 | The Fatall Dovvry |  |
Act. secundus.
Scæna prima:
Enter Pontalier, Malotin, Baumont.Mal.
Tis strange.
Baum.
Me thinkes so,
Pont.
In a man, but young,
Yet old in iudgement, theorique, and practicke,
In all humanity (and to increase the wonder)
Yeeld his free liuing youth a captiue, for
The freedome of his aged fathers Corpes,
And rather choose to want lifes necessaries,
Liberty, hope of fortune, then it should
In death be kept from Christian ceremony.
Malo.
Come, 'Tis a golden president in a Sonne,
To let strong nature haue the better hand,
(In such a case) of all affected reason,
What yeeres sits on this Charolois?
Baum.
Twenty eight, for since the clocke did strike him 17 old
Vnder his fathers wing, this Sonne hath fought,
Seru'd and commanded, and so aptly both,
That sometimes he appear'd his fathers father,
And neuer lesse then's sonne; the old mans vertues
So recent in him, as the world may sweare,
Nought but a faire tree, could such fayre fruit beare.
Pont.
But wherefore lets he such a barbarcus law,
And men more barbarous to execute it,
Preuaile on his soft disposition,
That he had rather dye aliue for debt
Of the old man in prison, then he should
Rob him of Sepulture, considering
These monies borrow'd bought the lenders peace,
And all their meanes they inioy, nor was diffus'd
In any impious or licencious path?
Bau.
True: for my part, were it my fathers trunke,
The tyrannous Ram-heads, with their hornes should gore it,
Or, cast it to their curres (than they) lesse currish,
Ere prey on me so, with their Lion-law,
Being in my free will (as in his) to shun it.
Pont.
Alasse! he knowes himselfe (in pouerty) lost:
For in this parciall auaricious age
What price beares Honor? Vertue? Long agoe
It was but prays'd, and freez'd, but now a dayes
'Tis colder far, and has, nor loue, nor praise,
Very prayse now freezeth too: for nature
Then knowledge vs (lesse heathenish) Christian.
Malo.
This morning is the funerall.
Pont.
Certainely!
And from this prison 'twas the sonnes request
That his deare father might interment haue.
Recorders Musique:
See, the young sonne interd a liuely graue.
Baum.
They come, obserue their order.
Enter Funerall, Body borne by 4. Captaines and Souldiers. Mourners, Scutchions, and very good order, Charolois, and Romont meet it. Char. speaks. Rom. weeping, solemne Musique, 3 Creditors.
Char.
How like a silent streame shaded with night,
And gliding softly with our windy sighes;
Moues the whole frame of this solemnity!
Teares, sighes and blackes, filling the simily,
Whilst I the onely murmur in this groue
Of death, thus hollowly break forth! Vouchsafe
To stay a while, rest, rest in peace, deare earth,
Thou that brought'st rest to their vnthankfull lyues!
Whose cruelty deny'd thee rest in death:
Heere stands thy poore Executor thy sonne,
That makes his life prisoner, to bale thy death;
Who gladlier puts on this captiuity,
Then Virgins long in loue, their wedding weeds:
Of all that euer thou hast done good to,
These onely haue good memories, for they
Remember best, forget not gratitude.
I thanke you for this last and friendly loue.
And tho this Country, like a viperous mother,
Not onely hath eate vp vngratefully
All meanes of thee her sonne, but last thy selfe,
Leauing thy heire so bare and indigent,
He cannot rayse thee a poore Monument,
Such as a flatterer, or a vsurer hath.
Making their friendly hearts thy funerall stone.
Pont.
Sir.
Char.
Peace, O peace, this sceane is wholy mine.
What weepe ye, souldiers? Blanch not,
Romont weepes.
Ha, let me see, my miracle is eas'd,
The iaylors and the creditors do weepe;
Euen they that make vs weepe, do weepe themselues.
Be these thy bodies balme: these and thy vertue
Keepe thy fame euer odoriferous,
VVhilst the great, proud, rich, vndeseruing man,
Aliue stinkes in his vices, and being vanish'd,
The golden calfe that was an Idoll dect
VVith Marble pillars Iet, and Prophyrie,
Shall quickly both in bone and name consume,
Though wrapt in lead, spice, Searecloth and perfume
1 Cred.
Sir.
Char.
VVhat! Away for shame: you prophane rogues
Must not be mingled with these holy reliques:
This is a Sacrifice, our showre shall crowne
His sepulcher with Oliue, Myrrh and Bayes
The plants of peace, of sorrow, victorie,
Your teares would spring but weedes.
1 Cred.
VVould they not so?
VVee'll keepe them to stop bottles then:
Rom.
No; keepe 'em for your owne sins, you Rogues,
Till you repent: you'll dye else and be damn'd.
2 Cred.
Damn'd, ha! ha, ha.
Rom.
Laugh yee?
3 Cred.
Yes faith. Sir, weel'd be very glad
To please you eyther way.
1 Cred.
Y'are ne're content,
Crying nor laughing.
Rom.
Both with a birth shee rogues.
2 Cred.
Our wiues, Sir, taught vs.
Rom.
Looke, looke you slaues, your thanklesse cruelty
And sauage manners, of vnkind Dijon,
1 Cred.
Slid, Sir, what would yee, ye'are so cholericke?
2 Cred.
Most souldiers are so yfaith, let him alone:
They haue little else to liue on, we haue not had
A penny of him, haue wee?
3 Cred,
'Slight, wo'd you haue our hearts?
1 Cred.
We haue nothing but his body heere in durance
For all our mony.
Priest.
On.
Char.
One moment more,
But to bestow a few poore legacyes,
All I haue left in my dead fathers rights,
And I haue done. Captaine, weare thou these spurs
That yet ne're made his horse runne from a foe.
Lieutenant, thou; this Scarfe, and may it tye
Thy valor, and thy honestie together:
For so it did in him. Ensigne, this Curace
Your Generalls necklace once. You gentle Bearers,
Deuide this purse of gold, this other, strow
Among the poore: tis all I haue. Romont,
(Weare thou this medall of himselfe) that like
A hearty Oake, grew'st close to this tall Pine,
Euen in the wildest wildernesse of war,
VVhereon foes broke their swords, and tyr'd themselues;
VVounded and hack'd yee were, but neuer fell'd.
For me, my portion prouide in Heauen:
My roote is earth'd, and I a desolate branch
Left scattered in the high way of the world,
Trod vnder foot, that might haue bin a Columne,
Mainely supporting our demolish'd house,
This would I weare as my inheritance.
And what hope can arise to me from it,
VVhen I and it are both heere prisoners?
Onely may this, if euer we be free,
Keepe, or redeeme me from all infamie.
Song. Musicke.
1 Cred.
No farther, looke to 'em at your owne perill.
2 Cred.
No, as they please: their Master's a good man.
Saylor.
You must no further.
The prison limits you, and the Creditors
Exact the strictnesse.
Rom.
Out you wooluish mungrells!
Whose braynes should be knockt out, like dogs in Iuly,
Lest your infection poyson a whole towne.
Char.
They grudge our sorrow: your ill wills perforce
Turnes now to Charity: they would not haue vs
Walke too farre mourning, vsurers reliefe
Grieues, if the Debtors haue too much of griefe.
Exeunt.
Enter Beaumelle: Florimell: Bellapert.
Beau.
I prithee tell me, Florimell, why do women marry?
Flor.
Why truly Madam, I thinke, to lye with their husbands.
Bella.
You are a foole; She lyes, Madam, women marry husbands,
To lye with other men.
Flor.
Faith, eene such a woman wilt thou make. By this
light, Madam, this wagtaile will spoyle you, if you take
delight in her licence.
Beau.
Tis true, Florimell: and thou wilt make me too good
for a yong Lady. What an electuary found my father out for
his daughter, when hee compounded you two my women?
for thou, Florimell, art eene a graine too heauy, simply for a
wayting Gentlewoman.
Flor.
And thou Bellapert, a graine too light.
Bella.
Well, go thy wayes goodly wisdom, whom no body
regards. I wonder, whether be elder thou or thy hood: you
thinke, because you serue my Ladyes mother, are 32 yeeres
old which is a peepe cut, you know.
Flor.
Well sayd, wherligig.
Bella.
You are deceyu'd: I want a peg ith' middle.
Out of these Prerogatiues! you thinke to be mother of the
maydes heere, & mortifie em with prouerbs: goe, goe, gouern
the sweet meates, and waigh the Suger, that the wenches
steale none: say your prayers twice a day, and as I take it, you
Flor.
I may bee euen with you.
Bell.
Harke, the Court's broke vp. Goe helpe my old Lord
out of his Caroch, and scratch his head till dinner time.
Flor.
Well.
Exit.
Bell.
Fy Madam, how you walke! By my mayden-head
you looke 7 yeeres older then you did this morning: why,
there can be nothing vnder the Sunne valuable, to make you
thus a minute.
Beau.
Ah my sweete Bellapert thou Cabinet
To all my counsels, thou dost know the cause
That makes thy Lady wither thus in youth.
Bel.
Vd'd-light, enioy your wishes: whilst I liue,
One way or other you shall crowne your will.
Would you haue him your husband that you loue,
And can't not bee? he is your seruant though,
And may performe the office of a husband.
Beau.
But there is honor, wench.
Bell.
Such a disease
There is in deed, for which ere I would dy.—
Beau.
Prethee, distinguish me a mayd & wife.
Bell.
Faith, Madam, one may beare any mans children,
Tother must beare no mans.
Beau.
What is a husband?
Bell.
Physicke, that tumbling in your belly, will make you
sicke ith' stomacke: the onely distinction betwixt a husband
and a seruant is: the first will lye with you, when hee please;
the last shall lye with you when you please. Pray tell me.
Lady, do you loue, to marry after, or would you marry, to
loue after?
Beau.
I would meete loue and marriage both at once.
Bell.
Why then you are out of the fashion, and wilbe contemn'd:
for (Ile assure you) there are few women i'th world,
but either they haue married first, and loue after, or loue
first, and marryed after: you must do as you may, not as you
would: your fathers will is the Goale you must fly to: if a
husband approch you, you would haue further off, is he your
cloake to bee oftner layde vpon your bed, then in your
bed.
Baum.
Humpe.
Bell.
Sometimes you may weare him on your shoulder.
now and then vnder your arme: but seldome or neuer let him
couer you: for 'tis not the fashion.
Enter y. Nouall, Pontalier, Malotin, Lilladam, Aymer.
Nou.
Best day to natures curiosity,
Starre of Dijum, the lustre of all France,
Perpetuall spring dwell on thy rosy cheekes,
Whose breath is perfume to our Continent,
See Flora turn'd in her varieties.
Bell.
Oh diuine Lord!
Nou.
No autumne, nor no age euer approach
This heauenly piece, which nature hauing wrought,
She lost her needle and did then despaire,
Euer to worke so liuely and so faire.
Lilad.
Vds light, my Lord, one of the purles of your band
is (without all discipline falne) out of his ranke.
Nou.
How? I would not for a 1000 crownes she had seen't.
Deare Liladam, reforme it.
Bell.
Oh Lord: Per se, Lord, quintessence of honour,
shee walkes not vnder a weede that could deny thee any
thing.
Baum.
Prethy peace, wench, thou dost but blow the fire,
that flames too much already.
Lilad. Aym. trim Nouall, whilst Bell her Lady.
Aym.
By gad, my Lord, you haue the diuinest
Taylor of Christendome; he hath made
you looke like an Angell in your cloth of Tissue doublet.
Pont.
This is a three-leg'd Lord, ther's a fresh assault, oh
that men should spend time thus!
See see, how her blood driues to her heart, and straight
vaults to her cheekes againe.
Malo.
What are these?
Pont.
One of 'em there the lower is a good, foolish, knauish,
sociable gallimaufry of a man, and has much taught
other is his dressing blocke, vpon whom my Lord layes all
his cloathes, and fashions, ere he vouchsafes 'em his owne
person; you shall see him i'th morning in the Gally-foyst, at
noone in the Bullion, i'th euening in Quirpo, and all night
in—
Malo.
A Bawdy house.
Pont.
If my Lord deny, they deny, if hee affirme, they affirme:
they skip into my Lords cast skins some twice a yeere,
and thus they liue to eate, eate to liue, and liue to prayse my
Lord.
Malo.
Good sir, tell me one thing.
Pont.
What's that?
Malo.
Dare these men euer fight, on any cause?
Pont.
Oh no, 'twould spoyle their cloathes, and put their
bands out of order.
Nou.
M
r
s, you heare the news: your father has resign'd
his Presidentship to my Lord my father.
Malo.
And Lord Charolois vndone foreuer.
Pont.
Troth, 'tis pity, sir.
A brauer hope of so assur'd a father
Did neuer comfort France.
Lila.
A good dumbe mourner.
Aym.
A silent blacke.
Nou.
Oh fie vpon him, how he weares his cloathes!
As if he had come this Christmas from St. Omers,
To see his friends, and return'd after Twelfe tyde.
Lilad.
His Colonell lookes fienely like a drouer,
Nou.
That had a winter ly'n perdieu i'th rayne.
Aym.
What, he that weares a clout about his necke,
His cuffes in's pocket, and his heart in's mouth?
Nou.
Now out vpon him!
Beau.
Seruant, tye my hand.
How your lips blush, in scorne that they should pay
Tribute to hards, when lips are in the way!
Nou.
I thus recant, yet now your hand looks white,
Because your lips robd it of such a right.
Deuoted to my Mr s,
Cant.
Musicke.
After the Song, Enter Rochfort, & Baumont.
Baum.
Romont will come, sir, straight.
Roch.
'Tis well.
Beau.
My Father.
Nouall.
My honorable Lord.
Roch.
My Lord Nouall, this is a vertue in you,
So early vp and ready before noone,
That are the map of dressing through all France.
Nou.
I rise to say my prayers, sir, heere's my Saint.
Roch.
Tis well and courtly; you must giue me leaue,
I haue some priuate conference with my daughter,
Pray vse my garden, you shall dine with me.
Lilad.
Wee'l waite on you.
Nou.
Good morne vnto your Lordship,
Remember what you haue vow'd—to his Mr s.
Exeunt omnes, præter Roch, Daug.
Beau.
Performe I must.
Roch.
Why how now Beaumelle, thou look'st not well.
Th'art sad of late, come cheere thee, I haue found
A wholesome remedy for these mayden fits,
A goodly Oake whereon to twist my vine,
Till her faire branches grow vp to the starres.
Be neere at hand, successe crowne my intent,
My businesse fills my little time so full,
I cannot stand to talke: I know, thy duty
Is handmayd to my will, especially
When it presents nothing but good and fit.
Beau.
Sir, I am yours. Oh if my teares proue true,
Exit Daug
Fate hath wrong'd loue, and will destroy me too.
Enter Romont keeper.
Rom.
Sent you for me, sir?
Roch.
Yes.
Rom.
Your Lordships pleasure?
Roch.
Keeper, this prisoner I will see forth comming
Vpon my word—Sit downe good Colonell.
Exit keeper,
Why I did wish you hither, noble sir,
Which, so affected, Romont, you weare,
To pity and to counsell yee submit
With expedition to the great Nouall:
Recant your sterne contempt, and slight neglect
Of the whole Court, and him, and opportunity,
Or you will vndergoe a heauy censure
In publique very shortly.
Rom.
Hum hum: reuerend sir,
I haue obseru'd you, and doe know you well,
And am now more affraid you know not me,
By wishing my submission to Nouall,
Then I can be of all the bellowing mouthes
That waite vpon him to pronounce the censure,
Could it determine me torments, and shame.
Submit, and craue forgiuenesse of a beast!
Tis true, this bile of state weares purple Tissue,
Is high fed, proud: so is his Lordships horse,
And beares as rich Caparisons. I know,
This Elephant carries on his backe not onely
Towres, Castles, but the ponderous republique,
And neuer stoops for't, with his strong breath trunk
Snuffes others titles, Lordships, Offices,
Wealth, bribes and lyues, vnder his ravenous iawes,
Whats this vnto my freedome? I dare dye;
And therfore aske this Cammell, if these blessings
(For so they would be vnderstood by a man)
But mollifie one rudenesse in his nature,
Sweeten the eager relish of the law,
At whose great helme he sits: helps he the poore
In a iust businesse? nay, does he not crosse
Euery deserued souldier and scholler,
As if when nature made him, she had made
The generall Antipathy of all vertue?
How sauagely, and blasphemo fly hee spake
Touching the Generall, the graue Generall dead,
I must weepe when I thinke on't.
Roch.
Sir.
My Lord, I am not stubborne, I can melt, you see,
And prize a vertue better then my life:
For though I be not learnd, I euer lou'd
That holy Mother of all issues, good,
VVhose white hand (for a Scepter) holdes a File
To pollish roughest customes, and in you
She has her right: see, I am calme as sleepe,
But when I thinke of the grosse iniuries,
The godlesse wrong done, to my Generall dead,
I raue indeed, and could eate this Nouall
A soule-lesse Dromodary.
Roch.
Oh bee temperate,
Sir, though I would perswade, I'le not constraine
Each mans opinion freely is his owne,
Concerning any thing or any body,
Be it right or wrong, tis at the Iudges perill.
Enter Baumond.
Bau.
These men, Sir, waite without, my Lord is come too.
Roch.
Pay'em those summes vpon the table, take
Their full releases: stay, I want a witnesse:
Let mee intreat you Colonell, to walke in,
And stand but by, to see this money pay'd,
It does concerne you and your friends, it was
The better cause you were sent for, though sayd otherwise.
The deed shall make this my request more plaine.
Rom.
I shall obey your pleasure Sir, though ignorant
To what is tends?
Exit Seruant; Romont.
Roch.
Worthiest Sir,
Enter Charolois.
You are most welcome: sye, no more of this:
You haue out-wept a woman, noble Charolois
No man but has, or must bury a father.
Char.
Graue Sir, I buried sorrow, for his death,
In the graue with him. I did neuer thinke
Hee was immortall, though I vow I grieue,
And see no reason why the vicious,
Vertuous, valiant and unworthy men
Should dye alike.
They do not.
Char.
In the manner
Of dying, Sir, they do not, but all dye,
And therein differ not: but I haue done.
I spy'd the liuely picture of my father,
Passing your gallery, and that cast this water
Into mine eyes: see, foolish that I am,
To let it doe so.
Roch.
Sweete and gentle nature,
How silken is this well comparatiuely
To other men! I haue a suite to you Sir.
Char.
Take it, tis granted.
Roch.
VVhat?
Char.
Nothing, my Lord.
Roch.
Nothing is quickly granted.
Chara.
Faith, my Lord,
That nothing granted, is even all I haue,
For (all know) I haue nothing left to grant.
Roch.
Sir, ha' you any suite to me? Ill grant
You some thing, any thing.
Char.
Nay surely, I that can
Giue nothing, will but sue for that againe.
No man will grant mee anything I rue for.
But begging nothing, euery man will giue't.
Roch.
Sir, the loue I bore your father, and the worth
I see in you, so much resembling his,
Made me thus send for you. And tender heere
Drawes a Curtayne.
What euer you will take, gold, Iewels, both,
All, to supply your wants, and free your selfe.
Where heauenly vertue in high blouded veines
Is lodg'd, and can agree, men should kneele downe,
Adore, and sacrifice all that they haue;
And well they may, it is so seldome seene.
Put off your wonder, and heere freely take
Or send your seruants. Nor, Sir, shall you vse
In ought of this, a poore mans fee, or bribe,
Vniustly taken of the rich, but what's
Directly gotten, and yet by the Law.
How ill, Sir, it becomes those haires to mocke?
Roch.
Mocke? thunder strike mee then.
Char.
You doe amaze mee:
But you shall wonder too, I will not take
One single piece of this great heape: why should I
Borrow, that haue not meanes to pay, nay am
A very bankerupt, even in flattering hope
Of ever raysing any. All my begging,
Is Romonts libertie.
Enter Romont, Creditors loaden with mony. Baumont.
Roch.
Heere is your friend,
Enfranchist ere you spake. I giue him you,
And Charolois. I giue you to your friend
As free a man as hee your fathers debts
Are taken off.
Char.
How?
Rom.
Sir, it is most true.
I am the witnes.
1 Cred.
Yes faith, wee are pay'd.
2 Cred.
Heauen blesse his Lordship, I did thinke him wiser.
3 Cred.
He a states-man, he an asse Pay other mens debts?
1 Cred.
That hee was neuer bound for.
Rom.
One more such would saue the rest of pleaders.
Char.
Honord Rochfort.
Lye still my toung and bushes, cal'd my cheekes,
That offter thankes in words, for such great deeds.
Roch.
Call in my daughter: still I haue a suit to you.
Baum. Exit.
VVould you requite mee.
Rom.
VVith his life, assure you.
Roch.
Nay, would you make me now your debter, Sir.
This is my onely child what shee appeares,
Enter Baum
Your Lordship well may see her education, Beau.
Followes not any: for her mind, I know it
To be far fayrer then her shape, and hope
It will continue so: if now her birth
Be not too meane for Charolois, take her
This virgin by the hand, and call her wife,
Indowd with all my fortunes: blesses mee so.
In ioyning my poore empty name to yours,
Then if my state were multiplied ten fold.
Char.
Is this the payment, Sir, that you expect?
Why, you participate me more in debt,
That nothing but my life can euer pay,
This beautie being your daughter, in which yours
I must conceiue necessitie of her vertue
Without all dowry is a Princes ayme,
Then, as shee is, for poore and worthlesse I,
How much too worthy! Waken me, Romont,
That I may know I dream't, and find this vanisht
Rom.
Sure, I sleepe not.
Roch.
Your sentence life or death.
Char.
Faire Beaumelle, can you loue me?
Beau.
Yes, my Lord.
Enter Nouall, Ponta.
Char.
You need not question me if I can you.
Malotine, Lilad, Aymer. All salute.
You are the fayrest virgin in Digam,
And Rochfort is your father.
Nou.
What's this change?
Roch.
You met my wishes, Gentlemen.
Rom.
VVhat make
These dogs in doublets heere!
Beau.
A Visitation, Sir.
Char.
Then thus, Faire Beaumelle, I write my faith
Thus seale it in the sight of Heauen and men.
Your fingers tye my heart-strings with this touch
In true-loue knots, which nought but death shall loose.
And yet these eares (an Embleme of our loues)
Like Cristall riuers indiuidually
Flow into one another, make one source,
Which neuer man distinguish, lesse deuide:
Breath, marry, breath, and kisses, mingle soules
Two hearts, and bodies, heere incorporate;
And though with little wooing I haue wonne,
My future life shall bee a wooing tyme.
And euery day, new as the bridall one,
More then my fathers bones vnder his wrongs,
You Curtius-like, haue throwne into the gulfe,
Of this his Countries foule ingratitude,
Your life and fortunes, to redeeme their shames.
Roch.
No more, my glory, come, let's in and hasten
This celebration.
Rom. Mal. Pont. Bau.
All faire blisse vpon it.
Exeunt Roch. Char. Rom. Bau. Mal.
Nou.
Mistresse.
Beau.
Oh seruant, vertue strengthen me.
Thy presence blowes round my affections vane:
You will vndoe me, if you speake againe.
Exit Beaum.
Lilad.
Aym. Here will be sport for you. This workes.
Exeunt Lilad. Aym.
Nou.
Peace, peace.
Pont.
One word, my Lord Nouall.
Nou.
What, thou wouldst mony; there.
Pont.
No, Ile none, Ile not be bought a slaue,
A Pander, or a Parasite, for all
Your fathers worth, though you haue sau'd my life,
Rescued me often from my wants, I must not
Winke at your follyes: that will ruine you.
You know my blunt way, and my loue to truth:
Forsake the pursuit of this Ladies honour,
Now you doe see her made another mans,
And such a mans, so good, so popular,
Or you will plucke a thousand mischiefes on you.
The benefits you haue done me, are not lost,
Nor cast away, they are purs'd heere in my heart,
But let me pay you, sir, a fayrer way
Then to defend your vices, or to sooth'em.
Nou.
Ha, ha, ha, what are my courses vnto thee?
Good Cousin Poncalier, meddle with that
That shall concerne thy selfe.
Exit Nouall.
Pont.
No more but scorne?
Onely the wise rule, and preuent your ill.
Exit. Hoboyes.
Here a passage ouer the Stage, while the Act is playing for the Marriage of Charalois with Beaumelle, &c.
| The Fatall Dovvry | |