 | The Vnfortunate Mother |  |
The Second Act
first Scene.
The Scene being the Dutchesse Chamber.Infelice, Amanda, Melissa and Cardente. A Table &c.
Infe.
Amanda you looke sickly, you were wont
To weare a lovely blush upon your cheeke,
Such as no Art can counterfeit: your eyes
Were the Court Stars, at which the amorous gallants
Lighted their flames: who but Amanda fam'd
For beauty, and a livelinesse of spirit;
Your colour's earthy now, your mind unactive:
Nor can such accidents without a cause
Shew their effects. I wish it were communicated
Unto our knowledge.
Card.
Madam, it is nothing
But eating Sallets, Oate-meale, and greene fruits,
She hath got the loving Chamber-maids disease:
On my virginity that's it, she must
Be steel'd to th'purpose.
Infe.
I beleeve they are
Some passions rather.
Card.
Certainely that's it:
Madam she reades Arcadiaes, Amorettas;
And will discourse this Ladies love and that
So sadly, that the faces in the hangings
Seeme to have sence and weepe: I'me sure I cannot
Forbeare when I remember it.
Am.
'Tis strange,
Your reverend Ladiship hath so much moysture;
Sure you preserv'd your teares, and wasted none
When you were yong, to th'end you might expresse
Your selfe now tender-hearted: What sweet Courtier
Their toughnesse will endure the stringing.
Infe.
So, so;
Be lightsome still.
Card.
And jeere my age, that hath
Given you counsell; which observ'd, would keepe
Your heart from aking, and your lunges from sighes:
You ne're would cry aye me, that love, but cannot
Be lov'd agen.
Infe.
Is she in love Cardente?
Card.
That's it upon my Maiden-head.
Ama.
An oath,
Of great antiquity; the Cavaliers
Us'd it before the battaile of Lepanto.
Card.
Us'd what? my Maiden-head?
Meli.
You would have it constred
In that best sence.
Card.
Y'are very witty Ladies,
To play on my decaies; I could have done
As well as you: but now have graver thoughts.
Am.
The Grave is that best fits them.
Card.
Well Amanda,
You may agen want counsaile; when you doe
I wish some cough may seize me, or the want
Of my fore teeth make my speech so imperfect,
You may not understand it.
Meli.
Very likely;
You need not wish it.
Infe.
They are wagges Cardente,
But for your mirth Amanda 'tis affected;
Your soule I doe believe retaines its sadnesse,
Reveale it, and i'le aide thee in the cure.
Ama.
Madam I gladly would give satisfaction
Unto your graces curiosity,
So that it might not prejudice faire truth:
To say I'me sicke, were a dissimulation:
If well, you'le not believe it.
Card.
How? you well?
Or like a painting wrought in the first colour;
Or like a wither'd blossome, or a—
Ama.
Hold
Good Lady Simile; Or like your Monkey
When he wants Spiders; the poore beast lookes scurvily.
And not unlike your Ladiship.
Card.
Well, well;
I still must beare with youth.
Ama.
If a distemper,
Or a disease that's crept into my blood
Renders me now lesse beautifull, then lately
The flatteries of some esteem'd me; must it
Conclude my mind is sicke?
Infe.
Enough Amanda,
Yet still I must suspect; when y'are alone
To Card. privately.
Perhaps she will reveale it.
Exit.
Card.
That's it Madame,
We maids will chat so prettily alone;
You did not well Amanda to abuse me
Before the Dutchesse: other Ladies would not
Have serv'd me so, and there are few in Court
But would make use of what you slight; my counsell:
I have bin verst in things that might advantage
Your restitution.
Amb.
Unto what good Lady?
Card.
Your health, your mind; your wits.
Ama.
Why doth your reverence
Thinke I am mad?
Card.
A little loving frenzie.
Mel.
Delude her importunity with some slight,
To Amanda privately.
Shee'le be a trouble else.
Card.
Pray' thinke not Ladies
This age of mine hath not attain'd some knowledge
From observation. There have bin few passages
In Court which I have not bin privy too.
Ladies have falne and risen; and their timpanies
Have bin cur'd with as secret carriage,
I have had plots to save a Ladies honour.
Ama.
She hath given me an occasion.
To Melissa privately.
Mel.
Ply it home,
Wee'le raise some mirth from melancholy.
Card.
Come,
You must not be reserv'd.
Ama.
Might I presume
You would be secret.
Card.
How? suspect Amanda?
By my virginity
Mel.
I doe believe
That Oath will ne're be broken.
Card.
Why Melissa?
I have bin knowne and knowne these fifty yeares,
My age hath seene Lords turne cast Ladies of
Unto their Pages, and preferment follow;
I have knowne secrets too, and kept them secret
Without any Oath. Is't comming yet?
Ama.
'Tis almost
At my tongues end: but shame—
Card.
A figge for shame.
Ama.
Perhaps 'tis something cannot be exprest
In modest Language.
Card.
Then I must interpret,
And now I see that's it.
Mel.
That! what Cardente?
Card.
Yes, yes; 'tis so: your eye, your noses sharpenesse:
And here's a signe.
Mel.
Of Virgo I dare sweare.
Card.
Of Gemini: y'are subject to strange qualmes,
Are you not Lady? dare you weare a buske?
Are you not quicke? me thinks it kicks on both sides:
You have bin at it to some purpose.
Ama.
Shee
Interprets right Melissa.
Card.
I can doe it.
She's not the first at Court hath had a clap,
Even the Dutchesse selfe—
Mel.
How's that Cardente?
Card.
Tut I know secrets.
Ama.
And you'le reveale them.
How have I fool'd my selfe into a misery,
Prevention cannot free me from? committing
A secret of such consequence to one
Will make my shame the pastime of the Court
By her discovery.
Card.
No such matter Lady,
Doubt not a close conveyance; yet I wish
You had reveal'd it sooner: Physicke then
Might have done much.
Ama.
You'l ayde me then Cardente
In the concealement?
Card.
I'le not tell the Dutchesse.
Mel.
But I will.
Card.
What sweet Lady?
Mel.
What a creature
Warmes her selfe in her bosome, a Court Bawde;
A cloth of tissue centinell.
Ama.
An old cole
Rak't up in counterfeited sanctity:
Thou credulous piece of wickednesse, didst thinke
If any wanton forwardnesse had led me
To such a sin as loosenesse, I would suffer
The knowledge of't passe from me? and especially
To one suspected for a wicked agent
In those base practises, but now discover'd.
Card.
What will you baite me Ladies?
Mel.
Yes, and worry thee;
Thou mother of the maids! th'art fitter farre
To be the Madam regent of the stewes,
Nay wee'le dissect thee.
Am.
And before the Dutchesse
Lay open all.
Card.
Nay then farewell sweet Ladies.
Exit.
She's gone, and we are free, and now Amanda
Let loose thy thoughts; for all are here imprison'd
Thou shalt command releasement.
Am.
Oh Melissa
I love thy brother, and my virgin flame
Growes every houre more violent.
Mel.
Oh Amanda
I love thy brother, and my virgin flame
Growes every houre more violent.
Am.
You mocke me
With ecchoing backe my words.
Mel.
I speake a truth
Although with blushes: If your anguish grow
From that sweet passion, how our even states
Hang in the ballance?
Am.
All my hopes are lost,
In that the Dutchesse favours him so much;
My jealousies can point no other end out,
Then their uniting in that fellowship
My wishes covet.
Mel.
Have not I like doubts?
The Duke rivalls Fidelio; and my father
Urgeth unwilling honours, which my feares
Dare not attempt to reach at. I had rather
Sleepe in the sweet embraces of thy brother,
Then be advanc'd to greatnesse that will make mee
The object of mens envy.
2 Scene.
Enter Infelice, Corvino, Cardente.Am.
Here's the Dutchesse,
Inf.
Wee'l heare you straight Corvino. Fye Amanda,
Have all your seeming vertues lost themselves
In one foule staine?
Am.
Madam let me prevent
Th'abusing of your faith: my honour suffers
In nothing but a counterfeit of that,
With which I mockt her curiosity,
That else refus'd all satisfaction;
And in't betray'd her selfe to the discovery,
Of such an inclination, as to thinke on't
So late have lost.
Card.
Nay, Madam, I made shew
Of any thing that might discover her:
Told her I had beene privy to such cases,
And many a Ladyes fall.
Inf.
Enough Cardente.
But let not such things be your sport hereafter.
Jealousie is a spirit which once rais'd,
Will hardly be commanded downe agen;
And honour is a substance too too nice
To play withall
Am.
I dare expose my eslfe
To th'tryall of her jury.
Inf.
Urge no more;
You are believ'd Amanda. Now my Lord
(To Corvino.
We give you hearing.
Cor.
Madam, I would whisper
The secrets of my soule.
Jnfe.
Withdraw Cardente.
(The Ladyes retire.
Corv.
Madam, if ought appeare an errour in me,
Condemne it not with too severe a sentence,
Till I have pleaded my excuse: I love you:
The generall graces of your minde and person,
In this my setled age hath rais'd high flames:
Which cherisht by your favour will preserve me,
Or quite consume me, if they waste themselves
In your disdaine. The disproportion
We weare in outward titles, makes me feare
You will refuse consent; and yet I hope
(Not urging the Dukes favour) you'le allow
My suit consideration, and your answer.
Inf.
My Lord Corvino you have honour'd mee
In your opinion; putting such a glosse
On my defects, that I appeare more worthy
Then really I am. My age is subject
To those decayes, that render the unfit
For amorous delights.
Your beauty, Madam,
Is in that freshnesse yet, that were I warm'd
In your faire bosome, all the frost that hangs
Vpon these haires would quickly be dissolv'd,
And a new spring of livelinesse and strength
Quicken this cold and passive earth that holds
An Icy soule within it. You'ld restore me
To my best youth agen.
Infe.
This love hath taught you
The long neglected practice of your Court-ship:
Forbeare it, good my Lord, my griefes are yet
Vnapt for flattery.
Corv.
Then give me leave
To speake in plainnesse my desires, that are
You would admit me to your sweet embraces
In lawfull fellowship. You'ld satisfie
My longing passions, and your sonnes request,
And pay those services that I have done you;
Which some might but my selfe dare not presume
To call desert.
Infe.
Your faithfull servines
Have beene rewarded with degrees of honour,
And I expect your gratitude. I never
Discover'd such ambition in your temper,
Which alwaies seem'd to levell its just aime
At faire equality. Then good my Lord
Consider your attempts, and how they make
Your vertues much suspected.
Corv.
If you dare
Call it a pride that I seek such addition,
Know there's no substance now depends upon
Your empty title which can make a difference,
But I will reconcile it by my merit,
I am not so inferiour to be check't;
Nor weake in power, but that I can revenge
A scorne that is dishonourable.
Infe.
Doe not
Adde to your ills Corvino. This had sence
A Duty to me now for that you meant
Some treacherous discovery. Take heede
Of base ingratitude, 'twil staine your fame
(which good men call their life) with such a Leprosie,
As time can never cleanse it from.
Corv.
I then
Must count my selfe refus'd.
Infe.
Yes for a husband.
I must prepare for heaven: Nor shall I ever
Admit of new desires whilst the lov'd memory
Of my dead Lord presents it selfe.
Corv.
Your Pardon.
Onely you may consider, 'twas his will
Melissa should be Dutchesse.
Infe.
Not without
The free election of my sonne, who now
Leaves it to time and counsaile. Thus you still
Shew your ambition. Dearest Spurio welcome,
The third Scene
Enter Spurio.[Infe.]
Let us goe take the ayre.
Corv.
Your graces leave
To have some conference with him.
Infe.
When 'tis ended
Attend us in the garden.
(Exeunt Infe. Card. Aman.
Corv.
Stay Melissa:
Sonne I would urge your duty to reveale
What 'tis disturbes you. I by observation
Have noted odde expressions in your lookes,
Your words, and actions, since the late Dukes death,
That argue there's within some strange distemper
Of your best parts, counsaile must rectifie.
I challenge from my interest the will
And power to give it.
Spu.
How can I discover
What I yet know no? you must satisfie
Your selfe, and your owne suppositions,
Even by your selfe. If you have fram'd conjectures
From any outward Characters that may
Propose and i'le reveale it.
Corv.
You are in love.
Spu.
I have desires, I must confesse, but temper them
With a discreet respect to their best end:
Nor doe I suffer any to flame out
In violent passions.
Corv.
But they are directed
To one peculiar object; that's the Dutchesse,
Is it not so?
Spu.
My breeding and Religion
Permit me not to lye: sir 'tis a truth;
And you may call it vertuous if you please:
But duty which you challenge from me checks it.
I neither dare nor will plead any right
Where you are interested.
Corv.
I assigne it all,
She hath o're throwne my cause with such a scorne
As burnes me into rage; witnesse ye powers
That guide our not to be resisted fates,
How farre she's banisht from my thoughts.
Spu.
You have sir
Breath'd a new soule of comfort into me;
Ile freely now solicite for my selfe,
And try successe.
Corv.
'Twill show of youthfull rashnesse,
Can you ground any hopes?
Spu.
From circumstance
I can; but none with which I will be flatter'd:
The honours which she hath conferr'd upon me
Are Arguments she loves me; her salutes
Are alwaies deare or dearest.
Corv.
Yet you must not.
Marry this Dutches.
Spu.
How, will you oppose it?
You then are swolne with an unnaturall envy.
Corv.
No more, I must dispose you.
Spu.
I'le obey.
With mild command, and deepe consideration:
Thinke on the Dutchesse.
Corv.
Thinke upon Melissa.
Spu.
What of my sister sir?
Corv.
She is a beauty
That might invite desire, and crowne the bed
Of any Prince with happinesse. Looke on her,
And make her thy election.
Spu.
Mine! for what?
Corv.
A Wife.
Spu.
Defend yee better, influences,
No such incestuous dreame could e're possesse
My wanton'st slumber.
Cor.
'Tis not so incestuous
As that thy inconsideratnesse attempted:
Resolve to take her, and by all my hopes
Of blest eternity, I will not onely
Justifie that for lawfull, but salute thee
Ferrara's lawfull Duke.
Spu.
What riddle's this?
Give it solution.
Corv.
First resolve to be
What I have promis'd.
Exit.
Spu.
Good sir leave me not
Confounded with amazement: are not you
My Father sir? or who must owne me? Sister,
Is there ought in your knowledge that may satisfie
My doubtfull thrughts? must I not call you sister?
Or what's that greater incest I would have
Committed? Can the Dutchesse be my mother?
An Aunt's lesse then a sister?
Mel.
Dearest brother,
My knowledge ownes no secret which I would not
As freely make you master of, as wish
My selfe a happinesse: I must confesse
My mother oft hath told me that you were not
The issue of her Wombe.
There's halfe the riddle
Unfoulded yet.
4 Scene.
Enter Fidelio. Beneventi.Fid.
My Lord your valiant brother
This instant is arriv'd, t'enrich the Court
With his full glories: all men court his victory
With such a praise, it staines his manly cheekes
With modest blushes. He expects your visit.
Spu.
I know no brother.
Fid.
How my Lord? your vertue
Will suffer by suspition if y' expresse
Your selfe or proud or envious,
Spu.
Melissa,
I cannot satisfie your fathers Will,
Though all were clear'd that darkes the reasons of it:
Be still Fidelios.
Exit.
Ben.
What the divell ayles him?
His passions are as various as his cloaths;
He shifts them daily: onely keepes one fashion,
And one sad garbe.
Fid.
Are you acquainted with
Any events that have relation
Unto your brothers melancholy?
Mel.
Some I am,
But urge not their discovery.
Fid.
I obey
What ever you command; and hope my services
Will shortly be rewarded.
Mel.
Take th'assurance
Of my resolves and promise.
Ben.
Trifle not
With court-ship now: let's thinke on bouncing complements
To bid the Souldiers welcome.
Fid.
To the presence,
There is their entertainment. We shall see
What different things Courtiers and Souldiers be.
Exeunt.
| The Vnfortunate Mother | |