 | The Tragedy of Hoffman or A Reuenge for a Father |  |
Actus secundus.
Enter Ierom and Stilt.Ier.
Come Stilt, bestirre your stumpes; you know I must
be a tilter.
Stilt.
I my lord, I know you should be one, but I hope
you are not so madd.
Ier.
what dost thou count it madnesse to runne a tilt.
Stilt.
I my Lord, for you that cannot sit a hobby, you'le
hardly manage your tilthorse.
Ier.
Why? they say Stilt, that stone Mares are gentler, see
if thou canst get me one of them.
Stilt.
Not afore next grasse; I could helpe you now to a
stone mule, a stone asse.
Ier.
Well, ile trie one course with thee at the halfe pike,
and then goe, come draw thy pike.
Stilt.
That's not your fit word; you must say, aduance
your pike, and you must be here sir, and here, you'l neuer
learne for all my teaching.
Ier.
I haue answered you Stilt, that Princes haue no need
to bee taught, and I haue e'en determin'd with my selfe,
not to runne at tilt, least I hazard my horse and harnesse:
that they sayd was drownd: and then retire to my Castle
at Helsen, and there write a new poem, that I haue taken
paines in, almost these ten yeares: It is in prayse of picketoothes.
Stilt.
That will be excellent my Lord, the barbers will
buy those poems abominably.
Ier.
Nay sirra, ile get a patent from the Duke, my father,
for the Cum Priuilegio for that poem, Ad imprimendum
solum; besides thou shalt haue a priuiledge, that no man
shall sell toothpickes without thy seale: my father saies I
am a foole, but I thinke I bestow my time to looke out for
setting a new nappe vpon his thredbare Common wealth:
Who's that knockes? who dares disturbe our honorable
meditation? harke Stilt, dost thou see no noyse?
Stilt.
No, but I heare a noyse.
Ierom.
A hall then; my father and my new cousen: stand
aside, that I may set my countenance, my beard brush and
mirror, Stilt, that set my countenance right to the mirror
of Knight-hood, for your mirror of magistrates is somewhat
to sober. how lik'st me?
Stilt.
Oh excellent! heers your casting bottle.
Ier.
Sprinkle, good Stilt, sprinkle, for my late practize
hath brought mee into strange fauour: ha mother of mee,
thou hadst almost blinded the eyes of excellence; but
omnia bene, let them approach now, and I appeare not like
a Prince, let my father casheere me, as some say hee will.
Stilt.
Casheere you? no, doe but manage your body, and
haue heere, and heere your congies, and then quid sequitur,
Stilt knowes, and all the court shall see.
Hoboyes.
Enter Ferdinand leading Clois Hoffman: Mathias, and Lodowick leading Lucibella: Lorrique, with other lords attending: comming neere the chayre of state, Ferdinand Ascends, places Hoffman at his feete, sets a Coronet on his head, A Herald proclaimes.
Ferdinand by the diuine grace, prince of Heidelberg
lord of Pomer, and Duke of Prussia, for sundry reasons
him mouing, the quiet state of his people especially:
which as a witlesse and insufficient prince, disinherits Ierom
Heidelberg his knowne sonne and adopteth Otho of
Luningberg his sisters sonne, as heire, immediately to succeed
after his death in all his prouinces. God saue Duke
Ferdinand, and Otho his heire.
Florish.
Ferd.
Amen, Heauen witnesse, how my heart is pleas'd,
With the conceit of Prussias after-peace,
By this election.
Ier.
Why? but heare you father.
Ferd.
Away, disturbe vs not, let's in and feast,
For all our country in our choyce is blest.
Florish.
Exeunt.
Ier.
Why, but Stilt, what's now to be done Stilt?
Stilt.
Nay that's more then I know: this matter will
trouble vs more then all your poem of picktooths, s'nailes:
you were better be vnknighted then vnprinc'd, I haue lost
all my hope of preferment, if this hold.
Ier.
Noe more Stilt, I haue it heere; 'tis in my head, and out
it shall not come, till red reuenge in robes of sire, and madding
mischiefe runne and raue: they say I am a foole Stilt,
but follow me; ile seeke out my notes of Machiauel, they say
hee's an odd politician.
Stilt.
I faith hee's so odd, that he hath driuen euen honesty
from all mens hearts.
Ier.
Well, sword come forth, and courage enter in,
Brest breake with griefe; yet hold to be reueng'd:
Follow me Stilt; widdowes vnborne shall weepe,
And beardlesse boyes with armour on their backes
Shall beare vs out, Stilt we will tread on stilts,
Through the purple pauement of the court,
Which shall bee, let me see, what shall it be?
No court, but euen a caue of misery.
And either die, or compasse my desire.
Stilt.
Oh braue master, not a Lord: O, Stilt will stalke, and make the earth a stage,
But hee will haue thee lord in spight of rage.
Exeunt.
Enter Rodorigo, and Austria's Duke, some followers.
Rod.
Sir since you are content, you heere shall finde,
A sparing supper, but a bounteous minde:
Bad lodging, but a heart as free, and generous,
As that which is fed with generous blood,
Aust.
Your hermitage is furnish't for a prince.
Rodo.
Last night this roofe couer'd the sacred heads
Of fiue most noble, faire, and gratious Princes,
Duke Ferdinand himselfe, and Otho his nephew,
The sonnes of Saxon, and the Austrian Princesse.
Aust.
Oh god! that girle, which fled my Court and loue,
Making loue colour for her heedles flight,
Rodo.
Pardon great prince: are you the Austrian duke?
Aust.
Hermet I am, Saxons proud wanton sonns
Were entertaind like Priam's Firebrand
At Sparta: all our State gladly appear'd
Like chierfull Lacedemons, to receaue
Those Dæmons that with magicke of their tongues,
Bewitch't my Lucibells my Helen's eares.
Knocking and calling within.
Rodo.
Who traueleth so late? who knockes so hard?
Turne to the east end of the Chappell, pray;
We are ready to attend you.
Enter duke of Saxony.
Sax.
Which is the way to Dantzike?
Rodo.
There is no way to Dantzike you can finde
Without a guide thus late, come neere I pray,
Sax.
looke to our horses, by your leaue master Hermet,
God saue you sir.
Aust.
That should bee Saxons tongue.
Sax.
Indeed I am the Duke of Saxony.
Aust.
Then art thou father to lasciuious sonnes,
That haue made Austria childles.
Sax.
O subtill duke, thy craft appeares in framing thy excuse,
Thou dost accuse my yong sons innocence:
I sent them to get knowledge, learne the tongues,
Not to be metamorphis'd with the view
Of flattering beauty, peraduenture painted.
Aust.
No; I defie thee Iohn of Saxony;
My Lucibell for beauty needs no art,
Nor doe I thinke the vertues of her minde
Euer inclind to this ignoble course
But by the charmes and forcings of thy sonnes.
Sax.
Oh would thou durst maintaine thy words prowd Duke.
Rodo.
I hope great Princes, neither of you dare
Commit a deede so sacrilegious: This holy cell
Is dedicated to the sonne of peace;
The foot of war neuer prophan'd this floore,
Nor doth wrath here with his consuming voyce
Affright these buildings; charity with prayer,
Humility with abstinence combin'd,
Are heere the guardians of a grieued minde.
Aust.
Father we obey thy holy voyce;
Duke Iohn of Saxony, receiue my faith;
Till our eares heare the true course thy sonnes
Haue taken with my fond and mis-led child.
I proclaime truce, Why dost thou sullen stand?
If thou meane peace, giue me thy Princely hand.
Sax.
Thus doe I plight thee troth, and promise peace,
Aust.
Nay, but thy eyes agree not with thy heart;
In vowes of combination, ther's a grace
That shewes the intention in the outward face.
Looke cherefully, or I expect no league.
First giue me leaue to view a while the person,
Of this Hermet, Austria note him well,
Is he not like your brother Rodorick?
Aust.
Hee's like him, but I heard he lost his life
Long since in Persia, by the Sophies warres.
Rod.
I heard so much my Lords, but that report
Was purely fain'd, spread by my erring tongue,
As double as my heart, when I was yonge.
I am that Rodorick that aspir'd your throne;
That vile false brother who with rebell breath,
Drawne sword, and trecherous heart threatned your death.
Sax.
My brother! nay, then i'faith old Iohn lay by
Thy sorrowing thoughts, turne to thy wonted veyne,
And be madd Iohn of Saxony againe.
Mad Rodorick, art aliue? my mothers sonne
Her ioy and her last birth; oh she coniur'd me
To vse thee thus, and yet I banisht thee:
Body of me; I was vnkinde I know,
But thou deseru'st it then; but let it goe:
Say thou wilt leaue this life thus truly idle,
And liue a Statesman, thou shalt share in raigne,
Commanding all but me thy soueraigne.
Rod.
I thanke your Highnes; I will thinke on it:
But for my sinnes this sufferance is more fit.
Sax.
Tut, title, tatle, tell not me of sinne.
Now Austria once againe thy Princely hand:
Ile looke thee in the face, and smile, and sweare,
If any of my sonnes haue wrong'd thy child,
Ile helpe thee in reuenging it my selfe;
But if as I beleeue they meane, but honor,
As it appeareth by these iusts proclaim'd.
Then thou shalt be content to name him thine,
And thy faire daughter ile account as mine.
Aust.
Agreed.
Sax.
Ah Austria! t'was a world when you and I
Ran these Carreers; but now we are stiffe and drie.
I am glad you are so pleasant my good Lord.
Sax.
T'was my old mood, but I was soone turn'd sad:
With ouer grieuing for this long lost lad;
And now the Boy is growne, as old as I,
His very face as full of grauity.
Rod.
Please your Graces enter,
I know the seruants that attend one me
By the appointment of Duke Ferdinand
By this haue couered.
Sax.
Why then let's in: brother I trust, and brother
Hold you this land, Rodorick hold thou the other,
By heauen my heart with happinesse is crow'nd,
In that my long lost brother now is found:
Exeunt,
Enter Cloie Hoffman solus.
Hoff.
so run on fate, my destinies are good,
Reuenge hath made me great by shedding blood:
I am suppos'd the heire of Luningberg,
By which I am of Prussia Prince elect.
Good: who is wrong'd by this? onely a foole:
And 'tis not fit that idiots should beare rule.
Enter Lorrique.
Lo.
My Lord I haue as you inioyn'd, intic't Saxons elder
sonne to talke with you: and heere hee comes with his
most excellent, amorous, and admirable Lady.
Hoff.
Ha'st thou the Hermets weeds for my disguise?
Lor.
All ready, fit, fit in the next chamber, your beard is
point-vice, not a haire amisse.
Hoff.
Faithfull Lorrique in thy vnfaithfulnes:
I kisse thy cheeke, and giue thee in that kisse
The moitie of all my earthly blisse.
Exit.
Lor.
Good: I am halfe a Monarke: halfe a fiend
Blood I begun in and in blood must end
yet this Clois is an honest villaine, ha's conscience in his killing
of men: he kils none but his fathers enemies, and there
issue, 'tis admirable, 'tis excellent, 'tis well 'tis meritorious,
where? in heauen? no, hell.
Lod.
Now friend, where is prince Otho?
Lor.
Sad, sir, and grieued.
Luci.
Why? prithee why?
Lor.
Alas I know not why.
The hermet Rodorigo talkt with him
Somewhat of you, and somewhat of the Duke,
About surprizing you and murdering Lodowick:
Or such a thing, nay sure 'twas such a thing.
Luci.
Surprizing me and murdering Lodowicke.
Lod.
By whom? by what complot?
Lor.
Sure by the Duke, the Duke's an odd old lad:
I know, this night ther's set a double guard,
And ther's some tricke in that: but patience:
Heere comes the Hermet: holy reuerent man!
Enter Clois Hoffman like a hermet.
Somewhat important, wings his aged feete
With speedy nimblenesse: heauen graunt that all be well.
Clois.
Princes in pitty of your youth, your loue,
Your vertues, and what not, that may moue ruth,
I offer you the tender of your liues,
Which yet you may preserue: but if you stay,
Death and destruction waiteth your delay.
Lod,
Who hath conspir'd our deathes? speake reuerent man.
Clo.
The Duke of Prussia, doating on this face;
Worthy indeed of wonder, being so faire,
This night hath plotted, first to murder you;
The guard are set that you may not escape,
Within, without, and round about the court;
Onely one way, thorow Prince Otho his lodging
Is left; heere is the key, and for more proofe
Of my great zeale and care, on with these robes.
Nay if you loue life do not stand amaz'd,
But take the path toward my hermitage,
Yet I aduize you, that you goe not in;
There may be plots to, for ought I know;
But turne downe by the riuer, ther's a way
Leads to a little Chappell; in that porch
Stay, till I visit you with better newes;
Lod.
I will but call my brother, and then goe.
Clo.
That were a going neuer to returne:
I'le send him after you, be well assur'd.
Luci.
Oh god! the Duke of Prussia grown thus false,
such shewes of freindship, and so little faith.
Lod.
Come Lucibella lets embrace this meane,
Duke Ferdinand shall with a sorrowing heart,
Repent this base dishonourable plot:
Father, our fortunes if they sort aright,
shall with continuall thankfulnesse requite
This vertuous and this charitable care:
Farwell: wee'l wait thee in the Chappell porch
Bring Prince Mathias our kind brother thither,
And thou shalt add good works to charity:
Once more farewell Lorrique; ther's for thee,
Commend me to thy Lord, tell him this wronge
Of his false vncle, shal meete full reuenge:
But doe to him our duties. Come chast, faire,
We must not now by tilt and turnameut
Maintayne thy honor: for thy champion Knight,
Is for'st by treason to vnwilling flight.
Exit.
Clo.
so runne to mischiefe: Oh my deare Lorrique!
When I haue summ'd vp my account of death,
And rob'd those fathers of there lifes and ioy,
That rob'd mee of my ioy, my fathers life,
Thus thy hand claspt in mine, wee'l walke and meditate,
And boast in the reuenges I haue wrought;
And make thee riuall in those gouernments,
That by thy secrecy thou lift'st me to;
Shalt be a Duke at least.
Lor.
I thanke your Grace, but pray resolue me,
What you now intend,
To these three Princes Lodowick, and Mathias,
And the thrice beautious Princesse Lucibell.
Hoff.
Death certaine: call in Mathias, if my plot proue
good, ile make one brother shed the others blood.
Lor.
I am nimble as your thought, deuise, i'le execute
what you command.
Exit.
Clo.
A pretious villaine: a good villaine too:
Well if he be no worse; that is doe worse,
And hony me in my death-stinging thoughts,
I will preferre him: he shall be prefer'd
To hanging peraduenture; why not? 'tis well
Enter Lorrique.
His sufferance heere may saue his soule from hell.
Hee comes; what newes my faithfull seruant? wher's the Prince.
Lor.
Hee's talking with the lady Lucibell,
And when I said your Highnesse sent for him,
Hee 'gan with courtly salutations,
To take his leaue and to attend your grace.
Clo.
Well god-a-mercy friend, thou got'st me grace:
But more of that at leasure: take this gowne;
My cloake, a chaire; I must turne melancholy.
Enter Mathias.
Second what ere I say, approoue my words,
That we may mooue Mathias to mad rage.
Mat.
God saue your excellence: what sad, dull, heauy?
Or are you now in meditation
Which part to take to morrow at the Tilt?
Whose rich deuices, and caparisons
Exceed the Persian Monark's, when he met
Destruction and pale death sent from the sword
Of Philips sonne, and his stout Macedons
Cheerely Prince Otho ther's such a warlike sight
That would stirre vp a leaden heart to fight.
Clo.
For what?
Mat.
For honor and faire Luicbell.
Clo.
Oh Prince Mathias! it is ill combin'd
When honor is with fickle beautie ioynd.
Where is your most Princely brother?
Mat.
I cannot tell I left him with his loued Lucibell.
Clo.
But shee has got another loue,
Dishonored all this rich assembly,
Left the memoriall of such infamy,
As cannot die while men haue memory.
Mat.
How? pray you how? what hath the princesse done?
Clo.
she with a Grecian is but new fled hence,
Belike some other loue of hers before:
Our tilt and turnament is spoild and crost,
The faire we should defend, her faith hath lost.
Mat.
Fled with a Grecian? saw you them goe Prince Otho?
Clo.
I, I, I saw them goe.
Mat.
And would not stay them?
Clo.
My true seruant knowes,
How at the sight of such inconstancy
My gentle heart was smitt with inward griefe
And I sunke downe with sorrow.
Mat.
s'death; what path? which way? that I may track her harlot-steps,
Fled now: gone now: ile goe seeke Lodowicke
Clo–
Nay then you add an irreligious worke,
To there lasciuious act; follow your selfe,
I and my man will beare your company
Lorrique, as I thinke, thou nam'dst a chappell,
A Hermet, some such thing: I haue lost the forme.
I heard her say, she could not trauell far,
He told her, they would rest the dead of night;
Neere to a chappell, by a hermitage.
Mat.
Where is that chappell? wher's that hermitage?
If you loue honor Princely Luningberg,
Lets to that chappell: if you know the way,
That I may kill our shame, ere it see day.
Clo.
Ile guide you to the chappell, ayd your arme,
In your reuenge, against that Grecian,
But for the Lady spare her, she is faire.
Mat.
I will doe what I can; oh hell of life!
Who, but a foole would striue to winne a wife?
shall we call Lodowick?
Clo.
noe, t'would smite his soule in sunder, split his heart,
If he should heare of such adulterate wronge,
Couer the fault or punish as you please:
Yet I would saue her faine, for she deserues
pitty for beauty.
Mat.
Nothing, noe for nothing.
Shee is as harlots, faire, like guilded tombs
Goodly without; within all rottennes:
shee's like a painted fire vpon a hill,
set to allure the frost-nipt passergers,
And starue them after hope: she is indeede
As all such strumpets are, Angell in shew,
Diuell in heart: Come, come if you loue me goe.
Exit
Clo.
Follow Lorrique; we are in the right way.
Exit.
Lor.
To hell I feare: tush let all feare goe by,
Whoo'l shun a bad way with good company.
Exit.
| The Tragedy of Hoffman or A Reuenge for a Father | |