 | Antonio's Reuenge |  |
ACT. I.
SCEN. I.
Enter Piero, vnbrac't, his armes bare, smeer'd in blood, a poniard in one hand bloodie, and a torch in the other, Strotzo following him with a corde.Pie.
Ho, Gasper Strotzo, binde Feliches trunke
Vnto the panting side of Mellida.
Exit Str.
Tis yet dead night, yet al the earth is cloucht
In the dull leaden hand of snoring sleepe:
No breath disturbs the quiet of the ayre.
No spirit moues vpon the breast of earth,
Saue meager ghosts, Piero, and black thoughts.
One, two. Lord, in two houres what a toplesse mount
Of vnpeer'd mischiefe, haue these hands cast vp!
Enter Strotzo.
I can scarce coope triumphing vengeance vp,
From bursting forth in bragart passion.
Str.
My Lord, tis firmely saide that
Pie.
Andrugio sleepes in peace: this braine hath choakt
The organ of his breast. Feliche hangs,
But as a baite vpon the line of death,
To tice on mischiefe. I am great in blood,
Vnequald in reuenge. You horrid scouts,
That centinell swart night, giue lowde applause
From your large palms. First know, my hart was rais'd
Vnto Andrugios life, vpon this ground:
Str.
Duke, tis reported
Pie.
We both were riuals in our May of blood,
Vnto Maria, faire Ferraras heire.
He wan the Ladie, to my honours death:
And from her sweetes, cropt this Antonio:
For which, I burnt in inward sweltring hate,
And festred rankling malice in my breast,
Till I might belke reuenge vpon his eyes:
And now (ô blessed now) tis done. Hell, night,
Giue lowde applause to my hypocrisie.
When his bright valour euen dazled sense,
In offring his owne heade, publick reproach
Had blurd my name. Speake Strotzo, had it not?
If then I had
Str.
It had, so please
What had so please? Vnseasoned Sycophant,
Piero Sforza is no nummed Lord,
Senselesse of all true touch; stroake not the head
Of infant speach, till it be fully borne.
Goe to.
Strot.
How now? Fut, Ile not smother your speach.
Pie.
Nay, right thine eyes: twas but a little splene:
(Huge plunge!
Sinn's growne a slaue, and must obserue slight euils.
Huge villaines are inforc't to clawe all diuels.)
Pish, sweete thy thoughts, and giue me
Str.
Stroake not the heade of infant speach? Goe to?
Pie.
Nay, calme this storme. I euer held thy breast
More secret, and more firme in league of blood,
Then to be struck in heate with each slight puffe.
Giue me thy eares; Huge infamie
Presse downe my honour; if euen then, when
His fresh act of prowesse bloom'd out full,
I had tane vengeance on his hated head
Str.
Why it had
Pier.
Could I auoyde to giue a seeming graunt
Vnto fruition of Antonios loue?
Str.
No.
Pie.
And didst thou euer see, a Iudas kisse,
With a more couert touch of fleering hate?
Stro.
No.
Pie.
And hauing clipt them with pretence of loue,
Haue I not crusht them with a cruell wring?
Strot.
Yes.
Piero.
Say, faith, didst thou ere heare, or reade, or see
That I should drop strong poyson in the boawle,
Which I my selfe carous't vnto his health,
And future fortune of our vnitie,
That it should worke even in the husht of night,
And strangle him on sodaine; that faire showe
Of death, for the excessiue ioy of his fate,
Might choake the murder? Ha Strotzo, is't not rare?
Nay, but waigh it. Then Feliche stabd
(Whose sinking thought frighted my conscious hart)
And laid by Mellida, to stop the match,
And hale on mischiefe. This all in one night?
Is't to be equall'd thinkst thou? O, I could eate
Thy fumbling throat, for thy lagd censure. Fut,
Is't not rare?
Str.
Yes.
Pie.
No? yes? nothing but no, and yes, dull lumpe?
Canst thou not hony me with fluent speach,
And euen adore my toplesse villany?
Will I not blast my owne blood for reuenge?
Must not thou straight be periur'd for reuenge?
And yet no creature dreame tis my reuenge.
Will I not turne a glorious bridall morne
Vnto a Stygian night? Yet naught but no, and yes?
Str.
I would haue told you, if the incubus,
That rides your bosome, would haue patience:
It is reported, that in priuate state,
Maria, Genoas Dutchesse, makes to Court,
Longing to see him, whom she nere shall see,
Her Lord Andrugio. Be like she hath receiu'd
Reconciliation with a death?
Poore Ladie shall but finde poore comfort in't.
Pie.
O, let me swoone for ioy. By heauen, I thinke
I ha said my prayers, within this month at least;
I am so boundlesse happie. Doth she come?
By this warme reeking goare, Ile marrie her.
Looke I not now like an inamorate?
Poyson the father, butcher the son, & marry the mother; ha?
Strotzo, to bed: snort in securest sleepe:
For see, the dapple gray coursers of the morne
Beat vp the light with their bright siluer hooues,
And chase it through the skye. To bed, to bed.
This morne my vengeance shall be amply fed.
Exit.
SCENA SECVNDA.
Enter Luceo, Maria, and Nutriche.Mar.
Stay gentle Luceo, and vouchsafe thy hand.
Lu.
O, Madam
Ma.
Nay, pree thee giue me leaue to say, vouchsafe,
Submisse intreats beseeme my humble fate.
Here let vs sit. O Luceo, fortunes gilt
Is rubd quite off from my slight tin-foild state,
And poore Maria must appeare vngrac't
Of the bright fulgor of gloss'd maiestie.
Luc.
Cheer vp your spirits Madam; fairer chance
Then that which courts your presence instantly,
Can not be formd by the quick mould of thought.
Art thou assur'd the dukes are reconcil'd?
Shall my wombes honour wed faire Mellida?
Will heauen at length grant harbour to my head?
Shall I once more clip my Andrugio?
And wreath my armes about Antonio's necke?
Or is glib rumor growne a parasite,
Holding a false glasse to my sorrowes eyes,
Making the wrinkl'd front of griefe seeme faire,
Though tis much riueld with abortiue care.
Lu.
Most virtuous Princesse, banish straggling feare,
Keepe league with comfort. For these eyes beheld
Tke Dukes vnited; yon faint glimmering light
Nere peeped through the crannies of the east,
Since I beheld them drinke a sound carouse,
In sparkling Bacchus,
Vnto eache others health;
Your sonne assur'd to beautious Mellida:
And all clouds clear'd of threatning discontent.
Ma.
What age is morning of?
Lu.
I thinke 'bout fiue.
Ma.
Nutriche, Nutriche.
Nu.
Be shrow your fingers marry, you haue disturb'd
the pleasure of the finest dreame. O God, I was euen
comming to it lawe. O Iesu, twas comming of the swetest.
Ile tell you now, me thought I was maried, and
mee thought I spent (O Lord why did you wake mee)
and mee thought I spent three spur Roials on the Fidlers
for striking vp a fresh horne pipe. Saint Vrsula, I
was euen going to bed, & you, mee thought, my husband
was euen putting out the tapers, when you, Lord
long as
Ma.
Peace idle creature, peace.
When will the Court rise?
Lu.
Madam, twere best you tooke some lodging vp,
And lay in priuate till the soile of griefe
Were cleard your cheeke, and new burnisht lustre
Cloath'd your presence, 'fore you sawe the Dukes,
And enterd, 'mong the proud Venetian States.
Mar.
No Lucio, my deare Lord's wise, and knowes
That tinsill glitter, or rich purfled robes,
Curled haires, hung full of sparkling Carcanets,
Are not the true adornements of a wife.
So long as wiues are faithfull, modest, chaste,
Wise Lords affect them. Vertue doth not waste,
With each slight flame of crackling vanitie.
A modest eye forceth affection,
Whilest outward gainesse light lookes but entice.
Fairer then Natures faire is fowlest vice.
She that loues Art, to get her cheeke more louers,
Much outward gaudes slight inward grace discouers.
I care not to seeme faire, but to my Lord.
Those that striue most to please most strangers sight,
Follie may iudge most faire, wisdome most light.
Musique sounds a short straine.
But harke, soft musique gently mooues the ayre:
I thinke the bridegroom's vp. Lucio, stand close.
O, now Marya, chalenge griefe to stay
Thy ioyes encounter. Looke Lucio, tis cleare day.
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.
SCENA QVARTA.
Enter Piero as at first, with Forobosco.Pie.
VVho giues these il-befitting attributes
Of chast, vnspotted, bright, to Mellida,
He lies as lowde as thunder, shee's vnchast,
Tainted, impure, blacke as the soule of hell.
He drawes his rapier, offers to runne at Piero: but Maria holds his arme & staies him.
Ant.
Dog, I will make the eate thy vomit vp,
Which thou hast belk't gainst taintlesse Mellida.
Ramm't quicklie downe, that it may not rise vp
To imbraid my thoughts. Behold my stomack's:
Strike me quite through with the relentlesse edge
Of raging furie. Boy, Ile kill thy loue
Pandulfe Feliche, I haue stabd thy sonne:
Looke, yet his lifeblood reekes vpon this steele.
Albert, yon hangs thy friend. Haue none of you
Courage of vengeance? Forget I am your Duke.
Thinke Mellida is not Pieros bloode.
Imagine on slight ground, Ile blast his honour.
Suppose I sawe not that incestuous slaue,
Clipping the strumpet, with luxurious twines:
O, numme my sense of anguish, cast my life
In a dead sleepe, whilst lawe cuts off yon maine,
Yon putred vlcer of my roiall bloode.
Foro.
Keepe league with reason, gratious Soueraigne.
There glowe no sparkes of reason in the world;
All are rak't vp in ashie beastlinesse.
The bulke of man's as darke as Erebus,
No branch of Reasons light hangs in his trunke:
There liues no reason to keepe league withall.
I ha no reason to be reasonable.
Her wedding eue, linkt to the noble blood
Of my most firmely reconciled friend,
And found euen clingd in sensualitie!
O heauen! O heauen! Were she as neare my heart
As is my liuer, I would rend her off.
SCENA QVINTA.
Enter Strozzo.Sir.
VVhither, O whither shal I hurle vast griefe?
Pier.
Here, into my breast: tis a place built wide
By fate, to giue receipt to boundlesse woes.
Str.
O no; here throb those hearts, which I must cleaue
With my keene pearcing newes. Andrugio's dead.
Pier.
Dead?
Ma.
O me most miserable.
Pie.
Dead, alas, how dead?
Giue seeming passion.
Fut weepe, act, faine. Dead, alas, how dead?
Str.
The vast delights of his large so daine ioyes
Opned his powers so wide, that's natiue heate
So prodigally flow'd, t'exterior parts,
That thinner Citadell was left vnmand,
And so surpriz'd on sodaine by colde death.
O fatal, disastrous, cursed, dismall!
Choake breath and life. I breath, I liue too long.
Andrugio my Lord, I come, I come.
Pie.
Be cheerefull Princesse, help Castilio,
The Ladie's swouned, helpe to beare her in.
Slow comfort to huge cares, is swiftest sin.
Bal.
Courage, courage sweet Ladie, tis sir Gefferey Balurdo
bids you courage. Truly I am as nimble as an Elephant
about a Ladie.
Pan.
Dead?
Ant.
Dead.
Alb.
Dead?
An.
Why now the womb of mischiefe is deliuer'd,
Of the prodigious issue of the night.
Pan.
Ha, ha, ha.
Ant.
My father dead, my loue attaint of lust:
Thats a large lye, as vast as spatious hell:
Poore guiltlesse Ladie. O accursed lye.
What, whome, whether, which shall I first lament?
A deade father, a dishonour'd wife Stand.
Me thinkes I feele the frame of nature shake.
Cracks not the ioynts of earth to beare my woes?
Alb.
Sweet Prince, be patient.
Ant.
S'lid sir, I will not in despight of thee.
Patience is slaue to fooles: a chaine that's fixt
Onely to postes, and senslesse log-like dolts.
Alb.
Tis reasons glorie to commaund affects.
An.
Lies thy cold father dead, his glossed eyes
New closed vp by thy sad mothers hands?
Hast thou a loue as spotlesse as the browe
Of clearest heauen, blurd with false defames?
Are thy moyst entrals crumpled vp with griefe
With punching anguish spur thy galled ribs?
Then come and let's sit and weep & wreath our arms:
Ile heare thy counsell.
Alb.
Take comfort
Ant.
Confusion to all comfort: I defie it.
Comfort's a Parasite, a flattring Iack:
And melts resolu'd despaire. O boundlesse woe,
If there be any black yet vnknowen griefe:
If there be any horror yet vnfelt,
Vnthought of mischiefe in thy fiendlike power,
Dash it vpon my miserable heade.
Make me more wretch, more cursed if thou canst-
O, now my fate is more than I could feare:
My woes more waightie than my soule can beare.
Exit
Pan.
Ha, ha, ha.
Al.
Why laugh you vncle? Thats my cuz, your son,
Whose brest hangs cased in his cluttered gore.
Pa.
True man, true: why, wherfore should I weepe?
Come sit, kinde Nephew: come on: thou and I
Will talke as Chorus to this tragedie.
Intreat the musick straine their instruments,
With a slight touch whilst we. Say on fair cuz.
Alb.
He was the very hope of Italy, Musick sounds softly.
The blooming honour of your drooping age.
P,
True cuz, true. They say that men of hope are crusht:
Good are supprest by base desertlesse clods,
That stifle gasping vertue. Look sweet youth,
How prouident our quick Venetians are,
Least houes of iades should trample on my boy:
Looke how they lift him vp to eminence,
Heaue him, boue reach of flesh. Ha, ha, ha.
Vncle, this laughter ill becomes your griefe.
Pan.
Would'st haue me cry, run rauing vp & down,
For my sons losse? would'st haue me turn rank mad,
Or wring my face with mimick action;
Stampe, curse, weepe, rage, & then my bosome strike?
Away tis apish action, player-like.
If hee is guiltlesse, why should teares be spent?
Thrice blessed soule that dyeth innocent.
If he is leapred with so foule a guilt,
Why should a sigh be lent, a teare be spilt?
The gripe of chaunce is weake, to wring a teare,
From him that knowes what fortitude should beare.
Listen young blood. Tis not true valors pride,
To swagger, quarrell, sweare, stampe, raue, and chide,
To stab in fume of blood, to keepe lowde coyle,
To bandie factions in domestick broyles,
To dare the act of Sins, whose filth excels
The blackest customes of blinde Infidels.
No, my lou'd youth: he may of valour vaunt;
Whom fortunes lowdest thunder can not daunt,
Whom fretful gaules of chance, sterne fortunes siege;
Makes not his reason slinke, the soules faire liege,
Whose well pais'd action euer rests vpon
Not giddie humours, but discretion.
This heart in valour euen Ioue out-goes:
Ioue is without, but this 'boue sense of woes:
And such a one eternitie: Behold,
Good morrow sonne: thou bidst a fig for colde.
Sound lowder musick: let my breath exact,
You strike sad Tones vnto this dismall act.
| Antonio's Reuenge | |