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Actus Primi.
Scena Prima.
Enter Uolterre, Orseollo.Volterre.
Remember where you are,
Ors.
That ever man
Should be so dull of soule to love a woman.
Vol.
What in the name of fury hath made you
An enemy to that sexe, upon what Lady
False beyond Cressida, didst thou loose thy patience?
Finde it againe for shame, thou wert not borne
A woman hater.
Ors.
No, I thanke heaven
My mothers dead, and all my sisters, I
Had a contention in my nature, when
They were alive, but tye of blood prevail'd
Against my disposition, I confesse
I never wish'd them dead.
Uol.
How hadst thou beene
Alive, but for thy mother?
Ors,
Thats one reason
Should make our love the lesse to e'm, they doe
But bring's acquainted with the world, which at
Our birth we are afraid of, and grow old
Or things lost in conception.
Uol.
We may
As well condemne our fathers, and declaime
'Gainst them for our begetting, come Orseollo,
Desist to be a Satire, I hope you wod not
The Dutchesse should heare this; collect your selfe
You are ith presence, put on a smooth face
And speake Court language, let me counsell you
To softnesse; what a Courtier and so rugged?
Princes they say have many cares, and tis
not lesse then treason, in a womans court
To be so violent against e'm, these
Hangings may evesdrop us.
Ors.
Let em, let em,
May be 'twould move the Dutchesse to exempt me
From my attendance; and she knew my minde
She would allow me a writ of ease, least I
Infect her Court with railing gainst her sexe:
I'de rather heare a mandrake, then let in
The noise of women; heaven that I might never
Converse with any.
Uolt.
Thou wilt never marry.
Ors.
Marry? Ile first engender with a Viper,
Were there but one woman alive, and but
By knowing her, no hope to stocke the world
Agen, Ide geld my selfe.
Uolt.
Pitty thou shouldst
Marry, to get a sonne that should be like thee;
Take heed least women for this bitternesse
Make thee not first an Eunuch, but we ha lost
Our first discourse, thy passion like a storme
Hath quite transported us, from the Duke Foscari,
That hath now left us, let's
A cold sute with the Dutchesse.
Ors.
If I stay
I shall talke treason, a cold sute? for ever
Ice dwell within their marrowes can affect em,
Uol,
He deserved,
I know not what to thinke ont, tis the third
Prince, that our duties have commended,
In hope to be made happy with her issue:
Nay, nay, have truce a little with thy spleene,
And lets talke wisely, we shall be observed;
I wonder.
Ors.
So doe I.
Uol.
At what?
Ors.
At nothing,
At a woman, how tis possible a man
Should court and love em so, but now I thinke ont,
I doe not wonder.
Vol.
How is this?
Ors.
They are
All Circes, and do steale away our soules;
They juggle us into shapes and puppets lovers.
Uol.
They ha not juggled you me thinkes.
Enter Contarini.
Signiour Contarini.
Con.
Volterre and Orseollo, morrow to ye,
You heare the newes.
Foscari is departed.
Uol.
In a mist, is he not? here's but we three,
The Dutchesse is a strange woman.
Or.
Contarini hast any other faith,
Are they not all so Volterre?
Thou hast beene a travailer, and converst
with the Antipodes, almost put a girdle
about the world, taken dimensions
Of every nature, tasted all aires, and canst
Distinguish em to an atome, tell me Signiour
And be not partiall to the Sex, didst ever
Vpon thy honour meete with such a creature,
We here call vertuous woman, are not all
The stocke of em inconstant?
Uol.
Nay let's ha
Traduce not all for some, it must be granted.
Con.
They are an excellent creation, though
Some few decline from vertue, I've a wife,
I'm but new married neither, yet I dare
Boast my opinion.
Ors.
Doe not, the Moone
Is yet but ith' first quarter Contarini,
I would endeere my thoughts to thee, and thou
Wert not marryed, boast thy opinion.
Goe sacrifice to sleepe, why these are women
Will cosen a strong faith, cuckold their husbands,
Yet taken in the act perswade em into
A beleefe they doe but dreame so.
Con.
Signiour
Y'are pleasant.
Uol.
Pleasant
Con.
As his gall will suffer him,
He has beene casting ont up this halfe houre,
Yet there is some behind still, if you name
A woman, he takes fire like touchwood, but
To the Duke Foscari.
Ors,
I have it,
Uol.
What?
Ors.
Ye talke
Duke Foscari.
Con.
We doe.
Ors.
I ha the cause he went away so soone.
Vol.
Prethee enrich our knowledge, why?
Ors.
I honour him.
Con.
So we doe all.
Ors.
He is a brave Duke, a man,
And in that, more then all his titles make him,
Some easie natures would ha languished for her,
And ha beene paler then ye meane, with watching
Distilled their braine, tyred, yea some to seeme
Comit Idolatry, given her their soules,
And changed em to her motion; in each window
Bescratching with some Diamond her name,
The very glasse, which weepes it selfe away
In pitty of the dotage, beene content
To ha worne their youth away in expectation;
This Prince was wiser, he left Parma to
Behold a creature was cride up, the miracle
Of nature, a new starre like Cassiopeia
That drew the eyes of Italy, and left em
Fixt in the admiration, but he needing
No Iacobs staffe to take the height, and looking
With a true eye upon this wounder, found
She was a woman, nothing but a woman,
His wisdome quickely taught him to returne
Asham'd of his credulity.
Vol.
He's mad,
What a wild passion like a torrent, beares him
Against the women, 'tis well your hate
Points at the generall, one womans anger
Would checke your forward—else
Contarini.
Con.
I dare not heare him talke more, we shall be
Held cherishers of his railing humour, in, in,
Prethee lets leave him.
Uol.
Why Signiour, are you so transported
You have not power enough to seeme calme,
What dost at Court?
Ors.
Not cringe as you, and adore the nods
Of painted Ladies, weary my hammes to answer
Madams halfe cursies, I neere come to Court
But to defend me from it.
Bo.
Ha?
Ors.
The truth is,
I would be faine discharged, tis a hell to me,
There are so many wormed in't: would the Dutchesse
Would banish me into some Wildernesse,
I should indure the beasts though they devour'd me,
I hate no monsters but the Harpies.
Con.
Why?
Harpies have womens faces Contarini,
Yet now I thinke Volterre I have heard
There's another feminine murderer
Cald the Hiena, that invites men forth
To be devourd; y'ave heard how the Egyptian
Crocadile weepes, when death it selfe lies bathing
Within her teares, thinke but upon women
And tell me which I should avoide first.
Enter Comachio, Giotto.
Com.
I see a merit nigh, and I hope
You will deserve the favour, we are not
Wont to admit of servants neere their person,
Without more caution.
Gio.
It makes my bond
Of duty and observance greater.
Con.
My Lord Comachio.
Com.
Let me employ some of your care upon
My Nephew, something you may adde
To improve him, you shall till no barren ground,
Though he reward you not with fruitefulnesse,
I shall have power to make you thinke your studies
Well plac'd.
Gio.
Your compasse I shall saile by.
Exit
Com.
Contarini hows the day?
Uol.
Not early.
Com.
Signior Orseollo, I know what cloud
Muffles your thoughts.
Con.
He is constant to his humour.
Com.
Not the Dutchesse, come faith yet Orseollo,
We shall intreate you joyne with us to the Dutchesse.
Ors.
Yes, hey!—
Exit.
Vol.
So, so, he would but trouble us.
Com.
My Lords, we must be circumspect,
We are not to negotiate a designe
That lookes but at the profit of one man:
The Dutchy calls to owne it, all our cares
You know have met, that we might move the Dutchesse
To exchange her dull Virginity for Marriage;
And he in some disgust gone hence.
Uol.
I feare so.
Com.
His violent departure gives us more
Then jealousie, we must sollicite her,
But so as shall become our duties, and
Expresse our knowledge of her great soule
And pregnant wit.
Con.
She enters signior Comachia, tis refer'd
To your delivery.
Enter Dutchesse, Laura, Attendants.
Dutch.
Comachio! we have no knowledge of thy age,
But what thy wisdome and experience doth
Discover, i'st not troublesome, t'attend
A young Court?
Com.
Your grace so desires my duty, that I
Delight in service.
Dutch.
Contarini i'th mornings eye, reveales
More youth, then he did by Hymens tapers;
Lookes younger then when we call him Bridegroome.
Censure him Laura.
she sits.
Lau.
Your Highnesse knowes he hath a young wife.
Con.
All my use of time, is but to perfect
My obedience to your excellence.
Dutch.
We cherish both your loves, and you Uolterre
Are great too within our memory.
Vol.
I shall endevour new merits.
Dutch.
The cause of your attendance now, is knowne
Ere you deliver it. The departure
Of the young Duke (our Lover) from our Court
In so obscure a way, without your notice;
Our consent publish'd gives you just cause
Of wonder; yet so much y'are skil'd both in
Our soule and nature, that no immediate
Motive of his anger shall be laid to
Our charge; but what you thinke, makes our person
Safe, and great.
Com.
We come with humble modesty t'require
Of your gracious selfe, and our good Country.
Foscari, Duke of Parma is a great Prince;
Feature; a Lady, like your excellence,
His youth and strength may promise issue even
To a matron.
Dutch.
We know he merits all his praise. Proceede
To what you call your businesse.
Com.
His Catholicke Majesty did lately by
His Linger, urge a title to this Duchy,
And desire your Counsell, he might be nam'd
Your Highnesse next, and lawfull heire, unlesse
From your owne person, were deriv'd a Prince
To intercept his hopes, with ease, you may
Consider, how unkinde our fate will be,
Beyond his owne naturall soile, doth make
Obedience bondage.
Dutch.
You have yet hope, tis in my power
To prevent what you suspect.
Com.
We have, but Time (the enemy to lie,
And to increase) may scorne, destroy that hope.
If not for propitious love to us;
Yet for your owne sake, your glory, hasten
The cure of these our feares: Time is the moth
Of nature, devouers all beauty, when those
Bright eyes, that governe now with Phœbus-like
Predominance, shall yeeld no light unto
That darkened sky (your face) some aged mother
Pround of her fertill wombe, will shew you then
Her off-spring. Behold (quoth she) I neede no
Marble house for my fame to dwell in, these
Are my living monuments, but your sullaine
Chastetie, will not permit your fame t' outlive
Your breath.
Dutch.
No more Comachio! these are my owne thoughts:
Shortly you shall see I am art, prevention
Of all danger.
All.
You are my gracious Mistresse.
Yea you shall much divulge your clemency
If to stifle publike noyse you reveale
The reason; why Foscari was not made
Your choyse.
Dutch.
Foscari is a forraigner: borne in
A climate not so temperate as ours,
And I am yet to know, whether his minde
Be different from such as please me here
At home: forraigne alliance is an old
Disguise for Sunices hatred: It charmes the
Peacefull into a dull security;
Vntill the furious finde best advantage
To make his anger knowne: then both are more
Ingag'd t'inflame, what erst th' one did kindle.
I should sinne my good Lords, if I did thinke
My humillity disgrac'd my honour,
When I suppos'd my owne Court able to
Breede a man, fit to mingle blood, even with
A Princesse; should I say with mine: what amaz'd,
Why does it want example, I should not
Thinke my choyce would much accuse my eyes, if
I elect a Lover here: unlesse some
Are more desert-lesse then I am guilty of, Laura!
Exeunt Dutchesse, Attendance.
They first gaze on one another, then walke up and downe.
Com.
Ioyne to us Oedipus, yet we shall want
Helpe t'expound this Riddle—
Con.
A Lover here from her owne Court, sure it
Must be from this number, Signiour Volterre!
Vol.
My very good Lord.
Con.
You are the man, the starres dance to. The spheares
Doe practise musicke, only to make you
Merry, you are he signiour.
Vol.
Who, I my Lord?
Con.
Doe not conceale your hopes: they'le be worthy
Your acknowledgement; you would be install'd
Ith' darke, steale titles, without the notice
Of the Heralds, but noyse attends honour.
I neede a Comment to your words.
Con.
Come, you young men are all temptation;
You have the purple veines (signiour) that swell
With wanton pride, and Ladies judgements are
Much govern'd by their eyes; what grace, what favour,
Did the Dutchesse lately shew you, the more
T'indeere your duty? hah?
Vol.
I want a soule (signiour) if she ever
Honour'd me with any phrase; but what is
Vsuall in her Complement t'other Lords.
Con.
Ist possible—
Vol.
He has discoverd somewhat that concernes
My joy. Nature needes no excuse why a
Dutchesse should affect a travail'd Lord;
You are great too, within our memory.
Those were her words. hum!—
Com.
Signiour Contarini.
Con.
My Lord.
Com.
You observ'd the Dutchesse language?
Con.
Am I not thinking on't? heart, why doe ye
Interupt me?—
Com.
How's this my Lord Uolterre?
Uol.
Your pleasure signiour!
Com.
You have a fortunate skill in translation
Of misterious language: I pray lend me
Your censure upon the last words the Dutchesse
Vttered.
Vol.
Hah signiour? they concerne not me, I am
Forgotten by my starres, I, Volterre
Is lost to all Eyesight, but his owne.
Com.
Doe our braines melt this hot weather. These men
Were heretofore discreete, and now they talke
As if they had no Eyelids, like things that
Never slept. I finde the cause.
Exit.
Con.
Quoth she, he lookes younger, then when he stood
By Hymens tapers, good, very good, I have
O were I single now; my wife, my wife;
She ruines all this hope.—
Since I have travel'd, brought from France, the nice
Amorous cringe, that so inchants Ladies:
Tis fit I use it often, the tongue is
Powerfull too, and I inrich in languages,
It shall be knowne—
Con.
Signiour Uolterre.
Vol.
To bring Revel in the Court, that's the way,
I have my selfe an able chine, and I
Can friske like a Goate: which females call
A lucky symptome—Signiour Contarini,
Con.
Your lop must excuse me, I'm a little
Serious.
Uol.
O for a sight of Iupiters wardrobe
That I might immetate the shape, in which
He courted Diana!
Con.
Signiour Volterre.
Uol.
I my Lord that's my name, Ile goe write
It downe, least this businesse make me forget it.
Exit.
Con.
Rebellious blood! must I needs marry? had
I but delaid my lust a month, I might
Have wasted then my strength and nature, to
A nobler purpose: beget Princes, now
I am in bondage to my marriage vow.
Exit.
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