 | Adrasta : or, the Womans Spleene, And Loves Conqvest |  |
Actus 1.
Scena 1.
Enter Antonio and Rigazzo the Page.Page.
Signior
Antonio, pray how did you like the Maske
wee had here to night, for my Lord Lucilio's
ben venuto?
Anto.
Well of a wooden one, set forth by a
Dancer and an Architect, as the fashion is.
Page.
Alas Signior, there must bee something
to prolong and strengthen these devices, when Poets, in favour
of the ignorant, are faine to leave 'hem so short winded, and almost
speechlesse.
Anto.
So sir; But now tell mee Rigazzo, what have you
learn'd all this time you have beene with your Lord at the Vniversitie?
Page.
More than I can reckon Signior, and yet I have the Art
of memorie to help me.
Anto.
As what sir?
Page.
I can name you all the Alehouses and Tavernes in Athens,
and most part of the Bawdy-houses; marry to know them
all, onely Night, that has beene some scores of yeares acquainted
with 'hem, and the Devill that gathers their rents, could teach
me: and indeed I was too young to be their scholler, else I might
have beene a better proficient in them too.
Anto.
I thinke sir your time was spent in such studies.
Page.
No, not all Signior, I can steale as desperately as a Purfivant;
fiddle the Geese, Ducks, Hens, Lambs, and Calves, five mile
does his perjury, and your Stoick his Lecherie: for I had
most sober Graduates for my Tutors in all.
Anto.
'Twas pitty your Rogue ship had not proceeded Master
of Art in the facultie of theeving.
Page.
It's no matter Signior for theeves to proceed Masters of
Art, when so many Masters of Art doe proceed theeves, and that's
the least conversion, you know Signior.
Anto.
Are you so nimble at your Logick sir?
Page.
As a hungry Scholler at a Henroost.
Anto.
Take heed you labour not your selfe out o'breath, your
learning's but short winded.
Page.
Long enough to runne with a Stoick, Signior.
I may bee able to reade moralitie, get me some night-geere, and
a red Nose, and then I am most illustriously compleate.
Anto.
Away, the Duke.
Sound Cornets or Hoboyes.
Enter Cosmo the Duke, Adrasta his Duchesse, Lucilio their Sonne, Lady Iulia, Althea, &c.
Duke.
Thus hath our cost and best invention sweat
To seale your welcome from th'Athenean Schooles;
And trust me sonne, your thankes are much in debt
Vnto these Ladies, whose too prodigall loves
Have search'd for jewels, thus to doe you grace.
Lucil.
My Lord, I doe acknowledge it a debt
As to their loves: Onely your Princely care
To grace our new returne hath so surpass'd
The former expectation we conceiv'd,
That I am forc'd now to confesse I live
A desperate bankerout to your royall favours.
Duke.
Your good deserts may soone requite our love,
But tell us, How does learning flourish now
In Athens?
Lucil.
Iust as Vertue at the Court;
For with the times affecting ignorance
'T has banish'd true industrious labour thence;
And vicious loosnesse finding none resist,
Has so ingros'd the most refined wits,
Bred such deluding Crocodiles in their braines,
That like the thirsty swift Egyptian dogges,
They scarcely taste of those faire seven-fold streames,
Into whose depth their industrie should dive:
And having onely got a seeming face
Of superficiall knowledge, 'mongst the grosse
And beast-like sense-conceiving multitude,
They most ambitiously seeke and pursue
Vulgar applause for their poore out-side skill,
“And by such mudwall stayres doe often rise
“Vp to the top of abus'd dignities.
Duke.
How can deserving vertue flourish then,
If sacred learning be so sleightly sought?
Lucil.
As twinn-borne sisters, both doe share alike
Their equall portions in the worlds esteeme,
For in those hallow'd places, which a true
And carefull liberalitie did consecrate
As pure religious shrines to god-like Skill,
Where Vertue richly invested with her best
And precious ornaments, might give a full
And glorious lustre like a noone-tide Sunne;
There ugly Vice, even in the basest formes,
Climing by steps of Art up to the height
Of horror, standeth in a præcipiti,
And thrust but one step farther, with her fall
Will crush her selfe, and overwhelme the world,
Duke.
To grieve at this, were in these senselesse times
To become monstrous; and to feele no griefe,
Were to be senselesse with the times themselves.
Lucilio courts Althea Aside
Duch.
Observe him good my Lord, and let your eye
Be jealous now—
Duke.
Have patience good Adrasta,
We strive in vaine to bandy with loves power
And unresisted Charter of the gods,
Which time and absence ne'r could violate.
Alth.
—As is your soule.
aside.
Althea to Lucilio.
Lucil.
O be prodigious then!
See that it's possible a womans minde
Can rest in one: you must be valiant too,
And dare th'affrighting dangers that we meet,
I feare we have swelling passages to wade,
“For we must feele amidst a world of evils,
“A womans Spleene, worse than the worst of devils.
Duke.
Now Lady Iulia let this cōfirme your welcome,
And yours Althea: trust me I could wish
The season so dispos'd, since that our sonnes
Happy and safe returne has made us glad,
That we might dedicate a longer time
To harmlesse mirth: but now the night growes old,
And we shall wrong your patience too too much.
Exeunt all but the Duchesse and Lucilio.
Duch.
Must it be so? Have all those lavish signes
Of undeserved favours heapt on you
By your too carefull father, and our self,
Been spurres to your contempt? Or could the sweets
Of our affection prodigally cast,
Make you not relish what your duty owes?
Else did you thinke because they alwayes ranne
In such an uncheckt current to your will,
That no ingratitude could make the ebbe?
O impious times! wherein a parents care,
When shee has combated the pangs of death
To give her children life; stood all her time
Like to a carefull Centinell for their youth,
And spent the nights in pensive watchfulnesse,
(Forcing soft nature to forbeare her rest)
To plott their good; must all be frustrated?
And by a childs proud will see all things crost?
Their Parents hopes, and their owne fortunes lost?
How hath our love to thee? our wishes toyl'd
To build thy passage to a higher spheare.
And by some noble match to raise thy House,
And must thy base attempts looke downeward still?
Mongrell our blood? and set a lasting scarre
Vpon our progeny, by fixing thus
Luci.
Madam, not to yeeld what Nature makes us owe,
Were to bee made lesse reas'nable than beasts;
And nothing's more against a generous minde,
And freeborne spirit, than foule Ingratitude:
Yet must your Grace remember that we take
Nor all from Parents: the hand of heaven and Fate
Does by the last infusion of the soule
Give the rich forme, and by a secret tract,
And unavoyded path, leads us to what
Seemes good to it; and though our mindes be free
In this impulse, wee love by Destinie.
I must confesse I love; nor was the flame
Of my affection, when it kindled first,
Like to a paper fire, that with a blaze
Of lust, begins and ends at once, and leaves
Nought but black infamie behinde: nor can
The least dishonour staine our Duke domes title
From her, whose Blood stands firme by long descents,
Even in the heart of unbought noblenesse,
Whose Reputation's sound, Revenues faire,
Beauty able to inrich a Dukedome, and deserts
To be an Empresse. Were then our fortunes rais'd
By those high steps to which I should aspire
To joyne with greatnesse, I must joyne with vice,
“For they are oft observ'd to joyne their hands,
“And he not stoops that stayes where Vertue stands.
Duch.
Has Athens taught you bee an Oratour?
Degenerous boy, Ile coole your vertuous flame,
And make thee rue the basenesse of thy choise.
Exit.
Lucil.
How deepe a conflict doe my thoughts indure
'Twixt Love and Dutie! Wert not a mothers tongue
That wrong'd thy worth Althea, I would have torne it
From out th'injurious throat in thy revenge,
“And held it to their eyes, to let them see
“How it had wrong'd it-selfe by wronging thee.
Exit.
Enter Mistris Frailware and the Page.
Mistris Frail.
By my troth I am glad to see thee well my little
Gallow-clapper; how hast thou done this many a day? ha!
Faith prettily well Mistris Fraileware, as a man of my
profession might; I had all the chiefe trades in the City to help
mee doe well.
Mistris Frail.
What trades were they, thou wert too young
for any occupation yet.
Page.
Not above three yeares at most: but I earn'd something
with working and wayting on my Lord, as Tankard-bearers, Labourers,
and Servingmen doe: I stole and cozen'd, as Taylors,
Shopkeepers and Cutpurses doe; I let out my Lords books, and
tooke money for the use of 'hem, as the later ends of gouty Merchants
doe: and yet for all this I was forc'd (as many of you Citizens
are) to goe many times to bed with a hungry conscience.
Mistris Frail.
You'll never leave your crackery, but tell mee
prethee sirrha, is Athens a fine Towne? What be these College
like? didst thou goe to schoole there?
Page.
O, an excellent place for a woman that will use trading.
You shall have the Schollers lie at your sweet Frailes night and
day; they bee forc'd to sweeten their disputations with Grocers
reasons: and custome could not but make your husband one of
the head men of the City presently.
Mistris Frail.
Now by my troth I thinke it were a very good
place for a stale shopkeepers wife of the City to set up in: o'my
conscience, a woman of our occupation might thrive there.
Page.
I, and she were down never so low, the schollers would
doe it—and how does Master Damasippus the lecturing Stoick?
When was he here?
Mistris Frail.
Dost remember him? let me see—o' my honesty,
I never saw him since his last morall Lecture against the sinnes
of the flesh—yes heaven forgive me to sweare, now I remember
me, the same day my husband went a duck-hunting; and then he
came hither, and brought mee many good things: wilt thou goe
to him againe sometimes for mee? Ile give thee some figges
and Tobacco.
Page.
Yours to command; Ile smoake in your businesse then
i'faith.
Mistris Frail.
Prethee come to me when my husband is out of
the shoppe.
exit.
Page.
Adieu the two desiring sinnes of the City, Avarice and
Lechery: if I doe not meet with your morall venery, would I
moneth.
Exit Page.
Enter Duchesse and Alastor.
Duch.
Come good Alastor! be but secret now,
And I shall live indear'd unto thy faith;
The matter much imports us; and in case
That my rewards should dye with me, the State
Will one day thanke thee for't. I have his seale,
His hand and stile exactly counterfeit:
Then heare thy charge; Thou must this evening haste
Covertly to the Lady Iulia's house—
But canst bee secret?
Alast.
As your owne thoughts Madam,
I can stick as close to any peece of villany
As a Punk to a Farmers sonne new gentiliz'd;
And when besides so many good angels tempt,
They are enough—to make a woman keepe counsell.
Duch.
Well then; make meanes to speake there with Althea,
Tell her thou com'st from Lord Lucilio,
Who in important businesse has imployed thee;
I know shee'll take thy message privately:
Deliver her this letter; seeme that Lucilio
Has none but thee on whom he can relie
In this so dangerous an enterprise:
Shee upon this will bee more free and open
To the designe: then marke her, good Alastor!
Observe each word and gesture that shee uses;
If thou canst wring a looke that may discover
But a consenting thought, it will suffice:
For when offending lives withstand our will,
Wee must seeme good, though we determine ill.
exit.
Alast.
Here's a villanous pitfall to stifle a poore wench in; who
can bee a beggar, now, that's not afraid to bee damn'd? well,
I can no more tell how to thrive without doing villany, than
greatnesse can without doing injury. Pretty peece of mans flesh!
my heart will leap when I see thee come off the Rock like a Mag-Pie;
and I shall wish, for thy sake, that nature had made women
a litle lighter, all of feathers, that they might have taken hurt by
the high way to irreparable Beggary; Ile none of it.
exit.
Enter Lucilio, Antonio, Page.
Anto.
Nay good my Lord yeeld not your self so much
To these unseason'd Passions, that doe sit
Like midnight on your thoughts; me thinks the ayre
Of Athens should have purg'd these humours quite:
In troth, my Lord, the world will condemne you,
Lucil.
Of what Antonio?
Anto.
Why of melancholy.
Which some define is weaknesse in a Lord,
And in a Lady pride or sullennesse,
But in a wife man 'tis flatt foolery.
Lucil.
Prethee forbeare Antonio, let me in silence
Vent out the cares that overwhelme my soule;
Thou know'st how deep an angry mothers spleene
Wounds the soft love that I am forc'd to beare
To my Altheas vertues. How can I chuse
But weep away my youth, when I remember
The dreadfull oppositions which my soule
Hath formerly sustain'd for her; the cares
That have out-runne my yeares, and like to corsives
Have eate into my flesh, there seiz'd upon
All faculties of life, and spred their venome
Through every veine and sinew of my heart?
Anto.
'Tis your owne fault, that thus will spend your selfe
In such extreames of passion, that encrease
The number of your griefes above your spirit;
Faith 'tis unmanly done; call you this love?
Lucil.
Antonio, thou mistak'st the name of love
In thy Lucilio, if thou conceiv'st is dull
And sprightlesse melancholy, whose corroding humour
Feeds on the faint dejection of a minde
That dares not meet an apprehensive thought
Of least misfortune, but it basely yeelds:
I have held up, thou knowest, against all plots
A womans wit could manage or invent,
To blow out the chaste flame of my affection,
Have laid my brest open to envy's spight,
And suffer'd even to banishment it selfe,
If I may tearm't a banishment from her
Who is all things to me, divine Althea,
Life, Countrey, fortune; all that this world cals happy.
Anto.
Strange Symptomes of affection!
Lucilio,
Say, Antonio,
Was it not Banishment? that even when Ioue
Had licens'd us in heav'n, and meant to send
Himen to earth in white and Priestly robes
To joyne our hands, as Cupid had our hearts;
Then to be taken hoodwinkt from my hopes,
And sent in haste from Court, just in the harvest
Of my desires, to combate with the Arts,
The aire and clime of Athens, whil'st the Sunne
Trebled his course to the Cœlestiall Ramme.
Anto.
Yet know my Lord that your indulgent Parents
Out of their Princely care intended it
But as a course of Physick, to recover
Your love-sick thoughts, hoping that Time & Absence,
Ioyn'd with the precepts of Philosophy
Might purge you to a remissnesse of affection,
And by degrees conquer this mouldy passion.
Lucil.
Set the disease a working, much lesse cure it:
True love, Antonio, is immutable,
A divine Charter of affection
Confirm'd in heav'n, and can by no prescript
Of Art or Nature ever be restrain'd.
—Nec prosunt Artes.
Anto.
Yet since in vaine you strive
To bandy with a mother, me thinkes Love
Tir'd in the depth of woe, should call your Reason
To a new choise fitting your Birth and Fortunes.
Lucil.
Call woes to woes, I am resolv'd to trie
The worst of spleene: and since her vertuous thoughts
Of true borne faith hath rais'd it selfe, to claspe
With her deserts, the most austerest tempest
Envy can showre upon our innocent loves,
Shall ne'r dis-joyne us.
Anto.
I have done my Lord.
Lucil.
Then prethee Antonio, let me in peace retire,
I feele some strange events lie at my heart
My thoughts cannot presage: I feare, my friend,
I have but dream'd as yet, but now mine eyes
Must wake to meet true solid miseries.
Exit. Lucilio.
Anto.
To see how strong love is, and the command
It has o'r humane hearts! Poore Lord, I know
Thy true-borne griefes are firme, and that chast faith
Never conceiv'd to wave with floating likenesse;
Makes thee thus sinke into the depth of sorrow.
Page.
Nay, good Signior follow him, put him out of the humour,
or else he will turne madman shortly.
Anto.
Why sir?
Page.
Because he thats first a Scholler, next in love, the yeare
after, is either an arrant foole or a starke madman.
Anto.
How came your knavery by such experience?
Page.
As fooles doe by newes, some body told me so, and I beleeve
it. But in good earnest I had forgot to tell my Lord of the
message he sent me in.
Anto.
Whither in the name of Mercury was that?
Page.
To see how the Lady Donna Fiozza did.
Anto.
Oh! how does her beauteous Ladiship?
Page.
Sick, terrible sick.
Anto.
Physick defend! prethee of what disease?
Page.
Yesterday her Monkey had a fall off the side table, and
ever since she has had a strange fit of an ague.
Anto.
How does her Lord?
Page.
Faith not well neither, and therefore he begins to be most
sparingly vertuous.
Anto.
The pox he does.
Page.
On my fidelitie you are the foule mouth'dst gallant that
ever wore Cloves in's Gummes: you say an Italian Count has
the pox.
Your neater word good Galateo?
Page.
By this light you Courtiers bee the dullest creatures living;
you learne nothing but flattery and begging. You must know
sir in a Nobleman 'tis abusive; no; in him the Sarpigo; in a Knight
the Grincomes; in a Gentleman the Neopolitan scabb; and in a
Servingman or Artificer the plaine Pox: Iust as your saying goes,
that Noblemen bee never drunke, but take a surfeit; Schollers be
ill at ease; and poore men onely they are drunke, yet all's but one
disease: There's an old rime for you: adieu Signior, I must to
my Lord.
Anto.
Farewell hedge-pike.
Exeunt.
Enter Althea and Alastor.
Alth.
Did my Lord so farre impart the businesse to your selfe?
Alast.
He did, and does intend to use my help alone in effecting
of his project.
She gives him a letter and money.
Alth.
I prethee returne him this answer, and bee silent.
Alast.
Sweet villany, thou art the thrivingst trade under
heaven.
Exit.
Alth.
Warme blood assist me! how has wonder seiz'd
The frozen passages that slowly guide
My shivering spirits up to the seat of life!
Murder the Duke! now innocence forbid,
And let our selves be as our loves, unstain'd.
Tyrannous affection! can thy transforming power
Enforce our passions thus beyond our selves?
Rob us of nature and the sense of man?
Seize all our actions? force us to forget
That we are children? and with loves finger blot
Cleane from our thoughts the pietie we owe
To them that gave us life? Carry us headlong
To such a gulfe of sinne? where we must drowne
Our selves, our honour, and that secure content
A guiltlesse conscience brings to innocence!
Ah deare Lucilio! how are thy vertues dimm'd
In my best thoughts, that like a Christall mirrour
Still held the shapes of thy deserving actions
Has mixt it selfe with those untainted vowes
Thy never yet ambitious soule pour'd forth
To attend our loves? Some Angel, deare Lucilio,
Descend into thy fancy to perswade thee
By all the bands Love, Duty, Nature, Heaven,
Can bring to binde thee in a tender feare
Of roughly breathing on the softest ayre
That toucheth but his safetie, to desist.
From this unnaturall act of paricide.
Fatall experience speakes; and makes it good,
They stand not firme that rise by steps of blood.
exit.
Enter the Duke and Duchesse.
Duke.
Vrge me no more: the white unspotted hand
Of never trecherous justice, shall not blush
By our imbrewing it in bleeding innocence.
Nor shall posteritie in after times,
Seeking examples of black tyranny,
Finde our names registred in the Catalogue
Of those whose deeds have given wide infamy
Life to attend their memory, and brand it
With shame, more durable than brasse or marble.
Duch.
Yet good my Lord respect your falling State,
Let not that watchfull eye that never slept
In carefull pursuit of your peoples good,
As now regardlesse of your houses Honor,
Be dazell'd with imaginary feare
Of meere suppos'd injustice. Shall foule mouth'd rumor.
Besprinkle our whole race with Iulia's blood,
And follow it into posteritie
As a live witnesse of your loose neglect?
Methinkes those politick rules of government
Which you have study'd, should at last informe
Your scrupulous conscience, making it to know,
What oft doth seeme injustice, is not so.
Duke.
Can there be more than shedding guiltlesse blood?
Duch.
They highly offend that let their Countries good.
They let no good, that never did deny it.
Duch.
'Tis guilt to live when as their deaths may buy it.
Duke.
But 'tis not good that's bought at such a rate.
Duch.
No price is great that makes Kings fortunate.
Duke.
They be not fortunate that rise by vice.
Duch.
Who stayes till Vertue lifts will never rise;
And therefore dearest Lord by those chaste vowes
Which first I brought unto your nuptiall bed;
By that attractive beautie which mine eyes
Once gave your youthfull thoughts to feed upon,
Preuent this mischiefe, let the strumpet die,
Whose basenesse staines your ever princely blood,
By sitting sole Commandresse in the thoughts
Of our degenerate sonne, the onely hope
Iust heaven and nature now has left your Throne.
Let not that god of fooles, soft Conscience, then,
That seldome findes a name 'mongst perfect Statesmen,
Sway your experienc'd wisedome, but provide
Your honour live, when all your selfe have dy'd.
Duke.
Death to mine eyes, I must see thee kneele,
Thy words have charm'd my soule, benumm'd my thoughts.
Against the stinging touch of sharpe remorse;
I will resolve her death, nor shall she live
That stands 'twixt full content and thy desires.
But how shall swift wing'd fame, my deare Adrasta,
Be held from loud proclaming our disgrace?
Policie will's some seeming cause be had
To make that good which justice knowes for bad.
Duch.
Leave that to me; I have procur'd from her
A letter, whose points but chang'd transferre the sense,
This in the publike Sessions being read,
And shee acknowledging the hand and seale,
Will be a most sufficient testimony
Of traiterous attempts against your State
And person, which the grosse multitude
Will never scanne, but confidently, hold
Her condemnation just.
Duke.
Wee'll then give order
For her attachment and imprisonment.
Prepare Lucilio's minde to meet her death.
So's justice wrong'd, and innocence must die,
aside,
When they withstand a womans tyrannie.
exeunt.
| Adrasta : or, the Womans Spleene, And Loves Conqvest | |