disease.
Pan.
Goe, boast vnto thy flattring Sycophants;
Pandulpho's slaue, Piero hath orethrowne.
Loose Fortunes rags are lost; my owne's my owne.
Piero's going out, lookes backe, Exeunt at seuerall doores.
Tis true Piero, thy vext heart shall see,
Thou hast but tript my slaue, not conquerd mee.
| Antonio's Reuenge | |