 | The Very Woman, or the Prince of Tarent |  |
57
Act. 4.
Scæn. 1.
Enter Pedro.Ped.
Now if this honest fellow do but prosper,
I hope I shall make fair return. I wonder
I hear not from the Prince of Tarent, yet
I hope he's landed well, and to his safety,
The winds have stood most gently to his purpose.
My honest friend!
Enter Don John.
John.
Your Lordships poorest servant.
Ped.
How hast thou sped?
John.
My Lord, as well as wishes,
My way hath reach'd your Mistress, and delivered
Your Letter-love, and Token, who with all joy,
And vertuous constancy, desires to see you,
Commands you this night, by her loving power,
To meet her in the Garden,
Ped.
Thou hast made me,
Redeem'd me, man, again from all my sorrows;
Done above wonder for me. Is it so?
John.
I should be now too old to learn to lie sir,
And as I live, I never was good flatterer.
Ped.
I do see some thing in this fellows face still,
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Nay, let me honor thee for this fair service,
And if I ere forget it.
John.
Good my Lord,
The onely knowledge of me, is too much bounty.
My service, and my life sir.
Ped.
I shall think on't;
But how for me to get access?
John.
'Tis easie,
I'll be your guide sir, all my care shall lead you;
My credits better then you think.
Ped.
I thank ye,
And soon I'll wait your promise.
John.
With all my duty.
Exeunt.
Enter Viceroy, Messina, Doctor, and Cuculo.
Doct.
All's as I tell you Princes, you shall here
Be witness to his fancies, melancholly,
And strong imagination of the wrongs.
His inhumanity to Don Anthonio
Hath rent his minde into so many pieces
Of various imaginations, that
Like the Celestial Bowe, this colour now
The object, then another, till all vanish.
He says a man might watch to death, or fast,
Or think his spirit out; to all which humors,
I do apply my self, checking the bad,
And cherishing the good. For these, I have
Prepar'd my Instruments, fitting his Chamber
With trap-doors, and descents; sometimes presenting
Good spirits of the air, bad of the earth,
To pull down, or advance his fair intentions.
He's of a noble nature, yet sometimes
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Is by some skill in Magick. Here he comes.
A bed drawn forth, Martino upon it, a book in's hand.
Unsent I do beseech you. What do you read Sir?
Mar.
A strange position which doth much perplex me:
That every Soul's alike, a musical Instrument,
The Faculties in all men equal Strings,
Well, or ill handled; and those sweet, or harsh.
Exit Doct.
How like a Fidler I have plaid on mine then!
Declin'd the high pitch of my birth and breeding,
Like the most barbarous Peasant; read my pride
Upon Anthonio's meek humility,
Wherein he was far valianter then I.
Meekness, thou wait'st upon couragious spirits,
Enabling sufferance past inflictions:
In patience Tarent overcame me more
Then in my wounds. Live then no more to men,
Shut day-light from thine eyes, here cast thee down,
And with a sullen sigh breath forth thy soul.
What art? an Apparition, or a Man?
Enter Doctor like a Frier.
Doct.
A man, and sent to counsel thee.
Mar.
Despair
Has stopt mine ears; thou seem'st a holy Friar?
Doct.
I am, by Doctor Paulo sent to tell thee:
Thou art too cruel to thy self in seeking
To lend compassion and aid to others.
My Order bids me comfort thee: I have heard all
Thy various, troubled passions. Hear but my story.
In way of youth I did enjoy one friend,
As good and perfect as Heaven e're made man:
This friend was plighted to a beauteous woman,
(Nature proud of her workmanship) mutual love
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And his in hers:
Mar.
No more of love, good father;
It was my surfeit, and I loath it now,
As men in Feavers meat they fell sick on.
Doct.
Howe're 'tis worth your hearing. This betroth'd Lady
(The ties and duties of a friend forgotten)
Spurr'd on by lust, I treacherously pursu'd:
Contemn'd by her, and by my friend reprov'd,
Despis'd by honest men, my conscience sear'd up,
Love I converted into frantick rage;
And by that false guide led, I summon'd him
In this bad cause, his sword 'gainst mine to prove,
If he or I might claim most right in love.
But fortune (that does seld' or never give
Success to right and vertue) made him fall
Under my sword. Blood, blood, a friends dear blood,
A vertuous friends shed by a Villain, me,
In such a monstrous and unequal cause,
Lies on my conscience.
Mar.
And durst thou live
After this to be so old? 'tis an illusion
Rais'd up by my charms: A man would not have liv'd;
Art quiet in thy bosom?
Doct.
As the sleep
Of Infants.
Mar.
My fault did not equal this;
Yet I have emptied my heart of joy,
Only to store sighs up. What were the arts
That made thee live so long in rest?
Doct.
Repentance
Hearty, that cleans'd me; Reason then confirm'd me
I was forgiven, and took me to my Beads.
Exit Doctor:
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I am i'th' wrong path; tender conscience
Makes me forget mine honor: I have done
No evil like this, yet I pine, whilst he,
A few tears of his true contrition tender'd,
Securely sleeps. Ha, where keeps peace of conscience,
That I may buy her? No where, not in life.
'Tis feign'd that Jupiter two Vessels plac'd,
The one with honey fill'd, the other gall,
At th'entry of Olympus: Destinie
There brewing these together, suffers not
One man to pass before he drinks this mixture.
Hence is it we have not an hour of life
In which our pleasures relish not some pain,
Our sowrs some sweetness. Love doth taste of both.
Revenge, that thirsty Dropsie of our souls,
Which makes us covet that which hurts us most,
Is not alone sweet, but partakes of tartness:
Mess.
Is't not a strange effect?
Vice.
Past president.
Cuc.
His Brain-pan's perish'd with his wounds: Go to,
I knew 'twould come to this.
Vice.
Peace, man of wisdom.
Mar.
Pleasure's the hook of evil, ease of care,
And so the general object of the Court:
Yet some delights are lawful. Honor is
Vertue's allow'd ascent: Honor that clasps
All perfect Justice in her arms; that craves
No more respect then what she gives; that does
Nothing but what she'll suffer. This distracts me,
But I have found the right. Had Don Anthonio
Done that to me, I did to him, I should have kill'd him;
The injury so foul, and done in publique,
My Footman would not bear it. Then in honor
Wronging him so, I'll right him on my self:
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Equally tender'd; 'tis resolv'd, I'll do't.
Enter Doctor (like a Soldier) and the English Slave (like a Courtier.)
Slave.
They take all weapons from me.
Mess.
Bless my son.
Vice.
The careful Doctor's come again.
Mess.
Rare man!
How shall I pay this debt?
Cuc.
He that is with him,
Is one of the slaves he lately bought, he said
T'accommodate his cure. He's English born,
But French in his behaviour; a delicate slave.
Vice.
The slave is very fine.
Cuc.
Your English slaves
Are ever so; I have seen an English slave
Far finer then his master. There's a State-point
Worthy your observation.
Doct.
On thy life
Be perfect in thy lesson. Fewer legs, slave.
Mar.
My thoughts are search'd and answer'd; for I did
Desire a Soldier and a Courtier
To yield me satisfaction in some doubts
Not yet concluded of.
Doct.
Your Doctor did
Admit us Sir.
En. Slave.
And we are at your service; whate'r it be, command it.
Mar.
You appear
A Courtier in the race of Love; how far
In honor are you bound to run?
E. Sl.
I'll tell you,
You must not spare expence, but wear gay cloaths,
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To win a Mistress favor; not afraid
To pass unto her through her Chamber-maid,
You may present her gifts, and of all sorts,
Feast, dance, and revel; they are lawful sports:
The choice of Suiters you must not deny her,
Nor quarrel though you find a Rival by her:
Build on your own deserts, and ever be
A stranger to Loves enemy, Jealousie,
For that draws on—
Mar.
No more; this points at me,
[Ex. Slave]
I ne'r observ'd these rules. Now speak old Soldier,
The height of honor?
Doct.
No man to offend,
Ne'r to reveal the secrets of a friend;
Rather to suffer, then to do a wrong;
To make the heart no stranger to the tongue;
Provok'd, not to betray an Enemy,
Nor eat his meat I choak with flattery;
Blushless to tell wherefore I wear my scars,
Or for my conscience, or my Countries wars;
To aim at just things; if we have wildly run
Into offences, wish 'em all undone.
'Tis poor in grief for a wrong done to die,
Honor to dare to live, and satisfie.
Vice.
Mark how he winds him.
Mess.
Excellent man.
Doct.
Who fights
With passions, and orecomes 'em, is indu'd
With the best vertue, passive fortitude
Ex. Doctor.
Mar.
Thou hast touch'd me Soldier; oh this Honor bears
The right stamp; would all Soldiers did profess
Thy good religion. The discords of my soul
Are tun'd, and make a heavenly harmony:
[Musick
What sweet peace feel I now? I am ravish'd with it.
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How still he sits!
Cuc.
Hark, Musique.
Mess.
How divinely
This Artist gathers scatter'd sense; with cunning
Composing the fair Jewel of his mind,
Broken in peeces, and nigh lost before.
Enter Doctor, like a Philosopher: A good, an ill Genius presented. Their Song. While it's singing, the Doctor goes off, and returns in his own shape.
Vice.
See Protean Paulo in another shape.
Doct.
Away I'll bring him shortly perfect, doubt not.
Mess.
Master of thy great Art!
Vice.
As such we'll hold thee.
Mess.
And study honors for him.
Cuc.
I'll be sick
On purpose to take physick of this Doctor.
Exeunt.
Mar.
Doctor, thou hast perfected a Bodies cure
T'amaze the world; and almost cur'd a Mind
Neer phrensie. With delight I now perceive
You for my recreation have invented
The several Objects, which my Melancholy
Sometimes did think you conjur'd, otherwhiles
Imagin'd 'em Chimera's. You have been
My Friar, Soldier, my Philosopher,
My Poet, Architect, my Physitian;
Labor'd for me more then your slaves for you
In their assistance: In your moral Song
Of my good Genius, and my bad, you have won me
A chearful heart, and banish'd discontent;
There being nothing wanting to my wishes,
But once more, were it possible, to behold
Don John Anthonio.
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There shall be Letters sent
Into all parts of Christendom, to inform him
Of your recovery, which now Sir I doubt not.
Mar.
What honors, what rewards can I heap on you?
Doct.
That my endeavours have so well succeeded,
Is a sufficient recompence. Pray you retire Sir,
Not too much air so soon.
Mar.
I am obedient.
Exeunt.
Enter Almira and Leonora.
Leon.
How strangely this Fellow runs in her mind!
Al.
Do you hear Cousin?
Leon.
Her sadness clean forsaken:
Al.
A poor slave
Bought for my Governess, say you?
Leon.
I fear so.
Al.
And do you think a Turk?
Leon.
His habit shews it,
At least bought for a Turk.
Al.
I, that may be so.
Leon.
What if he were one naturally?
Al.
Nay 'tis nothing,
Nothing to the purpose; and yet methinks 'tis strange
Such handsomness of mind, and civil outside
Should spring from those rude Countries.
Leon.
If it be no more,
I'll call our Governess, and she can shew you.
Al.
Why do you think it is?
Leon.
I do not think so.
Al.
Fie! no, no, by no means; and to tell thee truth Wench,
I am truly glad he is here, be what he will;
Let him be still the same he makes a shew of,
For now we shall see something to delight us.
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And Heav'n knows, we have need on't.
Al.
Heigh ho! my heart aks.
Prethee call in our Governess. Pox o'this fellow—
Exit Leonora:
Why do I think so much of him? how the devil
Creep'd he in to my head? and yet beshrew me,
Me thinks I have not seen, I lie, I have seen
A thousand handsomer, a thousand sweeter.
But say this fellow were adorn'd as they are,
Set-off to shew, and glory. What's that to me?
Fie, what a fool am I? what idle fancies
Buz in my brains?
Enter Borachia, and Leonora.
Bor.
And how doth my sweet Lady?
Leon.
She wants your company to make her merry.
Bor.
And how does Master Bug, I pray you Madam?
Leon.
Do you mean her little dog?
Bor.
I mean his Worship.
Leon.
Troubled with Fleas a little.
Bor.
Alas poor Chicken:
Leon.
She is here, and drunk, very fine drunk, I take it,
I found her with a Bottle for her Boulster,
Lying along, and making love.
Al.
Borachia,
Why, where hast thou been Wench? she looks not well, friend.
Art not not with childe?
Bor.
I promise ye, I know not,
I am sure my Bellies full, and that's a shrewd sign:
Besides I am shrewdly troubled with a Tiego
Here in my head, Madam; often with this Tiego,
It takes me very often
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I believe thee.
Al.
You must drink wine.
Bor.
A little would do no harm sure.
Al.
'Tis a raw humor blows into your head;
Which good, strong wine will temper.
Bor.
I thank your Highness,
I will be rul'd, though much against my nature:
For wine, I ever hated from my Cradle,
Yet for my good.
Leon.
I for your good, by all means.
Al.
Borachia, what new fellows that thou hast gotten?
(Now she will sure be free) that handsom stranger?
Bor.
How much wine must I drink, an't please your Ladiship?
Al.
She's finely greaz'd. Why two or three round draughts Wench.
Bor.
Fasting.
Al.
At any time.
Bor.
I shall hardly do it;
But, yet I'll try good Madam.
Leon.
Do 'twill work well.
Al.
But prethee answer me, what is this fellow?
Bor.
I'll tell you two: But let it go no further.
Leon.
No, no, by no means.
Bor.
May I not drink before bed too?
Leon.
At any hour.
Bor.
And say i'th' night it take me?
Al.
Drink then: But what this man?
Bor.
I'll tell ye Madam,
But pray ye be secret. He's the great Turks son, for certain,
And a fine Christian; my husband bought him for me.
He's circumsing'd.
Leon.
He's circumcis'd, thou wouldst say.
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How doest thou know?
Bor.
I had an eye upon him;
But ev'n as sweet a Turk, an't like your Ladiship,
And speaks ye as pure Pagan. I'll assure ye,
My husband had a notable peni-worth of him.
And found me but the Turks own son, his own son
By father and mother, Madam.
Leon.
She's mad drunk.
Al.
Prethee Borachia call him, I would see him,
And tell thee how I like him.
Bor.
As fine a Turk, Madam,
For that which appertains to a true Turk:
Al.
Prethee call him.
Bor.
He waits here at the stairs; son slave come hither.
Enter Don John.
Pray ye give me leave a little to instruct him,
He's raw yet in the way of entertainment,
Son slave, where's the other bottle?
John.
In the bed-straw,
I hid it there.
Bor.
Go up and make your honors.
Madam, the Tiego takes me now, now Madam,
I must needs be unmannerly.
Al.
Pray ye be so
Leon.
You know your cure.
Bor.
I'th' bed-straw?
John.
There you'll finde it.
Exit Borachia.
Al.
Come hither sir: How long have you serv'd here?
John.
A poor time, Madam, yet, to shew my service.
Al.
I see thou art diligent.
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I would be, Madam,
'Tis all the portion left me, that and truth.
Al.
Thou art but yong?
John.
Had Fortune meant me so,
Excellent Lady, Time had not much wronged me.
Al.
Wilt thou serve me?
John.
In all my prayers, Madam,
Else such a misery as mine but blasts ye.
Al.
Beshrew my heart he speaks well, wondrous honestly.
Aside.
John.
Madam, your loving Lord stays for ye.
Leon.
I thank ye.
Your pardon for an hour deer friend.
Al.
Your pleasure.
Leon.
I deerly thank ye sir.
Exit Leonora.
John.
My humblest service.
She views me narrowly, yet sure she knows me not:
I dare not trust the time yet, nor I must not.
Al.
Ye are not as your habit shews?
John.
No Madam,
His hand, that for my sins lies heavy on me,
I hope will keep me from being a slave to the devil.
Al.
A brave cleer minde he has, and nobly season'd.
What Country are ye of?
John.
A Biscan, Lady.
Al.
No doubt, a Gentleman.
John.
My father thought so.
Alm.
I, and I warrant thee a right fair woman
Thy mother was; he blushes, that confirms it.
Upon my soul, I have not seen such sweetness,
I prethee blush again.
John.
'Tis a weakness, Madam,
70
Al.
I thank ye;
Of all that ere I saw, thou art the perfittest.
Aside.
Now you must tell me sir, for now I long for't.
John.
What would she have?
Al.
The story of your fortune;
The hard, and cruel fortune brought you hither.
John.
That makes me stagger; yet I hope I am hid still,
Aside.
That I came hither, Madam, was the fairest.
Al.
But how this misery ye bear, fell on ye?
John.
Infandum regina jubes renovare dolorem.
Al.
Come, I will have it; I command ye tell it,
For such a speaker I would hear for ever.
John.
Sure, Madam, 'twil but make you sad and heavy,
Because I know your goodness full of pity,
And 'tis so poor a subject too, and to your ears,
That are acquainted with things, sweet and easie,
So harsh a harmony.
Al.
I prethee speak it.
John.
I ever knew Obedience the best Sacrifice,
Honor of Ladies, then first passing over
Some few years of my youth, that are impertinent;
Let me begin the sadness of my story,
Where I began to loose my self, to love first.
Al.
'Tis well, go forward. Some rare peece I look for.
John.
Not far from, where my Father lives, a Lady,
A neighbor by, blest with as great a beauty,
As nature durst bestow without undoing;
Dwelt, and most happily, as I thought then,
And blest the house a thousand times she dwelt in.
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When my first fire knew no adulterate Incense,
Nor I no way to flatter, but my fondness.
In all the bravery, my friends could shew me,
In all the faith my innocence could give me,
In the best language my true Tongue could tell me,
And all the broken sighs my sick heart lend me,
I su'd, and serv'd. Long did I love this Lady,
Long was my travel, long my trade to win her,
With all the duty of my Soul, I serv'd her.
Al.
How feelingly he speaks! and she lov'd you too;
It must be so.
John.
I would it had deer Lady,
This story had been needless, and this place
I think unknown to me,
Al.
Were your bloods equal?
John.
Yes, and I thought our hearts too.
Al.
Then she must love.
John.
She did, but never me, she could not love me,
She would not love, she hated, more she scorn'd me,
And in so poor, and base a way abus'd me;
For all my services, for all my bounties,
So bold neglects flung on me.
Al.
An ill woman!
Be-like you found some Rival in your love then?
John.
How perfectly she points me to my story.
Aside.
Madam, I did, and one whose pride, and anger,
Ill manners, and worse man she doted on;
Doted to my undoing, and my ruine.
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And reverence to the noble Sex, though she fall,
As she must fall, that durst be so unnoble,
I should say something unbeseeming me.
What out of love, and worthy love, I gave her
(Shame to her most unworthy minde) to fools,
To girls, and fidlers, to her boys she flung,
And in disdain of me.
Al.
Pray ye take me with ye.
Of what complexion was she?
John.
But that I dare not
Commit so great a sacriledge 'gainst vertue,
She look'd not much unlikely though far, far short.
Some thing I see appears, your pardon, Madam,
Her eyes would smile so, but her eyes would cousin,
And so she would look sad, but yours is pity,
A noble Chorus to my wretched story,
Hers was disdain and cruelty.
Al.
Pray Heaven
Mine be no worse: he has told me, a strange story,
Aside.
And said 'twould make me sad! he is no lier.
But where begins this poor state? I will have all,
For it concerns me truly.
John.
Last to blot me
From all remembrance, what I have been to her,
And how, how honestly, how nobly serv'd her,
'Twas thought she set her gallant to dispatch me.
'Tis true, he quarrell'd, without place, or reason.
We fought, I kill'd him, Heav'ns strong hand was with me;
For which I lost my Countrey, Friends, acquaintance,
And put my self to Sea, where a Pirate took me,
Forcing this habit of a Turk upon me,
And sold me here.
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Stop there a while, but stay still.
In this mans story, how I look? how monstrous?
How poor and naked? now I shew what Don John
In all the vertue of his life, but aim'd at
This thing hath conquer'd with a tale, and carried.
Forgive me thou that guid'st me! Never Conscience
Touch'd me till now, nor true love: Let me keep it.
Leon.
She is there, speak to her, you will finde her altered.
Enter Pedro and Leonora.
Ped.
Sister, I am glad to see you, but far gladder,
To see you entertain your health so well.
Al.
I am glad to see you too sir, and shall be gladder
Shortly to see you all.
Ped.
Now she speaks heartily,
What do ye want?
Al.
Onely an hour of privateness,
I have a few thoughts.
Ped.
Take your full contentment,
We'll walk aside again; but first to you friend,
Or I shall much forget my self. My best friend,
Command me ever, ever, you have won it;
John.
Your Lordship overflows me.
Leon.
'Tis but due sir.
Exeunt.
Al.
He's there still. Come sir, to your last part now,
Which onely is your name, and I dismiss you.
Why, whether go ye?
John.
Give me leave, good Madam,
Or I must be so seeming rude to take it.
Al.
You shall not go, I swear, you shall not go:
I ask ye nothing but your name, ye have one,
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John.
Gentle Madam,
I cannot speak; pray pardon me, a sickness
That takes me often, ties my tongue: Go from me,
My fit's infectious, Lady.
Alm.
Were it death
In all his horrors, I must ask, and know it.
Your sickness is unwillingness. Hard heart,
To let a Lady of my youth and place
Beg thus long for a trifle.
John.
Worthiest Lady,
Be wise and let me go; you'll bless me for't,
Beg not that poison from me that will kill ye.
Alm.
I only beg your name sir.
John.
That will choak you,
I do beseech you pardon me.
Alm.
I will not.
John.
You'll curse me when you hear it.
Alm.
Rather kiss thee,
Why shouldst thou think so?
John.
Why, I bear that name,
And most unluckily, as now it happens,
(Though I be innocent of all occasion)
That since my coming hither people tell me
You hate beyond forgiveness. Now heaven knows,
So much respect, (although I am a stranger)
Duty, and humble zeal I bear your sweetness,
That for the world I would not grieve your goodness:
I'll change my name, dear Madam.
Alm.
People lye, and wrong thy name; thy name may save all others,
And make that holy to me, that I hated:
Prethee what is't?
John.
Don John Anthonio.
What will this woman do? what thousand changes
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She loves for certain now, but now I dare not,
Heav'n guide me right.
Alm.
I am not angry, Sir,
With you, nor with your name; I love it rather,
And shall respect ye, ye deserve. For this time
I licence you to go; be not far from me,
I shall call for you often.
John.
I shall wait, Madam.
Exit Iohn.
Enter Cuculo.
Alm.
Now what's the news with you?
Cuc.
My Lord your father
Sent me to tell your Honor, Prince Martino
Is well recover'd, and in strength.
Alm.
Why let him,
The stories and the names so well agreeing.
Aside:
And both so noble Gentlemen.
Cuc.
And more, an't please you.
Alm.
It doth not please me neither more nor less on't.
Cuc.
They'll come to visit you.
Alm.
They shall break through the dores then.
Ex. Almira:
Cuc.
Here's a new trick of State; this shews foul weather;
But let her make it when she please, I'll gain by it.
Exit:
| The Very Woman, or the Prince of Tarent | |