 | A VVife for a Moneth |  |
Actus Quartus.
Scæna Prima.
Enter at one doore Rugio, and Frier Marco, at the other doore Sorano, with a little glasse violl.Rug.
What ailes this peece of mischief to looke sad?
He seemes to weep too.
Mar.
Something is a hatching,
And of some bloody nature too Lord Rugio,
This Crocadile mournes thus cunningly.
Sor.
Haile holy Father,
And good day to the good Lord Rugio,
How fares the sad Prince I beseech ye Sir?
Rug.
'Tis like you know, you need not aske that question,
You have your eyes, and watches on his miseries
As neare as ours, I would they were as tender.
Mar.
Can you do him good? as the King and you appointed him,
So he is still, as you desir'd I think too,
For every day he is worse (Heaven pardon all)
Put off your sorrow, you may laugh now Lord,
He cannot last long to disturbe your Master,
You have done worthy service to his Brother,
And he most memorable love.
Sor.
You do not know Sir
With what remorse I aske, nor with what wearinesse
I grone and bow under this load of honour,
And how my soule sighs for the beastly services,
I have done his pleasures, these be witnesse with me,
And from your piety beleeve me Father,
I would as willingly unclothe my selfe
Of title, that becomes me not I know;
Good men, and great names best agree together;
Cast off the glorious favours, and the trappings
Of sound and honour, wealth and promises,
His wanton pleasures have flung on my weaknesse,
And chuse to serve my Countries cause and vertues,
Poorely and honestly, and redeeme my rulnes,
As I would hope remission of my mischiefes.
Rug.
Old and experienc'd men my Lord Sorano,
Are not so quickly caught with gilt hypocrisie,
You pull your clawes in now and fawne upon us,
As Lyons do to intice poore foolish beasts;
And beasts we should be too if we beleeved ye,
Go exercise your Art.
Sor.
For heaven sake scorne me not,
Nor adde more hell to my afflicted soule
Then I feele here; as you are honourable,
As you are charitable looke gently on me,
I will no more to Court, be no more Devill,
I know I must be hated even of him
That was my Love now, and the more he loves me
For his foule ends, when they shall once appeare to him,
Muster before his conscience and accuse him,
The fouler and the more falls his displeasure,
Princes are fading things, so are their favours.
Mar.
He weeps agen, his heart is toucht sure with remorce.
Sor.
See this, and give me faire attention good my Lord,
And worthy Father see, within this violl
The remedy and cure of all my honour,
And of the sad Prince lyes.
Rug.
What new trick's this?
Sor.
'Tis true, I have done Offices abundantly
Ill, and prodigious to the Prince Alphonso,
And whilst I was a knave I sought his death too.
Rug.
You are too late convicted to be good yet.
Sor.
But Father, when I felt this part afflict me,
This inward, and call'd me to an audit
Of my misdeeds and mischiefes—
Mar.
Well, go on Sir.
Sor.
O then, then, then, what was my glory then Father?
The favour of the King, what did that ease me?
What was it to be bow'd to by all creatures?
Worshipt, and courted, what did this availe me?
I was a wretch, a poore lost wretch.
Mar.
Still better.
Sor.
Till in the midst of all my griefe I found
Repentance, and a learned man to give the meanes to it,
A Jew, an honest and a rare Phisition,
Of him I had this Jewell; 'tis a Jewell,
And at the price of all my wealth I bought it:
If the King knew it I must lose my head,
And willingly, most willingly I would suffer,
A childe may take it, 'tis so sweet in working.
Mar.
To whom would you apply it too?
Sor.
To the sick Prince,
It will in halfe a day dissolve his melancholly.
Rug.
I do beleeve, and give him sleep for ever.
What impudence is this, and what base malice,
To make us instruments of thy abuses?
Are we set here to poison him?
Sor.
Mistake not, yet I must needs say, 'tis a noble care,
And worthy vertuous servants; if you will see
A flourishing estate againe in Naples,
And great Alphonso reigne that's truly good,
And like himselfe able to make all excellent;
Give him this drink, & this good health unto him.
Drinks
I am not so desperate yet to kill my selfe,
Never looke on me as a guilty man,
Nor on the water as a speedy poison:
I am not mad, nor laid out all my treasure,
My conscience and my credit to abuse ye;
How nimbly and how cheerefully it workes now
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There is no sadnesse that I feele within me,
But as it meets it like a lazie vapour
How it flyes off. Here, give it him with speed,
You are more guilty then I ever was,
And worthier of the name of evill subjects:
If but an houre you hold this from his health.
Rug.
'Tis some rare vertuous thing sure, he is a good man,
It must be so, come, let's apply it presently,
And may it sweetly work.
Sor.
Pray let me heare on't, and carry it close my Lords.
Mar.
Yes, good Sorano.
Exit Rugio, Marco.
Sor.
Do my good fooles, my honest pious coxcombs,
My wary fooles too, have I caught your wisedomes,
You never dream't I knew an Antidote,
Nor how to take it to secure mine owne life;
I am an asse, go, give him the fine cordiall,
And when you have done go dig his grave, good Frier,
Some two houres hence we shall have such a bawling,
And roaring up and downe for Aquavitæ,
Such rubbing, and such nointing, and such cooling,
I have sent him that will make a bonefire in's belly,
If he recover it, there is no heat in Hell sure.
Exit.
Enter Frederick and Podrano.
Fred.
Podrano?
Pod.
Sir.
Fred.
Call hither Lord Valerio, and let none trouble us.
Pod.
It shall be done Sir.
Exit.
Enter Cassandra.
Fred.
I know he wants no additions to his tortures,
He has enough for humane blood to carry,
Yet I must vex him further;
So many that I wonder his hot youth
And high-bred spirit breakes not into fury;
I must yet torture him a little further,
And make my selfe sport with his miseries,
My anger is too poore else. Here he comes,
Valerio.
Now my young married Lord, how do you feele your self?
You have the happinesse you ever aimed at
The joy and pleasure.
Val.
Would you had the like Sir.
Fred.
You tumble in delights with your sweet Lady,
And draw the minutes out in deare embraces,
You live a right Lords life.
Val.
Would you had tryed it,
That you might know the vertue but to suffer,
Your anger though it be unjust and insolent,
Sits hansomer upon you then your scorne,
To do a wilfull ill and glory in it,
Is to do it double, double to be damn'd too.
Fred.
Hast thou not found a loving and free Prince,
High in his favours too; that has confer'd
Such hearts ease, and such heapes of comfort on thee,
All thou coudest aske.
Val.
You are too growne a tyrant
Upon so suffering, and so still a subject;
You have put upon me such a punishment,
That if your youth were honest it would blush at:
But you are a shame to nature, as to vertue.
Pull not my rage upon ye, 'tis so just,
It will give way to no respect; my life,
My innocent life, I dare maintaine it Sir,
Like a wanton prodigall you have flung away,
Had I a thousand more I would allow 'em,
And be as carelesse of 'em as your will is;
But to deny those rights the Law has given me,
The holy Law, and make her life the pennance,
Is such a studied and unheard of malice,
No heart that is not hyred from Hell dare think of;
To do it then too, when my hopes were high,
High as my blood, all my desires upon me,
My free affections ready to embrace her,
And she mine owne; do you smile at this, ist done well?
Is there not heaven above you that sees all?
Come hither Time, how does your noble Mistris?
Cass.
As a Gentlewoman may do in her case that's newly married Sir:
Sickly sometimes, and fond on't, like your Majesty.
Fred.
She is breeding then?
Cass.
She wants much of her cullour,
And has her qualmes as Ladies use to have Sir,
And her disgusts.
Fred.
And keeps her chamber?
Cass.
Yes Sir.
Fred.
And eats good Brooths and Jellies.
Cass.
I am sure she sighs Sir, and weepes, good Lady.
Fred.
Alas good Lady for it,
She should have one could comfort her Cassandra,
Could turne those teares to joyes, a lusty comforter.
Cass.
A comfortable man does well at all houres,
For he brings comfortable things.
Fred.
Come hither, & hold your face between, you have eaten Onions,
Her breath stinks like a Fox, her teeth are contagious,
These old women are all Elder-pipes, do ye mark me.
Gives a Purse.
Cass.
Yes Sir, but does your Grace think I am fit,
That am both old and vertuous.
Fred.
Therefore the fitter, the older still the better,
I know thou art as holy as an old Cope,
Yet upon necessary use.
Cass.
'Tis true Sir.
Fred.
Her feeling sence is fierce still, speake unto her,
You are familiar; speake I say unto her,
Speake to the purpose; tell her this, and this.
Cass.
Alas, she is honest, Sir, she is very honest,
And would you have my gravity—
Fred.
I, I, your gravity will become the cause the better,
Ile looke thee out a Knight shall make thee a Lady too,
A lusty Knight, and one that shall be ruled by her;
And adde to these, ile make 'em good, no mincing,
Nor ducking out of nicity good Lady,
But do it home, wee'l all be friends to tell her;
And such a joy—
Cass.
That's it that stirs me up Sir,
I would not for the world attempt her chastity,
But that they may live lovingly hereafter.
Fred.
For that I urge it too.
Cass.
A little evill may well be suffered for a generall good, Sir,
Ile take my leave of your Majesty.
Exit.
Enter Valerio.
Fred.
Go fortunately, be speedy too, here comes Valerio,
If his affliction have allayed his spirit
My work has end. Come hither Lord Valerio,
How do you now?
Val.
Your Majesty may ghesse,
Not so well, nor so fortunate as you are,
That can tye up mens honest wills and actions.
Fred.
You have the happinesse you ever aim'd at,
The joy, and pleasure.
Val.
Would you had the like Sir.
Fred.
You tumble in delights with your sweet Lady,
And draw the minutes out in deare embraces,
You lead a right Lords life.
Val.
Would you had tryed it,
That you might know the vertue but to suffer,
If anger, though it be unjust and insolent
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Fred.
You cleerly see now brave Valerio
What 'tis to be the rivall to a Prince,
To interpose against a raging Lion;
I know you have suffer'd, infinitely suffer'd,
And with a kinde of pitty I behold it,
And if you dare be worthy of my mercy,
I can yet heale you; yeeld up your Evanthe,
Take off my sentence also.
Val.
I fall thus low Sir,
My poore sad heart under your feet I lay,
And all the service of my life.
Fred.
Do this then, for without this 'twill be impossible,
Part with her for a while.
Val.
You have parted us,
What should I do with that I cannot use Sir?
Fred.
'Tis well consider'd, let me have the Lady,
And thou shalt see how nobly ile befriend thee,
How all this difference.
Val.
Will she come, do you think Sir?
Fred.
She must be wrought, I know she is too modest,
And gently wrought, and cunningly.
Val.
'I is fit Sir.
Fred.
And secretly it must be done.
Val.
As thought.
Fred.
Ile warrant ye, her honour shall be faire still,
No soyle nor staine shall appeare on that, Valerio,
You see a thousand that beare sober faces,
And shew of as in-imitable modesties;
You would be sworn to that, they were pure Matrons,
And most chaste maids; and yet to augment their fortunes
And get them noble friends—
Val.
They are content Sir,
In private to bestow their beauties on 'em.
Fred.
They are so, and they are wise, they know no want for't,
Nor no eye sees they want their honesties.
Val.
If it might be carried thus.
Fred.
It shall be Sir.
Val.
Ile see you dead first, with this caution,
Why sure I think it might be done.
Fred.
Yes, easily.
Val.
For what time would your Grace desire her body?
Fred.
A moneth or two, it shall be carried still
As if she kept with you, and were a stranger,
Rather a hater of the Grace I offer:
And then I will returne her with such honour—
Val.
'Tis very like I dote much on your honour.
Fred.
And load her with such favour to Valerio—
Val.
She never shall claw off, I humbly thank ye.
Fred.
Ile make ye both the happiest, and the richest,
And the mightiest too—
Val.
But who shall work her Sir,
For on my conscience she is very honest,
And will be hard to cut as a rough Diamond?
Fred.
Why you must work her, any thing from your tongue,
Set off with golden and periwasive language,
Urging your dangers too.
Val.
But all this time
Have you the conscience Sir to leave me nothing,
Nothing to play withall?
Fred.
There be a thousand, take where thou wilt.
Ual.
May I make bold with your Queene,
She is uselesse to your Grace as it appeares Sir,
And but a loyall wife that may be lost too;
I have a minde to her, and then 'tis equall?
Fred.
How Sir?
Val.
'Tis so Sir, thou most glorious impudence,
Have I not wrongs enow to suffer under,
But thou must pick me out to make a monster?
A hated wonder to the world? Do you start
At my intrenching on your private liberty,
And would you force a hye-way through mine honour,
And make me pave it too? but that thy Queene
Is of that excellence in honesty,
And guarded with Divinity about her,
No loose thought can come neare, nor flame unhollowed,
I would so right my selfe.
Fred.
Why take her to ye,
I am not vext at this, thou shalt injoy her,
Ile be thy friend if that may win thy courtesie.
Val.
I will not be your Bawd though for your Royalty.
Was I brought up, and nourisht in the Court,
With thy most Royall Brother and thy selfe,
Upon thy Fathers charge, thy happy Fathers,
And suckt the sweetnesse of all humane Arts,
Learnt armes and honour to become a rascall;
Was this the expectation of my youth,
My growth of honour? Do ye speak this truly,
Or do ye try me Sir? for I beleeve not,
At least I would not, and me thinks 'tis impossible
There should be such a Devill in a Kings shape,
Such a malignant Fiend.
Fred.
I thank ye Sir,
To morrow is your last day, and looke to it,
Get from my sight, away.
Val.
Ye are, Oh, my heart's too high and full to think upon ye.
Exeunt.
Enter Evanthe and Cassandra.
Evan.
You think it fit then mortified Cassandra,
That I should be a Whore?
Cass.
Why a whore, Madam?
If every woman that upon necessity
Did a good turne, for there's the maine point, mark it,
Were term'd a whore, who would be honest, Madam?
Your Lords life and your owne are now in hazard,
Two precious lives may be redeem'd with nothing,
Little or nothing; say an houres or dayes sport,
Or such a toy, the end to it is wantonnesse.
(That we call lust that maidens lose their fame for)
But a compell'd necessity of honour,
Faire as the day, and cleare as innocence,
Upon my life and conscience a direct way.—
Evan.
To be a rascall.
Cass.
'Tis a kinde of Rape too,
That keeps you cleare, for where your will's compell'd,
Though you yeeld up your body you are safe still.
Evan.
Thou art grown a learned Bawd, I ever look'd
Thy great sufficiency would breake out.
Cass.
You may,
You that are young and faire scorne us old creatures,
But you must know my yeares ere you be wise Lady,
And my experience too; say the King loved ye?
Say it were nothing else?
Evan.
I marry wench, now thou comest to me.
Cass.
Doe you thinke Princes favours are such sleight things,
To fling away when you please? there be young Ladies
Both faire and honourable, that would leap to reach 'em,
And leap aloft too.
Evan.
Such are light enough;
I am no Valter, wench, but canst thou tell me,
Though he be a King, whether he be sound or no?
I would not give my youth up to infection.
Cass.
As sound as honour ought to be, I think Lady;
Go too, be wise, I do not bid you try him;
But if he love you well, and you neglect him,
Your Lords life hanging on the hazard of it,
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Evan.
Thou speakest to the point still;
But when I have lyen with him, what am I then, Gentlewoman?
Cass.
What are you? why the same you are now, a Woman,
A vertuous woman, and a noble woman,
Touching at what is noble, you become so.
Had Lucrece e're been thought of, but for Tarquin?
She was before a simple unknowne woman,
When she was ravisht, she was a reverent Saint;
And do you think she yeelded not a little?
And had a kinde of will to have been re-ravisht?
Believe it yes: There are a thousand stories
Of wondrous loyall women, that have slipt,
But it has been on the ice of tender honour,
That kept 'em coole still to the world, I think you are blest,
That have such an occasion in your hands to beget a Chronicle,
A faithfull one.
Evan.
It must needs be much honour.
Cass.
As you may make it, infinite and safe too,
And when 'tis done, your Lord and you may live
So quietly and peaceably together,
And be what you please.
Evan.
But suppose this, wench,
The King should so delight me with his company,
I should forget my Lord, and no more look on him.
Cass.
That's the maine hazard, for I tell you truly,
I have heard report speak, is an infinite pleasure,
Almost above beliefe: there be some Ladies,
And modest to the world too, wondrous modest,
That have had the blessednesse to try his body,
That I have heard proclaime him a new Hercules.
Evan.
So strongly able?
Cassan.
There will be the danger,
You being but a young and tender Lady,
Although your minde be good, yet your weak body,
At first encounter too, to meet with one
Of his unconquer'd strength.
Evan.
Peace thou rude bawde,
Thou studied old corruptnesse, tye thy tongue up,
Your hired base tongue; is this your timely counsell?
Dost thou seeke to make me dote on wickednesse?
Because 'tis ten times worse then thou deliver'st it?
To be a whore, because he has sufficiency.
To make a hundred? O thou impudence,
Have I relieved thy age to mine owne ruine?
And worne thee in my bosome to betray me?
Can yeares and impotence win nothing on thee
That's good and honest, but thou must go on still?
And where thy blood wants heat to sin thy selfe,
Force thy decreped will to make me wicked.
Cass.
I did but tell ye.
Evan.
What the damned'st woman,
The cunning'st and the skillful'st bawd comes short of:
If thou had'st liv'd ten ages to be dam'd in,
And exercised this art the Devill taught thee,
Thou could'st not have exprest it more exactly.
Cass.
I did not bid you sin.
Evan.
Thou wood'st me to it,
Thou that art fit for prayer and the grave,
Thy body earth already, and corruption,
Thou taught'st the way; go follow your fine function,
There are houses of delight, that want good Matrons,
Such grave instructors, get thee thither monster,
And read variety of sins to wantons,
And when they rore with paines, learne to make playsters.
Cass.
This we have for our good wills.
Evan.
If e're I see thee more,
Or any thing that's like thee, to affright me,
By this faire light ile spoile thy bawdery,
Ile leave thee neither eyes nor nose to grace thee,
When thou wantest bread, and common pitty towards thee,
Enter Frederick.
And art a starving in a ditch, think of me,
Then die, and let the wandering bawds lament thee;
Be gone, I charge thee, leave me.
Cass.
You'l repent this.
Exit.
Fred.
She's angry, and t'other crying too, my suit's cold;
Ile make your heart ake, stubborne wench, for this;
Turne not so angry from me, I will speak to you,
Are you growne proud with your delight, good Lady,
So pamper'd with your sport, you scorne to know me?
Evan.
I scorne ye not, I would you scorn'd not me, Sir,
And forc't me to be weary of my duty,
I know your Grace, would I had never seene ye.
Fred.
Because I love you, because I dote upon ye,
Because I am a man that seeke to please ye.
Evan.
I have man enough already to content me,
As much, as noble, and as worthy of me,
As all the world can yeeld.
Fred.
That's but your modesty,
You have no man, nay never look upon me,
I know it Lady, no man to content ye,
No man that can, or at the least that dare,
Which is a poorer man, and neerer nothing.
Evan.
Be nobler, Sir, inform'd.
Fred.
Ile tell thee, wench,
The poore condition of this poorer fellow,
And make thee blush for shame at thine owne errour,
He never tendred yet a husbands duty,
To thy warme longing bed.
Evan.
How should he know that?
Fred.
I am sure he did not, for I charg'd him no,
Upon his life I charg'd him, but to try him;
Could any brave or noble spirit stop here?
Was life to be prefer'd before affection?
Lawfull, and long'd for too?
Evan.
Did you command him?
Fred.
I did in policy to try his spirit.
Evan.
And could he be so dead cold to observe it?
Brought I no beauty? nor no love along with me?
Fred.
Why what is it that makes me scorne to name him?
I should have lov'd him, if he had venter'd for't,
Nay, doted on his bravery.
Evan.
Onely charg'd?
And with that spell sit downe? dare men fight bravely
For poore slight things, for drink or ostentation?
And there indanger both their lives and fortunes,
And for their lawfull Loves fly off with feare?
Fred.
'Tis true, and with a cunning base feare too to abuse thee;
Made thee believe, poore innocent Evanthe,
Wretched young girle, it was his impotency;
Was it not so? deny it.
Evan.
O my anger, at my yeares to be cozen'd with a young man!
Fred,
A strong man too, certaine he lov'd ye deerly.
Evan.
To have my shame and love mingled together,
And both flung on me like a wait to sinke me,
I would have dyed a thousand times.
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So would any,
Any that had the spirit of a man;
I would have been kill'd in your armes.
Evan.
I would he had been,
And buried in mine armes, that had been noble,
And what a monument would I have made him?
Upon this breast he should have slept in peace,
Honour, and everlasting love his mourners;
And I still weeping till old time had turn'd me,
And pittying powers above into pure christall.
Fred.
Hadst thou lov'd me, and had my way been stuck
With deaths, as thick as frosty nights with stars,
I would have ventur'd.
Evan.
Sure there is some trick in't; Valerio ne're was coward.
Fred.
Worse then this too,
Tamer, and seasoning of a baser nature,
He set your woman on ye to betray ye,
Your bawdy woman, or your sin solicitor:
I pray but think what this man may deserve now,
I know he did, and did it to please me too.
Evan.
Good Sir afflict me not too fast, I feele
I am a woman, and a wrong'd one too,
And sensible I am of my abuses,
Sir, you have loved me.
Fred.
And I love thee still, pitty thy wrongs, and dote
upon thy person.
Evan.
To set my woman on me 'twas too base Sir.
Fred.
Abominable vilde.
Evan.
But I shall fit him.
Fred.
All reason and all Law allowes it to ye,
And ye are a foole, a tame foole, if you spare him.
Evan.
You may speake now, and happily prevaile too,
And I beseech your Grace be angry with me.
Fred.
I am at heart. She staggers in her faith,
And will fall off I hope, Ile ply her still.
Thou abused innocence, I suffer with thee
If I should give him life, he would still betray thee;
That foole that feares to dye for such a beauty,
Would for the same feare sell thee unto misery?
I do not say he would have been bawd himself too.
Evan.
Follow'd thus far? nay then I smell the malice,
It tasts too hot of practis'd wickednesse,
There can be no such man, I am sure no Gentleman:
Shall my anger make me whore, and not my pleasure?
My sudden unconsiderate rage abuse me?
Come home againe, my frighted faith, my vertue,
Home to my heart againe: he be a bawd too?
Fred.
I will not say, he offered faire Evanthe.
Evan.
Nor do not dare, 'twill be an impudence,
And not an honour for a Prince to lye;
Fie Sir, a person of your ranke to trifle,
I know you do lye.
Fred.
How?
Evan.
Lye shamefully, and I could wish my selfe a man but one day,
To tell you openly you lye too, basely.
Fred.
Take heed wilde foole.
Evan.
Take thou heed thou tame Devill,
Thou all Pandora's box in a Kings figure,
Thou hast almost whor'd my weake beliefe already,
And like an Engineer blowne up mine honour;
But I shall countermine, and catch your mischiefe,
This little Fort you seeke, I shall man nobly,
And strongly too, with chaste obedience
To my deere Lord, with vertuous thoughts that scorne ye.
Victorious Tameris nere won more honour
In cutting off the Royall head of Cyrus,
Then I shall do in conquering thee; farewell,
And if thou canst be wise, learne to be good too,
'Twill give thee nobler lights then both thine eyes do;
My poore Lord and my selfe are bound to suffer,
And when I see him faint under your sentence,
Ile tell ye more, it may be then Ile yeeld too.
Fred.
Foole, unexampled, shall my anger follow thee?
Exeunt.
Enter Rugio, and Fryer Marco, amazed.
Rugio.
Curst on our sights, our fond credulities,
A thousand curses on the slave that cheated us.
The damn'd slave.
Mar.
We have e'ne sham'd our service,
Brought our best care and loyalties to nothing,
'Tis the most fearefull poyson, the most potent,
Heaven give him patience; oh it works most strongly,
And teares him Lord.
Rug.
That we should be so stupid,
To trust the arrant'st villaine that e're flatter'd,
The bloodiest too, to believe a few soft words from him,
And give way to his prepar'd teares.
Within Alphonso.
Oh, oh, oh.
Rug.
Harke Fryer Marco, harke, the poore Prince, that we should be such blockheads,
As to be taken with his drinking first?
And never think what Antidotes are made for?
Two wooden sculls we have, and we deserve to be hang'd for't;
For certainly it will be laid to our charge;
As certaine too, it will dispatch him speedily,
Which way to turne, or what to.—
Mar.
Lets pray, Heavens hand is strong.
Rug.
The Poysons strong, you would say.
Enter Alphonso, carried in a Coach by two Fryers.
Would any thing—He comes, let's give him comfort.
Alphon.
Give me more ayre, ayre, more ayre, blow, blow,
Open thou Easterne gate, and blow upon me,
Distill thy cold dewes, O thou icy Moone,
And rivers run through my afflicted spirit,
I am all fire, fire, fire, the raging dog star
Raines in my blood, oh which way shall I turne me?
Ætna and all his flames burne in my head,
Fling me into the Ocean or I perish:
Dig, dig, dig, till the springs fly up,
The cold, cold springs, that I may leap into 'em,
And bathe my scorcht limbs in their purling pleasures;
Or shoot me up into the higher Region,
Where treasures of delicious snow are nourisht,
And banquets of sweet haile.
Rug.
Hold him fast Fryer, O how he burnes!
Alph.
What will ye sacrifice me?
Upon the Altar lay my willing body?
And pile your wood up, fling your holy incense?
And as I turne me you shall see all flame,
Consuming flame, stand off me, or you are ashes.
Both.
Most miserable wretches.
Alph.
Bring hither charity
And let me hug her, Fryer, they say she's cold,
Infinite cold, devotion cannot warme her;
Draw me a river of false lovers teares
Cleane through my brest, they are dull, cold, and forgetfull,
And will give ease, let Virgins sigh upon me,
Forsaken soules, the sighs are precious,
Let them all sigh: oh hell, hell, hell, oh horror.
Mar.
To bed, good Sir.
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My bed will burne about me,
Like Phaeton, in all consuming flashes
I am in closed, let me fly, let me fly, give roome;
Betwixt the cold beare, and the raging Lyon
Lyes my safe way; O for a cake of ice now,
To clap unto my heart to comfort me;
Decrepid winter hang upon my sholders,
And let me weare thy frozen Isicles
Like Jewels round about my head, to coole me;
My eyes burne out, and sinke into their sockets,
And my infected braine like brimstone boyles,
I live in hell, and severall furies vex me;
O carry me where no Sun ever shew'd yet
A face of comfort, where the earth is christall,
Never to be dissolv'd, where nought inhabits
But night and cold, and nipping frosts, and winds
That cut the stubborne rocks, and make them shiver;
Set me there friends.
Rug.
Hold fast, he must to bed Fryer, what scalding sweats he has?
Mar.
He'le scalld in hell for't, that was the cause.
Alph.
Drinke, drinke, a world of drinke,
Fill all the cups, and all the antick vessels,
And borrow pots, let me have drinke enough,
Bring all the worthy drunkards of the time,
The experienc'd drunkards, let me have them all,
And let them drinke their worst, Ile make them Ideots,
Ile lye upon my Back and swallow Vessels;
Have Rivers made of cooling wine run through me,
Not stay for this mans health, or this great Princes,
But take an Ocean, and begin to all; oh, oh.
Mar.
He cooles a little, now away with him,
And to his warme bed presently.
Alph.
No drinke? no winde? no cooling aire?
Rug.
You shall have any thing.
His hot fit lessens, Heaven put in a hand now,
And save his life; there's drink Sir in your chamber,
And all coole things.
Alpb.
Away, away, lets fly to 'em.
Exeunt.
Enter Valerio and Evanthe.
Evan.
To say you were impotent, I am asham'd on't,
To make your self no man, to a fresh maid too,
A longing maid, upon her wedding night also,
To give her such a dor.
Val.
I prethee pardon me.
Evan.
Had you been drunke, 'thad been excusable,
Or like a Gentleman under the Surgeons hands,
And so not able, there had been some colour,
But wretchedly to take a weaknesse to ye,
A fearefull weaknesse, to abuse your body,
And let a lye worke like a spell upon ye,
A lye, to save your life.
Val.
Will you give me leave sweet?
Evan.
You have taken too much leave, and too base leave too,
To wrong your Love; hast thou a noble spirit?
And canst thou looke up to the peoples loves,
That call thee worthy, and not blush Valerio?
Canst thou behold me that thou hast betraid thus?
And no shame touch thee?
Val.
Shame attend the sinfull, I know my innocence.
Evan.
Ne're think to face it, that's a double weaknesse,
And shewes thee falser still; the King himselfe,
Though he be wicked, and our Enemy,
But juster then thine, in pitty of my injuries,
Told me the truth.
Val.
What did he tell Evanthe?
Evan.
That but to gaine thy life a fortnight longer,
Thy lov'd poore life, thou gav'st up all my duties.
Val.
I sweare 'tis false, my life and death are equall,
I have weigh'd 'em both, and finde 'em but one fortune,
But Kings are men, and live as men, and dye too,
Have the affections men have, and their falsehoods;
Indeed they have more power to make 'em good;
The King's to blame, it was to save thy life wench,
Thy innocent life, that I forbore thy bed,
For if I had toucht thee thou hadst dyed, he swore it.
Evan.
And was not I as worthy to dye nobly?
To make a story for the times that follows,
As he that married me? what weaknesse, Sir,
Or dissability do you see in me,
Either in minde or body? to defraud me
Of Such an opportunity? Do you think I married you
Only for pleasure, or content in lust?
To lull you in mine armes, and kisse you hourely?
Was this my end? I might have been a Queen, Sir,
If that had caught me, and have knowne all delicates;
There's few that would have shun'd so faire an offer,
O thou unfaithfull fearefull man, thou hast kill'd me,
In saving me this way, thou hast destroy'd me,
Rob'd me of that thy love can never give more;
To be unable to save me? O misery!
Had I been my Valerio, thou Evanthe,
I would have lyen with thee under a Gallowes,
Though the Hangman had been my Hymen, and the furies
With iron whips and forks, ready to torter me,
I would have hug'd thee too, though hell had gap'd at me;
Save my life! that expected to dye bravely,
That would have woo'd it too? Would I had married
An Eunuch, that had truly no ability,
Then such a fearefull lyar, thou hast done me
A scurvy curtesie, that has undone me.
Val.
Ile do no more, since you are so nobly fashion'd,
Made up so strongly, Ile take my share with ye,
Nay Deere, Ile learne of you.
Evan.
He weeps too tenderly;
My angers gone, good my Lord pardon me,
And if I have offended, be more angry,
It was a womans flash, a sudden valour,
That could not lye conceal'd.
Val.
I honour ye by all the rights of holy marriage,
And pleasures of chaste love, I wonder at ye,
You appeare the vision of a Heaven unto me,
Stuck all with stars of honour shining cleerly,
And all the motions of your minde celestiall;
Man is a lumpe of earth, the best man spiritlesse,
To such a woman; all our lives and actions
But counterfeits in Arras to this vertue;
Chide me againe, you have so brave an anger,
And flowes so nobly from you, thus deliver'd,
That I could suffer like a childe to heare ye,
Nay make my self guilty of some faults to honour ye.
Evan.
Ile chide no more, you have rob'd me of my courage.
And with a cunning patience checkt my impudence;
Once more forgivenesse?
She kneeles.
Val.
Will this serve Evanthe?
Kisses her.
And this my love? Heavens mercy be upon us;
But did he tell no more?
Evan.
Only this trifle: You set my woman on me, to betray me;
'Tis true, she did her best, a bad old woman,
It stir'd me Sir.
Val.
I cannot blame thee, Jewell.
Evan.
And me thought when your name was sounded that way—
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He that will spare no fame, will spare no name Sweet;
Though as I am a man, I am full of weaknesse,
And may slip happily into some ignorance,
Yet at my yeeres to be a bawd, and cozen
Mine owne hopes with my Doctrine—
Evan.
I beleeve not, nor never shall; our time is out to morrow.
Val.
Let's be too night then full of fruitfulnesse,
Now we are both of one minde, let's be happy,
I am no more a wanting man Evanthe,
Thy warme embraces shall dissolve that impotence,
And my cold lye shall vanish with thy kisses;
You houres of night be long, 'as when Alemena
Lay by the lusty side of Jupiter;
Keep back the day, and hide his golden beames,
Where the chaste watchfull morning may not finde 'em;
Old doting Tython hold Aurora fast,
And though she blush the day-break from her cheeks,
Conceale her still; thou heavy Walne stand firme,
And stop the quicker revolutions;
Or if the day must come, to spoile our happinesse,
Thou envious Sunne peepe not upon our pleasure,
Thou that all Lovers curse, be farre off from us.
Enter Castruchio with Guard.
Evan.
Then let's to bed, and this night in all joyes
And chaste delights—
Cast.
Stay, I must part ye both;
It is the Kings command, who bids me tell ye,
To morrow is your last houre.
Val.
I obey, Sir,
In Heaven we shall meet, Captaine, where King Frederick
Dare not appeare to part us.
Cast.
Mistake me not, though I am rough in doing of my Office,
You shall finde, Sir, you have a friend to honour ye.
Val.
I thank ye Sir.
Evan.
Pray Captaine tell the King,
They that are sad on Earth, in Heaven shall sing.
Exeunt.
| A VVife for a Moneth | |