 | The Lovers Progres |  |
Actus primus.
Scæna prima
Enter Leon and Malfort.Malfort.
And as I told you Sir.
Leon.
I understand you,
Clarinda's still perverse.
Malf.
Shee's worse, obdurate,
Flinty relentlesse, my love-passions jeer'd at,
My presents scorn'd.
Leon.
'Tis strange a waiting-woman,
In her condition apt to yield, should hold out,
A man of your place, reverend beard and shape,
Besieging her.
Mal.
You might adde too my wealth,
Which she contemnes, five hundred Crowns per annum,
For which I have ventur'd hard, my conscience knows it,
Not thought upon, though offer'd for a Joyinture:
This Chaine, which my Lords Pesants worship, flouted;
My solemne hums and ha's, the servants quake at,
No Rhetorick with her; every houre she hangs out
Some new flag of defiance to torment me:
Last Lent my Lady cal'd me her poor John,
But now I am growne a walking Skelliton,
You may see through and through me.
Leon.
Indeed you are much falne away.
Malf.
I am a kinde of nothing,
As she hath made me: love's a terrible glister,
And if some Cordiall of her favours help not,
I shall like an Italian dye backward,
And breath my last the wrong way.
Leo.
As I live you have my pity; but this is cold comfort,
And in a friend lip-physick; and now I think on't,
I should doe more, and will, so you deny not
Your selfe the meanes of comfort.
Malf.
Ile be hang'd first: one dram of't I beseech you.
Leo.
You are not jealous of any mans accesse to her?
Mal.
I would not receive the Dor, but as a bosome friend
You shall direct me, still provided that
I understand who is the man, and what
His purpose that pleads for me.
Leon.
By all meanes.
First, for the undertaker I am he:
The meanes that I will practise, thus—
Mal.
Pray you forward,
Leon.
You know your Lady chaste Caliste loves her.
Malf.
Too well, that makes her proud.
Leon.
Nay, give me leave.
This beauteous Lady, I may stile her so,
(Being the paragon of France for feature)
Is not alone contented in her selfe
To seeem, and be good, but desires to make
All such as have dependance on her like her;
For this Clarinda's liberty is restrain'd;
And though her kinsman the gate's shut against me;
Now if you please to make your selfe the doore,
For my conveyance to her, though you run
The hazard of a check for't, 'tis no matter.
Malf.
It being for mine owne ends.
Leo.
Ile give it o're,
If that you make the least doubt otherwise:
Studying upon't? good morrow.
Malf.
Pray you stay sir;
You are my friend: yet as the Proverb saies,
When love puts in, friendship is gone: suppose
You should your selfe affect her?
Leon.
Do you think Ile commit Incest; for it is no lesse,
She being my cousin Germane. Fare you well sir.
Malf.
I had forgot that; for this once forgive me.
Onely to ease the throbbing of my heart,
(For I doe feele strange pangs) instruct me what
You will say for me.
Leon.
First, Ile tell her that
She hath so far besotted you, that you have
Almost forgot to cast accompt.
Malf.
Meere truth sir.
Leon.
That of a wise and provident Steward,
You are turn'd starke Asse.
Malf.
Urge that point home, I am so.
Leon.
That you adore the ground she treads upon,
And kisse her foot-steps.
Mal.
As I doe when I finde their print in the Snow.
Leon.
A loving foole I know it,
By your bloudlesse-frosty lips: then having related
How much you suffer for her, and how well
You doe deserve it—
Malf.
How? to suffer?
Leon.
No sir, to have your love return'd.
Malf.
That's good, I thank you.
Leon.
I will deliver her an Inventorie
Of your good parts: as this your precious nose,
Dropping affection: your high-forehead, reaching
Almost to the crowne of your head; your slender waste,
And a back not like a threshers, but a bending
And Court-like back, and so forth, for your body.
But when I touch your minde, for that must take her,
(Since your out-side promises little) Ile enlarge it,
(Though ne're so narrow) as your Arts to thrive,
Your composition with the Cook, and Butler,
Fory Coney-skins and Chippings, and halfe a share
With all the under-officers of the house,
In strangers bounties, that she shall have all,
And you as 'twere her Bailiffe.
Malf.
As I will be.
Leon.
As you shall, so Ile promise. Then your qualities.
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Malf.
A little too on the Viall.
Leon.
Feare you nothing.
Then singing her asleep with curious catches
Of your owne making: for as I have heard,
You are Poeticall.
Mal.
Something given that way.
Yet my works seldome thrive: and the main reason
The Poets urge for't, is, because I am not
As poore as they are.
Leon.
Very likely: fetch her,
While I am in the vaine.
Mal.
'Tis an apt time, my Lady being at her prayers.
Leon.
Let her pray on.
Nay goe, and if upon my intercession
She doe you not some favour, Ile disclaime her;
Ile ruminate on't the while.
Malf.
A hundred Crownes is your reward.
Leo.
Without 'em—nay, no trifling.
Ex. Malf.
That this dull clod of ignorance should know
How to get money, yet want eyes to see
How grossely hee's abus'd, and wrought upon,
When he should make his will, the rogues turn'd rampant,
As he had renew'd his youth: A handsome wench
Love one a spittle-whore would run away from?
Well Master Steward, I will plead for you
In such a Method, as it shall appeare
You are fit to be a propertie.
Enter Malfort and Clarinda.
Mal.
Yonder he walks
That knowes my worth and value, though you scorn it.
Clar.
If my Lady know not this—
Mal.
Ile answer it:
If you were a Nun, I hope your cousin German
Might talke with you through a grate, but you are none,
And therefore may come closer: ne're hang off,
As I live you shall bill: you may salute as strangers,
Custome allowes it. Now, now, come upon her
With all your Oratory, tickle her to the quick,
As a young advocate should, and leave no vertue
Of mine unmentioned, Ile stand Centinell;
Nay keep the doore my selfe.
Exit.
Clar.
How have you work'd
This piece of motley to your ends?
Leon.
Of that at leasure, Mistris.
Kissing.
Clar.
Lower, you are too loud,
Though the fool be deaf, some of the house may hear you.
Leon.
Suppose they should, I am a gentleman,
And held your kinseman, under that I hope
I may be free.
Clar.
I grant it, but with caution;
But be not seen to talke with me familiarly,
But at fit distance, or not seen at all,
It were the better: you know my Ladies humour,
Shee is all honour, and compos'd of goodnesse,
(As she pretends) and you having no businesse,
How jealous may she grow?
Leon.
I will be rul'd.
But you have promis'd, and I must enjoy you.
Clar.
We shall finde time for that; you are too hastie:
Make your selfe fit, and I shall make occasion,
Deliberation makes best in that businesse,
And contents every way.
Leon.
But yon must feed
This foolish Steward with some shadow of
A future favour, that we may preserve him
To be our instrument.
Clar.
Hang him.
Leon.
For my sake sweet,
I undertook to speak for him, any bauble,
Or slight employment in the way of service,
Will feed him fat.
Clar.
Leave him to me,
Enter Malfort.
Malf.
She comes. My Lady.
Clar.
I will satisfie her.
Mal.
How far have you prevail'd?
Leon.
Observe.
Clar.
Mounsieur Malfort.
I must be briefe, my cousin hath spoke much
In your behalfe, and to give you some proof,
I entertaine you as my servant,
You shall have the grace.
Leon.
Upon your knee receive it,
Clar.
And take it a speciall favour from me,
To tye my shooe.
Malf.
I am ore-joy'd.
Leon.
Good reason.
Clar.
You may come higher in time.
Leon.
No more, the Lady.
Enter Calista.
Malf.
She frownes.
Clar.
I thanke you for this visit cousin,
But without leave hereafter from my Lady,
I dare not change discourse with you.
Malf.
Pray you take your mornings draught.
Leon.
I thank you:
Happinesse attend your honour.
Exeunt Leon. Malfort.
Calist.
Who gave warrant to this private parle?
Clar.
My innocence; I hope
My conference with a kinseman cannot call
Your anger on me.
Calist.
Kinsman? Let me have
No more of this, as you desire you may continue mine.
Clar.
Why Madam (under pardon)
Suppose him otherwise: yet comming in
A lawfull way it is excusable.
Calist.
How's this?
Clar.
I grant you are made of purenesse,
And that your tendernesse of honour holds
The soveraigntie o're your passions. Yet you have
A noble Husband, with allow'd embraces,
To quench lascivious fires, should such flame in you,
As I must ne're believe. Were I the wife
Of one that could but zanie brave Cleander,
Even in his least perfections, (excuse
My ore-bold inference) I should desire
To meet no other object.
Cal.
You grow saucie. Doe I look further?
Clar.
No, deare Madam: and
It is my wonder or astonishment rather,
You could deny the service of Lisandar;
A man without a rivall: one the King
And Kingdome gazes on with admiration,
For all the excellencies a mother could
Wish in her onely sonne.
Cal.
Did not mine honour
And Obligation to Cleander, force me
To be deafe to his complaints?
Clar.
'Tis true; but yet
Your rigor to command him from your presence,
Argu'd but small compassion; the Groves
Witnesse his grievous sufferings, your faire name
Upon the rhinde of every gentle Poplar,
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With adoration carv'd, and kneel'd unto,
This you (unseen of him) both saw and heard
Without compassion, and what receiv'd he
For his true sorrowes? but the heavy knowledge,
That 'twas your peremptory will and pleasure,
(How e're my Lord liv'd in him) he should quit
Your sight and house for ever.
Cal.
I confesse I gave him a strong potion to worke
Upon his hot bloud, and I hope 'twill cure him:
Yet I could wish the cause had concern'd others,
I might have met his sorrowes with more pittie;
At least have lent some counsell to his miseries,
Though now for honour sake, I must forget him,
And never know the name more of Lisander:
Yet in my justice I am bound to grant him,
(Laying his love aside) most truely noble.
But mention him no more, this instant houre
My brother Lidian, new return'd from travaile,
And his brave friend Clarange long since rivalls
For faire and rich Olinda, are to heare
Her absolute determination, whom
She pleases to elect: see all things ready
To entertain 'em: and on my displeasure
No more words of Lisander.
Clar.
She endures to heare him nam'd by no tongue but her owne:
How e're she carries it, I know she loves him.
Exit.
Cal.
Hard nature: hard condition of poore women!
That where we are most su'd too, we must flye most.
The trees grow up, and mixe together freely,
The Oke not envious of the sailing Cedart
The lustie Vine not jealous of the Ivie
Because she clips the Elme; the flowers shoot up,
And wantonly kisse one another hourely,
This blossome glorying in the others beauty,
And yet they smell as sweet, and look as lovely:
But we are ty'd to grow alone. O honour,
Thou hard Law to our lives, chaine to our freedomes;
He that invented thee had many curses;
How is my soule divided? O Cleander,
My best deserving husband! O Lisander!
The truest lover that e're sacrific'd
To Cupid against Hymen: O mine honour;
A Tyrant, yet to be obey'd, and 'tis
But justice we should thy strict Lawes endure,
Since our obedience to thee keeps us pure.
Exit.
Enter Cleander, Lidian, and Clarange.
Clean.
How insupportable the difference
Of deare friends is, the sorrow that I feele
For my Lisanders absence, one that stampes
A reverend print on friendship, does assure me
You are rivals for a Lady, a faire Lady,
And in the acquisition of her favours,
Hazard the cutting of that Gordion knot
From your first childhood to this present houre,
By all the tyes of love and amity fastend,
I am blest in a wife (heaven make me thankefull)
Inferiour to none (sans pride I speake it)
Yet if I were a free-man, and could purchase
At any rate the certainty to enjoy
Lisanders conversation while I liv'd,
Forgive me my Caliste and the Sexe,
I never would seeke change.
Lid.
My Lord and brother,
I dare not blame your choice, Lisanders worth,
Being a Mistris to be ever courted;
Nor shall our equall suit to faire Olinda
Weaken, but adde strength to our true affection,
With zeale so long continued.
Claran.
When we know.
Whom she prefers, as she can choose but one,
By our so long tride friendship we have vow'd
The other shall desist.
Clea.
'Tis yet your purpose,
But how this resolution will hold
In him that is refus'd, is not alone
Doubtfull, but dangerous.
Enter Malfort.
Malf.
The rich heire is come sir.
Cleand.
Madam Olinda.
Malf.
Yes sir, and makes choice,
After some little conference with my Lady,
Of this room to give answer to her suitors.
Cle.
Already both look pale, between your hopes
To win the prize, and your despaire to lose
What you contended for.
Lid.
No sir, I am arm'd.
Clar.
I confident of my interest.
Cle.
Ile beleeve ye when you have endur'd the test.
Enter Caliste, Olinda, and Clarinda.
Malf.
Is not your garter
Unty'd? you promis'd that I should grow higher
In doing you service.
Clar.
Fall off or you lose mee.
Exit Malf.
Cle.
Nay take your place, no Paris now sits judge
On the contending goddesses. You are
The Deitie that must make curst or happy,
One of your languishing servants.
Ol.
I thus look with equal eyes on both, either deserves
A fairer fortune then they can in reason
Hope for from me; from Lidian I expect,
When I have made him mine, all pleasures that
The sweetnesse of his manners, youth, and vertues
Can give assurance of: but turning this way
To brave Clarange, in his face appeares
A kinde of majesty which should command,
Not sue for favour. If the fairest Lady
Of France, set forth with natures best endowments
Nay should I adde a Princesse of the bloud,
Did now lay claime to either for a husband,
So vehement my affection is to both,
My envie at her happinesse would kill me.
Cle.
The strangest love I ever heard.
Cal.
You can enjoy but one.
Clar.
The more I say the merrier.
Olin.
Witnesse these teares I love both, as I know
You burne with equall flames, and so affect me;
Abundance makes me poore; such is the hard
Condition of my fortune; be your owne judges;
If I should favour both, 'twill taint my honour,
And that before my life I must prefer,
If one I leane to, the other is disvalewed;
You are fierie both, and love will make you warmer,
Clar.
The warmer still the fitter. You are a foole Lady.
Oli.
To what may love, and the devill jealousie spur you
Is too apparent: my name's cal'd in question:
Your swords flie out, your angers range at large:
Then what a murther of my modesty followes?
Clar.
Take heed of that by any meanes: O innocent,
That will deny a blessing when 'tis offer'd,
Would I were murther'd so, I would thank my modesty.
Cle.
What pause you on?
Oli.
It is at length resolved.
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We are on the Rack, uncertain expectation,
The greatest torture.
Lidian.
Command what you please,
And you shall see how willingly we will execute.
Olinda.
Then heare what for your satisfaction,
And to preserve your friendship I resolve
Against my selfe, and 'tis not to be alter'd:
You are both brave gentlemen, Ile still professe it,
Both noble servants, for whose gentle offers,
The undeserving, and the poore Olinda
Is ever bound; you love both, faire, and vertuously;
Would I could be so happy to content both:
Which since I cannot, take this resolute answer;
Goe from me both contentedly, and he
That last makes his returne, and comes to visit,
Comes to my bed. You know my will: farewell;
My heart's too big to utter more: come friend.
Cal.
Ile wait on you to your Coach.
Exeunt Olinda, Caliste, Clarinda.
Clean.
You both look blank, I cannot blame you.
Lid.
We have our dispatches.
Clara.
Ile home.
Lid.
And Ile abroad again, Farewell.
Clara.
Farewell to yee.
Exit Clarange and Lidian.
Clean.
Their blunted departure troubles me: I feare
A suddaine and a dangerous division
Of their long love will follow: have you took
Your leave of faire Olinda?
Enter Caliste with a purse.
Cal.
She is gone sir.
Cle.
Had you brought news Lisander were return'd too,
I were most happy.
Cal.
Still upon Lasander?
Cle.
I know he loves me, as he loves his health:
And heaven knowes I love him.
Cal.
I finde it so:
For me you have forgot, and what I am to you.
Cle.
O think not so. If you had lost a sister,
You lock'd all your delights in, it would grieve you:
A little you would wander from the fondnesse,
You ow'd your husband: I have lost a friend,
A noble friend, all that was excellent
In man, or man-kinde, was contain'd within him.
That losse my wife—
Enter Malfort.
Malf.
Madam, your noble Father—
A fee for my good newes.
Cal.
Why? what of him sir?
Mal.
Is lighted at the doore, and longs to see you.
Calist.
Attend him hither:
Clean.
O my deare Lisander.
But Ile bee merry: lets meet him my Caliste.
Cal.
I hope Lisanders love will now be buried:
My father will bring joy enough for one moneth,
To put him out of his memorie.
Enter Dorilaus, his arme in a scarffe.
Dor.
How doe you sonne?
Blesse my faire child, I am come to visit yee,
To see what house you keep, they say you are bountifull,
I like the noyse well, and I come to trie it.
Ne're a great belly yet? how have you trifl'd?
If I had done so (sonne) I should have heard on't
On both sides by Saint Denis.
Clean.
You are nobly welcome sir:
We have time enough for that.
Dorilaus.
See how she blushes:
'Tis a good signe you'll mend your fault, how dost thou,
My good Caliste?
Cal.
Well, now I see you sir;
I hope you bring a fruitfulnesse along with ye.
Dor.
Good luck, I never misse, I was ever good at it:
Your mother groand for't wench, so did some other,
But I durst never tell.
Cal.
How does your arme sir?
Clean.
Have you been let bloud of late?
Dor.
Against my will sir.
Cal.
A fall deare father?
Dor.
No, a Gun, deare daughter;
Two or three Guns; I have one here in my buttock,
'Twould trouble a Surgeons teeth to pull it out.
Cal.
O me! O me!
Dor.
Nay, if you fall to fainting,
'Tis time for me to trudge: art such a coward,
At the meere name of hurt to change thy colour?
I have been shot that men might see clean through me
And yet I fainted not: besides my selfe,
Here are an hospitall of hurt men for yee.
Enter Servants, wounded in severall places.
Clean.
What should this wonder be?
Cal.
I am amaz'd at it.
Dor.
What think ye of these? they are every one hurt soundly,
Hurt to the proof, they are through, & through I assure ye;
And that's good game, they scorne your puling scratches.
Cal.
Who did this sir?
Dor.
Leave crying, and Ile tell you,
And get your plaisters, and your warme stupes ready:
Have you ne're a Shepheard that can tarre us over?
'Twill proove a businesse else, we are so many.
Comming to see you, I was set upon,
I and my men, as we were singing frolickly,
Not dreaming of an ambush of base rogues,
Set on ith'forrest, I have forgot the name—
Cle.
'Twixt this, and Fountaine-Bleiu?
In the wilde Forrest?
Dor.
The same, the same, in that accursed Forrest,
Set on by villaines, that make boot of all men.
The Peeres of France are pillage there, they shot at us,
Hurt us, un-hors'd us, came to the sword, there plide us,
Opprest us with fresh multitudes, fresh shot still,
Rogues that would hang themselves for a fresh doublet,
And for a Skarlet Cassock kill their fathers.
Cle.
Lighted you among these?
Dor.
Among these murtherers,
Our poore blouds were ingag'd: yet we strook bravely,
And more then once or twice we made them shun us,
And shrink their rugged heads: but we were hurt all.
Cle.
How came you off? for I even long to hear that.
Dor.
After our prayers made to heaven to help us,
Or to be mercifull unto our soules,
So neare we were. Alas poore wench, wipe, wipe.
See heaven sends remedy.
Cal.
I am glad 'tis come sir,
My heart was even a bleeding in my body.
Dor.
A curl'd haire gentleman stept in, a stranger,
As he rod by, belike he heard our bickering,
Saw our distresses, drew his sword, and prov'd
He came to execute, and not to argue.
Lord what a lightning me thought flew about him,
When he once toss'd his blade; in face Adonis,
While peace inhabited between his eye-browes:
But when his noble anger stirr'd his mettle,
And blew his firie parts into a flame,
Like Pallas, when she sits between two armies,
75
Such then hee look'd: and as her shield had arm'd him.
Cal.
This man sir were a friend to give an age for.
This gentleman I must love naturally:
Nothing can keep me off; I pray you goe on sir.
Dor.
I will, for now you please me: this brave youth,
This bud of Mars, for yet he is no riper,
When once he had drawne bloud, and flesh'd his sword,
Fitted his manly mettle to his spirit,
How he bestirr'd him? what a lane he made?
And through their fierie Bullets thrust securely:
The hardned villaines wondring at his confidence,
Lame as I was I follow'd, and admir'd too,
And stirr'd, and laid about me with new spirit,
My men too with new hearts thrust into action,
And down the rogues went.
Cle.
I am strook with wonder.
Dor.
Remember but the storie of strong Hector,
When like to lightning he broke through his van-guard,
How the Greeks frighted ran away by Troops,
And trod downe Troops to save their lives: so this man,
Dispers'd these slaves: had they been more and mightier,
He had come off the greater, and more wonder.
Cle.
Where is the man, good sir, that we may honor him?
Cal.
That we may fall in superstition to him.
Dor.
I know not that, from me he late departed,
But not without that pious care to see safe
Me, and my weak men lodg'd, and dress'd; I urg'd him
First hither, that I might more freely thanke him:
He told me he had businesse crav'd my pardon,
Businesse of much import.
Clean.
Know you his name?
Dor.
That he deny'd me too: a vow had bard him.
Cal.
In that he was not noble to be namelesse.
Dor.
Daughter you must remēber him when I am dead,
And in a noble sort requite his piety,
'Twas his desire to dedicate this service
To your faire thoughts.
Cal.
He knowes me then?
Dor.
I nam'd you,
And nam'd you mine: I think that's all his knowledge.
Cle.
No name, no being?
Cal.
Now I am mad to know him:
Saving mine honour, any thing I had now
But to enjoy his sight, but his bare picture;
Make me his Saint, I must needs honour him.
Serv.
I know his name.
Cal.
There's thy reward for't; speak it.
Ser.
His man told me, but he desir'd my silence.
Cal.
O Jasper speak, 'tis thy good Masters cause too:
We all are bound in gratitude to compell thee.
Serv.
Lisander, Yes, I am sure it was Lisander.
Cal.
Lisander? 'twas Lisander.
Cle.
'Tis Lisander. O my base thoughts? my wicked?
To make question this act could be another mans:
'Tis Lisander, a handsome timber'd man.
Serv.
Yes.
Cle.
My Lisander! was this friends absence to bee mourn'd?
Cal.
I grant it:
Ile mourne his going now, and mourne it seriously:
When you weep for him, sir, Ile beare you company.
That so much honour, so much honesty
Should be in one man, to doe things thus bravely,
Make me his Saint, to me give this brave service:
VVhat may I doe to recompence his goodnesse?
I cannot tell.
Cle.
Come sir, I know you are sickly, so are your men.
Dor.
I must confesse I am weake,
And fitter for a bed then long discourses.
Cle.
You shall hear to morrow, to morrow provide Surgeons.
Dor.
Lisander—
Cal.
VVhat new fire is this? Lisander—
Exeunt.
| The Lovers Progres | |