 | The Jealous Lovers |  |
1
ACTUS I.
SCENA I.
Simo, Asotus, Ballio.Simo.
How thrives my boy Asotus? is he capable
Of your grave precepts?
Ball.
Sir, I never met
A quicker brain, a wit so neat and spruce.
Well,—get thee home old Simo: go and kneel:
Fall on thy aged knees, and thank the gods
Th'hast got a boy of wax, fit to receive.
Any impressions.
Asot.
As I am a Gentleman,
And first of all our family, you wrong me, Dad,
To take me for a dunce.
Sim.
No, good Asotus;
It is thy fathers care, a provident care,
That wakes him from his sleeps to think of thee:
And when I brooding sit upon my bags,
And every day turn o're my heaps of gold,
Each piece I finger makes me start, and cry,
This, this, and this, and this is for Asotus.
Asot.
Take this, and this, and this, and this again:
Can you not be content to give me money,
But you must hit me in the teeth with't?—S'lid.
Ball.
Nay, good Asotus, such a loving father
That does not blesse you with a sweaty palm
Clap't on your head, or some unfruitfull prayer;
But layes his blessings out in gold and silver,
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Asot.
Prithee Ballio,
I could endure his white and yellow blessings,
If he would leave his prating.
Sim.
Do you heare him?
How sharp and tart his answers are? Old Simo,
Th'hast got a witty witty wagge, yet deare one,
When I behold the vastnesse of my treasure,
How large my coffers, yet how cramb'd with wealth,
That every talent sweats as in a crowd,
And grieves not at the prison, but the narrownesse.
Asot.
If I make not room for 'um, ne're trust me.
Simo.
When I see this, I cannot choose but fear
Thou canst not finde out wayes enow to spend it:
They will out-vie thy pleasures.
Ball.
Few such fathers!
I cannot choose but stroke your beard, and wonder,
That having so much wealth, you have the wit
To understand for whom you got it.
Asot.
True:
And I have so much wit to understand
It must be spent, and shall boyes.
Sim.
Pray heaven it may!
Asot.
I'le live to spend it all; and then—perhaps I'le die,
And will not leave the purchase of a sheet,
Or buy a rotten coffin.
Ball.
Yes, deare Pupill,
Buy me an urn, while yet we laugh and live;
It shall contain our drink, and when we die
It may preserve our dust: 'tis fit our ashes
Should take a nap there, where they took their liquour.
Sim.
Sage counsell this—Observe in boy—observe it.
Asot.
I live in Thebes, yet I dare sweare all Athens
Affords not such a Tutour: thou mayst read
To all the young heires—in town or citie.
Sim.
Ah Ballio! I have lived a dunghill wretch,
Grown poore by getting riches, mine own torture,
A rust unto my self, as to my gold:
To pile up idle treasure starv'd my body
Thus, to a wrinckled skin, and rotten bones,
And spider-like have spun a web of gold
Out of my bowels; onely knew the care,
But not the use of gold.—Now, gentle Ballio,
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No, let him live and spend, and buy his pleasures
At any rate. Reade to him, gentle Ballio,
Where are the daintiest meats, the briskest wines,
The costliest garments. Let him dice and wench;
But with the fairest, be she wife or daughter
To our best Burgesse: and if Thebes be scarce,
Buy me all Corinth for him:—When I sleep
Within my quiet grave, I shall have dreams,
Fine pleasant dreams, to think with how much pleasure
Asotus spends what I with care have got.
Asot.
Sure I were a most ungracious childe now,
If I should spoil the dreams of a dead Father.
Sleep when thou wilt within thy quiet urn,
And thou shalt dream thou seest me drink Sack plentie,
Incircled round with Doxies plump—and daintie.
Sim.
How thrives my boy?—How forward in his studies?
Ball.
Troth—with much industry—I have brought him now
That he is grown—past drinking.
Sim.
How man? past drinking?
Ball.
I mean, he is grown perfect in that science.
Sim.
But will he not forget?
Asot.
No, I warrant you,
I know I shan't forget, because i'th morning
I ne're remember what I did o're night.
Sim.
How feeds my boy?
Ball.
Troth well: I never met
A stomack of more valour, or a tooth
Of such judicious knowledge.
Sim.
Can he wench? ha?
Ball.
To say the truth—but rawly.
Asot.
Rawly?—I'me sure
I have already made my Dad a Grandsire
To five and twenty—and if I do not
Out of meere charity people all the Hospitalls
With my stray babes, then geld me—Wo to the Parish
That bribes me not to spare it.
Ball.
Then for the Die,
He throws it with such art, so poys'd a hand,
That had you left him nothing, that one mysterie
Were a sufficient portion.
Asot.
Will you see me?
Set me a bag. These were an Usurers bones.
Ball.
In this behold what frailty lives in man:
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Is after death turn'd prodigall.
Sim.
Throw, Asotus.
Asot.
Then have at all,—and 'twere a million.—All!
Fortune was kinde, the precious dirt is mine.
Sim.
And take it boy, and this—and this beside.
And 'cause desert may challenge a reward,
This for your pains, deare Ballio.
Ball.
My endeavours,
Although to my best power,—alas—come short
Of any merit; Sir you make me blush,
And this reward but chides my insufficiency.
Pray urge it not.
Sim.
A modest—honest—honest man:
I'le double it—in faith I will—I am
The joyfull'st father!
Ball.
See how the goodman weeps!
Asot.
So he will weep his gold away, no matter.
Sim.
Come hither deare, come, let me kisse my sonne.
Asot.
There's a sweet kisse indeed, this 'tis to want
A Tutour; had you had my education,
You would have ta'ne me by the lilie hand,
Then gaz'd a while upon my flaming eyes,
As wondring at the lustre of their orbes;
Then humbly beg in language strow'd with flowers,
To taste the cherries of my ruby lippe.
God-a-mercy for this, Tutour.
Sim.
I am orejoy'd, I am orejoy'd.
Exit Simo.
SCEN. II.
Asotus, Ballio.Asot.
VVell, go thy waies, I may have a thousand fathers,
And never have the like:—Well pockets, well,
Be not so sad; though you are heavy now,
You shall be lighter.
Ball.
Pupill, I must tell you,
I do repent the losse of those good houres,
And would call back the study I have ta'ne
In morall Alchymie, to extract a Gentleman
Almost out of a dunghill. Still do I see
So much of peasant in you?
Asot.
Angry, Tutour?
Ball.
Teem'd my Invention all this while for this?
5
After so many and such painfull throe's?
Another sinne like this, and be transform'd
Meere clown again.
Asot.
The reason, deare Instructour.
Ball.
Have I not open'd to you all the mysteries,
The precise rules, and axiomes of Gentilitie?
And all methodicall? Yet you still so dull,
As not to know you print eternall stains
Upon your honour, and corrupt your bloud
(That cost me many a minute the refining)
By carrying your own money? See these Breeches,
A pair of worthy, rich, and reverent Breeches,
Lost to the fashion by a lump of drosse.
I'le be your bailiffe rather.
Asot.
Out infection.
Ball.
Who, that beheld those hose, could e're suspect
They would be guilty of mechanick mettall?
What's your vocation? Trade you for your self?
Or else whose Journeyman, or Prentice are you?
Asot.
Pardon me, Tutour: for I do repent,
And do protest hereafter I will never
Weare any thing that jingles—but my spurres.
Ball.
This is gentile.
Asot.
Away mechanick trash:
I'le kick thee sonne of earth:—Thus will I kick thee,—
For torturing my poore father—Dirt avant—
I do abandon thee.
Ball.
Blest be thy generous tongue.
But who comes here? This office must be mine:
I'le make you fair account of every drachme.
Asot.
I'le not endure the trouble of account:
Say all is spent,—and then we must have more.
SCEN. III.
Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio.Tyn.
What Fury shot a viper through my soul
To poison all my thoughts? Civill dissension
Warres in my bloud: here Love with thousand bowes
And twenty thousand arrows layes his siege
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Denies the great god entrance. O Evadne!
Canst thou that risest fairer then the morn,
Set blacker then the evening?—Weak jealousie!—
Did e're thy prying and suspicious sight
Finde her lippe guilty of a wanton smile?
Or one lascivious glance dart from her eye?
The blushes of her cheeks are innocent,
Her carriage sober, her discourse all chaste;
No toyish gesture, no desire to see
The publick shows, or haunt the Theatre.
She is no popular Mistresse, all her kisses
Do speak her Virgin, such a bashfull heat
At severall tides ebbes, flowes; flowes, ebbes again,
As 'twere afraid to meet our wilder flame.
But if all this be cunning, (as who knows
The sleights of Sirens?) and I credulous fool
Train'd by her songs to sink in her embraces;
I were undone for ever—wretched Tyndarus!
Asot.
Ha, ha, ha, he. This is an arrant Coxcombe,
That's jealous of his wife ere he has got her,
And thinks himself a Cuckold before marriage.
Ballio.
Want of a Tutour makes unbridled youth
Run wildely into passions. You have got
A skilfull Pilot (though I say it, Pupill)
One that will steer both you, and your estate
Into safe harbour.—Pray, observe his humour.
Tyn.
Away foul sin.—'Tis Atheisme to suspect
A devil lodg'd in such divinity.
Call snow unchaste, and say the ice is wanton,
If she be so. No, my Evadne, no,
I know thy soul as beauteous as thy face.
That glorious outside which all eyes adore,
Is but the fair shrine of a fairer saint.
O pardon me thy penitent infidell:
By thy fair eyes (from whom this little world
Borrows that light it has) I henceforth vow,
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As to assault thy soul.
Asot.
This fellow, Tutour,
Waxes and wanes a hundred times in a minute:
In my conscience he was got in the change o'th' Moon.
SCEN. IIII.
Chremylus, Dypsas, Asotus, Ballio, Tyndarus.Dyp.
Rot in thy grave, thou dotard, I defie thee.
Curst be our day of marriage: shall I nurse
And play the mother to anothers brat?
And she to nose my daughter?—Take Evadne
Your prety-precious-by-blow-fair Evadne,
The minion of the town: go—and provide her
A place i'th' Spittle.
Chrem.
Gentle wife, have patience.
Dyps.
Let them have patience that can have patience.
For I will have no patience—S'lid. Patience? patience?
Chrem.
You know her daughter to our dearest friend:
And should my sonne committed to his care
Thus suffer as the poore Evadne does:
The gods were just so to revenge her wrong.
Dyp.
I will not have my house afflicted with her,
She ha's more suitours then a prety wench in an Universitie,
While my daughter ha's leisure enough to follow her needle.
Chrem.
Wife, I must tell you y'are a peevish woman.
Dyp.
And I must tell you y'are an arrant Coxcombe
To tell me so. My daughter nos'd by a slut?
Asot.
There will be a quarrell, Tutour: do you take
The old mans part, I am o'th' womans side.
Chrem.
Were every vein in poore Evadne fill'd
With bloud deriv'd from those, whose ancestours
Transmitted in that bloud a hate to us,
A lineall hate to all our family;
Yet trusted to my care she is my daughter,
And shall share equall blessings with mine own.
Dyp.
Then a perpetuall noise shall fill thy house,
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But I will torture thee with a peal of chiding.
Thou shalt confesse the troubled sea more calm:
That thunder with lesse violence cleaves the aire:
The ravens, schreech-owls, and the mandrakes voice
Shall be thy constant musick—I can talk.
Thy friends that come to see thee, shall grow deaf
With my loud clamours. Heaven be prais'd for tongue,
No woman in all Thebes is better weapon'd:
And 't shall be sharper; or were any member
Not dead besides my tongue, I would employ it
In thy just torment. I am vext to think,
My best revenge age hath prevented now,
Else every man should read it in thy brow.
Chrem.
I will not winde you up, deare larum: Go,
Run out your line at length, and so be quiet.
Exit Chremylus.
SCEN. V.
Dypsas, Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio.Tyn.
Here is an argument, Tyndarus, to incite
And tempt thy free neck to the yoke of Love.
Are these the joyes we reap i'th' nuptiall bed?
First in thy bosome warm the snake, and call
The viper to thy arms—O gentle death,
There is no sleep blest and secure but thine.
Wives are but fair afflictions: sure this woman
Was woo'd with protestations, oaths, and vows
As well as my Evadne, thought as fair,
As wise and vertuous as my soul speaks her:
And may not she or play the hypocrite now?
Or after turn Apostate?—Guilty thoughts
Disturb me not. For were the sex a sinne,
Her goodnesse were sufficient to redeem
And ransome all from slander.
Dyp.
Gentle Sir,
I pity the unripenesse of your age.
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My daughter!—But I blush to owne the birth,
And curse the wombe so fruitfull to my shame.
You may be wise and happy—or repent.
Exit Dypsas.
SCEN. VI.
Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio.Asot.
This woman is a devil, for she hates her own children.
Ball.
In what an extasie stands that grieved wight?
Asot.
In troth I shall into compunction melt.
Will not a cup of Lesbian liquour rowze
His frozen spirits to agilitie?
Ball.
Spoke like a sonne of Æsculapius!
Asot.
My fathers angels guard thee. We have gold
To cure thy dumps, although we do not mean
It should profane these breeches. Sure his soul
Is gone upon some errand, and has left
The corps in pawn till it come back again.
Tyn.
Cold jealousie, I shall account thee now
No idle passion, when the wombe that bare her
Shall plead her guilt, I must forget her name.
Fly from my memory, I will drink oblivion
To loose the loath'd Evadne.
Asot.
Generous Sir,
A pottle of Elixar at the Pegasus
Bravely carouz'd is more restorative.
My Tutour shall disburse.
Tyn.
Good impertinent.
Asot.
Impertinent? Impertinent in thy face.
Danger accrues upon the word Impertinent!
Tutour, draw forth thy fatall steel, and slash
Till he devoure the word Impertinent.
Ball.
The word Impertinent will not beare a quarrell:
The Epithite of Good hath mollified it.
Asot.
We are appeas'd.—Be safe—I say—Be safe.
Tyn.
Be not rash, Tyndarus. This malicious woman
May as well hate her daughter, as her husband.
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On such sleight witnesse. Shall I think the Sunne
Has lost his crown of light, because a cloud
Or envious night hath cast a robe of darknesse
'Twixt the worlds eye and mine?
Asot.
Canst thou, royall boy,
Burn out the remnant of a day with us?
Tyn.
I am resolv'd upon a safer triall.
Sir, you are Courtly, and no doubt the Ladies
Fall out about you: for those rare perfections
Can do no lesse then ravish.
Asot.
I confesse—
I cannot walk the streets, but straight the females
Are in a tumult—I must leave thee, Thebes,
Lest I occasion civill warres to rage
Within thy walls—I would be loth to ruine
My native soil.
Ball.
Sir, what with my instructions,
He has the wooing character.
Tyn.
Could you now
But pull the maiden-blossomes of a rose
Sweet as the spring it buds in, fair Evadne;
Or gain her promise, and that grant confirm'd
By some sleight jewell, I shall vow my self
Indebted to the service, and live yours.
Asot.
She cannot stand the fury of my siege.
Ball.
At first assault he takes the female fort.
Aso.
And ride, loves conquerour, through the streets of Thebes.
I'le tell you, Sir: You would not think how many gentlemen-
ushers have, and daily do endanger their little legs, by walking
early and late to bring me visits from this Ladie, and that Countesse.
Heaven pardon the sinne! Ne're a man in this city has made
so many chambermaids loose their voices, as I ha' done.
Tyn.
As how, I pray?
Asot.
By rising in the cold night to
let me in to their Madam. If you heare a waiting-woman coughing,
follow her: she will infallibly direct you to some that has
been a mistresse of mine.
Ball.
I have read loves tactiques to him, and he knows
The military discipline of wooing.
To rank and file his kisses: How to muster
His troops of complements, and—
Tyn.
I do beleeve you.
11
What sorrows dost thou teem with! Here she comes.
SCEN. VII.
Tyndarus, Asotus, Ballio, Evadne.Tyn.
And is it possible so divine a goddesse
Should fall from heaven to wallow here in sinne
With a Babion as this is?—My Evadne,
Why should a sadnesse dwell upon this cheek
To blast the tender roses? spare those teares
To pitie others, thy unspotted soul
Has not a stain in't to be wash't away
With penitent waters. Do not grieve, thy sorrows
Have forc'd mine eyes too to this womanish weaknesse.
Asot.
A prety enemie. I long for an encounter.
Who would not be valiant to fight under such colours?
Evad.
My lord, 'tis guilt enough in me to challenge
A sea of teares, that you suspect me guilty.
I would your just sword would so courteous be
As to unrip my heart; there you shall read
In characters sad lovers use to write,
Nothing but innocence and true faith to you.
Tyn.
I have lost all distrust, seal me my pardon
In a chaste turtles kisse. The doves that draw
The rosie chariot of the Queen of love,
Shall not be link't in whiter yokes then we.
Come let us kisse, Evadne.—Out temptation!
There was too much, and that too wanton heat
In thy lascivious lip—Go to the stews,
I may perchance be now and then a customer,
But do abjure thee from my chaster sheets.
Exit Tyndarus.
SCEN. VIII.
Evadne, Ballio, Asotus.Evad.
Then from the world abjure thy self, Evadne,
And in thy quiet death secure the thoughts
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Could prompt me on to die, were not that death
Doubled in loosing him. Th' Elysian fields
Can be no paradise while he's not there:
The walks are dull without him.
Asot.
Such a qualm
O'th' sudden.
Ball.
Fie, turn'd coward? Resolution
Is the best sword in warre.
Asot.
Then I will on,
And boldly.—Yet—
Ball.
What? will you lose the day
E're you begin the battell?
Asot.
Truely, Tutour,
I have an ague takes me every day,
And now the cold fit's on me.
Ball.
Go home and blush,
Thou sonne of fear.
Asot.
Nay, then I'le venture on
Were she ten thousand strong. Hail heavenly Queen
Of beauty, most illustrious Cupids daughter
Was not so fair.
Ball.
His mother.
Asot.
'Tis no matter.
The silly damsell understands no Poetrie.
Daigne me thy lippe as blue as azure bright.
Ball.
As red as ruby bright.
Asot.
What's that to th' purpose?
Is not azure blue, as good as ruby red?
Evad.
It is not charitable mirth to mock
A wretched Ladies griefs. The gods are just,
And may requite you with a scorn as great,
As that you throw on me.
Asot.
Not kisse a Gentleman?
And my father worth thousands?—Resolution
Spurre me to brave atchievements.
Evad.
Such a rudenesse
Some Ladies by the valour of their servants
Could have redeem'd.—Ungentle god of love,
Write not me down among the happier names,
I onely live a martyr in thy flames.
Exit.
Asot.
This is such a masculine feminine gender!
Ball.
She is an Amazon both stout and tall.
Asot.
Yet I got this by strugling. If I fit you not,
(a diamound ring out of her eare.
Proud squeamish coynesse! Tutour, such an itch
Of kissing runnes all o're me. I'le to Phryne,
And fool away an houre or two in dalliance.
Ball.
Go, I must stay to wait on fair Techmessa,
Who is as jealous of young Pamphilus,
13
Asot.
Surely, Tutour,
I must provide me a suit of jealousie:
It will be all the fashion.
SCEN. IX.
Techmessa, Ballio.Tech.
Blesse me! what uncouth fancies tosse my brain?
As in yon' arbour sleep had cloz'd mine eies,
Me thought within a flowrie plain were met
A troup of Ladies, and my self was one.
Amongst them rose a challenge, whose soft foot
Should gentliest presse the grasse and quickest run.
The prize for which they strove, the heart of Pamphilus.
The victory was doubtfull. All perform'd
Their course with equall speed, and Pamphilus
Was chosen judge to end the controversie.
Me thought he shar'd his heart, and dealt a piece
To every Lady of the troup, but me:
It was unkindly done.
Ball.
I have descried
Tech.
What, Ballio?
Ball.
A frost in his affections
To you,—but heat above the rage of Dog-dayes
To any other peticoat in Thebes.
I do not think but were the pox a woman,
He would not stick to court it.
Tech.
O my soul!
Thou hast descried too much.—How sweet it is
To live in ignorance?
Ball.
I did sound him home.
And with such words profan'd your reputation,
Would whet a cowards sword. One that ne're saw you
Rebuk'd my slanderous tongue. I feel the crab-tree still,
While he sat still unmov'd.
Tech.
It cannot be.
Ball.
I'le undertake he shall resigne his weapon,
And forsweare steel in any thing but knives,
Rather then venture one small scratch to salve
Your wounded honour: or to prove you chaste,
Encounter with a pin.
Tech.
I am no common mistresse, nor have need
14
To draw in my defence.—Yet had he lov'd me,
He could not heare me injur'd with such patience.
Ballio, one triall more: bring me his sword
Rather resign'd then drawn in my defence,
And I shall rest confirm'd.
Ball.
Here's a fine businesse.
What shall I do? go to a cutlers shop,
And buy a sword like that. O 'twill not do.
Tech.
Will you do this?
Ball.
It is resolv'd. I will
One way or other. Wit, at a dead lift help me.
SCEN. X.
Pægnium, Techmessa, Ballio.Pæg.
Madam, the wretched Pamphilus!
Tech.
What of him?
Pæg.
Is through your cruelty and suspicion dead.
Ball.
That news revives me.
Tech.
Haste, Techmessa then:
What dost thou here when Pamphilus is dead?
Cast off this robe of clay my soul, and flie
To overtake him, bear him company
To the Elysian groves: the journey thither
Is dark and melancholy: do not suffer him
To go alone.
Pæg.
Madam, I joy to see
With how much sorrow you receive his death.
I will restore you comfort: Pamphilus lives.
Ball.
If Pamphilus live, then Ballio's dead again.
Tech.
Do you put tricks upon me? we shall have you
On a little counterfeit sorrow, and a few drops
Of womans teares, go and perswade your master
I am deeply in love with him.
Pæg.
If you be not,
You ought in justice.
Tech.
I'le give thee a new feather
And tell me what were those three Ladies names
Your master entertain'd last night.
Pæg.
Three Ladies!
Tech.
You make it strange now.
Pæg.
Madam, by all oaths
My master bears a love so firmly constant
To you, and onely you; he talks, thinks, dreams
Of nothing but Techmessa. When he heares
15
And lives on that sweet aire. Here he has sent me
(he layes down his sword, to pull out his letters.
With letters to you; which I should deliver
I know not, nor himself: for first he writes,
And when that letter likes him not, begins
A second stile, and so a third and fourth,
And thus proceeds, then reades 'um over all,
And knows not which to send: perchance tears all.
The paper was not fair enough to kisse
So white a hand, that letter was too big,
A line uneven, all excuse prevail'd,
Language, or phrase, or word, or syllable,
That he thought harsh and rough. I have heard him wish
Above all blessings heaven can bestow
(So strange a fancie has affection taught him)
That he might have a quill from Cupids wing
Dipt in the milk of Venus, to record
Your praises and his love. I have brought you here
Whole packets of affection.
Ball.
Blessed occasion!
(he steals away the sword.
Here is a conquest purchas'd without bloud.
Though strength and valour fail us, yet we see
There may a field be won by policie.
Exit.
Tech.
Go, Pægnium, tell your master I could wish
That I was his, but bid him choose another.
Tell him he has no hope e're to enjoy me,
Yet bid him not despair. I do not doubt
His constant love to me. Yet I suspect
His zeal more fervent to some other saint.
Say I receive his letters with all joy.
But will not take the pains to read a syllable.
Exit.
Pæg.
If I do not think women were got with ridling, whippe
me: Hocas, pocas, here you shall have me, and there you shall
have me. A man cannot finde out their meaning without the
sieve, and sheers. I conceive 'um now to be engendred of nothing
but the winde and the weather-cock. What? my sword gone?
Ha! Well. This same pandarly-rogue Ballio has got it; he sows
suspicions of my master here, because he cudgels him into manners.
16
a devil bring forth such an Angel as my Lady Techmessa? unlesse
it were before her fall. I know all their plots, and yet they cannot
see 'um. Heaven keep me from love, and preserve my eyesight.
Go plot Enginners, plot on:
I'le work a countermine, and 'twill be brave,
An old rogue over-reach'd by a young knave.
Exit
| The Jealous Lovers | |