 | Antonio's Reuenge |  |
ACT. IIII.
SCEN. I.
Enter Antonio in a fooles habit, with a little toy of a walnut shell, and sope, to make bubbles: Maria, and Alberto.Ma.
Away with this disguise in any hand.
Alb.
Fie, tis vnsuting to your elate spirite:
Rather put on some transshap't caualier,
Some habit of a spitting Critick, whose mouth
Voids nothing but gentile and vnuulgar
Rheume of censure: rather assume.
Ant.
Why then should I put on the verie flesh
Of solid folly. No, this cockscombe is a crowne
Which I affect, euen with vnbounded zeale.
Al.
Twil twhart your plot, disgrace your high resolue.
An.
By wisdomes heart there is no essence mortal,
That I can enuie, but a plumpe cheekt foole:
O, he hath a patent of immunities
Confirm'd by custome, seald by pollicie,
As large as spatious thought.
Alb.
You can not presse among the courtiers,
And haue accesse to
An.
What? not a foole? Why friend, a golden asse,
A babl'd foole are sole canonicall,
Whil'st pale cheekt wisdome, and leane ribd arte
All held Apocrypha, not worth suruey,
Why, by the Genius of that Florentine,
Deepe, deepe obseruing, sound brain'd Macheueil,
He is is not wise that striues not to seeme foole.
When will the Duke holde feed Intelligence,
Keepe warie obseruation in large pay,
To dogge a fooles act?
Mar.
I, but such faining, known, disgraceth much.
An.
Pish, most things that morally adhere to soules,
VVholly exist in drunke opinion:
VVhose reeling censure, if I valew not,
It valewes naught.
Ma.
You are transported with too slight a thought,
If you but meditate of what is past,
And what you plot to passe.
Ant.
Euen in that, note a fooles beatitude:
He is not capeable of passion,
VVanting the power of distinction,
He beares an vnturnd sayle with euery winde:
Blowe East, blowe West, he stirs his course alike.
I neuer sawe a foole leane: the chub-fac't fop
Shines sleeke with full cramm'd fat of happinesse,
Whil'st studious contemplation sucks the iuyce
From wisards cheekes: who making curious search
For Natures secrets, the first innating cause
Laughes them to scorne, as man doth busie Apes
When they will zanie men. Had heauen bin kinde,
Creating me an honest senselesse dolt,
A good poore foole, I should want sense to feele
I should not know what twere to loose a father:
I should be deade of sense, to viewe defame
Blur my bright loue; I could not thus run mad,
As one confounded in a maze of mischiefe,
Staggerd, starke feld with brusing stroke of chance.
I should not shoote mine eyes into the earth,
Poring for mischiefe, that might counterpoise
Enter Luceo.
mischiefe, murder and
How now Lucio?
Lu.
My Lord, the Duke, with the Venetian States,
Approach the great hall to iudge Mellida.
Ant.
Askt he for Iulio yet?
Lu.
No motion of him: dare you trust this habit?
An.
Alberto, see you streight rumour me dead:
Leaue me, good mother, leaue me Luceo,
Forsake me all. Now patience hoope my sides,
Exeunt omnes, sauing Antonio.
With steeled ribs, least I doe burst my breast
With struggling passions. Now disguise stand bolde.
Poore scorned habits, oft choyce soules infould.
The Cornets sound a Cynet.
SCENA SECVNDA.
Enter Castilio, Forobosco, Balurdo, & Alberto, with polaxes: Luceo bare. Piero & Maria talking together: two Senators, Galeatzo, and Matzagente, Nutriche.Intreat me not: ther's not a beauty liues,
Hath that imperiall predominance
Ore my affectes, as your inchanting graces:
Yet giue me leaue to be my selfe.
Ant.
A villaine.
Pier.
Iust.
Ant.
Most iust.
Pie.
Most iust and vpright in our iudgement seat.
Were Mellida mine eye, with such a blemish
Of most loath'd loosenesse, I would scratch it out.
Produce the strumpet in her bridall robes,
That she may blush t'appeare so white in showe,
And blacke in inward substance. Bring her in.
Exeunt Forobosco and Castilio.
I holde Antonio, for his fathers sake,
So verie dearely, so entirely choyce,
That knewe I but a thought of preiudice,
Imaigin'd 'gainst his high innobled blood,
I would maintaine a mortall feude, vndying hate
Gainst the conceiuers life. And shall Iustice sleepe
In fleshly Lethargie, for myne owne bloods fauour,
When the sweete prince hath so apparant scorne
By my (I wil not call her) daughter. Goe,
Conduct in the loued youth Antonio:
Exit Alberto to fetch Antonio.
He shall beholde me spurne my priuate good.
Piero loues his honour more then's blood.
Ant.
The diuell he does more then both.
Ba.
Stand backe there, foole; I do hate a foole most
most pathetically. O these that haue no sappe of of retort
Ant.
Puffe; holde world: puffe, hold bubble; Puffe,
holde world: puffe, breake not behinde: puffe, thou
art full of winde; puffe, keepe vp by winde: puffe, 'tis
broake: & now I laugh like a good foole at the breath
of mine owne lips, he, he, he, he, he.
Bal.
You foole.
Ant.
You foole, puffe.
Ba.
I cannot disgest thee, the vnuulgar foole. Goe
foole.
Pier.
Forbeare, Balurdo, let the foole alone,
Come hither (ficto) Is he your foole?
Ma.
Yes, my lou'd Lord.
Pi.
Would all the States in Venice were like thee.
O then I were secur'd.
He that's a villaine, or but meanely sowl'd,
Must stil conuerse, and cling to routes of fooles,
That can not search the leakes of his defectes.
O, your vnsalted fresh foole is your onely man:
These vinegar tart spirits are too pearcing,
Too searching in the vnglewd ioynts of shaken wits.
Finde they a chinke, they'l wriggle in and in,
And eat like salt sea in his siddowe ribs,
Till they haue opened all his rotten parts,
Vnto the vaunting surge of base contempt,
And sunke the tossed galleasse in depth
Of whirlepoole Scorne. Giue me an honest fopp:
Dud a dud a? why loe sir, this takes he
As grateful now, as a Monopolie.
SCENA TERTIA.
The still flutes sound softly.Enter Forobosco, and Castilio: Mellida supported by two waiting women.
Mell.
All honour to this royall confluence.
Pie.
Forbeare (impure) to blot bright honours name,
With thy defiled lips. The fluxe of sinne
Flowes from thy tainted bodie: thou so foule,
So all dishonour'd, canst no honour giue,
No wish of good, that can haue good effect
To this graue senate, and illustrate bloodes.
Why staies the doome of death?
1. Sen.
Who riseth vp to manifest her guilt?
2. Sen.
You must produce apparant proofe, my Lord.
Pie.
Why, where is Strotzo? he that swore he saw
The verie acte: and vow'd that Feliche fled
Vpon his sight: on which, I brake the breast
Of the adulterous letcher, with fiue stabbes.
Goe fetch in Strotzo. Now thou impudent,
If thou hast any droppe of modest bloode
Shrowded within thy cheeks; blush, blush for shame,
That rumor yet may say, thou felt'st defame.
Mell.
Produce the diuel,; let your Strotzo come:
I can defeat his strongest argument,
VVhich
With what?
Mell.
With teares, with blushes, sighes, & clasped hands,
With innocent vpreared armes to heauen:
With my vnnookt simplicitie. These, these
Must, will, can only quit my heart of guilt.
Heauen permits not taintlesse blood be spilt.
If no remorse liue in your sauage breast
Piero.
Then thou must die
Mell.
Yet dying, Ile be blest.
Piero.
Accurst by me.
Mell.
Yet blest, in that I stroue
To liue, and die
Pie.
My hate.
Mell.
Antonyo's loue.
Ant.
Antonio's loue!
Enter Strotzo, a corde about his necke.
Stro.
O what vast ocean of repentant teares
Can cleanse my breast from the polluting filth
Of vlcerous sinne! Supreame Efficient,
Why cleau'st thou not my breast with thunderbolts
Of wingd reuenge?
Pie.
What meanes this passion?
An.
What villanie are they decocting now? Vmh.
Str.
In me conuertite ferrum, O proceres.
Nihil iste, necista.
Pie.
Lay holde on him. What strange portent is this?
Str.
I will not flinch. Death, hel more grimly stare
Within my heart, then in your threatning browes.
Record, thou threefolde garde of dreadest power,
What I here speake, is forced from my lips,
I haue a mount of mischiefe clogs my soule,
As waightie as the high-nol'd Appenine:
Which I must straight disgorge, or breast will burst.
I haue defam'd this Ladie wrongfully,
By instigation of Antonio:
Whose reeling loue, tost on each fancies surge,
Began to loath before it fully ioyed.
Exit Forobosco.
Pie.
Goe, seize Antonio, guard him strongly in.
Str.
By his ambition, being only brib'd,
Feed by his impious hand, I poysoned
His aged father: that his thirstie hope
Might quench their dropsie of aspiring drought,
With full vnbounded quaffe.
Pie.
Seize me Antonio
Str.
O why permit you now such scum of filth
As Strotzo is, to liue, and taint the ayre,
With his infectious breath!
Pie.
My selfe will be thy strangler, vnmatcht slaue.
Piero comes from his chaire, snatcheth the cords end, & Castilio aydeth him; both strangle Strotzo.
Str.
Now change your
Pie.
I, pluck Castilio: I change my humour? plucke
Castilio.
Now, now, now, now, now, my plot begins to worke.
Why, thus should States-men doe,
That cleaue through knots of craggie pollicies,
Vse men like wedges, one strike out another;
Be riu'd in sunder. Where's Antonio?
Enter Alberto, running.
Alb.
O black accursed fate. Antonyo's drown'd.
Pie.
Speake, on thy faith, on thy allegeance, speake.
Alb.
As I doe loue Piero, he is drownde.
Ant.
In an inundation of amazement.
Mell.
I, is this the close of all my straines in loue?
O me most wretched maide.
Pit.
Antonio drownde? how? how? Antonio drownd?
Alb.
Distraught and rauing, from a turrets top
He threwe his bodie in the high swolne sea,
And as he headlong topsie turuie dingd downe,
He still cri'd Mellida.
Ant.
My loues bright crowne.
Mell.
He still cry'd Mellida?
Pier.
Daughter, me thinks your eyes should sparkle ioy,
Your bosome rise on tiptoe at this news.
Mell.
Aye me.
Pie.
How now? Ay me? why, art not great of thanks
To gratious heauen, for the iust reuenge
Vpon the author of thy obloquies!
Ma.
Sweete beautie, I could sigh as fast as you,
But that I knowe that, which I weepe to knowe,
His fortunes should be such he dare not showe
His open presence.
Mell.
I knowe he lou'd me dearely, dearely, I:
And since I cannot liue with him, I dye.
Pie.
Fore heauen, her speach falters, look she swouns.
Conuey her vp into her priuate bed.
I hope sheele liue. If not
An.
Antonio's dead, the foole wil follow too, he, he, he.
Now workes the sceane; quick obseruation scud
To coate the plot, or els the path is lost:
My verie selfe am gone, my way is fled:
I, all is lost, if Mellida is deade.
Exit Antonio.
Pie.
Alberto, I am kinde, Alberto, kinde.
I am sorie for thy couz, ifaith I am,
Goe, take him downe, and beare him to his father:
Let him be buried, looke yee, Ile pay the priest.
Alb.
Please you to admit his father to the Court?
Piero.
No.
Al.
Please you to restore his lands & goods againe?
Piero.
No.
Al.
Please you vouchsafe him lodging in the city?
Pie.
Gods fut, no, thou odde vnciuill fellow:
I thinke you doe forget sir, where you are.
Alb.
I know you doe forget sir, where you must be.
Foro.
You are too malepert, ifaith you are.
Your honour might doe well to
Alb.
Peace Parasite, thou bur, that only sticks
Vnto the nappe of greatnesse.
Pie.
Away with that same yelping cur, away.
Alb.
I, I am gone: but marke, Piero, this.
There is a thing cald scourging Nemesis.
Exit Alb.
Bal.
Gods neakes he has wrong, that he has: and
S'fut, and I were as he, I would beare no coles, lawe I,
I begin to swell, puffe.
How now foole, fop, foole?
Foole, fop, foole? Marry muffe. I pray you, how manie
fooles haue you seene goe in a suite of Sattin? I
hope yet, I doe not look a foole ifaith: a foole? Gods
bores, I scorn't with my heele. S'neaks, and I were
worth but three hundred pound a yeare more, I could
sweare richly: nay, but as poore as I am, I will sweare
the fellowe hath wrong.
Piero.
Young Galeatzo? I, a proper man.
Florence, a goodly citie: it shall be so.
Ile marrie her to him instantly.
Then Genoa mine, by my Mariaes match,
Which Ile solemnize ere next setting Sun.
Thus Venice, Florence, Genoa, strongly leagu'd.
Excellent, excellent. Ile conquer Rome,
Pop out the light of bright religion:
And then, helter skelter, all cock sure.
Ba.
Goe to, tis iust, the man hath wrong: go to.
Pie.
Goe to, thou shalt haue right. Go to Castilio,
Clap him into the Palace dungeon:
Lappe him in rags, and let him feede on slime
That smeares the dungeon cheeke. Away with him.
Bal.
In verie good truth now, Ile nere do so more;
this one time and
Pie.
Away with him, obserue it strictly, goe.
Ba.
Why then, ô wight, alas poore knight.
O, welladay, sir Gefferey. Let Poets roare,
And all deplore: for now I bid you god night.
Exit Balurdo with Castilio.
Ma.
O pittious end of loue: ô too too rude hand
Pi.
Forbear me heauen. What intend these plaints?
Mar.
The beautie of admir'd creation,
The life of modest vnmixt puritie,
Our sexes glorie, Mellida is
Pie.
What? ô heauen, what?
Ma.
Deade.
Pie.
May it not sad your thoughts, how?
Ma.
Being laid vpon her bed, she graspt my hād,
And kissing it, spake thus, Thou very pore,
Why dost not weepe? The Iewell of thy browe,
The rich adornement, that inchac't thy breast,
Is lost: thy son, my loue is lost, is deade.
And doe I liue to say Antonio's deade?
And haue I liu'd to see his vertues blurd,
With guiltlesse blots! O world thou art too subtile,
For honest natures to conuerse withall.
Therefore Ile leaue thee; farewell mart of woe,
I fly to clip my loue, Antonio.
With that her head sunk down vpon her brest:
Her cheeke chang'd earth, her senses slept in rest:
Vntill my foole, that press'd vnto the bed,
Screch't out so lowd, that he brought back her soule,
Calde her againe, that her bright eyes gan ope,
And starde vpon him: he audatious foole,
Dar'd kisse her hand, wisht her soft rest, lou'd bride;
She fumbled out, thanks good, and so she dide.
Piero.
And so she dide: I doe not vse to weepe:
But by thy loue (out of whose fertile sweete,
I hope for as faire fruite) I am deepe sad:
Castilio Forobosco, all
Straine all your wits, winde vp inuention
Vnto his highest bent: to sweete this night,
Make vs drinke Lethe by your queint conceipts;
That for two daies, obliuion smother griefe:
But when my daughters exequies approach,
Let's all turne sighers. Come, despight of fate,
Sound lowdest musick, lets pase out in state.
The Cornets sound. Exeunt.
SCENA QVARTA.
Enter Antonio solus, in fooles habit.Ant.
I heauen, thou maist, thou maist omnipotence.
What vermine bred of putrifacted slime,
Shall dare to expostulate with thy decrees!
O heauen, thou maist indeede: she was all thine,
All heauenly, I did but humbly beg
To borrowe her of thee a little time.
Thou gau'st her me, as some weake breasted dame
Giueth her infant, puts it out to nurse;
And when it once goes high-lone, takes it back.
She was my vitall blood, and yet, and yet,
Ile not blaspheame, Looke here, beholde,
Antonio puts off his cap, and lyeth iust vpon his back.
I turne my prostrate breast vpon thy face,
And vent a heauing sigh. O heare but this;
The wrack of splitted fortune, the very Ouze,
The quick sand that deuours all miserie.
Beholde the valiant'st creature that doth breath.
For all this, I dare liue, and I will liue,
Onely to numme some others cursed bloode,
With the dead palsie of like misery.
Then death, like to a stifling Incubus,
Lie on my bosome. Loe sir, I am sped.
My breast is Golgotha, graue for the deade.
SCENA QVINTA.
Enter Pandulpho, Alberto, and a Page, carrying Feliches trunke in a winding sheete, and lay it twhart Antonios breast.Pan.
Antonio, kisse my foote: I honour thee,
In laying thwart my blood vpon thy breast.
I tell thee boy, he was Pandulphos sonne:
And I doe grace thee with supporting him,
Young man.
The dominering Monarch of the earth,
He who hath naught that fortunes gripe can seize,
He who is all impregnably his owne,
Hee whose great heart heauen can not force with
force,
I ha lost a good wife.
Pan.
Didst finde her good, or didst thou make her
good?
If made, the worke is lost: but thou that mad'st her
Liu'st yet as cunning. Hast lost a good wife?
Thrice blessed man that lost her whilst she was good,
Faire, young, vnblemisht, constant, louing, chaste.
I tell thee youth, age knows, yong loues seeme grac't,
VVhich with gray cares, rude iarres, are oft defac't.
An.
But shee was full of hope.
Pan.
May be, may be: but that, which may be, stood,
Stands now without all may; she died good,
And dost thou grieue?
Alberto.
I ha lost a true friend.
Pan.
I liue incompast with two blessed soules.
Thou lost a good wife, thou lost a trew friend, ha?
Two of the rarest lendings of the heauens:
But lendings: which at the fixed day of pay
Set downe by fate, thou must restore againe.
O what vnconscionable soules are here?
Are you all like the spoke-shaues of the Church?
Haue you no mawe to restitution?
Hast lost a true friend, cuz? then thou hadst one.
I tell thee youth, tis all as difficult
To finde true friend in this apostate age
(That balkes all right affiance twixt two hearts)
As tis to finde a fixed modest heart,
Vnder a painted breast. Lost a true friend?
O happie soule that lost him whilst he was true.
Oft durts respect makes firmer friends vnsounde.
Alb.
You haue lost a good sonne.
Pan.
Why there's the cōfort ont, that he was good:
Alas, poore innocent.
Alb.
Why weepes mine vncle?
Pan.
Ha, dost aske me why? ha? ha?
Good cuz, looke here.
He showes him his sonnes breast.
Man will breake out, despight Philosophie.
Why, all this while I ha but plaid a part,
Like to some boy, that actes a Tragedie,
Speakes burly words, and raues out passion:
But, when he thinks vpon his infant weaknesse,
He droopes his eye. I spake more then a god;
Yet am lesse then a man.
I am the miserablest sowle that breathes.
Antonio starts vp.
Ant.
S'lid, sir ye lye: by th'heart of griefe, thou lyest.
I scorn't that any wretched should suruiue,
Outmounting me in that Superlatiue,
Most miserable, most vnmatcht in woe:
Who dare assume that, but Antonio?
Pan.
Wilt still be so? and shall yon blood-hound liue?
An.
Haue I an arme, a heart, a sword, a sowle?
Alb.
Were you but priuate vnto what we know
Pan.
Ile knowe it all; first let's interre the dead:
Let's dig his graue, with that shall dig the heart,
Liuer, and intrals of the murderer.
They strike the stage with their daggers, and the graue openeth.
Wilt sing a Dirge boy?
Pan.
No, no song: twill be vile out of tune.
Alb.
Indeede he's hoarce: the poore boyes voice is
crackt.
Pa.
Why cuz? why shold it not be hoarce & crackt,
When all the strings of natures symphony
Are crackt, & iar? why should his voice keepe tune,
When ther's no musick in the breast of man?
Ile say an honest antick rime I haue;
(Helpe me good sorrow-mates to giue him graue.)
They all helpe to carie Feliche to his graue.
Death, exile, plaints, and woe,
Are but mans lackies, not his foe.
No mortall scapes from fortunes warre,
Without a wound, at least a scarre.
Many haue led these to the graue:
But all shall followe, none shall saue.
Bloode of my youth, rot and consume,
Virtue, in dirt, doth life assume:
With this ould sawe, close vp this dust;
Thrice blessed man that dyeth iust.
An.
The gloomie wing of night begins to stretch
His lasie pinion ouer all the ayre:
We must be stiffe and steddie in resolue.
Let's thus our hands, our hearts, our armes inuolue.
They wreath their armes.
Pan.
Now sweare we by this Gordian knot of loue,
By the fresh turnd vp mould that wraps my sonne;
By the deade browe of triple Hecate:
Ere night shall close the lids of yon bright stars,
As AEtna doth on groning Pelorus.
Ant.
Thanks good old man.
Weele cast at royall chaunce.
Let's thinke a plot; then pell mell vengeance.
Exeunt, their armes wreathed.
The Cornets sounde for the Acte.
The dumbe showe.
| Antonio's Reuenge | |