 | The Dvkes Mistris |  |
Actus Secundus.
Enter Bentivolio, Horatio.Hor.
Be counsell'd yet without being too ambitious
To buy a deere repentance.
Ben.
Now we are
Arriv'd at Court, shame to our resolution,
I prethee do'nt tempt me to such cowardise,
Horatio I must see her sheele not blast us,
She was lovely when our eyes saluted last,
And at my fare-well many innocent teares
Wittness'd her sorrow, cleere as Aprill weepes
Into the bosome of the Spring, not see
Ardelia?
Hor.
You have travel'd since, and she
Wanting noe beauty, was not over willing
To languish in your absence, how I pity thee,
But that I wod not too much vexe your folly,
Do'st thinke ther's faith in any womans eyes,
She wept at parting, a strong obligation
When they can thread their teares, and make a chaine
Of water, let me weare one o' their bracelets;
I will convince thy madness in six words,
Admit she said she lov'd you, and to your thinking
Vow'd it, for you say you were contracted
All this is nothing.
Ben.
No.
Hor.
Not this; although
You had beene married, and i'th Sheets together,
And chaffer'd earnest for a boy, 'tis nothing
It binds not.
Ben.
How?
Hor.
Not with a thousand witnesses.
Ben.
How not bind her?
Hor.
Nor any woman living, that's possest
Pile three Castles on her, yet she shall
Breake prison when she has but the least minde too't;
She'le worke through a Steele-mine, to meete a friend
That she likes better, with more ease throw up
A quarrie of Marble, than a Mole shall dust,
They worke with spirits, man, and can doe wonders,
Especially a hansome woman, from whose false
And sly temptations, all my wits defend me.
There were some dealing with an Elvish female,
That had but a course face, or say but halfe a one,
Emnaticke eyes, with no more sight than could
Distinguish well, man from a horse, or beare,
To keepe her from mistake in procreation,
A nose of many fashions, and as many
Water-workes in 'em, lips of honest hide,
And made to last, teeth of a Moores complexion,
A chinne, without all controversie, good
To goe a fishing with, a witches beard on't,
With twentie other commendations, such a thing
Were no mischiefe, and a man might trust
Her with no scruple in his Conscience.
Ben.
This is plaine madnesse.
Hor.
You may call it so,
But Ile be bound to travell further with
This Night-mare, than the finest flesh and blood
You court, and call your mistresse, why the Devill
With all his art, and malice will nere cuckold me,
And I should leave her in hell, and goe a iourney,
I should be sure at my returne to find her
Safe, and untouch'd, sound of her winde, and limbs;
A faire, and hansome woman would not scape so:
You have my opinion now, and 'twere lesse evill
To practise it, you mind not my instructions.
Ben.
Not I.
Hor.
These Lectures have I read toth' City
With the same successe, that Gentlemen might live honest,
And men have lucke to father their owne children,
But 'twill not be, you are resolv'd to try it?
Am I engag'd thus farre to fall backe now?
Hor.
Remember where you are yet.
Ben.
I am i'th Court.
Hor.
Where you expect to complement with the Dukes—
Ben.
What?
Hor.
What doe you thinke? the Dukes married,
They say although he love Ardelia,
And without question, in these parts may want
No intelligence of your purpose and your person,
And theres no doubt, but if he find you quaile-catching,
He has power enough to coole your blood, and hers,
Should she remember what has past betweene you,
In that respect be caution'd, doe not worke
A double ruine, to sooth one vaine humour;
Eyes will beget an appetite of more neerenesse,
And how that may succed, 'tis better feare, than prove.
Ben.
I prethee fright me not with shadowes.
Hor.
You are then for her substance—ile not leave you.
Ben.
Ile see her did the Duke proclaime it death.
Hor.
I Had rather see the Cow, with her five legges,
And all the Monsters in the market, then
Be troubled with the spectacle, but on,
Stay, yet will you but see her? will her face content you,
A farre off, without multiplying twinckles,
Ridiculous sighes, or crost armes pinion'd thus,
As the Kinght-Templers leggs are, whollie buried,
Like Taylors, no djected lookes, as y'ad
Your father alive agen to send you out
To sea, with pention to maintaine you in bisket,
Poore John, and halfe a livery, which should be
Part of your governor, to read morrall vertue
And lenton Lectures to you, or if she frowne
As much as say my friend, J am not for you,
The Dukes the better Gentleman, and shall pay for't
Will you returne then with a handsome patience,
And wisely love where no man els will rivall you,
A Witch or some old woman,
Ben.
I prethee leave
Thy phrenzy, thou shal't witnes ile be temperate.
Who's this? Signior Valerio.
Val.
Bentivolio, welcome to
Pavie, and the Court.
Ben.
My friend, Sir.
Val.
You both divide me.
Ben.
Then I am no stranger,
In confidence of that friendship we both seal'd
In Travell.
Val.
What affaires brought you to Pavie?
Ben.
Being at large, I had curiositie
To observe what might improve my knowledge here
With some taste of your Court.
Val.
And I am happie
I have some power to serve your wish, nor could you
Arrive to see it shine with more delight,
It is compos'd of revells, now all ayre,
Let me present you to the Duke.
Ben.
I shall be honour'd to kisse his hand.
Val.
Sha't see his Mistresse,
The faire Ardelia, the Dukes no saint,
I may tell thee.
Hor.
Pray Sir, with your favour,
Cannot the Court furnish a Gentleman,
And need be, with an uglie face or two,
Such as would turne your stomacke, would content
My fancie best.
Val.
What meanes your friend?
Ben.
A humour he playes withall.
Ual.
He would not play with such a woman, wo'd he?
Hor.
Yes, and if the place be not
Too barren to afford me one ill-favoured
Enough.
Val.
Nere feare it, they are common here
As Crowes, and something of a hue by moone-shine;
Promise to keepe your wits, and ile present you.
Hor.
I have a lease Sir, of my braines, and dare
Exeunt.
Musicke, and Song in Dialogue.
Enter the Duke, Ardelia, Fiametta, Leontio, Strozzi, Ascanio, Silvio, Ladies.
Duk.
How likes Ardelia this?
Ard.
If it affect
Your highnesse eare, dutie hath so compos'd
My will to obedience, I must praise the musicke,
And wish no other object to that sence,
Unlesse you please to expresse more harmonie
By some commands from your owne voice, that will
Challenge my more religious attention.
Du.
What charme is in her language? cease all other
(But discord to her accents) what a sweet,
And winning soule she has, is it not pity
She should be lesse than Dutchesse, farre above
Euphemia in beautie, and rare softnesse
Of nature, I could wonder, gaze for ever;
But I expose my passion too much
To censure, yet who dares dispute our will?
Leontio looke upon Ardelia,
And tell me.
Leo.
What Sir?
Duk.
Canst see nothing there?
Leo.
I see a spacious field of beautie Sir.
Duk.
Tis poore, and short of her perfection,
Beare her this other Jewell, I will have her
Shine like a volumne of bright constellations,
Till all the world turne her Idolater:
When did Euphemia looke thus?
Leo.
Never sir.
Duk.
Be Judge thy selfe Leontio, if my Dutches
Lov'd me, could she denie her Dionisio
This happinesse, but she has a stubborne soule,
She has, and shall repent it.
Leo.
Sir, remember
Du.
You were best remember her,
Perhaps sheele take it kindlie.
Leo.
Sir, I hope
You have more assurance of my faith to you
Then to interpret—
Du.
Nothing, come, all's well,
Name her noe more, how ere she has displeas'd
Us, you can violate noe duty still
To love her.
Leo.
I sir?
Du.
This infects delight,
Let's dance my sweete Ardelia.
Leo.
The Dukes jealous
Or i'me batraid.
Du.
Leontio, Silvio, Strozzi,
The Ladies blush for you, they have breath'd too much.
While the Dance is
Enter Valerio, Bentivolio, Horatio.
Val.
Sir, here are gentlemen desire the grace
To kisse your highnesse hand.
Du.
Ardelia supply our Dutchesse absence,
Val.
It is the Dukes desire by his example, you extend your
Faire hand to a payre of strangers, ambitions of the
Honour.
Ard.
Bentivolio?
Tis he, how my heart trembles as my frame
Would fall to peeces, doe you know that gentleman?
Va.
Yes, Madam.
Ar.
Let him attend me in my lodgings
It will be worth your friend-ship to conduct him.
Val.
I shall.
Du.
Your countenance changes, I observ'd
Your eyes upon that Stranger.
Ar.
He revewes
The memory of a brother, I lov'd dearely,
Du.
For representing one so neare Ardelia,
Receive another welcome, and what favours
Your thoughts can study from our Court, possesse 'em.
Ben.
You oblige my humblest services—how now, how dost like this?
Ho.
Why scuruily, you flatter
Your selfe into distruction, I see
The Arrow will peirce thy heart, decline it yet.
Ben.
Still frantickely opposing.
Ho.
I ha' done
Be mad, i'le give my braine to somewhat els,
Sir, I wod see a phisnomy, though it looke
As big as the fower winds, I ha' court-ship for it,
And wo'not be blowne off with an Hericano,
Yet trust me i'le be honest.
Va.
I beleeve you.
Ho.
Onely to please my eye.
Va.
What thinke you of
That Divells lans-schape, you observ'd not her,
Notwithstanding her complexion, she is a Lady
Usefull at Court, to set of other faces,
Especially the Dukes Mistres, whom for that,
And some thing else his grace has recommended
To be her companion, will she serve turne?
Did you ever see a more excellent wall-eye
Ho.
I marry, Sir.
Va.
Nay let me prepare you,
Madam dee observe that Gentleman,
The staring Stranger, he has busines to you,
And you will bid it welcome.
Fia.
Does he know me?
Va.
He inquir'd for you
By all discriptions-and I guesse he may
Be worth your favour.
Fia.
Mine?
Val
If ever man
Were an Jdolater, he is yours, i'le bring him
To your lodgings Madam, if you please.
Fia.
You'le honour me.
Agen to our revells, ther's noe life without being active,
Val.
Not now? you shall have opportunity,
And I have commission to informe you something,
Away here's like to be a Storme.
Enter Euphemia.
Ben.
What's shee?
Va.
Euphemia.
Str.
Your Dutches, Sir.
Du.
How dares shee interrupt us?
Leo.
A guard about my heart, I am undone e'ls
Each looke, and motion in her greife present
Such a commanding sweetnes, if I observe
With the same eyes I shall betray my selfe.
Eup.
I come not Sir, with rudenes of my language,
Or person to offend your mirth, although
The nature of my sorrow is so wild
It may infect weake minds, and such as have not
Some proofe in their owne bosomes, but to make
One, and my last suite, which when you have heard
It may appeare so reasonable, and proportion'd
To what your thoughts allow me, that you will
Find easily a consent to make it fortunate,
And me in the prevailing.
Ardelia offers to depart.
Du.
Doe not moove
Ardelia, I am full protection here.
Eup.
Ther's something sir in my request to make her happy too.
Ard.
I dare not heare the Dutchesse,
Her lookes wound me.
Du.
Speake your promising wishes.
Eup.
Although I know not for what guilt in me
Of more then my obedience, and some lesse
Beauty then dwells upon Ardelias cheeke,
You have exild me from your love, and bosome,
And worse then one condemn'd by force of lawes,
For sinne against your bed have sentenc'd me
To wander with disgrace, carv'd in my brow
The Fable of a Dutchesse, and your anger;
My desires are you would have so much charity
Not to compell me after all my shames
To be a murderer.
Du.
Treason, our Guard.
Eup.
You shall not trouble Sir your feares I bring
the least blacke thought against your person, heaven
Avert so foule a sinne, the danger all
Doth threaten me, and my life, which I thus
Most humbly beg may not be forc'd through blood
By my owne hands: urgd by your heavy wrongs
To such a desperate mutiny, which you may
Prevent by your revenge of Law upon me.
To which, and your displeasure I would yeild
My life your welcome sacrifice, i'le praise
Your mercy for my death, and blesse the stroake
Devids my sad soule from me.
Du.
This your project?
Leo.
Did you heare the Dutches suite?
Ard.
Noe, but i'le beg
It may be granted, doe not sir deny
Your Dutches her desires so just, and reasonable;
Leo.
How's this? shee'le pray to be rid on her,
Audacious woman
Eup.
Let me rise with horror.
Du.
Ardelia knowes not what Euphemia ask'd.
Leo.
She'le appeare cunning.
Ard.
I am confident
She hath propounded nothing ill becoming.
Leo.
Nothing, a very trifle, wearied with
Her injuries she onely begs the Duke
Would be so kind to order with as much
Conveniency as he please, her head to be
Chop'd of, that all, and you were charitable
To joyne so modestly in the advancement
Of her desires.
Ard.
Defend it heaven,
Madam your pardon, I imagin'd not
You aym'd such cruelty upon your selfe.
Eup.
Proud, and dissembling woman, at such impudence
Will put my breath to the expence of prayer
To be short-liv'd, I will desire to live
To see heaven drop downe justice, with such loud,
And publicke noyse of my revenge on thee.
And thy adulterate arts, as the world naming
But once Ardelia, shall be palsey-strucke.
I feele a new, and fiery soule within me,
Apt to disperse my rage, which feare and my
Religion would ha' stifled. Oh my fate!
Du.
She raves, to prison with her, we are not safe
While she enjoyes the freedome of our ayre:
Stay (my good Genius) she carries yet
The title of our Dutches; tis our pleasure
Leontio, she be your prisoner,
But see her narrowlie confind, till we
Determine what shall follow, in what we
Limit, you not make your owne reason guide,
But on your life secure her.
Leo.
Your commands
In all things I obey, most blest occasion!
Du.
Foole, thou dost entertain what must undo thee,
And make you both ripe for eternall absence;
Hug Juno in the clouds, and court her smiles,
Though she consent not, tis enough youl stand
Suspected, aud expos'd to equall danger.
You sha'not lose your ayre to plead for death,
Thus wele secure Ardelia.
Eup.
I heare,
And with all chearefullnesse resigne my will
To imprisonment, or death; forgive the wildnesse,
And furie of my language, I repent
My wish upon Ardelia, may she live
To doe so too, and you to be possest
Of all joyes Earth and Heaven can blesse your heart with.
May danger never in a dreame affright you,
And if you thinke I live too long, tis possible,
Before you send death to conclude my sufferings,
Some thoughts of you may wither my poore heart,
Be not a tyrant when i'me dead, upon
My fame, although you wish me not alive,
Yet say I was Euphemia, let that sticke
Upon my Tombe, if you will grace my shade
With so much cost, in that name is supplied
Enough to tell the world for whom I died.
Du.
We heare too much, away with her.
Exeunt.
Finis Actus Secunds.
| The Dvkes Mistris | |