 | The Revengers Tragaedie [by Thomas Middleton] |  |
ACT. 4.
SCEN. I.
Enter Lussurioso with Hippolito.Luss.
Hippolito.
Hip.
My Lord:
Has your good Lordship ought to command me in?
Luss.
I pre-thee leaue vs.
Hip.
How's this? come and leaue vs?
Luss.
Hippolito.
Hip.
Your honor—I stand ready for any dutious emploiment.
Luss.
Heart, what makst thou here?
Hip.
A pritty Lordly humor:
He bids me to bee present, to depart; some-thing has stung his honor?
Luss.
Bee neerer, draw neerer:
Ye'are not so good me thinkes, Ime angry with you.
Hip.
With me my Lord? Ime angry with my selfe fort.
Luss.
You did preferre a goodly fellow to me,
Twas wittily elected, twas, I thought
Had beene a villaine, and he prooues a Knaue?
To mee a Knaue.
Hip.
I chose him for the best my Lord,
Tis much my sorrow, if neglect in him, breed discontent in you.
Luss.
Neglect, twas will: Iudge of it,
Firmely to tell of an incredible Act,
Not to be thought, lesse to be spoken of,
Twixt my Step-mother and the Bastard, oh,
Incestuous sweetes betweene 'em.
Fye my Lord.
Lus.
I in kinde loyaltie to my fathers fore-head,
Made this a desperate arme, and in that furie,
Committed treason on the lawfull bed,
And with my sword een rac'd my fathers bosome,
For which I was within a stroake of death.
Hip.
Alack, Ime sorry; sfoote iust vpon the stroake,
Iars in my brother, twill be villanous Musick.
Vind.
My honored Lord.
Enter Vind.
Luss.
Away pre-thee forsake vs, heereafter weele not know thee.
Vind.
Not know me my Lord, your Lorship cannot choose.
Lus.
Begon I say, thou art a false knaue.
Vind.
Why the easier to be knowne, my Lord.
Lus.
Push, I shall prooue too bitter with a word,
Make thee a perpetuall prisoner,
And laye this yron-age vpon thee,
Vind.
Mum, for theres a doome would make a woman dum,
Missing the bastard next him, the winde's comes about,
Now tis my brothers turne to stay, mine to goe out.
Exit Vin.
Lus.
Has greatly moou'd me.
Hip.
Much to blame ifaith.
Lus.
But ile recouer, to his ruine: twas told me lately,
I know not whether falslie, that you'd a brother,
Hip.
Who I, yes my good Lord, I haue a brother
Lus.
How chance the Court neere saw him? of what nature?
How does he apply his houres?
Hip.
Faith to curse Fates,
Who, as he thinkes, ordaind him to be poore,
Keepes at home full of want, and discontent.
Lus.
There's hope in him, for discontent and want
Is the best clay to mould, a villaine off;
Hippolito, wish him repaire to vs,
If there be ought in him to please our bloud,
For thy sake weele aduance him, and build faire
His meanest fortunes: for it is in vs
To reare vp Towers from cottages.
Hip.
It is so my Lord, he will attend your honour,
But hees a man, in whom much melancholy dwels.
Lus.
Why the better: bring him to Court.
With willingnesse and speed,
Whom he cast off een now, must now succeed,
Brother disguise must off,
In thine owne shape now, ile prefer thee to him:
How strangely does himselfe worke to vndo him.
Exit.
Luss.
This fellow will come fitly, he shall kill,
That other slaue, that did abuse my spleene,
And made it swell to Treason, I haue put
Much of my heart into him, hee must dye.
He that knowes great mens secrets and proues slight,
That man nere liues to see his Beard turne white:
I he shall speede him: Ile employ thee brother,
Slaues are but Nayles, to driue out one another?
Hee being of black condition, sutable
To want and ill content, hope of preferment
Will grinde him to an Edge—The Nobles enter.
1.
Good dayes vnto your honour.
Luss.
My kinde Lords, I do returne the like.
2.
Sawe you my Lord the Duke?
Luss.
My Lord and Father, is he from Court?
1.
Hees sure from Court,
But where, which way, his pleasure tooke we know not,
Nor can wee heare ont.
Luss.
Here come those should tell,
Sawe you my Lord and Father?
3.
Not since two houres before noone my Lord,
And then he priuately ridde forth.
Lus.
Oh hees rod forth.
1.
Twas wondrous priuately,
2.
Theres none ith Court had any knowledge ont.
Lus.
His Grace is old, and sudden, tis no treason
To say, the Duke my Father has a humor,
Or such a Toye about him; what in vs
Would appeare light, in him seemes vertuous.
3.
Tis Oracle my Lord.
Exeunt.
Enter Vindice and Hippolito, Vind. out of his disguise.
Hip.
So, so, all's as it should be, y'are your selfe.
Vind.
How that great-villaine puts me to my shifts.
Hee that did lately in disguize reiect thee;
Shall now thou art thy selfe, as much respect thee.
Vind.
Twill be the quainter fallacie; but brother,
Sfoote what vse will hee put me to now thinkst thou?
Hip.
Nay you must pardon me in that, I know not:
H'as some employment for you: but what tis
Hee and his Secretary the Diuell knowes best.
Vind,
Well I must suite my toung to his desires,
What colour so ere they be; hoping at last
To pile vp all my wishes on his brest,
Hip.
Faith Brother he himselfe showes the way.
Vind.
Now the Duke is dead, the realme is clad in claye:
His death being not yet knowne, vnder his name
The people still are gouernd; well, thou his sonne
Art not long-liu'd, thou shalt not ioy his death:
To kill thee then, I should most honour thee;
For twould stand firme in euery mans beliefe,
Thou'st a kinde child, and onely dyedst with griefe.
Hip.
You fetch about well, but lets talke in present,
How will you appeare in fashion different,
As well as in apparrell, to make all things possible:
If you be but once tript, wee fall for euer.
It is not the least pollicie to bee doubtfull,
You must change tongue:—familiar was your first.
Vind.
Why Ile beare me in some straine of melancholie,
And string my selfe with heauy—sounding Wyre,
Like such an Instrument, that speakes merry things sadly.
Hip.
Then tis as I meant,
I gaue you out at first in discontent.
Vind.
Ile turne my selfe, and then—
Hip.
Sfoote here he comes: hast thought vppont.
Vind.
Salute him, feare not me.
Luss.
Hippolito.
Hip.
Your Lordship.
Luss.
What's he yonder?
Hip.
Tis Vindici, my discontented Brother,
Whom, cording to your will l'aue brought to Court.
Luss,
Is that thy brother? beshrew me, a good presence,
I wonder h'as beene from the Court so long?
Come neerer.
Brother, Lord Lussurioso the Duke sonne. Snatches of his hat and makes legs to him.
Luss.
Be more neere to vs, welcome, neerer yet.
Vind.
How don you? god you god den.
Luss.
We thanke thee?
How strangly such a course-homely salute,
Showes in the Pallace, where we greete in fire:
Nimble and desperate tongues, should we name,
God in a salutation, twould neere be stood on't,-heauen!
Tell me, what has made thee so melancholy.
Vind.
Why, going to Law.
Luss.
Why will that make a man mellancholy?
Vind.
Yes, to looke long vpon inck and black buckrom—I
went mee to law in Anno Quadragesimo secundo, and I waded
out of it, in Anno sextagesimo tertio.
Luss.
What, three and twenty years in law?
Vind.
I haue knowne those that haue beene fiue and fifty, and
all about Pullin and Pigges.
Luss.
May it bee possible such men should breath,
To vex the Tearmes so much.
Vin.
Tis foode to some my Lord.
There are olde men at the present, that are so poysoned
with the affectatiō of law-words, (hauing had many suites canuast,)
that their common talke is nothing but Barbery lattin:
they cannot so much as pray, but in law, that their sinnes may
be remou'd, with a writ of Error, and their soules fetcht vp to
heauen, with a sasarara.
Hip.
It seemes most strange to me,
Yet all the world meetes round in the same bent:
Where the hearts set, there goes the tongues consent,
How dost apply thy studies fellow?
Vind.
Study why to thinke how a great rich man lies a dying,
and a poore Cobler toales the bell for him? how he cannot depart
the world, and see the great chest-stand before him, when
hee lies speechlesse, how hee will point you readily to all the
boxes, and when hee is past all memory, as the gosseps gesse,
then thinkes hee of forffetures and obligations, nay when to all
mens hearings he whurles and rotles in the throate hee's bussie
threatning his poore Tennants? and this would last me now
some seauen yeares thinking or there abouts? but, I haue a
which ifaith la Ile present to your honor, you shall not chose
but like it for your Lordship shall giue me nothing for it,
Luss.
Nay you misstake me then,
For I am publisht bountifull inough,
Lets tast of your conceit.
Vin.
In picture my Lord.
Luss.
I in picture,
Vin.
Marry this it is—A vsuring Father to be boyling in hell,
and his sonne and Heire with a Whore dancing ouer him.
Hip.
Has par'd him to the quicke.
Lus.
The conceit's pritty ifaith,
But tak't vpon my life twill nere be likt.
Vind.
No, why Ime sure the whore will be likt well enough.
Hip.
I if she were out ath picture heede like her then himselfe.
Vin.
And as for the sonne and heire, he shall be an eyefore to
no young Reuellers, for hee shall bee drawne in cloth of gold
breeches.
Luss.
And thou hast put my meaning in the pock,
And canst not draw that out, my thought was this, ets
To see the picture of a vsuring father
Boyling in hell, our richmen would nere like it,
Vin.
O true I cry you heartly mercy I hnow the reason, for
some of 'em had rather be dambd indeed, thē dambd in colours.
Lus.
A parlous melancholy, has wit enough,
To murder any man, and Ile giue him meanes,
I thinke thou art ill monied;
Vin.
Money, ho, ho,
Tas beene my want so long, tis now my scoffe.
Iue ene forgot what colour siluers off,
Lus.
It hits as I could wish,
Vin.
I get good cloths,
Of those that dread my humour, and for table-roome,
I feed on those that cannot be rid of me,
Lus.
Somewhat to set thee vp withall,
Vin.
O mine eyes,
Lus.
How now man.
Vin.
Almost strucke blind,
This bright vnusuall shine, to me seemes proud,
I dare not looke till the sunne be in a cloud,
Lus.
I thinke I shall afecte his melancholy,
Vin.
The better for you rasking.
Lus.
You shall be better yet if you but fasten,
Truly on my intent, now yare both present
I will vnbrace such a closse priuate villayne,
Vnto your vengfull swords, the like nere heard of,
Who hath disgrac'd you much and iniur'd vs,
Hip.
Disgraced vs my Lord?
Lus.
I Hippolito.
I kept it here till now that both your angers,
Might meete him at once,
Vin.
Ime couetuous,
To know the villayne,
Lus.
You know him that slaue Pandar,
Piato whome we threatened last
With irons in perpetuall prisonment;
Vin.
All this is I.
Hip.
Ist he my Lord?
Lus.
Ile tell you, you first preferd him to me.
Vin.
Did you brother.
Hip.
I did indeed?
Lus.
And the ingreatfull villayne,
To quit that kindnes, strongly wrought with me,
Being as you see a likely man for pleasure,
With iewels to corrupt your virgin sister.
Hip.
Oh villaine,
Vin.
He shall surely die that did it.
Lus.
I far from thinking any Virgin harme.
Especially knowing her to be as chast
As that part which scarce suffers to be toucht,
Th' eye would not endure him,
Vin.
Would you not my Lord,
Twas wondrous honorably donne,
Lus.
But with some fiue frownes kept him out,
Vin.
Out slaue.
Lus.
What did me he but in reuenge of that,
Went of his owne free will to make infirme,
Your sisters honor, whome I honor with my soule,
For chast respect, and not preuayling there,
(As twas but desperate folly to attempt it,)
In meere spleene, by the way, way laies your mother,
Whose honor being a coward as it seemes.
Vind.
Coward indeed.
Luss.
He proud of their aduantage, (as he thought)
Brought me these newes for happy, but I, heauen forgiue mee for't.
Uind.
What did your honour.
Luss.
In rage pusht him from mee,
Trampled beneath his throate, spurnd him, and bruizd:
Indeed I was too cruell to say troth.
Hip.
Most Nobly managde.
Uind.
Has not heauen an eare? Is all the lightning wasted?
Luss.
If I now were so impatient in a modest cause,
What should you be?
Vind.
Full mad, he shall not liue
To see the Moone change.
Luss.
He's about the Pallace,
Hippolito intice him this way, that thy brother
May take full marke of him.
Hip.
Heart?—that shall not neede my Lord,
I can direct him so far.
Luss.
Yet for my hates sake,
Go, winde him this way? ile see him bleede my selfe.
Hip.
What now brother?
Vind.
Nay e'en what you will—y'are put to't brother?
Hip.
An impossible taske, Ile sweare,
To bring him hither, thats already here.
Exit Hippo.
Luss.
Thy name, I haue forgot it?
Vin.
Vindice my Lord.
Luss.
Tis a good name that.
Vind.
I, a Reuenger.
Luss.
It dos betoken courage, thon shouldst be valiant,
And kill thine enemies.
Vind.
Thats my hope my Lord.
Luss.
This slaue is one.
Vind.
Ile doome him.
Luss.
Then ile praise thee?
Do thou obserue me best, and Ile best raise thee.
Enter. Hip.
Vind.
Indeed, I thanke you.
Luss.
Now Hippolito, where's the slaue Pandar?
Hip.
Your good Lordship,
Would haue a loathsome sight of him, much offensiue?
Hee's not in case now to be seene my Lord,
The worst of all the deadly sinnes is in him:
That beggerly damnation, drunkennesse.
Then he's a double-slaue.
Vind.
Twas well conuaide, vpon a suddaine wit.
Luss.
What, are you both,
Firmely resolud, ile see him dead my selfe.
Vind.
Or else, let not vs liue.
Luss.
You may direct your brother to take note of him.
Hip.
I shall.
Luss.
Rise but in this, and you shall neuer fall.
Vind.
Your honours Vassayles.
Luss.
This was wisely carried,
Deepe policie in vs, makes fooles of such:
Then must a slaue die, when he knowes too much.
Exi. Luss.
Vind.
O thou almighty patience, tis my wonder,
That such a fellow, impudent and wicked,
Should not be clouen as he stood:
Or with a secret winde burst open!
Is there no thunder left, or ist kept vp
In stock for heauier vengeance, there it goes!
Hip.
Brother we loose our selues?
Vind.
But I haue found it,
Twill hold, tis sure, thankes, thankes to any spirit,
That mingled it mongst my inuentions.
Hip.
What ist?
Vind.
Tis sound, and good, thou shalt pertake it,
I'me hir'd to kill my selfe.
Hip.
True.
Vind.
Pree-thee marke it,
And the old Duke being dead, but not conuaide,
For he's already mist too, and you know:
Murder will peepe out of the closest huske.
Hip.
Most true?
Vind.
What say you then to this deuice,
If we drest vp the body of the Duke.
Hip.
In that disguise of yours.
Vind.
Y'are quick, y'aue reacht it.
Hip.
I like it wonderously.
Vind.
And being in drinck, as you haue publisht him,
To leane him on his elbowe, as if sleepe had caught him:
Which claimes most interest in such sluggy men.
Hip.
Good yet, but here's a doubt,
Shall when he is knowne be thought to kill the Duke.
Vind.
Neither, O thankes, it is substantiall
For that disguize being on him, which I wore,
It wil be thought I, which he calls the Pandar, did kil the Duke,
& fled away in his apparell, leauing him so disguiz'd, to auoide
swift pursuite
Hip.
Firmer, and firmer.
Uind.
Nay doubt not tis in graine, I warrant it hold collour.
Hip.
Lets about it.
Vind.
But by the way too, now I thinke on't, brother,
Let's coniure that base diuill out of our Mother.
Exeunt.
Enter the Dutches arme in arme with the Bastard: he seemeth lasciuiously to her, after them, Enter Superuacuo, running with a rapier, his Brother stops him.
Spuri.
Madam, vnlock your selfe, should it be seene,
Your arme would be suspected.
Duch.
Who ist that dares suspect, or this, or these?
May not we deale our fauours where we please?
Spu.
I'me confident, you may.
Exeunt.
Amb.
Sfoot brother hold.
Sup.
Woult let the Bastard shame vs?
Amb.
Hold, hold, brother? there's fitter time then now.
Sup.
Now when I see it.
Amb.
Tis too much seene already.
Sup.
Seene and knowne,
The Nobler she's, the baser is shee growne.
Amb.
If she were bent lasciuiously, the fault
Of mighty women, that sleepe soft,—O death,
Must she needes chuse such an vnequall sinner:
To make all worse.
Sup.
A Bastard, the Dukes Bastard, Shame heapt on shame.
Amb.
O our disgrace.
Most women haue small waste the world through-out,
But there desires are thousand miles about.
Exeunt.
Sup.
Come stay not here, lets after, and preuent,
Or els theile sinne faster then weele repent.
Enter Vindice and Hippolito, bringing out there Mother one by one shoulder, and the other by the other, with daggers in their hands.
O thou? for whom no name is bad ynough.
Moth.
What meanes my sonnes what will you murder me?
Vind.
Wicked, vnnaturall Parents.
Hip.
Feend of women.
Moth.
Oh! are sonnes turnd monsters? helpe.
Vind.
In vaine.
Moth.
Are you so barbarous to set Iron nipples
Vpon the brest that gaue you suck.
Vind.
That brest,
Is turnd to Quarled poyson.
Moth.
Cut not your daies for't, am not I your mother?
Vind.
Thou dost vsurpe that title now by fraud
For in that shell of mother breeds a bawde.
Moth.
A bawde? O name far loathsomer then hell.
Hip.
It should be so knewst thou thy Office well.
Moth.
I hate it.
Vind.
Ah ist possible, Thou onely, you powers on hie,
That women should dissemble when they die.
Mot.
Dissemble.
Vind.
Did not the Dukes sonne direct
A fellow, of the worlds condition, hither,
That did corrupt all that was good in thee:
Made thee vnciuilly forget thy selfe,
And worke our sister to his lust.
Moth.
Who I,
That had beene monstrous? I defie that man:
For any such intent, none liues so pure,
But shall be soild with slander,—good sonne beleiue it not,
Vind.
Oh I'me in doubt,
Whether I'me my selfe, or no,
Stay, let me looke agen vpon this face.
Who shall be sau'd when mothers haue no grace.
Hip.
Twould make one halfe dispaire.
Vind.
I was the man,
Defie me, now? lets see, do't modestly.
Moth.
O hell vnto my soule.
Vind.
In that disguize, I sent from the Dukes sonne,
Tryed you, and found you base mettell,
Mo.
O no, no tongue but yours could haue bewitcht me so.
Vind.
O nimble in damnation, quick in tune,
There is no diuill could strike fire so soone:
I am confuted in a word.
Mot.
Oh sonnes, forgiue me, to my selfe ile proue more true,
You that should honor me, I kneele to you.
Vind.
A mother to giue ayme to her owne daughter.
Hip.
True brother, how far beyond nature 'tis,
Tho many Mothers do't.
Vind.
Nay and you draw teares once, go you to bed,
Wet will make yron blush and change to red:
Brother it raines, twill spoile your dagger, house it.
Hip.
Tis done.
Vin.
Yfaith tis a sweete shower, it dos much good,
The fruitfull grounds, and meadowes of her soule,
Has beene long dry: powre downe thou blessed dew,
Rise Mother, troth this shower has made you higher.
Mot.
O you heauens? take this infectious spot out of my soule,
Ile rence it in seauen waters of mine eyes?
Make my teares salt ynough to tast of grace,
To weepe, is to our sexe: naturally giuen:
But to weepe truely thats a gift from heauen?
Vind.
Nay Ile kisse you now: kisse her brother?
Lets marry her to our soules, wherein's no lust,
And honorably loue her.
Hip.
Let it be.
Vind.
For honest women are so sild and rare,
Tis good to cherish those poore few that are.
Oh you of easie waxe, do but imagine
Now the disease has left you, how leprously
That Office would haue cling'd vnto your forehead,
All mothers that had any gracefull hue,
Would haue worne maskes to hide their face at you:
It would haue growne to this, at your foule name;
Greene-collour'd maides would haue turnd red with shame?
Hip.
And then our sister full of hire, and bassenesse.
Vind.
There had beene boyling lead agen,
The dukes sonnes great Concubine:
A drab of State, a cloath a siluer slut,
Hip.
To be miserably great, rich to be eternally wretched.
Vind.
O common madnesse:
Aske but the thriuingst harlot in cold bloud,
Sheed giue the world to make her honour good,
Perhaps youle say but onely to'th Dukes sonne,
In priuate; why, shee first begins with one,
Who afterward to thousand prooues a whore:
“Breake Ice in one place, it will crack in more.
Mother.
Most certainly applyed?
Hip.
Oh Brother, you forget our businesse.
Vind.
And well remembred, ioye's a subtill else,
I thinke man's happiest, when he forgets himselfe:
Farewell once dryed, now holy-watred Meade,
Our hearts weare Feathers, that before wore Lead.
Mother.
Ile giue you this, that one I neuer knew
Plead better, for, and gainst the Diuill, then you.
Vind.
You make me proud ont.
Hip.
Commend vs in all vertue to our Sister.
Vind.
I for the loue of heauen, to that true maide.
Mother.
With my best words.
Vind.
Why that was motherly sayd.
Exeunt.
Mother.
I wonder now what fury did transport me?
I feele good thoughts begin to settle in me.
Oh with what fore-head can I looke on her?
Whose honor I'ue so impiouslie beset,
And here shee comes,
Cast.
Now mother, you haue wrought with me so strongly,
That what for my aduancement, as to calme
The trouble of your tongue: I am content.
Mother.
Content, to what?
Cast.
To do as you haue wisht me,
To prostitute my brest to the Dukes sonne:
And put my selfe to common Vsury.
Mother.
I hope you will not so.
Cast.
Hope you I will not?
That's not the hope you looke to be saued in.
Mother.
Truth but it is.
Do not deceiue your selfe,
I am, as you een out of Marble wrought,
What would you now, are yee not pleasde yet with me,
You shall not wish me to be more lasciuious
Then I intend to be.
Mother.
Strike not me cold,
Cast.
How often haue you chargd me on your blessing
To be a cursed woman—when you knew,
Your blessing had no force to make me lewd,
You laide your cursse vpon me, that did more,
The mothers curse is heauy, where that fights,
Sonnes set in storme, and daughters loose their lights?
Moth.
Good childe, deare maide, if there be any sparke
Of heauenly intellectuall fire within thee, oh let my breath,
Reuiue it to a flame:
Put not all out, with womans wilfull follyes,
I am recouerd of that foule disease
That haunts too many mothers, kinde forgiue me,
Make me not sick in health?—if then
My words preuailde when they were wickednesse,
How much more now when they are iust and good?
Cast.
I wonder what you meane, are not you she
For whose infect perswasions I could scarce
Kneele out my prayers, and had much adoo
In three houres reading, to vntwist so much
Of the black serpent, as you wound about me.
Moth.
Tis vnfruitfull, held tedious to repeate whats past,
Ime now your present Mother.
Cast.
Push, now 'tis too late,
Moth.
Bethinke agen, thou knowst not what thou sayst.
Cast.
No, deny aduancement, treasure, the Dukes sonne.
Moth.
O see, I spoke those words, and now they poyson me:
What will the deed do then?
Aduancement, true: as high as shame can pitch,
For Treasure; who ere knew a harlot rich?
Or could build by the purchase of her sinne,
An hospitall to keepe their bastards in: The Dukes sonne,
Oh when woemen are yong Courtiers, they are sure to be old beggars,
To know the miseries most harlots taste,
Thoudst wish thy selfe vnborne, when thou art vnchast.
Cast.
O mother let me twine about your necke,
I did but this to trie you.
Mot.
O speake truth.
Cast.
Indeed I did not, for no tong has force to alter me from honest
If maydens would, mens words could haue no power,
A vergin honor is a christall Tower.
Which being weake is guarded with good spirits,
Vntill she basely yeelds no ill inherits.
Mot.
O happy child! faith and thy birth hath saued me,
Mongst thousand daughters happiest of all others,
Buy thou a glasse for maides, and I for mothers.
Exeunt.
Enter Vindice and Hippolito.
Vin.
So, so, he leanes well, take heede you wake him not brother
Hip.
I warant you my life for yours.
Vin.
Thats a good lay, for I must kill my selfe?
Brother thats I: that sits for me: do you marke it,
And I must stand ready here to make away my selfe yonder—I
must sit to bee kild, and stand to kill my selfe, I could varry it
not so little as thrice ouer agen, tas some eight returnes like
Michelmas Tearme.
Hip.
Thats enow a conscience.
Vind.
But sirrah dos the Dukes sonne come single?
Hip.
No, there's the hell on't, his faith's too feeble to go alone?
hee brings flesh-flies after him, that will buzze against supper
time, and hum for his comming out.
Vind.
Ah the fly-flop of vengeance beate 'em to peeces? here
was the sweetest occasion, the fittest houre, to haue made my
reueng familiar with him, show him the body of the Duke his
father, and how quaintly he died like a Polititian in hugger-mugger,
made no man acquainted with it, and in Catastrophe
slaine him ouer his fathers brest, and oh I'me mad to loose such a
sweete opportunity.
Hip.
Nay push, pree-thee be content! there's no remedy present,
may not hereafter times open in as faire faces as this.
Vind.
They may if they can paint so well?
Hip.
Come, now to auoide al suspition, lets sorsake this roome,
and be going to meete the Dukes sonne.
Ent. Luss.
Vind.
Content, I'me for any wether? heart step closse, here hee comes?
Hip.
My honord Lord?
Lus.
Oh me; you both present.
Vin.
E'en newly my Lord, iust as your Lordship enterd now? about
this place we had notice giuen hee should bee, but in some
loathsome plight or other.
Came your honour priuate?
Luss.
Priuate inough for this: onely a few
Attend my comming out.
Hip.
Death rotte those few.
Luss.
Stay yonder's the slaue.
Uind.
Masse there's the slaue indeed my Lord;
Tis a good child, he calls his Father slaue.
Luss.
I, thats the villaine, the dambd villaine: softly,
Tread easie.
Vin.
Puh, I warrant you my Lord, weele stiffle in our breaths.
Luss.
That will do well:
Base roague, thou sleepest thy last, tis policie,
To haue him killd in's sleepe, for if he wakt
Hee would betray all to them.
Vind.
But my Lord.
Luss.
Ha, what sayst?
Vind.
Shall we kill him now hees drunke?
Lus.
I best of all.
Vind.
Why then hee will nere liue to be sober?
Lus.
No matter, let him reele to hell.
Vind.
But being so full of liquor, I feare hee will put out all the fire,
Lus.
Thou art a mad brest.
Uin.
And leaue none to warme your Lordships Gols withall;
For he that dyes drunke, falls into hell fire like a Bucket a water,
qush, qush.
Lus.
Come be ready, nake your swords, thinke of your wrongs
This slaue has iniur'd you.
Vind.
Troth so he has, and he has paide well fort.
Lus.
Meete with him now.
Vin.
Youle beare vs out my Lord?
Lus.
Puh, am I a Lord for nothing thinke you, quickly, now.
Vind.
Sa, sa, sa: thumpe, there he lyes.
Lus.
Nimbly done, ha? oh, villaines, murderers,
Tis the old Duke my father.
Vind.
That's a iest.
Lus.
What stiffe and colde already?
O pardon me to call you from your names:
Tis none of your deed,—that villaine Piato
Whom you thought now to kill, has murderd him,
And left him thus disguizd.
Hip.
And not vnlikely.
Vind.
O rascall was he not ashamde,
To put the Duke into a greasie doublet.
He has beene cold and stiff who knowes, how long?
Vind.
Marry that do I.
Luss.
No words I pray, off any thing entended:
Vind.
Oh my Lord.
Hip.
I would faine haue your Lordship thinke that we haue
small reason to prate.
Lus.
Faith thou sayst true? ile forth-with send to Court,
For all the Nobles, Bastard, Duchesse, all?
How here by miracle wee found him dead,
And in his rayment that foule villaine fled.
Vind.
That will be the best way my Lord, to cleere vs all: lets
cast about to be cleere.
Luss.
Ho, Nencio, Sordido, and the rest.
Enter all.
1.
My Lord.
2.
My Lord.
Lus.
Be wittnesses of a strange spectacle:
Choosing for priuate conference that sad roome
We found the Duke my father gealde in bloud.
1.
My Lord the Duke—run hie thee Nencio,
Startle the Court by signifying so much.
Vind.
Thus much by wit a deepe Reuenger can:
When murders knowne, to be the cleerest man
We're fordest off, and with as bould an eye,
Suruay his body as the standers by.
Luss.
My royall father, too basely let bloud,
By a maleuolent slaue.
Hip.
Harke? he calls thee slaue agen.
Vin.
Ha's lost, he may.
Lus.
Oh sight, looke hether, see, his lips are gnawn with poysō.
Vin.
How—his lips by'th masse they bee.
Lus.
O villaine—O roague—O slaue—O rascall:
Hip.
O good deceite, he quits him with like tearmes.
1.
Where.
2.
Which way.
Amb.
Ouer what roofe hangs this prodigious Comet,
In deadly fire.
Lus.
Behold, behold my Lords the Duke my fathers murderd
by a vassaile, that owes this habit, and here left disguisde.
Duch.
My Lord and husband.
2.
Reuerend Maiesty.
1.
I haue seene these cloths, often attending on him.
Vin.
That Nobleman, has bin ith Country, for he dos not lie?
Learne of our mother lets dissemble to,
I am glad hee's vanisht; so I hope are you?
Amb.
I you may take my word fort.
Spur.
Old Dad, dead?
I, one of his cast sinnes will send the Fates
Most hearty commendations by his owne sonne,
Ile tug in the new streame, till strength be done.
Lus.
Where be those two, that did affirme to vs?
My Lord the Duke was priuately rid forth?
1.
O pardon vs my Lords, hee gaue that charge
Vpon our liues if he were mist at Court,
To answer so; hee rode not any where,
We left him priuate with that fellow here?
Vind.
Confirmde.
Lus.
O heauens, that false charge was his death,
Impudent Beggars, durst you to our face,
Maintaine such a false answer? beare him straight to execution.
1.
My Lord?
Luss.
Vrge me no more.
In this the excuse, may be cal'd halfe the murther?
Vind.
Yo'ue sentencde well.
Luss.
Away see it be done.
Vind.
Could you not stick: see what confession doth?
Who would not lie when men are hangd for truth?
Hip.
Brother how happy is our vengeance.
Vin.
Why it hits, past the apprehension of indifferent wits.
Luss,
My Lord let post horse be sent,
Into all places to intrap the villaine,
Vin.
Post-horse ha ha.
Nob.
My Lord, we're som-thing bould to know our duety?
Your fathers accidentally departed,
The titles that were due to him, meete you.
Lus.
Meete me? I'me not at leisure my good Lord,
I'ue many greefes to dispatch out ath way:
Welcome sweete titles,—talke to me my Lords,
Of sepulchers, and mighty Emperors bones,
Thats thought for me.
Vind.
So, one may see by this,
How forraine markets goe:
Courtiers haue feete ath nines, and tongues ath twellues,
Nob.
My Lord it is your shine must comfort vs.
Luss.
Alas I shine in teares like the Sunne in Aprill.
Nobl.
Your now my Lords grace?
Luss.
My Lords grace? I perceiue youle haue it so,
Nobl.
Tis but your owne.
Luss.
Then heauens giue me grace to be so?
Vind.
He praies wel for him-selfe.
Nobl.
Madame all sorrowes,
Must runne their circles into ioyes, no doubt but time,
Wil make the murderer bring forth him-selfe.
Vind.
He were an Asse then yfaith?
Nob.
In the meane season,
Let vs bethinke the latest-funerall honors:
Due to the Dukes cold bodie,—and withall,
Calling to memory our new happinesse,
Spreade in his royall sonne,—Lords Gentlemen,
Prepare for Reuells.
Uind.
Reuells.
Nobl.
Time hath seuerall falls,
Greefes lift vp ioyes, feastes put downe funeralls.
Lus.
Come then my Lords, my fauours to you all,
The Duchesse is suspected, fowly bent,
Ile beginne Dukedome with her banishment?
Exeunt Duke Nobles and Duchesse.
Hip.
Reuells.
Vind.
I, that's the word, we are firme yet,
Strike one straine more, and then we crowne our wit.
Exeu. Bro.
Spu.
Well, haue the fayrest marke,—(so sayd the Duke when
he begot me,)
Then haue at any, a Bastard scornes to be out.
Sup.
Not'st thou that Spurio brother.
And.
Yes I note him to our shame.
Super.
He shall not liue, his haire shall not grow much longer?
in this time of Reuells tricks may be set a foote, seest thou yon
new Moone, it shall out-liue the new Duke by much, this hand
shall dispossesse him, then we're mighty.
Tis murders best face when a vizard's on.
Exit Super.
Ist so, 'ts very good,
And do you thinke to be Duke then, kinde brother:
Ile see faire play, drop one, and there lies tother.
Exit Ambi.
Enter Vindice & Hippolito, with Piero and other Lords.
Vind.
My Lords; be all of Musick, strike old griefes into other countries
That flow in too much milke, and haue faint liuers,
Not daring to stab home their discontents:
Let our hid flames breake out, as fire, as lightning,
To blast this villanous Dukedome: vext with sinne;
Winde vp your soules to their full height agen.
Piero.
How?
1.
Which way?
3.
Any way: our wrongs are such,
We cannot iustly be reuengde too much.
Uind.
You shall haue all enough:—Reuels are toward,
And those few Nobles that haue long suppressd you,
Are busied to the furnishing of a Maske:
And do affect to make a pleasant taile ont,
The Masking suites are fashioning, now comes in
That which must glad vs all—wee to take patterne
Of all those suites, the colour, trimming, fashion,
E'en to an vndistinguisht hayre almost:
Then entring first, obseruing the true forme,
Within a straine or two we shall finde leasure,
To steale our swords out handsomly,
And when they thinke their pleasure sweete and good,
In midst of all their ioyes, they shall sigh bloud.
Pie.
Weightily, effectually,
3.
before the tother Maskers come.
Vind.
We're gone, all done and past.
Pie.
But how for the Dukes guard?
Vind.
Let that alone,
By one and one their strengths shall be drunke downe,
Hip.
There are fiue hundred Gentlemen in the action,
That will apply them-selues, and not stand idle.
Pier.
Oh let vs hug your bosomes.
Vin.
Come my Lords,
Prepare for deeds, let other times haue words.
Exeunt.
In a dum shew, the possessing of the young Duke. with all his Nobles: Then sounding Musick.
A furnisht Table is brought forth: then enters the Duke & his Nobles to the banquet. A blasing-star appeareth.
Many harmonious houres, and choisest pleasures,
Fill vp the royall numbers of your yeares.
Lus.
My Lords we're pleasd to thanke you?—tho we know,
Tis but your duety now to wish it so.
Nob.
That shine makes vs all happy.
3. Nob.
His Grace frounes?
2. Nob.
Yet we must say he smiles.
1. Nob.
I thinke we must.
Lus.
That foule-Incontinent Duchesse we haue banisht,
The Bastard shall not liue: after these Reuells
Ile begin strange ones; hee and the stepsonnes,
Shall pay their liues for the first subsidies,
We must not frowne so soone, else t'ad beene now?
1. Nob.
My gratious Lord please you prepare for pleasure,
The maske is not far off.
Lus.
We are for pleasure,
Beshrew thee, what art thou? madst me start?
Thou hast committed treason,—A blazing star.
1, Nob.
A blazing star, O where my Lord.
Lus.
Spy out.
2. Nob,
See, see, my Lords, a wondrous-dreadful one.
Lus.
I am not pleasd at that ill-knotted fire,
That bushing-flaring star,—am not I Duke?
It should not quake me now: had it appeard,
Before it, I might then haue iustly feard,
But yet they say, whom art and learning Weds:
When stars were locks, they threaten great-mens heads,
Is it so? you are read my Lords.
1. Nob.
May it please your Grace,
It showes great anger.
Lus.
That dos not please our Grace.
2. Nob.
Yet here's the comfort my Lord, many times.
When it seemes most it threatnes fardest off.
Lus.
Faith and I thinke so too.
1. Nob.
Beside my Lord,
You'r gracefully establisht with the loues
Of all your subiects: and for naturall death,
I hope it will be threescore years a comming.
Lus.
True, no more but threescore years.
1. Nob.
Fourescore I hope my Lord:
2, Nob.
And fiuescore, I,
3, Nob.
But tis my hope my Lord, you shall nere die.
Giue me thy hand, these others I rebuke,
He that hopes so, is sittest for a Duke:
Thou shalt sit next me, take your places Lords,
We're ready now for sports, let 'em set on.
You thing? we shall forget you quite anon!
3. Nob.
I heare 'em comming my Lord.
Enter the Maske of Reuengers the two Brothers, and two Lords more.
Lus.
Ah tis well,
Brothers, and Bastard, you dance next in hell?
The Reuengers daunce?
At the end, steale out their swords, and these foure kill the foure at the Table, in their Chaires. It thunders.
Vind.
Marke, Thunder?
Dost know thy kue, thou big-voyc'st cryer?
Dukes groanes, are thunders watch-words,
Hip.
So my Lords, You haue ynough.
Vind.
Come lets away, no lingring.
Exeunt.
Hip.
Follow, goe?
Vind.
No power is angry when the lust-ful die,
When thunder-claps, heauen likes the tragedy.
Exit Vin.
Lus.
Oh, oh.
Enter the other Maske of entended murderers? Step-sons; Bastard; and a fourth man, comming in dauncing, the Duke recouers a little in voyce, and groanes,—calls a guard, treason.
At which they all start out of their measure, and turning towards the Table, they finde them all to be murdered.
Spur.
Whose groane was that?
Lus.
Treason, a guard.
Amb.
How now? all murderd!
Super.
Murderd!
4.
And those his Nobles?
Amb.
Here's a labour sau'd,
I thought to haue sped him, Sbloud how came this.
Spur.
Then I proclaime my selfe, now I am Duke.
Amb.
Thou Duke,! brother thou liest.
Spu.
Slaue so dost thou?
4.
Base villayne hast thou slaine my Lord and Maister.
Enter the first men.
Vind.
Pistolls, treason, murder, helpe, guard my Lord the Duke.
Hip.
Lay hold vpon this Traytors?
Lus.
Oh.
Vind.
Alasse, the Duke is murderd.
Hip.
And the Nobles.
Surgeons, Surgeons,—heart dos he breath so long.
Ant.
A piteous tragædy, able to wake,
An old-mans eyes bloud-shot;
Luss.
Oh.
Vin.
Looke to my Lord the Duke-a vengeance throttle him.
Confesse thou murdrous and vnhollowed man,
Didst thou kill all these?
4.
None but the Bastard I,
Vin.
How came the Duke slaine then;
4.
We found him so,
Luss.
O villaine,
Vin,
Harke.
Luss.
Those in the maske did murder vs,
Vin,
Law you now sir.
O marble impudence! will you confesse now?
4.
Sloud tis all false,
Ant.
Away with that foule monster,
Dipt in a Princes bloud.
4.
Heart tis a lye,
Ant.
Let him haue bitter execution.
Vin.
New marrow no I cannot be exprest,
How faires my Lord the Duke.
Luss.
Farewel to al,
He that climes highest has the greatest fall,
My tong is out of office.
Vin.
Ayre Gentlemen, ayre,
Now thoult not prate ont, twas Vindice murdred thee,
Luss.
Oh.
Vin.
Murdred thy Father.
Luss.
Oh.
Vin.
And I am he-tell no-body, so so, the Dukes departed,
Ant.
It was a deadly hand that wounded him,
The rest, ambitious who should rule and sway,
After his death were so made all away,
Vin.
My Lord was vnlikely,
Hip.
Now the hope,
Of Italy lyes in your reuerend yeares?
Vin.
Your hayre, will make the siluer age agen,
When there was fewer but more honest men,
Anto.
The burdens weighty and will presse age downe,
May I so rule that heauen nay keepe the crowne,
Vin.
The rape of your good Lady has beene quited,
With death on death.
Ant.
Iust is the Lawe aboue
How the old Duke came murdred.
Vin.
Oh, my Lord.
Ant.
It was the strangeliest carried, I not hard of the like,
Hip.
Twas all donne for the best my Lord,
Vin.
All for your graces good? we may be bould to speake it now,
Twas some-what witty carried tho we say it.
Twas we two murdred him,
Ant.
You two?
Vin.
None else ifaith my Lord nay twas well managde,
Ant.
Lay hands vpon those villaines.
Vin.
How? on vs?
Ant.
Beare 'em two speedy execution,
Vin.
Heart wast not for your good my Lord?
Ant.
My good away with 'em such an ould man as he,
You that would murder him would murder me,
Vin.
Ist come about;
Hip.
Sfoote brother you begun,
Vin.
May not we set as well as the Dukes sonne,
Thou hast no conscience, are we not reuengde?
Is there one enemy left aliue amongst those?
Tis time to die, when we are our selues our foes.
When murders shut deeds closse, this curse does seale 'em,
If none disclose 'em they them selues reueale 'em!
This murder might haue slept in tonglesse brasse,
But for our selues, and the world dyed an asse;
Now I remember too, here was Piato.
Brought forth a knauish sentance once, no doubt (said he) but time
Will make the murderer bring forth himselfe?
Tis well he died, he was a witch,
And now my Lord, since we are in for euer:
This worke was ours which else might haue beene slipt,
And if we list, we could haue Nobles clipt,
And go for lesse then beggers, but we hate
To bleed so cowardly we haue ynough,
Yfaith, we're well, our Mother turnd, our Sister true,
We die after a nest of Dukes, adue,
Exeunt.
Ant.
How subtilly was that murder elosde, beare vp,
Those tragick bodies, tis a heauy season.
Pray heauen their bloud may wash away all treason.
Exit.
FINIS.
| The Revengers Tragaedie [by Thomas Middleton] | |