 | The Vow Breaker. Or, The Faire Maide of Clifton |  |
Actus Tertius
Scena Prima.
Enter, Anne hastily, pursuing Vrsula, with lights.An.
Keepe of, keepe backe, I charge thee.
Vrs.
Las Cozen i'me not infectious my breath cannot blast you?
An.
It haunts me as my shaddow or a vision?
It will not let me rest sleepe, nor eat,
The barricoded doores and iron locks.
No sooner shut but like a new clasp'd booke
Their leavy hindges streightway fall asunder,
And it gets in; I wonder tis not here,
This is a gentle respit, and not usuall,
Since German went I never had so much;
It plaies the centinnell at my beds feete?
And but it wants the rosie coloured face
Whom meager death has plaid the Horse-Leech with,
It would not seeme so ghostly in these eies,
It beares the perfect forme it us'd to doe.
As if it never knew immortality
Nor wasted underneath a Hill of Clay.
Sometimes as curious limners have pourtraid
That some would sweare the very picture wept,
And art of nature got the mastery?
So did I guesse affluxe of brinish teares
Came from this Aiery, and unfadom'd Ghost?
And could the Painters of this age draw sighes
I could demonstrate sighes, and heavy groanes
As if a sensible hart had broke in twaine?
Then would it turne, and cry false woman.
And leave me to descant on the rest!
Vrs.
You tell me of an object, and a strange one,
But whose is the resemblance?
An.
I theirs the point,
For that I must be pardon'd; oh my shame
That I should be the cause'res of a deed,
I blush to nominate.
Vrs.
Has it no name!
An.
Yes sweete Vrsula,
But such a one as sadly agrauates
My woes in repetition; pray leave me
I am addicted to contemplation
But rest within my call.
Vrs.
Tis but your fond conceit; I've heard you say that dreames
and visions were fabulous; and yet one time I dream't fowle
water ran through the floore, and the next day the house was
on fire; you us'd to say Hobgoblins, Fairies, and the like were
nothing but our owne affrightments, and ye oh my troth Cuz
I once dream'd of a young batchelour, and was ridd with a
Night-Mare. But come, so my conscience be cleere I never care
how fowle my dreames are.
Exit.
An.
Thou now hast touch'd the point,
Tis conscience is the Larum Bell indeede
That makes us sensible of our good or bad?
You that are Lovers, by me you may perceive
What is the burden of a troubled minde,
Take heede of vowes, and protestations
Which wantonly in dalliancies you make,
Are registred; which if you breake, blesse me.
Enter Ghost.
Gho.
Thou can'st not fly me,
There is no Cavern in the Earth's, vast entrailes
But I can through as pearcant as the light,
And finde thee, though thou wer't entomb'd in stone,
Thou can'st not catch my unsubstantiall part,
For I am aire, and am not to be touch'd.
From flameing fires of burning Phlegeton,
I have a time limited to walke,
Vntill the morning Cocke shall summon me
For to retire to misty Erebus.
My pilgrimage has no cessation,
Vntill I bring thee with me to the place
Where Rhadamant, and sable Æacus dwell
Alive or dead, tis I that must enjoy thee,
To tell the story where we spirits live
Would plucke Vermilion from thy Rosie cheekes,
And make them pale, as Snowy Apennines,
And from thine eies draw liquid streames of teares
More full of issue then a steepy Fountaine,
Alive or dead I must, and will enjoy thee,
Thinke on thy promise.
An.
Distraction like an Ague seizes me,
I know not whether I see here, or speake,
My intellectuall parts are frozen up
At sight of thee, thou fiery Effigies
Of my wrong'd Bateman.
Enter Boote, Vrsula.
Bo.
What weeping againe?
An.
Doe you not see it?
Bo.
See! what? I see nothing but a Bird fly o're the house.
Urs.
Nor I, but a blinde Buzzard lookes as like her husband
as may be.
Are you blinde, or will you make your selves so?
See! how like a dreadfull magistrate it standes,
Still pointing at me the blacke offender;
And like a cunning poysoner, will not kill me,
But lets me linger on, for daies, and yeares.
It stares, beckons, points, to the peece of Gold
We brake betweene us; looke, looke there, here there!
Bo.
I see nothing, perceive nothing, feele nothing.
Vrs.
Nor I, no quicke thing, neyther cloath'd nor nak'd.
Bo.
No, no, no! you drancke Baulme, Burrage or Buglosse
last night to bed-ward, that makes you thinke on your dreames
this morning.
An.
But I will too't, hug, and embrace it.
Gho.
Thy time is not yet come; i'm now exild
I may not touch thee while thou art with chil'd.
Exit Ghost.
An.
you doe not heare it neyther?
Bo.
Whom should we heare?
An.
Young Batemans visage.
In every limbe as perfect as he liv'd.
Bo.
If it be so, 'tis done by sorcery.
The father has combined, with some witch,
To vex thy quiet patience, and gaine credit,
That he would haunt thee dead, as oft he said,
Hell can put life into a senseles body,
And raise it from the grave, and make it speake;
Vse all the faculties alive it did,
To worke the Devill's hellish stratagems!
If I but finde he deales in exorcimes
I'le make him burne to pacifie the Witch,
But doe not beleive it girle.
An.
'Tis vanish'd in an instant!
I will not be too confident in my eies,
Will you grant me leave to visit Bateman?
Bo.
Visit mine enemy?
An.
I have an inward sorrow bids me doe it,
I did him wrong to gybe his miseries
When as he bore the dead Corpes in his armes,
Till I have made contrition;
Bo.
But not to him.
I'de rather live subiected to a Turke,
Goe not my girle, i'le feast all thy senses,
Thy pallat shall with viands be suppli'd,
Thine eares with heavenly rapture live inspir'd,
Thine eies with sportive action, and delight,
Thou shalt have Musique to consume the day,
And wast the night.
An.
Musique! harsh Ravens croake?
Scritch-Owles shreile, the augurers of night,
Are first companions for my mellancholy,
I must goe see him; if this apparition
Appeare not in his sight, my conjecture
Shall judge it nothing, but my conscience
That finds me guilty for my blacke offence;
Exit.
Bo.
Follow her Neece,
She beares a Plurisie of greifes about her,
And much I feare the weakenes of her braine
Should draw her to some ominous exigent!
Would she had ne're, infring'd her vow to Bateman
Or I had ne're knowne this wealthy German!
If he prove harsh to her, i'le make him know,
An inforc'd hate to vengeance is not slow.
Exeunt Omnes.
Enter Joshua, his Cat in a string, Miles, Ball.
Bal.
Nay sweete Jo. be persuaded.
Io.
Persuade me, I scorne to be persuaded? Ball thou'art
Heathnish, for the offence is foule which thou would'st cloake,
I'me not to be persuaded, I will doome the creature, and
burne the cloake of her knavery; yet in sincerity I will doe nothing
without good colour.
Mil.
Thy colours, Jo. were better bestowed on course waiting
women Madam Makeroones that sell paintings, and stop
holes with plaister of Paris.
Miller, Miller, thou art not mealy mouth'd, those be the
Heathen bables, the May-poles of time, and Pageants of vanity,
but I will convince them of error, and scoure their pollutions
away with the waters of my exhortations.
Mi.
Why should'st thou hang thy Cat?
Ios.
Thou art saucy, Miller, & ought'st not to Cathechise me so,
Bal.
And it were but for Country sake.
Mi.
Sweete Jo. consider thy Cat is thy Countriman,
Bal.
Hang a poore Cat for killing a Mouse?
Mi.
Knowing the proverbe too, Cat after Kinde.
Bal.
As it is in the painted cloath too; when the Cat's away
the Mouse will play.
Ios.
I, but as it is in the painted cloath, beware in time for too
much patience, to Dog or Cat will breede too much offence. She
did kill a Mouse, I but when? on the forbidden day, and therefore
she must die on Munday.
Mi.
Then shall thy zeale be proclaim'd, for hanging thy Cat
on Munday for killing a Mouse on Sunday.
Ios.
Miller thou art drunke in thy enormities, and art full
of the cake of iniquity.
Gray, Arguile, Clifton.
Bal.
Well, to thy execution we commit thee.
Ios.
Blessed be the instruments of silence; poore Pusse take it
not ill that I must hang thee, by that meanes I free thee from
bawling Mastifs, and snarling Currs; I have brought thee up
of a whelpe, and now will have a care of thy end.
Gr.
A notable exhortation.
Ties her.
Clif.
List to the sequell;
Ios.
When thou art dead, thou shalt not curse me,
for my proceedings shall be legall; thou art at the barre
of my mercy, and thus I ascend to judgment, as it is in the
painted cloath.
Gr.
Harken the inditement.
Ios.
Tybert the Cat; as it is in the painted cloath, of the Bull,
and Cocke, sometimes house-keeper, drudger or scourer to
Marmaduke Ioshua, Limner alias painter-stainer, & now the correcter
or extirper of vermine, as Rats, Mice, and other waspish
animalls; thou art here indited by thy deare Master Marmaduke
guilty or not guilty? hah.
Gr.
Would she could mew non guilty.
Ios.
Know'st thou not, thou silly Cat, that thy brethren
will not Kill the Calfe nor rost the Mutton nor boyle
their flesh Pots on the high-day? was it not decree'd by
our learned brother Abolt Cabbidge, Cobler of Amsterdam,
that they should be held uncleane, and not worthy
of the meanes that did it, and did not expect Cratchet Coole
his proud flesh in the Leene for making insurrection on the
high day?
Clif.
A point well watred.
Ios.
Did not Nadab the Sowe-gelder make a gaunt of
his gelt for being cumbersome on the high-day? Ha thy silence
argues guilt; hast thou not seene the whole conventicle of brothers,
and sisters walke to St. Anns, and not so much as a fructifying
Kisse on the high—
Gr.
It seemes the elect Kisse weekely.
Ios.
And must thou kill a Mouse? oh thou wicked Cat;
could'st not turne up the white of the eie for the poore creature?
thou gluttonous Cat, thou art now arraigned, I adjudge thee
to be hanged this munday, for killing a Mouse yesterday being
the high-day.
Offers to hang her.
Gr.
Stay, stay, a pardon, a pardon!
Ios.
I am hot in my zeale, and fiery in expedition,
Clif.
Wee'le talke with you hereafter.
Ios.
I was executing a point of justice, equity, and conscience.
Gr.
A pleasant Tragecomedy, the Cat being scap't,
What Trumpets this?
Enter Crosse.
Cros.
Monlucke, Bishop of Valens,
Newly anchor'd in the haven of Inskeith,
Desires safe convoy by your honours forces,
From the red Brayes to Edenborough Castle,
The rest on entervew he will impart.
Such entertainment, as the warre affourds
The shrill Trumpets, and all war-like Cymballs,
Such Musiques as in warrs Souldiers measure
Bestow on him; come he in warr or peace
He shalbe welcome?
Io.
Oh that prophane surplesse, ho, ho, ho.
Enter Monlucke attendant saluts.
Mon.
Mary, King Dolphins wife, Dowager of France
And heire apparant to the Scottish Crowne,
Hearing of devastations in her Lands,
And the oppressions that her neighbour Princesse
With rough hostility grindes her people,
Me her Legat she sends to Edenburgh,
To parley with her Mother the Queene Regent,
And Article A peace twixt her deare sister,
The Queene of England, and the Lords of Scotland.
If our conditions may be made with honour,
This is my message.
Gr.
Eyther for peace or warre.
The Queene my Mistris now is arm'd for both,
For like a vertuous Princesse, and a Mother
O're us her loving subjects, and her sons,
She knowing a Kings security rests,
In the true love, and welfare of her people,
Rais'd this hostility for to guard her selfe,
Not to offend, but to defend her owne,
Her Secretary Sicill now attends
On the like Embasy for Edenburgh,
Whither your selfe shall safely be convoy'de.
Mon.
You are honourable foe.
Gr.
Will the Queene,
Lay by her nicety, rough fil'd phrase,
And not articulate too much with England?
For by the power of warr e're two suns rise
Weele mount the walls of Leith, and sacrifize,
In flames of fire; we vow to hazard lives,
And honours in the enterprize.
Exeunt Omnes.
Enter Anne, with a Torch, Vrsula, Bateman, wailing his Picture.
An.
Softly, softly; fie on your creaking shooes, what noise
they make; shut the Dores close, it does not here us a jot,
looke well to the Darneicke Hangings, that it play not the
Court Page with us.
Vrs.
Heer's not so much as a shaddow to affright us, for mine
owne part neyther Incubus nor Sucubus can do't; I feare not
what a quicke thing can doe, and I thinke y'ore dead things are
too quiet to say any harme
An.
Yet all is cleere, no frightfull vision
Nor Ghostly apparition hauntes me yet;
Yonders thy father, good powres assist me,
That I may gaine his patience to heare me,
And I am hartily satisfied.
O. Ba.
Pigmalion doated on the peece he made,
So doe not I upon thy pourtraiture.
I doe but hang thy faire resemblance here
To tell me of my immortality.
How sensible young Cedars are o'th winde,
When as the aged Oake affronts all stormes
'Tis death, and natures fault, for the Diamond,
Of blooming youth, despise decaying age.
He might have tane thee el'ce, and left thee boy.
An.
Whom talkes he too? my life Coz, he has a ghost too
Yet I see nothing.
Ba.
How now Hyena; why earnst thou hyther?
Com'st thou againe to gybe my miseries?
Has thy maligneing harted father sent thee
To scoffe my sorowes? keepe of I charge thee,
Thou did'st bewitch my poore boy with a Kisse,
Thy breath is sure infectious, and I feare
Stand at distance.
An.
Good sir, use patience,
That in extremity is soveraigne Balme,
Teares be my witnes I come to comfort you,
Yet I see nothing.
Ba.
Teares? 'tis impossible.
Marble will drop, and melt against the raine,
And from the cragy Rocks, Fountainous Flouds
Oft get inforced issues; but to gaine
Relenting teares from thy obdurate harte
'Tis impossible, as to force Fire from snow
Water from flint, say the Sun shall not shine,
As well upon the beggers as the King,
That is alike indifferent to all.
Vrs.
Good sir remember,
Forgivenes is an Atribute of Heaven.
She has a harty sorrow for her sinnes,
And comes to make attonement, if you please.
An.
Still I nothing any where.
Ba.
Pray listen;
Would not that Physitian be well hang'd
That for his practise sake Kills his patient,
And after pleades a sorrow to his freinds?
She weepes, an evidence of a harty sorrow,
My boy would not have seene her weepe thus long,
But hee'd have minister'd comfort I my teares
Playes the theife with mine eies too.
An.
Yet all is safe; sure it was but my dreames,
Sir you had a son, blesse me 'tis here now.
Enter Ghost.
In the same figure that it us'd to be.
Peace is more deare, and pretious unto me
Then a nights rest, to a man turmoil'd in Law.
My eies set heere un-mou'd, i'le gaze with thee,
Vntill the windowes of my head drop out.
But then my minde wilbe afflicted too.
For what is unseene there, is visible here.
Or any uncouth place, worke thy vengeance,
And doe not torture me alive; neyther.
Gho.
All things keepe their time!
An.
Let all times daughters which are daies, convert
To one day, and bring me to my period,
Ba.
Whom converse she withall?
Vrs.
To her unseene fancies.
An.
See with eies of wonder! see!
Ba.
What should I see?
An.
Aske you what? why 'tis your son,
Just as he di'd, looke, looke, there, here, there.
Ba.
Is this thy sorow, com'st thou to mocke me?
An.
Just heavens not I! see how it smiles on you,
On me it hurles a dejected looke.
Takes the Picture.
Ba.
Because I hang his Picture ne're my bed,
Com'st thou to laugh me! out out, fond-ling noe!
See thus I gaze on it; stroke his snowy hands,
And prune the curled tresses of his locks,
Which the Arts-man neatly has dishevell'd.
Vrs.
Good sir; have patience, her's is true sorow,
And not derision.
Stands betweene the Picture, & Ghost.
An.
Another Ganimede!
This eye, and yon'd, are one? this front, that lip.
This cheeke, a litle ruddier showes then that;
The very ashie palenes of his face,
The mossie downe still growing on his chin,
And so his Alablaster finger pointing
To the bracelet, whereon the peece of gold
We broke betweene us hangs.
Ba.
Certes shee's madd.
An.
Pray come hither,
You shade this Picture from the pearsant Sun,
And curtaine it, to keepe it from the dust,
Why are you not as chary then of that?
It lookes as it were could, alas poore Picture,
Hee'rs but one Picture!
An.
I say theirs two,
You will not see this for to save a Curtaine,
His knotty curles, like to Apollo's tramells
Neatly are display'd; I'le sweare the Painter
That made this peece, had the other by it.
Why doe you not speake too it? 'tis your son,
May be, he's tongue-tide, and cannot crave blessing,
Ba.
I could tell thee, I nail'd him to the Earth
Riveted a stake quite through his bosome,
And bid thee goe seeke him; but I love not
To mocke miseries; i'le take this Picture hence,
It troubles your sight.
An.
And you'd remove that, I'de thanke you;
Ba.
'Tis thy forc'd fancies, and thy guilt together
persuades thee so; pray thee be a woman,
Whom thou cam'st to comfort, comforts thee;
Though I intended to have hurl'd at thee,
Stings of dishonour, ignominies, reproaches,
And all the stocke of calumnies, and scorne,
Which thou art guilty off; now my pity
Converts them into sorrow for thy sorrowes;
Vrs.
A blessing crowne you for it.
An.
And can their be a hope you will forgive me?
Exit Ghost.
Ba.
Hartily I doe—
An.
See i'ts gone now.
As if it vex'd to see your clemency.
Ba.
Distemper not your selfe at fancies;
Your time hastens to maturity,
Y'are very big, and may endanger your fruite,
If you give way to passions.
An.
T'will be abortiue,
As are my actions, I shall not live
To take felicity in it! see it's here againe.
Gho.
All things keepe their time.
Ba.
Come goe with me.
I'le give thee comfortable cordialls
That shall remove these objects from thine eies,
Expelling all disastrous accidents,
And plaine thy thoughts as smooth as innocence,
Which when thou hear'st, then in rapture boast,
Thou dread'st no vision, fury, feind nor Ghost.
Exeunt Omnes.
An.
Be you my counsellour, and father too,
Vrs.
Whom I admire for noble honesty.
| The Vow Breaker. Or, The Faire Maide of Clifton | |