 | Loues Sacrifice |  |
Actus Secundus.
Enter Maurucio looking in a glasse, trimming his Beard; Giacopo brushing him.Mau.
Beard be confin'd to neatnesse, that no haire
May stouer vp to pricke my mistris lip,
More rude than bristles of a Porcupine.
Giacopo.
Gia.
My Lord.
Mau.
Am I all sweet behind?
Gia.
I haue no Powlterers nose, but your apparell sits
About you most debonarely.
Mau.
But Giacopo, with what grace doe my words proceed
out of my mouth? haue I a mouing countenance? is
there harmony in my voyce? canst thou perceiue, as it were,
a hansomenesse of shape in my very breath, as it is formed
into syllable, Giacopo?
Enter Duke, Lords and Ladies aboue.
Gia.
Yes indeed, Sir, I doe feele a sauour as pleasant as
—a Glister-pipe,—Calamus or Ciuet.
Duke.
Obserue him and be silent.
Mau.
Hold thou the glasse, Giacopo, and marke me with
what exceeding comlinesse I could court the Lady Marquesse
if it come to the push.
Duke.
Sister, you are his ayme.
Fior.
A subiect fit
To be the stall of laughter.
Bian.
That's your musicke.
Mau.
Thus I reuerse my pace, and thus stalkingly in
Courtly gate I aduance, one, two, and three.—Good, I kisse
my hand, make my Congee, settle my countenance, and thus
begin.—Hold vp the glasse higher, Giacopo.
Gia.
Thus high, Sir?
Mau.
'Tis well, now marke me:
Let not old age, or haires that are sil-uer
Dis-parage my desire; for it may be
I am then other greene youth nimb-ler:
Since I am your gra-ces seruant so true,
Great Lady then loue me for my ver-tue.
Oh Giacopo! Petrach was a dunce, Dantes a Iig-maker,
S'anazar a goose, and Ariosto a puck-fist to me:
I tell thee, Giacopo, I am wrap'd with fury,
And haue beene for these six nights together
Drunke with the pure liquor of Helycon.
Gia.
I thinke no lesse, Sir;
For you looke as wild, and talke as idlely
As if you had not slept these nine yeares.
Duke.
What thinke you of this language, sister?
Fior.
Sir, I thinke, in princes Courts, no age nor greatnes
But must admit the foole; in me 'twere folly
To scorne what greater states than I haue bin.
Bian.
O, but you are too generall.
Fior.
A foole;
I thanke your Highnesse; many a womans wit
Haue thought themselues much better, was much worse.
Bian.
You still mistake me.
Duke.
Silence, note the rest.
Mau.
God-a-mercy braines; Giocopo, I haue it.
Gia.
What? my Lord?
Mau.
A conceit, Giacopo, and a fine one; downe on thy
knees, Giocopo, and worship my wit; giue me both thy eares:
thus it is, I wil haue my picture drawn most composituously
in a square table of some too foot long, from the crowne of
the head to the waste downward, no further.
Gia.
Then you'le looke like a dwarfe, Sir, being cut off by
the middle.
Mau.
Speake not thou, but wonder at the conceit that
followes; In my bosome on my left side, I will haue a leafe
of blood-red crimson veluet (as it were part of my doublet)
open; which being open'd, Giacopo, (now marke) I will
a heart.—(Singular admirable.) When I haue framed
this, I will, as some rare outlandish peece of workemanship,
bestow it on the most faire and illustrious Lady Fiormonda.
Gia.
But now, Sir, for the conceit.
Mau.
Simplicity and Ignorance, prate no more: blockhead,
dost not vnderstand yet? why this being to her instead of a
Looking-glasse, she shall no oftner powder her haire, surfell
her cheekes, cleanse her teeth, or conforme the haires of her
eye-browes, but hauing occasion to vse this glasse (which for
the rarenesse and richnesse of it, she will hourely doe) but she
shall as often gaze on my picture, remember me, and behold
the excellence of her excellencies beauty, in the prospectiue
and mirror, as it were, in my heart.
Gia.
I marry, Sir, this is something.
All aboue.
Ha, ha, ha.—
Exit Fiormonda.
Bian.
My sister's gone in anger.
Mau.
Who's that laughs? search with thine eyes, Giacopo.
Gia.
O my Lord, my Lord, you haue gotten an euerlasting
fame; the Dukes grace, and the Dutchesse grace, and my
Lord Fernando's grace, with all the rabble of Courtiers, haue
heard euery word, looke where they stand; now you shall
be made a Count for your wit, and I Lord for my Counsell.
Duke.
Beshrew the chance, we are discouer'd.
Mau.
Pitty,—oh my wisdome! I must speake to them.
O Duke most great, and most renowed Dutchesse!
Excuse my apprehension, which not much-is:
'Tis loue, my Lord, that's all the hurt you see,
Angelica her selfe plead for me.
Duke.
We pardon you, most wise and learned Lord,
And that we may all glorifie your wit,
Intreat your wisdomes company to day,
To grace our talke with your graue discourse:
What sayes your mighty eloquence?
Mau.
Giacopo, helpe me; his Grace has put mee out my
owne Bias, and I know not what to answer in forme.
Gia.
Vd's me, tell him you'll come.
Yes, I will come, my Lord the Duke, I will.
Duke.
We take your word, and wish your honor health.
Away then; come Biancha, we haue found
A salue for mellancholy, Mirth & ease.—
Exit Duke cum suit.
Manent Biancha & Fernando.
Bian.
I'le see the jolly louer and his glasse
Take leaue of one another.
Mau.
Are they gone?
Gia.
O my Lord, I doe now smell newes.
Mau.
What newes, Giacopo?
Gia.
The Duke has a smackering towards you, and you
shall clap vp with his sister, the widow, suddenly.
Mau.
She is mine, Giacopo, she is mine; aduance the glasse,
Giacapo, that I may practise as I passe, to walke a portly grace
like a Marquesse; to which degree I am now a climbing.
To ride in triumph through Persepolis.
Exit Gia, going backeward with the glasse, Mau. complementing.
Bian.
Now, as I liue,
Here's laughter worthy our presence;
I will not lose him so.—
She is going out.
Fer.
Madam.
Bian.
To me, my Lord!
Fer.
Please but to heare
The story of a Cast-away in loue;
And ô let not the passage of a jest
Make slight a sadder subiect, who hath plac'd
All happinesse in your diuiner eyes.
Bian.
My Lord, the time—
Fer.
The time! yet heare me speake,
For I must speake or burst: I haue a soule
So anchor'd downe with cares in seas of woe,
That passion, and the vowes I owe to you,
Haue chang'd me to a leane Anatomy,
Sweet Princesse of my life—
Bian.
Forbeare, or I shall—
Yet as you honour vertue, doe not freeze
My hopes to more discomfort, then as yet
My feares suggest; no beauty so adornes
The composition of a well-built mind,
As pitty: heare me out.
Bian.
No more; I spare
To tell you what you are; and must confesse,
Doe almost hate my judgement, that it once
Thought goodnesse dwelt in you: remember now
It is the third time since your treacherous tongue
Hath pleaded treason to my eare and fame;
Yet for the friendship 'twixt my Lord and you,
I haue not voyc'd your follies; if you dare
To speake a fourth time, you shall rue your lust:
'Tis all no better; learne, and loue your selfe.
—Exit.
Fer.
Gon! oh my sorrowes! how am I vndone?
Not speake againe? no, no, in her chast brest
Vertue and resolution haue discharg'd
All female weaknesse: I haue su'd and su'd,
Kneel'd, wept, and begg'd, but teares, and vowes, and words,
Moue her no more then summer-winds a rocke:
I must resolue to checke this rage of blood,
And will; she is all ycie to my fires,
Yet euen that yce inflames in me desires.
Exit.
Enter Petruchio and Roseilli.
Ros.
Is't possible the Duke should be so mou'd?
Petr.
'Tis true; you haue no enemy at Court
But her, for whom you pine so much in loue:
Then master your affections; I am sory you hug your ruine so,
What say you to the proiect I propos'd?
Ros.
I entertaine it, with a greater ioy
Then shame can checke.
Enter Fernando.
Petr.
You are come as I could wish, my Cozen is resolu'd.
Fer.
Without delay
Prepare your selfe, and meet at Court anon,
Some halfe houre hence; and Cupid blesse your ioy.
If euer man was bounden to a friend—
Fer.
No more; away: loues rage is yet vnknown,
Exent
In his (aye me) too well, I feele my owne:
So, now I am alone, now let me thinke;
Shee is the Dutchesse; say she be: A Creature
Sow'd vp in painted cloth, might so be styl'd,
That's but a name; shee's married too, she is,
And therefore better might distinguish loue:
She's young, and faire; why, Madam, that's the bait
Inuites me more to hope; she's the Dukes wife;
Who knowes not this? she's bosom'd to my friend:
There, there, I am quite lost: will not be won;
Still worse and worse; abhorres to heare me speake:
Eternall mischiefe, I must vrge no more:
For were I not beleapred in my soule,
Here were enough to quench the flames of hell.
What then? pish, I must not speake, I'le write.
Come then, sad Secretary to my plaints,
Plead thou my faith, for words are turn'd to sighs.
he draws a letter.
What sayes this paper?—
he reads to himselfe.
Enter D'aurlos with two Pictures.
R. D.
Now is the time; alone; reading a letter; good;
how now? striking his brest? what, in the name of policy,
should this meane? tearing his haire? passion, by all the
hopes of my life, plaine passion: now I perceiue it; if this bee
not a fit of some violent affection, I am an asse in vnderstanding;
why 'tis plaine, plainer and plainer: Loue in the extreamest:
oh for the party, who now? the greatnesse of his
spirits is to high cherish'd to be caught with some ordinary
stuffe, and if it bee my Lady Fiormonda, I am strangely mistooke:
well, that I haue fit occasion soone to vnderstand:
I haue here two pictures, newly drawne, to bee sent for a
present to the Abbot of Monacho, the Dutchesse Vncle, her
owne and my Ladies: I'le obserue which of these may, perhaps,
bewray him:—a turnes about, my noble Lord.
Fer.
Y'are welcome, Sir, I thanke you.
R. D.
Me, my Lord? for what, my Lord?
Who's there? I cry you mercy, D'auolos,
I tooke you for another, pray excuse me;
What is't you beare there?
R. D.
No secret, my Lord, but may be imparted to you:
A couple of Pictures, my good Lord, please you see them.
Fer.
I care not much for pictures: but whose are they?
R. D.
Th'one is for my Lords sister, the other is the
Dutchesse.
Fer.
Ha, D'auolos, the Dutchesses?
R. D.
Yes, my Lord:—sure the word startled him—
—Obserue that.
Fer.
You told me, master Secretary, once,
You ow'd me loue.
R. D.
Seruice, my honour'd Lord, howsoeuer you please
to terme it.
Fer.
'Twere rudenesse to be sutor for a sight,
Yet trust me, Sir, I'le be all secret.
R. D.
I beseech your Lordship;
They are, as I am, constant to your pleasure:
This (my Lord) is the widow Marquesses, as it now newly
came from the Picture-drawers, the oyle yet greene a sweet
Picture; and in my iudgement, Art hath not bin a niggard
in striuing to equall the life. Michael Angelo himselfe needed
not blush to owne the workmanship.
Fer.
A very pretty Picture;
But, kind Signior, to whose vse is it?
R. D.
For the Dukes, my Lord, who determines to send it
with all speed as a present to Paul Baglione, Vnckle to the
Dutchesse; that he may see the riches of two such lustres as
shine in the Court of Pauy.
Fer.
Pray Sir, the other?
R. D.
This (my Lord) is for the Dutchesse Biancha, a
wondrous sweet Picture, if you well obserue with what singularity
the Arts-man hath stroue to set forth each limbe in
exquisitest proportion, not missing a haire.
Fer.
A haire?
R. D.
She cannot more formally,
Or (if it may be lawfull to vse the word) more really, behold
her owne Symetry in her glasse, then in taking a sensible view
of this counterfeit: when I first saw it, I verily almost was
of a mind that this was her very lip.
Fer.
Lip!
R. D.
How constantly he dwels vpon this portrayture?
Nay, Ile assure your Lordship there is no defect of cunning.
His eye is fixt as if it were incorporated there.—Were not
the party her selfe aliue to witnesse that there is a Creature
compos'd of flesh and blood, as naturally inriched with such
harmony of admirall beauty, as is here artificially counterfeited,
a very curious eye might repute it as an imaginary
rapture of some transported conceit, to ayme at an impossibility;
whose very first gaze is of force almost to perswade
a substantiall loue in a setled heart.
Fer.
Loue! heart.
R. D.
My honor'd Lord.
Fer.
Oh heauens!
R. D.
I am confirm'd.—Whst ayles your Lordship?
Fer.
You need not praise it, Sir, it selfe is praise.
How neere had I forgot my selfe?—I thanke you.
'Tis such a picture as might well become
The shrine of some fain'd Venus; I am dazeld
With looking on't:—pray Sir conuey it hence.
R. D.
I am all your seruant:—blessed, blessed discouery!
Please you to command me?
Fer.
No, gentle Sir: I'me lost beyond my senses.
D'ee heare Sir, good where dwels the picture maker?
R. D.
By the Castles farther draw-bridge, neare Galzazzo's
statue; his name is Alphonso Trinultio—happy aboue all fate.
Fer.
You say enough, my thanks t'ee.
Exit R. D.
Were that picture
But rated at my Lordship, 'twere too cheape.
I feare I spoke or did I know not what,
All sense of prouidence was in mine eye.
Enter Ferentes, Maurucio, and Giacopo.
Fere.
Youth in threescore years and ten; trust me (my Lord
that compare your former age with your latter, by seuen and
twenty yeares, then you were three yeares agoe: by all my
fidelity, 'tis a miracle: the Ladies wonder at you.
Mau.
Let them wonder; I am wise, as I am Courtly.
Gia.
The Ladies, my Lord, call him the Greene broome of
the Court, he sweeps all before him, and sweare he has a stabbing
wit: it is a very glister to laughter—
Mau.
Nay, I know I can tickle 'em at my pleasure:
I am stiffe and strong, Ferentes.
Gia.
A Rhedish root is a speare of steele in comparison of
I know what.—
Feren.
The Marquesse doth loue you.
Mau.
She doth loue me.
Feren.
And begins to doe you infinite grace. Maurucio,
infinite grace.
Fer.
I'le take this time:
Good houre, my Lords, to both.
Mau.
Right Princely Fernando, the best of the Fernando's:
by the pith of generation, the man I looke for. His Highnes
hath sent to find you out; hee is determin'd to weather his
owne proper individuall person, for two dayes space, in my
Lord Narbassa's forrest, to hunt the Deere, rhe Bucke, the
Roe, and eke the Barren Doe.
Fer.
Is his Highnesse preparing to hunt?
Feren.
Yes, my Lord, and resolu'd to lye forth for the
breuiating the prolixity of some superfluous transmigration
of the Suns double Cadence to the western Horizon, my most
perspicuous good Lord.
Fer.
Oh, Sir, let mee beseech you to speake in your owne
mother tongue—two dayes absence—well—my Lord
Maurucio, I haue a sute t'ee.
Mau.
My Lord Fernando, I haue a sute to you.
Fer.
That you wil accept from me a very choice token of
my loue, will you grant it?
Mau.
Will you grant mine?
Fer.
What is't?
Onely to know what the sute is, you please to preferre
to me.
Fer.
Why 'tis, my Lord, a Foole.
Mau.
A Foole?
Fer.
As very a Foole
As your Lordship is—hopefull to see in any time of
your life.
Gia.
Now good my Lord part not with the Foole on
any termes.
Mau.
I beseech you, my Lord, has the foole qualities?
Fer.
Very rare ones:
You shall not heare him speake one wise word in a months
conuerse; passing temperate of dyet, for keep him from meat
foure and twenty houres, and he will fast a whole day and a
night together: vnlesse you vrge him to sweare, there seldome
comes an oath from his mouth: and of a Foole, my
Lord, to tell yee the plaine truth, had 'a but halfe as much
wit as you, my Lord, he would be in short time three quarters
as arrant wise as your Lordship.
Mau.
Giacopo, these are very rare elements in a creature
of little vnderstanding: oh, that I long to see him.
Enter Petruchio, and Roseilli like a foole.
Fer.
A very harmlesse Ideot,
And as you could wish, looke where he comes.
Petr.
Nephew, here is the thing you sent for:
Come hither Foole, come 'tis a good foole.
Fer.
Here my Lord,
I freely giue you the Foole, pray vse him well for my sake.
Mau.
I take the Foole most thankefully at your hands.
my Lord: Hast any qualities, my pretty foole? wilt dwell
with me?
Ros.
A, a, a, a, I.
Feren.
I neuer beheld a more naturall Creature in my life.
Fer.
Vncle, the Duke I heare prepares to hunt:
Let's in and wait. Farewel Maurucio.—
Exit Fer. et Petr.
Mau.
Beast that I am, not to aske the fooles name:
'Tis no matter, Foole is a sufficient title to call
Gia.
Oh my Lord, what an arrant excellent pretty creature
'tis? come hony, hony, hony, come.
Fere.
You are beholding to my Lord Fernando for this gift.
Mau.
True; oh that he could but speake methodically!
Canst speake, Foole?
Ros.
Can speake, De e e e e—
Feren.
'Tis a present for an Emperor: What an excellent
instrument were this to purchase a sute, or a monopoly from
the Dukes eare?
Mau.
I haue it, I am wise and fortunate; Giacopo, I will
leaue all conceits, and instead of my picture, offer the Lady
Marquesse this mortall man of weake brayne.
Gia.
My Lord you haue most rarely bethought you;
For so shall she no oftner see the Foole,
But she shall remember you better,
Then by a thousand Looking-glasses.
Feren.
She will most graciously entertaine it.
Mau.
I may tell you, Ferentes, there's not a great woman
amongst forty, but knowes how to make sport with a Foole.
Dost know how old thou art, sirrah?
Ros.
Dud—a clap cheek for nowne sake gaffer. h ee e e e e.
Feren.
Alas, you must aske him no questions; but clap him
on the cheeke: I vnderstand his language; your Foole is the
tender hearted'st creature that is.
Enter Fiormonda, D'auolos, Iulia.
Fior.
No more, thou hast, in this discouery,
Exceeded all my fauours, D'auolos.
Is't mistris Madam Dutchesse? braue reuenge.
R. D.
But had your Grace seene the infinite appetite of lust
in the piercing adultery of his eye, you would—
Fior.
Or change him, or confound him, prompt dissembler!
Is here the bond of his Religious vow?
And that, now when the Duke is rid abroad,
My Gentleman will stay behind, is sicke—or so.
R. D.
Not altogether in health, it was the excuse he made.
Mau.
Most fit opportunitie:
Feren.
Lose no time, my Lord.
Gia.
To her, Sir.
Mau.
Vouchsafe to stay thy foot, most Cynthian hue.
And from a Creature, euer vow'd thy seruant,
Accept this gift; most rare, most fine, most new,
The earnest penhy of a loue so feruent.
Fior.
What meanes the jolly youth?
Mau.
Nothing, sweet Princesse,
But onely to present your grace with this sweet fac'd Foole;
please you to accept him to make you merry; I'le assure your
Grace, he is a very wholesome Foole.
Fior.
A foole? you might as well ha giuen your selfe:
Whence is he?
Mau.
Now, iust very now, giuen me out of speciall fauour,
by the Lord Fernando, Madam.
Fior.
By him? well, I accept him; thanke you for't:
And in requitall, take that Tooth-picker.
'Tis yours.
Mau.
A Tooth-picker; I kisse your bounty: no quibble now?
And Madam,
If I grow sicke, to make my spirits quicker,
I will reuiue them with this sweet Tooth-picker.
Fior.
Make vse on't as you list; here D'auolos,
Take in the Foole.
R. D.
Come, sweet heart, wilt along with me?
Ros.
V v vmh—v v vmh—won not, won not—v v vmh
Fior.
Wilt goe with me, chicke?
Ros.
Will goe, te e e—goe will goe—
Fior.
Come D'auolos, obserue to night; 'tis late:
Or I will win my choyce, or curse my fate.
Exit Fior. Ros. & D'auolos.
Feren.
This was wisely done now: S'foot you purchase
A fauour from a Creature, my Lord, the greatest King of the
earth wud be proud of.
Mau.
Giacopo!
Gia.
My Lord.
Come behind me, Giacopo; I am big with conceit
and must be deliuered of poetry, in the eternall commendation
of this gracious Tooth-picker: but first, I hold it a most
healthy policy to make a flight supper.
For meat's the food that must preserue our liues,
And now's the time, when mortals whet their kniues
on thresholds, shoo-soles, Cart-wheeles, &c. Away Giacopo.
Exeunt.
Enter Colona with lights, Biancha, Fiormonda, Iulia, Fernando, and D'auolos; Colona placeth the lights on a Table, and sets downe a Chesse-board.
Bian.
'Tis yet but early night, too soone to sleepe:
Sister, shall's haue a mate at Chesse?
Fior,
A mate!
No, Madam; you are growne too hard for me:
My Lord Fernando is a fitter match.
Bian.
He's a well practiz'd gamester:
Well, I care not, how cunning so er'e he be,
To passe an houre; I'le try your skill, my Lord;
Reach here the Chesse-board.
R. D.
Are you so apt to try his skill, Madam Dutchesse?
Very good.
Fer.
I shall bewray too much my ignorance
In striuing with your Highnesse; 'tis a game
I lose at still, by ouersight.
Bian.
Well, well, I feare you not, let's too't.
Fior.
You need not, Madam.
R. D.
Marry needs she not; how gladly will shee too't?
'tis a Rooke to a Queene, she heaues a pawne to a Knights place;
by'r lady, if all be truly noted, to a Dukes place; and that's beside
the play, I can tell ye.
Fernando and Dutchesse, play.
Fior.
Madam, I must entreat excuse; I feele
The temper of my body not in case
To iudge the strife.
Bian.
Lights for our sister, sirs:
Good rest t'ee; I'le but end my game and follow.
Fior.
Let 'em haue time enough, and as thou canst,
Be neare to heare their Courtship, D'auolos.
R, D.
Madam, I shall obserue 'em with all cunning secrecy.
Bian.
Colona, attend our sister to her chamber.
Col.
I shall Madam.—
Exit Fior. Col. Iul. & R. D.
Bian.
Play.
Fer.
I must not lose th'aduantage of the game:
Madam, your Queene is lost.
Bian.
My Clergy helpe me;
My Queene! and nothing for it but a pawne?
Why then the game's lost too; but play.
Fer.
What Madam?
Fernando often lookes about.
Bian.
You must needs play well,
You are so studious.—
Fie vpon't, you study past patience:—
What d'ee dreame on? here's demurring
Would weary out a statue.—Good now play.
Fer.
Forgiue me, let my knees for euer stick
he kneels.
Nayl'd to the ground, as earthy as my feares;
E're I arise, to part away so curst
In my vnbounded anguish, as the rage
Of flame's, beyond all Vtterance of words,
Deuoure me; lightned by your sacred eyes.
Bian.
What meanes the man?
Fer.
To lay before your feet
In lowest vassalage, the bleeding heart
That sighes the tender of a suit disdain'd.
Great Lady pitty me, my youth, my wounds,
And doe not thinke, that I haue cull'd this time
From motions swiftest measure, to vnclaspe
The booke of lust; if purity of loue
Haue residence in vertues quest; loe here,
Bent lower in my heart than on my knee,
I beg compassion to a loue, as chast
As softnesse of desire can intimate.
R. D.
At it already? admirable hast.
Bian.
Am I againe betray'd?—bad man.
Fer.
Keepe in
Bright Angell, that seuerer breath, to coole
That heat of cruelty, which swayes the Temple
Of your too stony breast; you cannot vrge
One reason to rebuke my trembling plea,
Which I haue not, with many nights expence,
Examin'd; but, O Madam, still I find
No Physicke strong to cure a tottur'd mind,
But freedome from the torture it sustaines.
R. D.
Not kissing yet? still on your knees? O for a plump
Bed and cleane sheets, to comfort the aking of his shinnes!
We shall haue 'em clip anon, and lispe kisses; here's ceremony
with a vengeance.
Bian.
Rise vp, we charge you, rise; looke on our face.
he riseth.
What see you there that may perswade a hope
Of lawlesse loue? Know, most vnworthy man,
So much we hate the basenesse of thy lust,
As were none liuing of thy sexe but thee,
We had much rather prostitute our blood
To some inuenom'd Serpent, then admit
Thy bestiall dalliance: couldst thou dare to speake
Againe, when we forbad? no, wretched thing,
Take this for answer; If thou henceforth ope
Thy leprous mouth to tempt our eare againe,
We shall not onely certifie our Lord
Of thy disease in friendship, but reuenge
Thy boldnesse with the forfeit of thy life.
Thinke on't.
R. D.
Now, now, now the game is afoot, your gray Iennet
with the white face is curried, forsooth; please your Lordship
leape vp into the saddle, forsooth;—poore Duke; how
does thy head ake now?
Fer.
Stay, goe not hence in choller, blessed woman!
Y'haue school'd me, lend me hearing; though the float
Too high so soone to ebbe, yet by this hand,
kisses her hand
This glorious gracious hand of yours—
R, D.
I marry, the match is made, clap hands and too't ho.
Fer.
I sweare,
Henceforth I neuer will asmuch in word,
In letter, or in sillable, presume
To make a repetition of my griefes.
Good night t'ee: if when I am dead you rip
This Coffin of my heart, there shall you read
With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines,
Biancha's name saru'd out in bloody lines.
For euer, Lady, now good night.
Enter with lights.
Bian.
Good night:
Rest in your goodnesse; lights there; Sir good night.
Exeunt sundry wayes.
R. D.
So, via—to be cuckold (mercy and prouidence) is
as natural to a married man, as to eat sleep or weare a night-cap.
Friends! I will rather trust mine arme in the throat of
a Lion, my purse with a Curtezan, my necke with the chance
on a Dye, or my Religion in a Synagogue of Iewes, then my
wife with a friend; wherein doe Princes exceed the poorest
peasant that euer was yoak'd to a sixpenny strumpet, but that
the hornes of the one are mounted some two inches higher
by a Choppine then the other? oh Acteon! the goodliest headed
beast of the Forrest, amongst wild cattle, is a Stag; and the
goodliest beast amongst tame fooles in a Corporation is a
Cuckold.
Enter Fiormonda.
Fior.
Speake D'auolos, how thriues intelligence?
R. D.
Aboue the preuention of Fate, Madam: I saw him
kneele make pittifull faces, kisse hands and forefingers, rise
and by this time he is vp, vp Madam: dobtlesse the youth
aymes to be Duke, for hee is gotten into the Dukes seat an
hower agoe.
Fior.
Is't true?
R. D.
Oracle, oracle; siege was laid, parley admitted, composition
the Duke will be at home to morrow (gentle Animal) what
d'ee resolue?
Fior.
To stirre vp Tragedies as blacke as braue;
And sending the Lecher panting to his graue.—
Exeunt.
Enter Biancha, her haire about her eares, in her night mantle, she drawes a Curtaine, where Fernando is discouered in bed, sleeping, she sets downe the Candle before the Bed, and goes to the Bed side.
Bian.
Resolue, and doe; 'tis done. What, are those eyes
Which lately were so ouerdrown'd in teares,
So easie to take rest? Oh happy man!
How sweetly sleepe hath seal'd vp sorrowes here?
But I will call him: What? My Lord, my Lord,
My Lord Fernando.
Fer.
Who cals me?
Bian.
My Lord,
Sleeping or waking?
Fer.
Ha! who is't?
Bian.
'Tis I:
Haue you forgot my voyce? or is your eare
But vsefull to your eye?
Fer.
Madam, the Dutchesse?
Bian.
Shee, 'tis she; sit vp,
Sit vp and wonder, whiles my sorrowes swell:
The nights are short, and I haue much to say.
Fer.
Is't possible, 'tis you?
Bian.
'Tis possible;
Why doe you thinke I come?
Fer.
Why! to crowne ioyes,
And make me master of my best desires.
Bian.
'Tis true, you guesse aright; sit vp and listen,
With shame and passion now I must confesse,
Since first mine eyes beheld you, in my heart
You haue beene onely King; if there can be
A violence in loue, then I haue felt
That tyranny; be record to my soule,
Fernando, in short words, how e're my tongue
Did often chide thy loue, each word thou spak'st
Was musicke to my eare; was neuer poore
Poore wretched woman liu'd, that lou'd like me;
So truly, so vnfainedly.
Fer.
Oh Madam—
Bian.
To witnesse that I speake is truth,—looke here,
Thus singly I aduenture to thy bed,
And doe confesse my weaknesse; if thou tempt'st
My bosome to thy pleasures, I will yeeld.
Fer.
Perpetuall happinesse!
Bian.
Now heare me out:
When first Caraffa, Pauy's Duke, my Lord,
Saw me, he lou'd me; and without respect
Of dower, tooke me to his bed and bosome,
Aduanc'd me to the titles I possesse;
Not mou'd by Counsell, or remou'd by greatnesse;
Which to requite, betwixt my soule and heauen,
I vow'd a vow to liue a constant wife;
I haue done so: nor was there in the world
A man created, could haue broke that truth
For all the glories of the earth, but thou;
But thou, Fernando: Doe I loue thee now?
Fer.
Beyond imagination.
Bian.
True, I doe,
Beyond imagination: if no pledge
Of loue can instance what I speake is true,
But losse of my best ioyes, here, here, Fernando,
Be satisfied, and ruine me.
Fer.
What d'ee meane?
Bian.
To giue my body vp to thy embraces,
A pleasure that I neuer wish'd to thriue in,
Before this fatall minute: marke me now;
If thou dost spoyle me of this robe of shame,
By my best comforts, here I vow agen,
To thee, to heauen, to the world, to time,
I'le kill my selfe.
Fer.
How madam, how?
Bian.
I will:
Doe what thou wilt, 'tis in thy choyce; what say yee?
Fer.
Pish, doe you come to try me? tell me, first,
Will you but grant a kisse?
Bian.
Yes, take it; that,
Or what thy heart can wish: I am all thine.
Kisses her.
Fer.
Oh me—Come, come, how many women pray
Were euer heard or read of, granted loue,
And did as you protest you will?
Bian.
Fernando;
Iest not at my calamity: I kneele:
—She kneeln.
By these disheauel'd hayres, these wretched teares,
By all that's good, if what I speake, my heart
Vowes not eternally, then thinke, my Lord,
Was neuer man su'd to me I deny'd,
Thinke me a common and most cunning whore,
And let my sinnes be written on my graue,
My name rest in reproofe.—Doe as you list
Fer.
I must beleeue ye, yet I hope anon,
When you are parted from me, you will say
I was a good cold easie-spirited man:
Nay, laugh at my simplicity; say, will ye?
Bian.
No by the faith I owe my Bridall vowes;
But euer hold thee much much dearer farre
Then all my ioyes on earth, by this chast kisse.
Fer.
You haue preuail'd, and heauen forbid that I
Should by a wanton appetite prophane
This sacred Temple; 'tis enough for me
You'll please to call me seruant.
Bian.
Nay, be thine:
Command my power, my bosome; and I'le write
This loue within the tables of my heart.
Fer.
Enough; I'le master passion, and triumph
In being conquer'd; adding to it this,
Bian.
The latter I new vow—but day comes on,
What now we leaue vnfinish'd of content,
Each houre shall perfect vp: Sweet, let's part.
Fer.
This kisse,—best-life good rest.
Kisse.
Bian.
All mine to thee.
Remember this, and thinke I speake thy words:
When I am dead, rip vp my heart and read
With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines,
Fernando's name caru'd out in bloody lines.
Once more good rest, Sweet.
Fer.
Your most faithfull seruant.
Exeunt
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