University of Virginia Library

Act. 5.

Scæn. 1.

Enter Lepido, Drollio.
Droll.
A rare Masque no doubt, who contriv'd it?

Lep.
Marry he that says 'tis good, howsoere he has made it,
Signior Multecarni.

Droll.
Who, the Poet Laureat?

Lep.
The same.

Droll.
Oh then 'twere blasphemy to speak against it:
What, are we full of Cupids?
Do we sail upon the vast, and resail,
And fetch the Masque from the clouds?

Lep.
Away Critick, thou never understoodst him.

Droll.
Troth I confess it; but my comfort is,
Others are troubled with the same disease,
'Tis epidemical, Lepido, take't on my word,
And so let's in, and see how things go forward.

Exeunt.

Scæn. 2.

Enter Francelia sola weeping.
Swell on my griefs, and O ye gentler tears
Drop still, and never cease to fall
Till you become a boundless Ocean;
Then drown the source that sent you out, and hide
Francelia from her husbands sight,
Her wronged husbands:
Oh could my Florelio but see
How all hot flames within me are gone forth,
Sure he would love again:
Yet sure he would not: Heavens! how just you are,
And oh how wicked I am!
My heart beats thick as if my end were nigh,
And would it were! a better time death
Cannot take; an Absolution I have had,
And have confest my unchaste Love
Unto my ghostly Father; my peace is made above,
But here below—What mak'st thou here
Petruchio?—

(Enter Clarimont like to Petruchio.)
Clar.
She weeps, the whore repents perchance:
Madam, it is my Masters pleasure that this night
You keep your chamber.

Franc.
Thy voice and countenance are not the same,
They tell me that thy Master is displeas'd.

Clar.
Madam, it may be so; but that to me
Is as unknown as is the new-found world,
I am his servant and obey commands.

Franc.
And so am I, I prethee tell him so,
I will not stir.—

Exit.
Clar.
How cunning is the Devil in a Womans shape!
He had almost again perswaded me
To have become her brother.

Enter Servant.
Ser.
Petruchio the Favorite is lighted at the door,
And asks to see my Lady.

Clar.
My Lady is retired, where is he?
This to my hearts desire falls out.

Enter Bellamino the Favorite.
Bell.
Where's Francelia?

Clar.
My Lord, she is not well,
And craves your Lordships pardon.

Bell.
What, sick upon a Masque-night,
And when the King sends for her!
Come, come, that must not be;
Which way is she?

[Clarimont steps to him and whispers.]
Bell.
By heaven—

[He starts.]
Clar.
By heaven, nor will she ever see you more, if he—

Bell.
I understand you, I am Bellamino;
If ere he see the morning,
I had decreed it, nor should he have surviv'd
Three days, had he been nere so silent:
This night's his last, Petruchio,
This arm shall make it so,
I will not trust my brother with the act.

Clar.
Nobly resolv'd; but how, or where, my Lord?

Bell.
No matter where; rather then fail,
I'll make the Presence-chamber be
The place of execution.

Clar.
Still nobly, but my Lord—

Bell.
But again, Petruchio.

Clar.
—And again, my Lord, why
Think you that Petruchio, when he is
Entrusted in a business, will not see
It rightly done, and for his Ladies honor?
You'll kill him, and in publick, then forsooth
When you're ith' saddle, all the Court shall cry
Francelia was weary of her husband:
No, no, my Lady loves you well,
But loves her honor too; and there are ways, I hope,
To keep the one, and yet not lose the other:
Do not I know my Lady lies alone,
And will feign herself sick this night,
And all on purpose too? am not I to let you
Into her chamber, and to give out, the fact once done,
That he killed himself.—