University of Virginia Library

Actus Quarti

Scena Prima.

Henry, Monsieur with a Letter, Guise, Montsurry, Bussy, Elynor, Tamyra, Beaupre, Pero, Charlotte, Anable, Pyrha, with foure Pages.
Henr.
Ladies, ye have not done our banquet right,
Nor lookt upon it with those cheerefull rayes
That lately turn'd your breaths to flouds of gold;
Your looks, methinks, are not drawne out with thoughts,
So cleare and free as heretofore, but foule
As if the thick complexions of men
Govern'd within them.

Buss.
'Tis not like my Lord
That men in women rule, but contrary;
For as the Moone (of all things God created)
Not only is the most appropriate image
Or glasse to shew them how they wax and wane,
But in her height and motion likewise beares
Imperiall influences that command
In all their powers, and make them wax and wane;
So women, that (of all things made of nothing)
Are the most perfect Idols of the Moone,
(Or still-unwean'd sweet Moon-calves with white faces)
Not only are paterns of change to men:
But as the tender Moon-shine of their beauties
Cleares, or is cloudy, make men glad or sad,
So then they rule in men, not men in them.

Mons.
But here the Moons are chang'd (as the King notes)
And either men rule in them, or some power
Beyond their voluntary faculty:
For nothing can recover their lost faces.

Montsur.
None can be alwayes one: our griefes and joyes
Hold severall scepters in us, and have times
For their divided Empires: which griefe now, in them
Doth prove as proper to his diadem.

D' Amb.
And griefe's a naturall sicknesse of the bloud,
That time to part asks, as his comming had;
Onely sleight fooles griev'd, suddenly are glad;
A man may say t'a dead man, be reviv'd,
As well as to one sorrowfull, be not griev'd.
And therefore (Princely Mistresse) in all warres
Against these base foes that insult on weaknesse,
And still fight hous'd, behind the shield of Nature,
Of priviledge low, treachery, or beastly need,
Your servant cannot help; authority here
Goes with corruption; something like some States,
That back woorst men; valour to them must creepe
That (to themselves lost) would fear him asleepe.

Duches.
Ye all take that for granted, that doth rest
Yet to be prov'd; we all are as we were,
As merry, and as free in thought as ever.

Gui.
And why then can ye not disclose your thoughts?

Tamy.
Me thinks the man hath answer'd for us well.

Mons.
The man? why Madam dice not know his name?

Tamy.
Man is a name of honour for a King:
Additions take away from each chiefe thing:
The Schoole of Modesty, not to learne, learnes Dames:
They sit in high formes there, that know mens names.

Mons.
Heark sweet heart, here's a bar set to your valour:
It cannot enter here; no, not to notice
Of what your name is; your great Eagles beak
(Should you flie at her) had as good encounter
An Albion cliffe, as her more craggy liver.

D' Amb.
Ile not attempt her Sir; her sight and name
(By which I onely know her) doth deter me.

Henr.
So doe they all men else.

Mons.
You would say so
If you knew all.

Tamy.
Knew all my Lord? what meant you?

Mons.
All that I know Madam.

Tamy.
That you know? speak it.

Mons.
No tis enough I feele it.

Henr.
But me thinks
Her Courtship is more pure then heretofore:
True Courtiers should be modest, and not nice;
Bold, but not impudent: pleasure love, not vice.

Mons.
Sweet heart, come hither: what if one should make
Horns at Mountsurry? would it not strike him jealous
Through all the proofes of his chaste Ladies vertues?

D' Amb.
If he be wise, not.

Mons.
What? not if I should name the Gardener,
That I would have him think hath grafted him?

D' Amb.
So the large licence that your greatnesse uses
To jest at all men, may be taught indeed
To make a difference of the grounds you play on,
Both in the men you scandall, and the matter.

Mons.
As how? as how?

D' Amb.
Perhaps led with a traine, where you may have
Your nose made lesse, and slit, your eyes thrust out.

Mons.
Peace, peace, I pray thee peace.
Who dares doe that? the brother of his King?

D' Amb.
Were your King brother in you, all your powers
(Stretcht in the armes of great men and their Bawds)
Set close downe by you, all your stormy lawes
Spouted with Lawyers mouthes, and gushing bloud,
Like to so many Torrents, all your glories,
(Making you terrible, like enchanted flames,
Fed with bare cockscombs, and with crooked hammes)
All your prerogatives, your shames and tortures,
All daring heaven, and opening hell about you,
Were I the man ye wrong'd so, and provok'd,
(Though ne're so much beneath you) like a box tree
I would (out of the roughnesse of my root)
Ramme hardnesse, in my lownesse, and like death
Mounted on earthquakes, I would trot through all
Honors and horrors, thorow soule and faire,
And from your whole strength tosse you into the aire.

Mons.
Goe, th'art a devill; such another spirit
Could not be still'd from all th'Armenian dragons,
O my Loves glory: heire to all I have:
That's all I can say, and that all I sweare.
If thou out-live me, as I know thou must,
Or else hath nature no proportion'd end
To her great labours: she hath breath'd a minde
Into thy entrails, of desert to swell
Into another great Augustus Cæsar:
Organs, and faculties fitted to her greatnesse:
And should that perish like a common spirit,
Nature's a Courtier and regards no merit.

Henr.
Here's nought but whispering with us: like a calme
Before a tempest, when the silent ayre
Layes her soft eare close to the earth to hearken
For that she feares steales on to ravish her;
Some Fate doth joyne our eares to heare it comming.
Come, my brave eagle, let's to Covert flie:
I see Almighty Æther in the smoak
Of all his clowds descending, and the skie
Exit Henr. with D' Amb. & Ladies.
Hid in the dim ostents of Tragedy.

Guis.
Now stirre the humour, and begin the brawle.

Mont.
The King and D' Ambois now are growne all one.

Mons.
Nay, they are two my Lord.

Mont.
How's that?

Mons.
No more.

Mont.
I must have more my Lord.

Mons.
What more than two?

Mont.
How monstrous is this?

Mons.
Why?

Mont.
You make me Horns.

Mons.
Not I, it is a work without my power,
Married mens ensignes are not made with fingers?
Of divine Fabrique they are, Not mens hands;
Your wife, you know, is a meere Cynthia,
And she must fashion hornes out of her Nature.

Mont.
But doth she? dare you charge her? speak false Prince.

Mons.
I must not speak my Lord: but if you'l use
The learning of a noble man, and read,
Here's something to those points: soft you must pawne
Your honour having read it to return it.

Enter Tamira & Pero.
Mont.
Not I, I pawne mine Honour for a paper?

Mons.
You must not buy it under;

Exeunt Guise and Monsieur.
Mont.
Keepe it then,
And keepe fire in your bosome.

Tam.
What sayes he?

Mont.
You must make good the rest.

Tam.
How fares my Lord?
Takes my Love any thing to heart he sayes?

Mont.
Come, y'are a.—

Tam.
What my Lord?

Mont.
The plague of Herod
Feast in his rotten entrailes.

Tam.
Will you wreak
Your angers just cause given by him, on me?

Mont.
By him?

Tamy.
By him my Lord, I have admir'd
You could all this time be at concord with him,
That still hath plaid such discords on your honour.

Mont.
Perhaps tis with some proud string of my wives.

Tam.
How's that, my Lord?

Mont.
Your tongue will still admire,
Till my head be the miracle of the world.

Tam.
O woe is me.

She seemes to sound.
Pero.
What does your Lordship meane?
Madam, be comforted; my Lord but tries you.
Madam? Help good my Lord, are you not mov'd?
Doe your set looks print in your words your thoughts?
Sweet Lord, cleare up those eyes, unbend that masking forehead,
Whence is it you rush upon her with these Irish warres,
More full of sound then hurt? but it is enough,
You have shot home, your words are in her heart;
She has not liv'd to beare a triall now.

Mont.
Look up my Love, and by this kisse receive
My soule amongst thy spirits for supply
To thine, chac'd with my fury.

Tam.
O my Lord,
I have too long liv'd to heare this from you.

Mont.
'Twas from my troubled bloud, and not from me:
I know not how I fare; a sudden night
Flowes through my entrailes, and a headlong Chaos
Murmurs within me, which I must digest;
And not drowne her in my confusions,
That was my lives joy, being best inform'd;
Sweet, you must needs forgive me, that my love
(Like to a fire disdaining his suppression)
Rag'd being discourag'd; my whole heart is wounded
When any least thought in you is but touch't,
And shall be till I know your former merits:
Your name and memory altogether crave
In just oblivion their eternall grave;
And then you must heare from me, there's no meane
In any passion I shall feele for you:
Love is a rasor cleansing being well us'd,
But fetcheth blood still being the least abus'd:
To tell you briefly all; The men that left me
When you appear'd, did turne me worse than woman,
And stab'd me to the heart thus, with his fingers.

Tamy.
O happy woman! Comes my stain from him?
It is my beauty, and that innocence proves,
That flew Chymara, rescu'd Peleus
From all the savage beasts in Peleon;
And rais'd the chaste Athenian Prince from hell:
All suffering with me; they for womens lusts,
I for a mans; that the Fgean stable
Of his foule sinne would empty in my lap:
How his guilt shunn'd me? sacred innocence
That where thou fearst, are dreadfull; and his face
Turn'd in flight from thee, that had thee in chace:
Come, bring me to him: I will tell the serpent
Even to his venom'd teeth (from whose curst seed
A pitcht field starts up 'twixt my Lord and me)
That his throat lies, and he shall curse his fingers,
For being so govern'd by his filthy soule.

Mont.
I know not, if himselfe will vaunt t'have beene
The princely Author of the slavish sinne,
Or any other; he would have resolv'd me,
Had you not come; not by his word, but writing.
Would I have sworne to give it him againe,
And pawn'd mine honour to him for a paper.

Tam.
See how he flies me still: Tis a foule heart
That feares his owne hand: Good my Lord make haste
To see the dangerous paper: Papers hold
Oft-times the formes, and copies of our soules,
And (though the world despise them) are the prizes
Of all our honors, make your honour then
A hostage for it, and with it conferre
My neerest woman here, in all she knowes;
Who (if the sunne of Cerberus could have seene
Any staine in me) might as well as they:
And Pero, here I charge thee by my love,
And all proofes of it, (which I might call bounties)
By all that thou hast seene seeme good in mee,
And all the ill which thou shouldst spit from thee,
By pity of the wound this touch hath given me,
Not as thy Mistresse now, but a poore woman
(To death given over) rid me of my paines,
Powre on thy powder: cleare thy breast of me:
My Lord is only here: here speak thy worst,
Thy best will doe me mischiefe; If thou spar'st me,
Never shine good thought on thy memory:
Resolve my Lord, and leave me desperate.

Pero.
My Lord? My Lord hath plaid a prodigals part,
To break his Stock for nothing; and an insolent,
To cut a Gordian when he could not loose it:
What violence is this, to put true fire
To a false train? To blow up long crown'd peace
With sudden outrage? and beleeve a man
Sworne to the shame of women, 'gainst a woman,
Borne to their honours: but I will to him.

Tam.
No, I will write (for I shall never more
Meet with the fugitive) where I will defie him,
Were he ten times the brother of my King.
To him my Lord, and ile to cursing him.

Exeunt.
Enter D' Ambois and Frier.
D' Amb.
I am suspitious my most honour'd Father,
By some of Monsieurs cunning passages,
That his still ranging and contentious nose thrils;
To scent the haunts of mischief: have so us'd
The vicious vertue of his busie sence,
That he trails hotly of him, and will rowze him,
Driving him all enrag'd, and foming on us,
And therefore have entreated your deepe skill,
In the command of good aeriall spirits,
To assume these Magick rites, and call up one
To know if any have reveal'd unto him
Any thing touching my deare Love and me.

Frier.
Good sonne you have amaz'd me but to make
The least doubt of it, it concernes so neerely
The faith and reverence of my name and order,
Yet will I justifie upon my soule
All I have done, if any spirit i'th earth or aire
Can give you the resolve, doe not despaire.

Musick: and Tamira enters with Pero and her maid, bearing a Letter.
Tam.
Away, deliver it: O may my lines
Exit Pero.
(Fill'd with the poyson of a woman's hate
When he shall open them) shrink up his curst eyes
With torturous darknesse, such as stands in hell,
Stuck full of inward horrors, never lighted;
With which are all things to be fear'd, affrighted.

D' Amb.
How is it with my honour'd Mistresse?

Tam.
O servant help, and save me from the gripes
Of shame and infamy. Our love is knowne,
Your Monsieur hath a paper where is writ
Some secret tokens that decipher it.

D' Amb.
What cold dull Northern brain, what foole but he,
Durst take into his Epimethean breast
A box of such plagues as the danger yeelds,
Incur'd in this discovery? He had better
Ventur'd his breast in the consuming reach
Of the hot surfets cast out of the clouds,
Or flood the bullets that (to wreak the skie)
The Cyclops ramme in Ioves artillerie.

Frier.
We soone will take the darknesse from his face
That did that deed of darknesse; we will know
What now the Monsieur and your husband doe;
What is contain'd within the secret paper
Offer'd by Monsieur, and your loves events:
To which ends (honour'd daughter) at your motion
I have put on these exorcising Rites,
And, by my power of learned holinesse
Vouchsaft me from above, I will command
Our resolution of a raised spirit.

Tamy.
Good Father raise him in some beauteous forme,
That with least terror I may brook his sight.

Frier.
Stand sure together then what ere you see,
And stir not, as ye tender all our lives.
He puts on his robes.

Occidentalium legionum spiritualium imperator (magnus ille Behemoth)
veni, veni, comitatus cum Asaroth locotenente invicto. Adjuro
te per stygis inscrutabilia areana, per ipsos irremeabiles aufractus
averni: adesto ô Behemoth, tu cui pervia funt Magnatum scrinia;
veni, per Noctis & tenebrarum abdita profundissima; per labentia
sydera; per ipsos motus horarum furtivos, Hecatesq; altum
silentium: Appare in forma spiritali, lucente splendida & amabili.

Thunder.
Ascendit.
Beh.
What would the holy Frier?

Frier.
I would see
What now the Monsieur and Mountsurrie doe;
And see the secret paper that the Monsieur
Offer'd to Count Montsurry, longing much
To know on what events the secret loves
Of these two honour'd persons shall arrive.

Beh.
Why call'dst thou me to this accursed light,
To these light purposes? I am Emperor
Of that inscrutable darknesse, where are hid
All deepest truths, and secrets never seene,
All which I know, and command Legions
Of knowing spirits that can doe more then these.
Any of this my guard that circle me
In these blew fires, and out of whose dim fumes
Vast murmurs use to break, and from their sounds
Articulat voyces, can doe ten parts more
Than open such sleight truths, as you require.

Frier.
From the last nights black depth, I call'd up on:
Of the inferiour ablest Ministers,
And he could not resolve me; send one then
Out of thine owne command, to fetch the paper
That Monsieur hath to shew to Count Montsurry.

Beh.
I will: Cartophylax: thou that properly
Hast in thy power all papers so inscrib'd,
Glide through all barres to it, and fetch that paper.

Car.
I will.

A Torch removes.
Frier.
Till he returnes (great prince of darknesse)
Tell me, if Monsieur and the Count Montsurry
Are yet encounter'd.

Beh.
Both them and the Guise
Are now together.

Frier.
Shew us all their persons,
And represent the place, with all their actions.

Beh.
The spirit will strait return, and then Ile shew thee:
See he is come; why brought'st thou not the paper?

Cart.
He hath prevented me, and got a spirit
Rais'd by another, great in our command,
To take the guard of it before I came.

Beh.
This is your slacknesse, not t'invoke our powers
When first your acts set forth to their effects;
Yet shall you see it, and themselves: behold
They come here & the Earle now holds the paper.

Ent. Mons. Gui. Mont. with a paper.
D' Amb.
May we not heare them?

Mons.
No, be still and see.

D' Amb.
I will goe fetch the paper.

Frier.
Doe not stirre.
There's too much distance, and too many locks
Twixt you and them: (how neere so e're they seeme)
For any man to interrupt their secrets.

Tam.
O honour'd spirit, flie into the fancie
Of my offended Lord: and doe not let him
Beleeve what there the wicked man hath written.

Pre.
Perswasion hath already enter'd him
Beyond reflection; peace till their departure.

Mons.
There is a glasse of Ink where you may see
How to make ready black fac'd Tragedy:
You now discerne, I hope through all her paintings,
Her gasping wrinkles, and fames sepulchres.

Gui.
Think you he faines my Lord? what hold you now?
Doe we maligne your wife: or honour you?

Mons.
What stricken dumb? nay fie, Lord be not danted:
Your case is common: were it ne're so rare
Beare it as rarely: now to laugh were manly:
A worthy man should imitate the weather
That sings in tempests: and being cleare is silent.

Gui.
Goe home my Lord, and force your wife to write
Such loving lines to D' Ambois as she us'd
When she desir'd his presence.

Mons.
Doe my Lord,
And make her name her conceal'd messenger:
That close and most inennerable Pander
That passeth all our studies to exquire:
By whom convay the letter to her love:
And so you shall be sure to have him come
Within the thirsty reach of your revenge;
Before which, lodge an ambush in her chamber
Behind the arras of your stoutest men
All close and soundly arm'd: and let them share
A spirit amongst them, that would serve a thousand.

Enter Pero with a Letter.
Gui.
Yet stay a little: see she sends for you.

Mons.
Poore, loving Lady, she'le make all good yet,
Think you not so my Lord?

Exit Mont. and stabs Pero.
Gui.
Alas poore soule.

Mons.
This was cruelly done y'faith.

Per.
T'was nobly done.
And I forgive his Lordship from my soule.

Mons.
Then much good doo't thee Pero: hast a letter?

Per.
I hope it rather be a bitter volume
Of worthy curses for your perjury.

Guise.
To you my Lord.

Mons.
To me? Now out upon her.

Gui.
Let me see my Lord.

Mons.
You shall presently: how fares my Pero?
Enter servant.
Who's there? take in this Maid, sh'as caught a clap,
And fetch my Surgeon to her; Come my Lord,
We'l now peruse our letter.

Exeunt Mons. Guise.
Per.
Furies rise
Lead her out.
Out of the black lines, and torment his soule.

Tam.
Hath my Lord slaine my woman?

Beh.
No, she lives.

Frier.
What shall become of us?

Beh.
All I can say
Being call'd thus late, is briefe, and darkly this:
If D' Ambois Mistresse die not her white hand
In his forc'd bloud, he shall remaine untoucht:
So Father, shall your selfe, but by your selfe:
To make this Augurie plainer: when the voyce
Of D' Amboys shall invoke me, I will rise,
Shining in greater light, and shew him all
That will betide ye all; meane time be wise,
And curb his valour, with your policies.

Descendit cum suis.
Buss.
Will he appeare to me, when I invoke him?

Frier.
He will: be sure.

Buss.
It must be shortly then:
For his dark words have tyed my thoughts on knots
Till he dissolve, and free them.

Tam.
In meane time
Deare servant, till your powerfull voice revoke him,
Be sure to use the policy he advis'd:
Lest fury in your too quick knowledge taken
Of our abuse, and your defence of me,
Accuse me more than any enemy:
And Father, you must on my Lord impose
Your holiest charges, and the Churches power,
To temper his hot spirit: and disperse
The cruelty and the bloud, I know his hand
Will showre upon our heads, if you put not
Your finger to the storme, and hold it up,
As my deare servant here must doe with Monsieur.

Bus.
Ile sooth his plots, and strow my hate with smiles,
Till all at once the close mines of my heart
Rise at full date, and rush into his bloud:
Ile bind his arme in silk, and rub his flesh,
To make the veine swell, that his soule may gush
Into some kennell, where it longs to lie,
And policy shall be flanckt with policy.
Yet shall the feeling center where we meet
Groane with the wait of my approaching feet:
Ile make th'inspired threshals of his Court
Sweat with the weather of my horrid steps
Before I enter: yet will I appreare
Like calme security, before a mine:
A Politician, must like lightning melt
The very marrow, and not taint the skin:
His wayes must not be seene, the superficies
Of the greene center must not taste his feet,
When hell is plow'd up with his wounding tracts,
And all his harvest reap't by hellish facts.

Exeunt.