 | The Honest mans Fortune |  |
Actus Quartus
Scæna Prima.
Enter Montague, alone, in meane habit.Mont.
Now Montague, who discerns thy spirit now?
Thy breeding or thy bloud? here's a poor cloud
Ecclipseth all thy splendor; who can reade
In thy pale face, dead eye, or lenten shute,
The liberty thy ever giving hand
Hath bought for others, manacling it selfe
In gives of parchment indissoluble?
The greatest hearted man supplyed with meanes,
Nobility of birth and gentlest parts,
I though the right hand of his Soveraigne,
If vertue quit her seat in his high soule,
Glitters but like a Pallace set on fire,
Whose glory whilst it shines, but ruins him,
And his bright show each houre to ashes tending
Shall at the last be rak't up like a sparkle,
Unlesse mens lives and fortunes feede the flame.
Not for my own wants though blame I my Stars,
But suffering others to cast love on me,
When I can neither take nor thankfull be.
My Ladies woman, faire and vertuous
For love and marriage now being nothing worth—
Enter Veramour with Counters.
Ver.
Oh Master, I have sought you a long hour,
Good faith, I never joyd out of your fight;
For Gods sake sir be merry, or else beare
The Buffets of your fortunes with more scorn;
Do but begin to raile, teach me the way,
And Ile sit down and help your anger forth:
I have known you weare a suit full worth a Lordship,
Give to a man whose need nere frighted you
From calling of him friend, five hundred Crowns
Ere sleep had left your sences to consider
Your own important present uses; yet
Since I have seen you with a trencher waite,
Voide of all scorne, therefore Ile waite on you.
Mont.
Would God thou wert lesse honest.
Ver.
Would to God you were lesse worthy: I am even
wee sir.
Mont.
Is not thy Master strangely fallen, when thou
Servest for no wages, but for charity?
Thou dost surcharge me with thy plenteous love:
The goodnesse of thy vertue shown to me,
More opens still my disability
To quit thy pains: Credit me loving boy,
A free and honest nature may be opprest,
Tir'd with curtesies from a liberall spirit,
When they exceed his means of gratitude.
Ver.
But tis a due in him that to that end
Extends his love or duty.
Mont.
Little world
Of vertue, why dost love and follow me?
Uer.
I will follow you through all Countries,
Ile run (fast as I can) by your horse side,
Ile hold your stirrop when you doe alight,
And without grudging waite till you returne:
Ile quit offerd meanes, and expose my selfe
To cold and hunger still to be with you;
Fearlesse Ile travell through a wildernesse,
And when you are weary, I will lay me down
That in my bosome you may rest your head,
Where whilst you sleep, Ile watch that no wild beast
Shall hurt or trouble you: and thus we'l breed a story
To make every hearer weep,
When they discourse our fortunes and our loves.
Mont.
Oh what a scoffe might men of Wormes make,
If they did know this boy? but my desire
Is that thou wouldest not (as thou usest still
When like a servant I 'mong servants sit)
Waite on my Trencher, fill my cups with wine:
Why shouldst thou doe this boy? prethee consider,
I am not what I was.
Ver.
Curst be the day when I forget that Montague
was my Lord, or not remember him my Master still.
Mont.
Rather curse me, with whom thy youth hath spent
So many houres, and yet untaught to live
By any worldly qualitie.
Ver.
Indeed you never taught me how to handle Cards
To cheat and cozen men with oathes and lies;
Those are the worldly qualities to live:
Some of our Scarlet Gallants teach their boyes
These worldly qualities.
Since stumbling fortune then leaves vertue thus
Let me leave fortune, ere be vicious.
Mont.
Oh lad, thy love will kill me.
Uer.
In truth, I think in conscience I shall die for you:
Good Master weep not, doe you want aught sir?
Will you have any money? here's some Silver;
And here's a little Gold, 'twill serve to play,
And put more troublesome thoughts out of your mind:
I pray sir take it, Ile get more with singing.
And then Ile bring it you; my Lady ga't me,
And—it was not covetousnesse,
But I forgot to tell you sooner on't.
Mont.
Alasse boy, thou art not bound to tell it me,
And lesse to give it, buy thee Scarfes and Garters,
And when I have money, I will give thee a Sword:
Nature made thee a beauteous Cabinet
To lock up all the godnesse of the Earth.
Enter Charlote.
Ver.
I have lost my voyce with the very sight of this
Gentlewoman: good sir steale away, you were wont to
be a curious avoyder of womens company.
Mont.
Why boy, thou darst trust me any where, darst
thou not?
Ver.
I had rather trust you by a roaring Lyon, then a
ravening woman.
Mont.
Why boy.
Ver.
Why truly she devoures more mans flesh—
Mont.
I, But she roares not boy.
Uer.
No sir, why she is never silent but when her mouth
is full.
Charl.
Mounsier Montague.
Mont.
My sweet fellow, since you please to call me so.
Ver.
Ah my conscience she would be pleased well enough
to call you bedfellow: oh Master, do not hold
her by the hand so: a woman is a lyme-bush, that catcheth
all she toucheth.
Charl.
I do most dangerously suspect this boy to be a
wench; art thou not one? come hither, let me feele
thee.
Ver.
With all my heart.
Charl.
Why dost thou pull off thy glove?
Ver.
Why, to feele whether you be a boy, or no.
Charl.
Fie boy, goe too, Ile not looke your head, nor
combe your locks any more, if you talke thus.
Ver.
Why, ile sing to you no more then.
Charl.
Fie upon't, how sad you are? a young Gentleman
that was the very Sunne of France.
Mont.
But I am in the eclipse now.
Charl.
Suffer himselfe to be over-run with a Lethargy
of melancholy and discontent! rouze up thy spirit,
man, and shake it off:
That sleepes at Anchor when the Ocean's calme;
But when she rages, and the wind blows high,
He cuts his way with skill and Majesty.
I would turn a foole, or Poet, or any thing, or marry, to
make you merry; prethee let's walke: good Veramour
leave thy Master and me, I have earnest businesse with
him.
Ver.
Pray doe you leave my Master, and me; we were
very merry before you came, he does not covet womens
companie.
And ile sing to you again:
I faith his mind is stronger then to credit womens vows,
and too pure to be capable of their loves.
Charl.
The boy is jealous; sweet lad leave us; my Lady
call'd for you I sweare: that's a good child, there's a
piece of Gold for thee, go buy a Feather.
Ver.
There's two pieces for you, do you goe and buy
one, or what you will, or nothing so you goe. Nay
then I see you would have me go sir; why, 'faith I will;
now I perceive you love her better then you doe me; but
you are a very honest man.
Exit.
Charl.
Still shall I woe thee, whilst thy eares reply
I cannot, or I will not marry thee?
Why hast thou drawn the blood out of my cheeks,
And given a quicker motion to my heart?
Oh thou hast bred a fever in my veines
Call'd love, which no Physitian can cure;
Have mercy on a maid whose simple youth—
Mont.
How your example fairest teacheth me
A ceremonious Idolatry!
kneels.
By all the joy of love I love thee better
Then I or any man can tell another;
And will expresse the mercy which thou crav'st,
I will forbeare to marry thee: consider
Thou art natures heire in feature, and thy parents
In faire inheritances; rise with these thoughts,
And look on me; but with a womans eye,
A decayd fellow, voyd of means and spirit.
Charl.
Of spirit?
Mont.
Yes, could I tamely live,
Forget my fathers blood, waite and make legs,
Staine my best breeches, with the servile drops
That fall from others draughts:
Charl.
This vizard wherewith thou wouldst hide thy spirit
Is perspective, to shew it plainlier.
This under-value of thy life is but
Because I should not buy thee; what more speaks
Greatnesse of man, then valiant patience,
That shrinks not under his fates strongest strokes?
These Roman deaths, as falling on a Sword,
Opening of veines, with poyson quenching thirst,
(Which we erroneously doe stile the deeds
Of the heroicke and magnanimous man)
Was dead-eyd cowardise, and white cheeke feare,
Who doubting tyranny, and fainting under
Fortunes false Lottery, desperately runne
To death for dread of death; that soules most stout,
That bearing all mischance, dares last it out;
Will you performe your word, and marry me,
When I shall call you to't?
Enter Longueville with a riding-rod.
Mont.
I'faith I will.
Charl.
Who's this alights here?
Long,
With leave faire creature, are you the Lady Mistris
of the house?
Charl.
Her servant sir.
Long.
I pray then favour me, to inform your Lady, and
Duke Orleans wife,
And craves for speedy answer.
Charl.
Are you in post sir?
Long.
No, I am in Satin Lady; I would you would be
in post.
Charl.
I will returne, Sweet.
Exit.
Long.
Honest friend, doe you belong to the house?
I pray be covered.
Mont.
Yes Sir; I doe.
Long.
Ha, dreamst thou Longaville? sure tis not he: sir
I should know you.
Mont.
So should I you, but that I am asham'd.
But though thou knowst me, prethee Longaville,
Mock not my poverty, pray remember your selfe;
Showes it not strangely for thy cloathes to stand
Without a hat to mine? mocke me no more.
Long.
The---embroyder me all over sir,
If ever I began to mocke you yet.
The—on me, why should I weare Velvet
And Silver Lace,—I will teare it off.
Mont.
Why mad-man?
Long.
Put on my Hat? yes, when I am hangd I will:
—I could break my head
For holding eyes that knew not you at first:
But time and fortune run your courses with him,
He'l laugh and storm you, when you shew most hate.
Enter Lamira, Orleans Lady, Laverdine, La Poope, Malycorne, Veramour, Charlot:
Lam.
You're a fair Mounsier.
Long.
Doe you mocke me Lady?
Lam.
Your businesse sir, I mean.
Lady.
Regard your selfe good Mounsier Longueville.
Lam.
You are too negligent of your selfe and place,
Cover your head sweet Mounsier.
Long.
Mistake me not faire Ladies,
Tis not to you, nor you, that I stand bare.
Lav.
Nay sweet deere Mounsier, let it not be to us then.
La-p.
—a complement.
Mal.
And—of manners.
Pray hide your head, your gallants use to do't.
Long.
And you your forheads, why you needfull accessary rascals,
That cannot live without your mutuall knaveries,
More then a Bawd, a Pandor, or a Whore
From one another; how dare you suspect
That I stand bare to you? what make you here?
Shift your house Lady of 'em, for I know 'em,
They come to steale Napkins, and your Spoons;
Look to your Silver-bodkin, (Gentlewoman)
Tis a dead utensil, and Page 'ware your pockets;
My reverence is unto this man, my master,
Whom you with protestations, and oaths
As high as Heaven, as deep as hell, which would
Deceive the wisest man of honest nature,
Have cozned and abus'd; but I may meet you,
And beate you one with t'other.
Mont.
Peace, no more.
Long.
Not a word sir.
Lav.
I am something thicke of hearing; what said he?
La-p.
I heare him, but regard him not.
Mal.
Nor I, I am never angry fasting.
Long.
My love keeps back my duty, noblest Lady;
If husband or brother merit love from you,
Prevent their dangers, this houre brings to triall
Their hereto sleeping hates; by this time each
Within a yerd is of the others heart,
And met to prove their causes and their spirits
With their impartiall Swords points; haste and save,
Or never meet them more but at the grave.
Lady.
Oh my distracted heart, that my wrackt honour
Should for a brothers, or a husbands life, through thy
undoing die.
Lam.
Amiens engagd; if he miscarry all my hopes and joys,
I now confesse it loudly, are undone:
Caroch, and haste, one minute may betray
A life more worth then all time can repay.
Exeunt Ladies, & Mont.
Mal.
Hump: Mounsier Laverdine pursues this boy extreamly.
Captaine what will you doe?
La-p.
Any thing but follow to this Sea-service; I am
a Sea-captaine you know, and to offer to part 'em, without
we could do't like water-men with long staves, a
quarter of a mile off, might be dangerous.
Mal.
Why then let's retire and pray for 'em, I am resolv'd
to stop your intent; abus'd more then we have
been we cannot be, without they fall to flat beating o'us.
Exeunt Maly. La-poop.
And that were unkindly done i'faith.
Ver.
—but you are the troublesomest Asse that ere I
met with; retire, you smel like a womans chamber, that's
newly up, before she have pinsht her vapours in with her
cloathes.
Lav.
I will haunt thee like thy Grandames ghost, thou
shalt never rest for me.
Uer.
Well, I perceive tis vaine to conceale a secret from
you: believe it sir, indeed I am a woman.
Lav.
Why la; I knew't, this Propheticall tongue of
mine never faild me; my mother was halfe a witch, never
any thing that she forespake, but came to passe: a
woman? how happy am I? now we may lawfully come
together without feare of hanging; Sweet wench, be
gracious, in honourable sort I woe, no otherwise.
Uer.
Faith the truth is I have loved you long.
Lav.
See, see.
Uer.
But durst not open it.
Lav.
—I think so.
Uer.
But briefly, when you bring it to the test, if there
be not one Gentleman in this house, wil challenge more
interest in me, then you can, I am at your disposure.
Exit.
Lav.
Oh Fortunatus, I envie thee not
For cap, or pouch, this day Ile prove my Fortune,
In which your Lady doth elect her husband,
Who will be Amiens, 'twill save my wedding dinner,
Povera, La-poop and Malicorne: if all faile,
I wil turne Citizen, a beauteous wife
Is the horn-booke to the richest Tradesmans life.
Exeunt.
Enter Duboys, Orleans, Longueville, Amiens, two Lacques, a Page wish two Pistols.
Dub.
Here's a good even piece of ground my Lords:
Will you fix here?
Orl.
Yes anywhere; Lacquey, take off my spurs;
Upon a bridge, a raile but my Swords bredth, upon a battlement,
Ile fight this quarrell.
Dub.
O' the ropes, my Lord.
Orl.
Upon a line.
Dub.
So all our Countrie Duels are carried, like a fireworke
on a thred.
Orl.
Go now stay with the horses, and doe you heare
Upon your lives, till some of us come to you,
Dare not to looke this way.
Dub.
Except you see strangers or others that by chance
or purpose are like to interrupt us.
Orl.
Then give warning.
Long.
Who takes a Sword? the advantage is so small,
As he that doubts hath the free leave to choose.
Orl.
Come give me any, and search me; tis not
The ground, weapon, or seconds that can make
Oddes in those fatall trials: but the cause.
Ami.
Most true, and but it is no time to wish
When men are come to do, I would desire
The cause 'twixt us were other then it is;
But where the right is, there prevaile our Swords.
And if my sister have outliv'd her honour,
I doe not pray I may outlive her shame.
Orl.
Your sister Amiens, is a whore, at once.
Ami.
You oft have spoke that sence to me before,
But never in this language Orleance;
And when yov spoke it faire, and first, I told you
That it was possible you might be abus'd:
But now, since you forget your manners, you shall finde,
If I transgresse my custome, you doe lie,
And are a villaine, which I had rather yet
My Sword had prov'd, then I been forc'd to speake:
Nay give us leave, and since you stand so haughtily
And highly on your cause, let you and I,
Without engaging these two Gentlemen, singly determine it.
Long.
My Lord, you'l pardon us.
Dub.
I trust your Lordships may not doe us that
affront.
Ami.
As how?
Dub.
We kisse your Lordships hand, and come to serve
you here with Swords.
Long.
My Lord, we understand our selves.
Dub.
We have had the honour to be call'd unto the
businesse, and we must not now quit it on terms.
Ami.
Not terms of reason?
Long.
No, no reason for the quitting of our calling.
Dub.
True if I be call'd to't I must aske no reason.
Long.
Nor heare none neither, which is lesse:
It is a favour if my throat be cut,
Your Lordship does me; which I never can,
A noise within, crying down with their Swords.
Nor must have hope how to requite: what noise,
What cry is that my Lord upon your guard?
Some treachery is a foot.
Enter Lady Orleans, Lamira, Montague.
Lady.
O here they are:
My Lord (deare Lady helpe me) helpe me all;
I have so woefull interest in both,
I know not which to feare for most: and yet
I must prefer my Lord. Deare brother,
You are too understanding, and too Noble
To be offended, when I know my duty,
Though scarce my teares will let me so to do it.
Orl.
Out loathed strumpet.
Lady.
O my dearest Lord,
If words could on me cast the name of whore,
I then were worthy to be loath'd; but know,
Your unkindnesse cannot make me wicked;
And therefore should lesse use that power upon me.
Orl.
Was this your art to have these actors come,
To make this interlude? withdraw, cold man,
And if thy spirit be not frozen up,
Give me one stroke yet at thee for my vengeance.
Ami.
Thou shalt have stroakes, and stroakes, thou glorious man,
Till thou breathst thinner ayre then that thou talkest.
Lam.
My Lord Count Amiens.
Lady.
Princely husband.
Orl.
Whore.
Lam.
You wrong her impudent Lord; O that I had the bulke
Of those dull men; look how they stand, and no man
Will revenge an innocent Lady.
Ami.
You hinder it Madam.
Lam.
I would hinder you; is there none else to kill
him?
Lady.
Kill him Madam? have you learn'd that bad Language? O repent,
And be the motive, rather both kill me.
Orl.
Then die my infamy.
Mont.
Hold bloody man.
Orl.
Art thou their Basiliske?
Mont:
To strike thee dead, but that thy fate deserves
some weightier hand.
Dub.
Sweet my Lord.
Orl.
O here's a plot; you bring your champions with
you; the adultresse with the adulterer: Out howling—
Dub.
Good my Lord.
Orl.
Are you her Graces countenance Lady, the
Dub.
Sweet my Lord.
Orl.
Sweet rascall, didst not thou tell me, false fellow,
This Montague, here was murdered?
Dub.
I did so; but he was falser, and a worthlesse Lord,
Like thy foule selfe, that would have had it so.
Long.
Orleance tis true, and shall be prov'd upon thee.
Mont.
Thy malice Duke, and this thy wicked nature,
are all as visible as thou; but I borne to contemne thy
injuries, doe know, that though thy greatnesse may corrupt
a Jury, and make a Judge afraid, and carry out a
world of devils with thy title: yet thou art not quiet
at home, thou bearest about thee that, that doth charge
thee, and condemne thee too. The thing that grieves me
more, and doth indeed displease me, is, to thinke that
so much basenesse stands here to have encountered so
much honour: Pardon me my Lord what late my passion
spake, when you provok'd my innocence.
Orl.
Yes doe, O flattery becomes him better then the
sute he weares; give him a new one Amiens.
Ami.
Orleance, tis here no time nor place, to jest or raile
Poorely with you, but I will finde a time to
Whisper you forth to this or some fit place,
As shall not hold a second interruption.
Mont.
I hope your Lordships honour, and your life
Are destined unto higher hazzards; this is of
A meaner arme.
Dub.
Yes faith, or none.
Long.
He is not fit to fall by an honest Sword,
A Prince and lie!
Dub.
And slander, and hire men
To publish the false rumours he hath made.
Long.
And sticke 'em on his friends, and innocents.
Dub.
And practice against their lives after their
fames.
Long.
In men that are the matter of all leudnesse,
Bauds, thieves, and cheaters, it were monstrous.
Dub.
But in a man of blood, how more conspicuous?
Ami.
Can this be?
Lady.
They doe slander him.
Orl.
Hang them, a paire of railing hangbies.
Long.
How? stand Orleance; stay, give me my Pistols boy,
Hinder me not, by—
I will kill him.
Lady.
O stay his fury,
Ami.
Longueville, my friend.
Long.
Not for my selfe, my Lord, but for mankind,
And all that have an interest to vertue,
Or title unto innocence.
Ami.
Why heare me.
Long.
For justice sake.
Ami.
That cannot be.
Long.
To punish his wives, your honour, and my Lords
wrongs here, whom I must ever call so; for your loves
Ile sweare, Ile sacrifice—
Ami.
Longaville, I did not thinke you a murtherer
before.
Long.
I care not what you thought me.
Ami.
By—If thou attempt
His life, thy own is forfeit.
Mont.
Foolish frantick man, the murder will be of us,
not him.
Lady.
O God.
Mont.
We could have kild him, but we would not take
The justice out of fates.—
Singe but a haire of him, thou diest.
Long.
No matter, shoot.
Ami.
Villaine.
Dub.
My Lord, your sister is slaine.
Ami.
Biancha?
Mont.
O haplesse and most wretched chance.
Lam.
Standst thou looking upon the mischief thou hast made
Thou Godlesse man, feeding thy blood-shot eyes
With the red spectacle, and art not turn'd to stone
With horrour? hence and take the wings of thy blacke
Infamy, to carry thee beyond the shoot of looks,
Or sound of curses, which will pursue thee still:
Thou hast out-fled all but thy guilt.
Orl.
O wish it off again, for I am crack'd
Under the burden, and my heart will breake.
How heavy guilt is, when men come to feele
If you could know the mountaine I sustaine
With horror, you would each take off your part,
And more, to ease me: I cannot stand,
Forgive where I have wrong'd I pray.
Ami.
Looke to him Montague.
Long.
My Lords and Gentlemen, the Lady is well but for feare,
Unlesse that have shot her;
I have the worst on't, that needs would venture
Upon a tricke had like to ha' cost my guts:
Look to her, she'l be well, it was but Powder
I chargd with, thinking that a guilty man
Would have been frighted sooner; but I am glad
He's come at last.
Lam.
How is Byancha? well?
Ami.
Lives she? see sister, doth she breath?
Lady.
O Gentlemen, thinke you I can breath,
That am restored to the hatefull sense
Of feeling in me my deare husbands death?
O no, I live not; life was that I left;
And what you have cal'd me to, is death indeed;
I cannot weep so fast as he doth bleed.
Dub.
Pardon me Madam, he is well.
Lady.
Ha my husband.
Orl.
I cannot speake whether my joy or shame
Be greater, but I thank the Heavens for both.
O look not black upon me, all my friends,
To whom I will be reconciled, or grow unto
This earth, till I have weept a trench
That shall be great enough to be my grave,
And I will think them too most manly teares,
If they do move your pities: it is true,
Man should do nothing that he should repent;
But if he have, and say that he is sorry,
It is a worse fault if he be not truly.
Lam.
My Lord, such sorrow cannot be suspected:
Here take your honoured wife, and joyn your hands.
—she hath married you again:
And Gentlemen, I do invite you all,
This night to take my house, where on the morrow,
To heighten more the reconciling feast,
Ile make my selfe a husband and a guest.
Exeunt.
| The Honest mans Fortune | |