University of Virginia Library

Actus primus

Scæna prima.

Enter King Frederick, Sorano, Valerio, Camillo, Cleanthes, Menallo, and Attendants.
Sor.
Will your Grace speak?

Fre.
Let me alone Sorano,
Although my thoughts seeme sad, they are welcome to me.

Sor.
You know I am private as your secret wishes,
Ready to fling my soule upon your service,
Ere your command be on't.

Fre.
Bid those depart.

Sor.
You must retire my Lords.

Cam.
What new design is hammering in his head now?

Cle.
Lets pray heartily
None of our heads meet with it, my wife's old,
That's all my comfort.

Men.
Mine's ugly, that I am sure on,
And I think honest too, 'twould make me start else.

Cam.
Mine's troubled in the Country with a feaver,
And some few infirmities else; he looks againe,
Come let's retire, certaine 'tis some she businesse,
This new Lord is imployed.

Val.
I'le not be far off, because I doubt the cause.

Ex. Lords.
Fre.
Are they all gone?

Sor.
All but your faithfull servant.

Fred.
I would tell thee,
But 'tis a thing thou canst not like.

Sor.
Pray ye speak it, is it my head? I have it ready for ye, Sir:
Is't any action in my powre? my wit?
I care not of what nature, nor what followes.

Fre.
I am in love.

Sor.
That's the least thing of a thousand,
The easiest to atchieve.

Fre.
But with whom Sorano?

Sor.
With whom you please, you must not be deny'd, Sir.

Fred.
Say it be with one of thy Kinswomen.

Sor.
Say withall,
I shall more love your Grace, I shall more honour ye,
And would I had enough to serve your pleasure.

Fred.
Why 'tis thy Sister then, the faire Evanthe,
Ile be plaine with thee.

Sor.
Ile be as plaine with you Sir,
She brought not her perfections to the world,
To lock them in a case, or hang 'em by her,
The use is all she breeds 'em for, she is yours, Sir.

Fred.
Dost thou meane seriously?

Sor.
I meane my Sister,
And if I had a dozen more, they were all yours:
Some Aunts I have, they have been handsome women,
My mother's dead indeed, and some few cozens
That are now shooting up, we shall see shortly.

Fred.
No, 'tis Evanthe.

Sor.
I have sent my man unto her,
Upon some businesse to come presently
Hither, she shall come; Your Grace dare speak unto her?
Large golden promises, and sweet language, Sir,
You know what they worke, she is a compleat Courtier,
Besides Ile set in.

Fred.
She waights upon my Queene,
What jealousie and anger may arise,
Incensing her?

Sora.
You have a good sweet Lady,
A woman of so even and still a temper,
She knows not anger; say she were a fury,
I had thought you had been absolute the great King,
The fountaine of all honours, playes and pleasures,
Your will and your commands unbounded also,
Go get a paire of beads and learne to pray, Sir.

Enter Servant.
Ser.
My Lord, your servant staies.

Sor.
Bid him come hither, and bring the Lady with him.

Fred.
I will wooe her,
And either lose my selfe, or win her favour.

Sor.
She is comming in.

Fre.
Thy eyes shoot through the doore,
They are so piercing, that the beames they dart
Give new light to the roome.

Enter Podramo and Evanthe.
Eva.
Whether dost thou go?
This is the Kings side, and his private lodgings,
What businesse have I here?

Pod.
My Lord sent for ye.

Eva.
His lodgings are below, you are mistaken,
We left them at the staire-foot.

Pod.
Good sweet Madam,

Evan.
I am no Counsellor, nor important Sutor.
Nor have no private businesse through these Chambers,
To seek him this way, o' my life thou art drunke,
Or worse then drunke, hir'd to convey me hither
To some base end; now I looke on thee better,
Thou hast a bawdy face, and I abhor thee,
A beastly bawdy face, Ile go no further.

Sor.
Nay shrink not back, indeed you shall good Sister,
Why do you blush? the good King will not hurt ye,
He honours ye, and loves ye.

Eva.
Is this the businesse?

Sor.
Yes, and the best you ever will arive at, if you be wise.

Eva.
My Father was no bawd Sir,
Nor of that worshipfull stock as I remember.

Sor.
You are a foole.

Eva.
You are that I shame to tell ye.

Fred.
Gentle Evanthe.

Eva.
The gracious Queen Sir
Is well and merry, heaven be thanked for it,
And as I think she waites you in the Garden.

Fred.
Let her wait there, I talk not of her Garden,
I talk of thee sweet flower.

Eva.
Your Grace is pleasant,
To mistake a nettle for a rose.

Fred.
No Rose, nor Lilly, nor no glorious Hyacinth
Are of that sweetnesse, whitenesse, tendernesse,
Softnesse, and satisfying blessednesse
As my Evanthe.

Eva.
Your Grace speakes very feelingly,
I would not be a hansome wench in your way Sir,
For a new gowne.

Fred.
Thou art all hansomnesse,
Nature will be asham'd to frame another
Now thou art made, thou hast rob'd her of her cunning,
Each severall part about thee is a beauty.

Sor.
Do you heare this Sister?

Eva.
Yes unworthy Brother, but all this will not do.

Fred.
But love Evanthe,
Thou shalt have more then words, wealth, ease, and honors
My tender wench.

Eva.
Be tender of my credit,
And I shall love you Sir, and I shall honour ye.

Fred.
I love thee to injoy thee my Evanthe,
To give thee the content of love.

Eva.
Hold, hold Sir, ye are to fleet,
I have some businesse this way, your Grace can nere content.

Sor.
You stubborne toy.

Eva.
Good my Lord Bawd I thank ye.

Fred.
Thou shalt not go, beleeve me sweet Evanthe,
So high I will advance thee for this favour,
So rich and potent I will raise thy fortune,
And thy friends mighty.

Eva.
Good your Grace be patient,
I shall make the worst honourable wench that ever was,
Shame your discretion, and your choyce.

Fred.
Thou shalt not.

Eva.
Shall I be rich do you say, and glorious,
And shine above the rest, and scorne all beauties,
And mighty in command?

Fred.
Thou shalt be any thing.

Eva.
Let me be honest too, and then ile thank ye.
Have you not such a title to bestow too?
If I prove otherwise, I would know but this Sir;
Can all the power you have or all the riches,
But tye mens tongues up from discoursing of me,
Their eyes from gazing at my glorious folly,
Time that shall come from wondering at my impudence,
And they that read my wanton life from curses?
Can you do this? have ye this magick in ye?
This is not in your powre, though you be a Prince Sir,
No more then evill is in holy Angels,
Nor I, I hope; get wantonnesse confirm'd
By Act of Parliament an honesty,
And so receiv'd by all, ile hearken to ye.
Heaven guide your Grace.

Fred.
Evanthe, stay a little,
Ile no more wantonnesse, ile marry thee.

Eva.
What shall the Queene do?

Fred.
Ile be divorsed from her.

Eva.
Can you tell why? what has she done against ye?
Has she contrived a treason gainst your Person?
Abus'd your bed? does disobedience urge ye?

Fre.
That's all one, 'tis my will.

Eva.
'Tis a most wicked one,
A most absurd one, and will show a Monster;
I had rather be a Whore, and with lesse sin,
To your present lust, then Queen to your unjustice.
Yours is no love, Faith and Religion fly it,
Nor has no taste of faire affection in it,
Some hellish flame abuses your faire body,
And hellish furies blow it; looke behinde ye,
Divorse ye from a woman of her beauty,
Of her integrity, her piety?
Her love to you, to all that honours ye,
Her chast and vertuous love, are these fit causes?
What will you do to me, when I have cloyd ye?
You may finde time out in eternity,
Deceit and violence in heavenly Justice,
Life in the grave, and death among the blessed,
Ere staine or brack in her sweet reputation.

Sor.
You have fool'd enough, be wise now, and a woman,
You have shew'd a modesty sufficient,
If not too much for Court.

Eva.
You have shew'd an impudence,
A more experienc'd bawd would blush and shake at;
You will make my kindred mighty.

Fred.
Prethee heare me.

Evan.
I do Sir, and I count it a great offer.

Fre.
Any of thine.

Eva.
'Tis like enough you may clap honour on them,
But how 'twill sit, and how men will adore it,
Is still the question. Ile tell you what they'l say Sir,
What the report will be, and 'twill be true too,
And it must needs be comfort to your Master,
These are the issues of her impudence:
Ile tell your Grace, so deare I hold the Queene,
So deare that honour that she nurs'd me up in,
I would first take to me, for my lust, a Moore,
One of your Gally-slaves, that cold and hunger,
Decrepid misery, had made a mock-man,
Then be your Queene.

Fred.
You are bravely resolute.

Evan.
I had rather be a Leopar, and be shun'd,
And dye by peeces, rot into my grave,
Leaving no memory behind to know me,
Then be a high Whore to eternity.

Fred.
You have another Gamster I perceive by ye,
You durst not slight me else.

Sor.
Ile finde him out,
Though he lye next thy heart hid, Ile discover him,
And ye proud peat, Ile make you curse your insolence.

Val.
Tongue of an Angell, and the truth of Heaven,
How am I blest?

Exit Val.
Sor.
Podramo go in hast
To my Sisters Gentlewoman, you know her well,
And bid her send her Mistris presently
The lesser Cabinet she keeps her Letters in,
And such like toyes, and bring it to me Instantly.

Away.
Pod.
I am gone.

Exit.
Enter the Queene with two Ladies.
Sora.
The Queene.

Fre.
Lets quit the place, she may grow jealous.

Exit. Fred. Soran.
Mar.
So suddenly departed, what's the reason?
Doe's my approach displease his Grace? are my eyes
So hatefull to him? or my conversation
Infected, that he flies me? faire Evanthe,
Are you there? then I see his shame.

Eva.
'Tis true Madam,
'Thas pleas'd his Goodnesse to be pleasant with me,

Mar.
'Tis strange to finde thy modesty in this place,
Doe's the King offer faire? doe's thy face take him?
Nere blush Evanthe, 'tis a very sweet one,
Doe's he raine gold, and precious promises
Into thy lap? will he advance thy fortunes?
Shalt thou be mighty wench?

Evan.
Never mock Madam;
'Tis rather on your part to be lamented,
At least reveng'd, I can be mighty Lady,
And glorious too, glorious and great, as you are.

Mar.
He will marry thee.

Evan.
Who would not be a Queene, Madam?

Mar.
'Tis true Evanthe, 'tis a brave ambition,
A golden dreame, that may delude a good minde,
What shall become of me?

Evan.
You must learne to pray,
Your age and honour will become a Nunnery.

Mar.
Wilt thou remember me?

Weeps.
Evan.
She weeps. Sweet Lady
Upon my knees I aske your sacred pardon,
For my rude boldnesse; and know, my sweet Mistris,
If e're there were ambition in Evanthe,
It was and is to do you faithfull duties;
'Tis true I have been tempted by the King,
And with no few and potent charmes, to wrong ye,
To violate the chaste joyes of your bed;
And those not taking hold, to usurpe your state,
But she that has been bred up under ye,
And daily fed upon your vertuous precepts,
Still growing strong by example of your goodnesse,
Having no errant motion from obedience,
Flyes from these vanities, as meere illusions;
And arm'd with honesty, defies all promises.
In token of this truth, I lay my life downe
Under your sacred foot, to do you service.

Mar.
Rise my true friend, thou vertuous, bud of beauty,
Thou Virgins honour, sweetly blow and flourish,
And that rude nipping winde, that seeks to blast thee,
Or taint thy root, be curst to all posterity;
To my protection from this houre I take ye,
Yes, and the King shall know—

Evan.
Give his heat way, Madam,
And 'twill go out againe, he may forget all.

Exeunt.
Enter Camillo, Cleanthes, and Menallo.
Cam.
What have we to do with the times? we cannot cure 'em;
Let 'em go on, when they are swolne with surfets
They'le burst and stink, then all the world shall smell 'em

Cle.
A man may live a bawd, and be an honest man.

Men.
Yes, and a wise man too, 'tis a vertuous calling.

Cam.
To his owne wife especially, or to his sister,
The neerer to his owne blood, still the honester;
There want such honest men, would we had more of 'em.

Men.
To be a villaine is no such rude matter.

Cam.
No, if he be a neat one, and a perfect,
Art makes all excellent, what is it Gentl.
In a good cause to kill a dozen coxcombs?
That blunt rude fellowes call good Patriots?
Nothing, nor ne're look'd after.

Men.
'Tis ene as much, as easie too, as honest, & as cleer,
To ravish Matrons, and deflowre coy wenches,
But here they are so willing, 'tis a complement.

Cle.
To pull downe Churches with pretention,
To build 'em fairer, may be done with honour,
And all this time beleeve no God.

Cam.
I think so, 'tis faith enough if they name him in their angers,
Or on their rotten Tombs ingrave an Angell;
Well, brave Alphonso, how happy had we been,
If thou had'st rain'd?

Men.
Would I had his disease,
Tyed like a Leprosie to my posterity,
So he were right againe.

Cle.
What is his Melady?

Cam.
Nothing but sad and silent melancholly,
Laden with griefes and thoughts, no man knows why neither;
The good brandino. Father to the Princesse,
Used all the art and industry that might be,
To free Alphonso from this dull calamity,
And seat him in his rule, he was his eldest
And noblest too, had not faire nature stopt in him,
For which cause this was chosen to inherit,
Frederick the yonger.

Cle.
Doe's he use his brother
With that respect and honour that befits him?

Cam.
He is kept privately, as they pretend,
To give more ease and comfort to his sicknesse;
But he has honest servants, the grave Rugio,
And Fryer Marco, that waight upon his Person,
And in a Monastery he lives.

Men.
'Tis full of sadnesse,
To see him when he comes to his fathers Tombe,
As once a day that is his Pilgrimage,
Whilst in devotion the Quire sings an Antheme:
How piously he kneeles, and like a Virgin
That some crosse fate had cozen'd of her Love,
Weeps till the stubborne Marble sweats with pitty,
And to his grones the whole Quire beares a Chorus.

Enter Frederick, Sorano with the Cabinet.
Pod.
So do I too. The King with his contrivers,
This is no place for us.

Exeunt Lords.
Fred.
This is a Jewell,
Lay it aside, what Paper's that?

Pod.
A Letter,
But 'tis a womans, Sir, I know by the hand,
And the false authography, they write old Saxon.

Fred.
May be her ghostly mothers, that instructs her.

Sor.
No, 'tis a cozens, and came up with a great Cake.

Fred.
What's that?

Sora.
A paire of Gloves the Duchesse gave her,
For so the outside saies.

Fred.
That other Paper?

Sor.
A charme for the tooth-ach, here's nothing but Saints and Crosses.

Fre.
Look in that box, me thinks that should hold secrets,

Pod.
'Tis paint and curles of haire, she begins to exercise.
A glasse of water too, I would faine taste it,
But I am wickedly afraid 'twill silence me,
Never a Conduit Pipe to convey this water.

Sor.
These are all Rings, deaths heads, and such momentoe.
Her Grandmother, and worme-eaten Aunts left to her,
To tell her what her beauty must arive at.

Fred.
That, that.

Pod.
They are written Songs Sir, to provoke young Ladies;
Lord, here's a prayer booke, how these agree?
Here's a strange Union.

Sor.
Ever by a sufeit you have a julip set to coole the Patient.

Fred.
Those, those.

Sor.
They are Verses to the blest Evanthe.

Fred.
Those may discover,
Reade them out Sorano.

To the blest Evanthe,
Fred.
This is my rivall, that I knew the hand now.

Sor.
I know it, I have seene it, 'tis Valerio's,
That hopefull Gentlemans that was brought up with ye,
And by your charge nourisht and fed
At the same Table, with the same allowance.

Fred.
And all this curtesie to ruine me?
Crosse my desires? had better have fed humblier,
And stood at greater distance from my fury:
Go for him quickly, finde him instantly,
Whilst my impatient heart swells high with choller;
Better have lov'd despaire, and safer kist her.

Exit Lords.
Enter Evanthe and Cassandra.
Eva.
Thou old weak foole, dost thou know to what end,
To what betraying end he got this Casket?
Durst thou deliver him without my Ring?
Or a command from mine own mouth? that Cabinet
That holds my heart, you unconsiderate asse,
Thou brainlesse Ideot.

Cas.
I saw you go with him,
At their first word commit your person to him,
And made no scruple; he is your brothers Gentleman,
And for any thing I know, an honest man;
And might not I upon the same security deliver him a box?

Evan.
A Bottle-head.

Fred.
You shall have cause to chafe, as I will handle it.

Eva.
I had rather thou hadst delivered me to Pirats,
Betraid me to uncurable diseases,
Hung up my Picture in a Market place,
And sold me to wilde bawds.

Cassan.
As I take it Madam,
Your Maidenhead lyes not in that Cabinet,
You have a Closet, and you keep the key too,
Why are you vext thus?

Eva.
I could curse thee wickedly,
And wish thee more deformed then age can make thee,
Perpetuall hunger, and no teeth to satisfie it,
Waight on thee still, nor sleep be found to ease it:
Those hands that gave the Casket, may the Palfie
For ever make unusefull, even to feed thee;
Long winters, that thy bones may turne to Isicles
No Hell can thaw againe, inhabit by thee.
Is thy care like thy body, all on crookednesse?
How scurvily thou criest now? like a drunkard,
Ile have as pure teares from a durty spout:
Do, sweare thou didst this ignorantly, sweare it,
Sweare and be damn'd, thou halfe witch.

Cassan.
These are fine words, well Madam, Madam.

Evan.
'Tis not well thou mummy,
'Tis impudently, basely done, thou durty—

Fred.
Has your young sanctity done railing, Madam,
Against your innocent Squire? do you see this Sonnet?
This loving Script? do you know from whence it came too?

Eva.
I do, and dare a vouch it pure and honest.

Fred.
You have private Visitants, my noble Lady,
That in sweet numbers court your goodly vertues,
And to the height of adoration.

Evan.
Well Sir,
There's neither Heresie nor Treason in it.

Fred.
A Prince may beg at the doore; whilst these feast with ye;
A favour or a grace, from such as I am.
Enter Valerio, and Podrano.
Course, common things. You are welcome; pray come neer, Sir,
Do you know this paper?

Val.
I am betray'd; I do Sir,
'Tis mine, my hand and heart, if I die for her,
I am thy Martyr, Love, and time shall honour me.

Cass.
You sawcy Sir, that came in my Ladies name,
For her guilt Cabinet, you cheating Sir too,
You scurvy Usher, with as scurvy leggs,
And a worse face, thou poore base hanging holder,
How durst thou come to me with a lye in thy mouth?
An impudent lye?

Pod.
Hollow, good Jill, you hobble.

Cass.
A stinking lye, more stinking then the teller,
To play the pilfring knave, there have been rascals
Brought up to fetch and carry like your Worship,
That have been hang'd for lesse, whipt there are daily
And if the Law will do me right—

Pod.
What then old Maggot?

Cass.
Thy mother was carted younger; Ile have thy hide,
Thy mangy hide, embroder'd with a dog-whip,
As it is now with potent Pox, and thicker.

Fred.
Peace, good antiquity, Ile have your bones else
Ground into Gunpowder to shoot at Cats with;
One word more, and Ile blanch thee like an Almond,
There's no such cure for the she-falling-sicknesse,
As the powder of a dried bawds skin, be silent,
You are very prodigall of your service here, Sir,
Of your life more it seemes.

Val.
I repent neither,
Because Your Grace shall understand it comes
From the best part of love, my pure affection,
And kindled with chaste flame, I will not fly from it,
If it be error to desire to marry,
And marry her that sanctity would dote on,
I have done amisse; if it be a Treason
To graft my soule to vertue, and to grow there,
To love the tree thar beares such happinesse;
Conceive me, Sir, this fruit was ne're forbidden;
Nay, to desire to taste too, I am Traytor;
Had you but plants enough of this blest Tree, Sir,
Set round about your Court to beautifie it,
Deaths twice so many, to dismay the aproachers,
The ground would scarce yeeld graves to noble Lovers.

Fred.
'Tis well maintain'd, you wish and pray to fortune,
Here in your Sonnet, and she has heard your prayers,
So much you dote upon your owne undoing,
But one Month to injoy her as your wife,
Though at the expiring of that time you die for't.

Val.
I could wish many, many ages Sir,
To grow as old as time in her imbraces,
If heaven would grant it, and you smile upon it;
But if my choice were two houres, and then perish,
I would not pull my heart back.

Fred.
You have your wish,
To morrow I will see you nobly married,
Your Month take out in all content and pleasure;
The first day of the following Month you dye for't;
Kneele not, not all your prayers can divert me;
Now marke your sentence, mark it scornfull Lady,
If when Valerio's dead, within twelve houres,
For that's your latest time, you finde not out
Another husband on the same condition
To marry you againe, you dye your self too.

Evan.
Now you are mercifull, I thank your Grace.

Fre.
If when you are married, you but seek to scape
Out of the Kingdome, you, or she, or both,
Or to infect mens minds with hot commotions,
You dye both instantly; will you love me now Lady?
My tale will now be heard, but now I scorne ye.

Exe.
Manent, Valerio, and Evanthe.
Eva.
Is our faire love, our honest, our intire,
Come to this hazard?

Val.
'Tis a noble one, and I am much in love with malice for it,
Envy could not have studied me a way,
Nor fortune pointed out a path to honour,
Straighter and nobler, if she had her eyes:
When I have once injoyed my sweet Evanthe,
And blest my youth with her most deere Imbraces,
I have done my journey here, my day is out,
All that the world has else is foolery,
Labour, and losse of time, what should I live for?
Think but mans life a moneth, and we are happy.
I would not have my joyes grow old for any thing;
A paradise, as thou art my Evanthe,
Is only made to wonder at a little,
Enough for humane eyes, and then to wander from.
Come do not weep, sweet, you dishonour me,
Your teares and griefes but question my ability,
Whether I dare dye: Do you love intirely?

Eva.
You know I do.

Val.
Then grudge not my felicity.

Eva.
Ile to the Queene.

Val.
Do any thing that's honest,
But if you sue to him in death, I hate you.