 | Bussy D'Ambois, [1641] |  |
Actus primi
Scena prima.
Enter Bussy D' Ambois poore.Fortune, not Reason, rules the state of things,
Reward goes backwards, Honor on his head;
Who is not poore, is monstrous; only Need
Gives forme and worth to every humane seed.
As Cedars beaten with continuall stormes,
So great men flourish; and doe imitate
Unskilfull statuaries, who suppose
(In forming a Colossus) if they make him
Stroddle enough, stroot, and look bigg, and gape,
Their work is goodly: so men meerely great
(In their affected gravity of voice,
Sowernesse of countenance, manners cruelty,
Authority, wealth, and all the spawne of Fortune)
Think they beare all the Kingdomes worth before them;
Yet differ not from those Colossick Statues,
Which with Heroique formes without o're-spread,
Within are nought but morter, flint and lead.
Man is a Torch borne in the winde; a Dreame
But of a shadow, summ'd with all his substance;
And as great Seamen using all their wealth
And skills in Neptunes deepe invisible pathes,
To put a Girdle round about the world,
When they have done it (comming neere their Haven)
Are faine to give a warning peece, and call
A poore staid fisher-man, that never past
His Countries sight, to waft and guide them in:
So when we wander furthest through the waves
Of Glassie Glory and the Gulfes of State,
Topt with all Titles, spreading all our reaches,
As if each private Arme would sphere the earth,
Wee must to vertue for her guide resort,
Or wee shall shipwrack in our safest Port.
Procumbit.
Monsieur
with two Pages.
There is no second place in Numerous State
That holds more than a Cypher: In a King
All places are contain'd. His words and looks
Are like the flashes and the bolts of Iove,
His deeds inimitable, like the Sea
That shuts still as it opes, and leaves no tracts,
Nor prints of President for meane mens facts:
There's but a Thred betwixt me and a Crowne;
I would not wish it cut, unlesse by nature;
Yet to prepare me for that possible Fortune,
Tis good to get resolved spirits about mee.
I follow'd D' Ambois to this greene Retreat;
A man of spirit beyond the reach of feare,
Who (discontent with his neglected worth)
Neglects the light, and Ioves obscure Abodes;
But hee is young and haughty, apt to take
Fire at advancement, to beare state, and flourish;
In his Rise therefore shall my bounties shine:
None lothes the world so much, nor loves to scoffe it,
But gold and grace will make him surfet of it,
What, D' Ambois?
Buss.
He sir.
Mons.
Turn'd to Earth, alive?
Up man, the Sunne shines on thee.
Let it shine.
I am no mote to play in't, as great men are.
Mons.
Callest thou men great in state, motes in the sunne?
They say so that would have thee freeze in shades,
That (like the grosse Sicilian Gurmundist)
Empty their Noses in the Cates they love,
That none may eat but they. Do thou but bring
Light to the Banquet Fortune sets before thee
And thou wilt loath leane Darknesse like thy Death.
Who would beleeve thy mettall could let sloth
Rust and consume it? If Themistocles
Had liv'd obscur'd thus in th'Athenian state,
Xerxes had made both him and it his slaves.
If brave Camillus had lurckt so in Rome,
He had not five times beene Dictator there,
Nor foure times triumpht. If Epaminondas
(Who liv'd twice twenty yeeres obscur'd in Thebs)
Had liv'd so still, he had beene still unnam'd,
And paid his Country nor himselfe their right:
But putting forth his strength, he rescu'd both
From imminent ruine; and like burnisht Steele,
After long use he shin'd; for as the light
Not only serves to shew, but render us
Mutually profitable; so our lives
In acts exemplarie, not only winne
Our selves good Names, but doe to others give
Matter for vertuous Deeds, by which wee live.
Buss.
What would you wish me?
Mons.
Leave the troubled streames,
And live where Thrivers doe at the Well head.
Buss.
At the Well head? Alas what should I doe
With that enchanted Glasse? See devils there?
Or (like a strumpet) learne to set my looks
In an eternall Brake, or practise jugling,
To keepe my face still fast, my heart still loose;
Or beare (like Dames Schoolmistresses their Riddles)
Two Tongues, and be good only for a shift;
Flatter great Lords, to put them still in minde
With a good carriage, tell them idle Tales,
To make their Physick work; spend a mans life
In sights and visitations, that will make
His eyes as hollow as his Mistresse heart:
To doe none good, but those that have no need;
To gaine being forward, though you break for haste
All the Commandements ere you break your fast;
But Beleeve backwards, make your Period
And Creeds last Article, I beleeve in God:
And (hearing villanies preacht) t'unfold their Art
Learne to commit them, 'Tis a great mans Part.
Shall I learne this there?
Mons.
No, thou needst not learne,
Thou hast the Theorie, now goe there and practise.
Buss.
I, in a thrid-bare suit; when men come there,
They must have high Naps, and goe from thence bare:
A man may drowne the parts of ten rich men
In one poore suit; Brave Barks, and outward Glosse
Attract Court Loves, be in parts ne're so grosse.
Mons.
Thou shalt have Glosse enough, and all things fit
T'enchase in all shew thy long smothered spirit:
Be rul'd by me then. The old Scythians
Painted blinde Fortunes powerfull hands with wings,
To shew her gifts come swift and suddenly,
Which if her Favorite be not swift to take,
He loses them for ever. Then be wise:
Exit Mons.
Stay but a while here, and I'le send to thee.
Manet Buss.
Buss.
What will he send? some Crowns? It is to sow them
Upon my spirit, and make them spring a Crowne
Worth Millions of the seed Crownes he will send.
Like to disparking noble Husbandmen,
Hee'll put his Plow into me, Plow me up:
But his unsweating thrift is policie,
And learning-hating policie is ignorant
To fit his seed-land soyl; a smooth plain ground
Will never nourish any politick seed;
I am for honest Actions, not for great:
And rise in Court for vertue; speed his plow:
The King hath knowne me long as well as hee,
Yet could my Fortune never fit the length
Of both their understandings till this houre.
There is a deepe nicke in times restlesse wheele
For each mans good, when which nicke comes it strikes;
As Rhetorick, yet workes not perswasion,
But only is a meane to make it worke:
So no man riseth by his reall merit,
But when it cries Clincke in his Raisers spirit.
Many will say, that cannot rise at all,
Mans first houres rise is first step to his fall:
I'le venture that; men that fall low must die,
As well as men cast headlong from the skie.
Ent. Maffe.
Humor of Princes! Is this wretch indu'd
With any merit worth a thousand Crownes?
Will my Lord have me be so ill a Steward
Of his Revenue, to dispose a summe
So great with so small cause as shewes in him?
I must examine this: Is your name D' Ambois?
Buss.
Sir.
Maff.
Is your name D' Ambois?
Buss.
Who have we here?
Serve you the Monsieur?
Maff.
How?
Buss.
Serve you the Monsieur?
Maff.
Sir, y'are very hot. I doe serve the Monsieur;
But in such place as gives me the Command
Table Chesbord & Tapers behind the Arras.
Of all his other servants: And because
His Graces pleasure is, to give your good
His Passe through my Command, Me thinks you might
Vse me with more respect.
Buss.
Crie you mercy.
Now you have opened my dull eies, I see you;
And would be glad to see the good you speake of:
Maff.
Monsieur Maffe.
Buss.
Monsieur Maffe? Then good Monsieur Maffe,
Pray let me know you better.
Maff.
Pray doe so,
That you may use me better. For your selfe,
By your no better outside, I would judge you
To be some Poet; Have you given my Lord
Some Pamphlet?
Buss.
Pamphlet?
Maff.
Pamphlet sir, I say.
Buss.
Did your great Masters goodnesse leave the good
That is to passe your charge, to my poore use,
To your discretion?
Maff.
Though he did not sir,
I hope 'tis no rude office to aske reason.
How that his Grace gives me in charge goes from me?
Buss.
That's very perfect sir.
Maff.
Why very good sir;
I pray then give me leave: If for no Pamphlet,
May I not know what other merit in you,
Makes his compunction willing to relieve you?
Buss.
No merit in the world sir.
Maff.
That is strange.
Y'are a poore souldier, are you?
Buss.
That I am sir.
Maff.
And have Commanded?
Buss.
I, and gone without sir.
Maff.
I see the man: A hundred Crownes will make him
Swagger, and drinke healths to his Graces bountie;
And sweare he could not be more bountifull:
So there's nine hundred Crownes sav'd; here tall souldier,
His grace hath sent you a whole hundred Crownes.
Buss.
A hundred sir? Nay doe his Highnesse right;
I know his hand is larger, and perhaps
I may deserve more than my outside shewes:
I am a Poet, as I am a Souldier,
And I can Poetise; and (being well encourag'd)
(Like a most faithfull Steward) what he gives.
Maff.
What shall your subject be?
Buss.
I care not much,
If to his bounteous Grace I sing the praise,
Of faire great Noses, And to you of long ones.
What Qualities have you sir (beside your chaine
And velvet Jacket) Can your worship dance?
Maff.
A pleasant fellow faith: It seemes my Lord
Will have him for his Jester; And berlady
Such men are now no fooles, 'Tis a Knights place:
If I (to save his Grace some Crounes) should urge him
T'abate his Bountie, I should not be heard;
I would to heaven I were an errant Asse,
For then I should be sure to have the Eares
Of these great men, where now their Jesters have them:
Tis good to please him, yet Ile take no notice
Of his preferment, but in policie
Will still be grave and serious, lest he thinke
I feare his woodden dagger: Here sir Ambo,
D' Amb.
How, Ambo sir?
Maff.
I is not your name Ambo?
D' Amb.
You call'd me lately D' Amboys, has your Worship
So short a head?
Maff.
I cry thee mercy D' Amboys.
A thousand Crownes I bring you from my Lord;
If you be thriftie and play the good husband, you may make
This a good standing living, 'Tis a Bountie,
His Highnesse might perhaps have bestow'd better.
D' Amb.
Goe, y'are a Rascall; hence, Away you Rogue.
Maff.
What meane you sir?
D' Amb.
Hence; prate no more;
Or by thy villans bloud thou prat'st thy last:
A Barbarous Groome, grudge at his masters Bountie:
But since I know he would as much abhorre
His hinde should argue what he gives his friend,
Take that Sir, for your aptnesse to dispute.
Exit.
Maff.
These Crownes are set in bloud, bloud be the fruit.
Exit.
Henr.
Duchesse of Guise, your Grace is much enricht,
In the attendance of that English virgin,
That will initiate her Prime of youth,
(Dispos'd to Court conditions) under the hand
Of your prefer'd instructions and Command,
Rather than any in the English Court,
Whose Ladies are not matcht in Christendome,
For gracefull and confirm'd behaviours;
More than the Court where they are bred is equall'd.
Guis.
I like not their Court-fashion, it is too crestfalne,
In all observance; making Demi-gods
Of their great Nobles; and of their old Queene
An ever-yong, and most immortall Goddesse.
Mont.
No question shee's the rarest Queene in Europe.
Guis.
But what's that to her Immortality?
Henr.
Assure you Cosen Guise, so great a Courtier,
So full of majestie and Roiall parts.
No Queene in Christendome may vaunt her selfe,
Her court approves it. That's a Court indeed;
Not mixt with Clowneries us'd in common houses;
But, as Courts should be th'abstracts of their kingdomes,
In all the Beautie, State, and Worth they hold;
So is hers, amplie, and by her inform'd.
The world is not contracted in a man,
With more proportion and expression,
Than in her Court, her Kingdome: Our French Court
Is a meere mirror of confusion to it:
The King and subject, Lord and every slave,
Dance a continuall Haie; Our Roomes of State,
Kept like our stables; no place more observ'd
Than a rude Market-place: and though our Custome
Keepe this assur'd confusion from our eyes,
'Tis nere the lesse essentially unsightly,
Which they would soone see, would they change their forme
Which we must not affect, because in Kingdomes,
Where the Kings change doth breed the Subjects terror,
Pure Innovation is more grosse than error.
Mont.
No Question we shall see them imitate
(Though a farre off) the fashions of our Courts,
As they have ever Ap't us in attire;
Never were men so weary of their skins,
And apt to leape out of themselves as they;
Who when they travell to bring forth rare men,
Come home delivered of a fiue French suit:
Their Braines lie with their Tailors, and get babies
For their most compleat issue; Hee's sole heire
To all the morall vertues, that first greetes
The light with a new fashion, which becomes them
Like Apes, disfigur'd with the attires of men.
Henr.
No Question they much wrong their reall worth,
In affectation of outlandish Scumme;
But they have faults, and we more; They foolish-proud,
To jet in others plumes so haughtely;
We proud, that they are proud of foolerie,
Holding our worthes more compleat for their vaunts.
Enter Monsieur, D' Ambois.
Mons.
Come mine owne sweet heart I will enter thee.
Sir, I have brought a Gentleman to court;
And pray, you would vouchsafe to doe him grace.
Henr.
D' Ambois, I thinke.
D' Amb.
That's still my name, my Lord, though I be something
altered in attire.
Henr.
We like your alteration, and must tell you,
We have expected th'offer of your service;
For we (in feare to make mild vertue proud)
Vse not to seeke her out in any man.
D' Amb.
Nor doth she use to seeke out any man:
They that will winne, must wooe her.
Mons.
I urg'd her modestie in him, my Lord, and gave
her those Rites, that he sayes shee merits.
Henr.
If you have woo'd and won, then Brother weare him.
Th'art mine, sweet heart; See here's the Guises Duches;
The Countesse of Mountsurreaue. Beaupre; come I'le enfeame
thee. Ladies, y'are too many to be in Counsell: I have here a
friend, that I would gladly enter in your Graces.
D' Amb.
'Save you Ladyes.
Duch.
If you enter him in our Graces, my Lord, me thinkes
by his blunt behaviour, he should come out of himselfe.
Tam.
Has he never beene Courtier, my Lord?
Mons.
Never, my Lady.
Beaup.
And why did the Toy take him in th'head now?
D' Amb.
Tis leape yeare, Lady, and therefore very good to
enter a Courtier,
Henr.
Marke Duchesse of Guise, there is one is not bashfull.
Duch.
No my Lord, he is much guilty of the bold extremity.
Tam.
The man's a Courtier at first sight.
D' Amb.
I can sing pricksong, Lady, at first sight; and why
not be a Courtier as suddenly?
Beaup.
Here's a Courtier rotten before he be ripe.
D' Amb.
Thinke me not impudent, Lady, I am yet no
Courtier, I desire to be one, and would gladly take entrance
(Madam) under your Princely Colours.
Enter Barrisor, L' Anon, Pyrlot.
Duch.
Soft sir, you must rise by degrees, first being the servant
of some common Lady or Knights wife, then a little higher to
a Lords wife; next a little higher to a Countesse; yet a little
higher to a Duchesse, and then turne the ladder.
D' Amb.
Doe you alow a man then foure mistresses, when
the greatest Mistresse is alowed but three servants?
Duch.
Where find you that statute sir?
D' Amb.
Why be judged by the Groome-porters.
Duchesse.
The Groome-porters?
D' Amb.
I Madam, must not they judge of all gamings
i'th' Court?
Duchesse.
You talke like a gamester.
Gui.
Sir, know you me?
D' Amb.
My Lord?
Gui.
I know not you: Whom doe you serve?
D' Amb.
Serve, my Lord?
Go to Companion; Your Courtship's too saucie.
D' Amb.
Saucie? Companion? Tis the Guise, but yet those
termes might have beene spar'd of the Guiserd.
Companion? He's jealous by this light: are you blind of that
side Duke? Ile to her againe for that. Forth princely Mistresse,
for the honour of Courtship. Another Riddle.
Gui.
Cease your Courtshippe, or by heaven Ile cut your
throat.
D' Amb.
Cut my throat? cut a whetstone; young Accius
Nœvius, doe as much with your tongue as he did with a Rasor;
cut my throat?
Bar.
What new-come Gallant have wee heere, that dares
mate the Guise thus?
L' An.
Sfoot this D' Ambois; The Duke mistakes him (on
my life) for some Knight of the new edition.
D' Amb.
Cut my throat? I would the King fear'd thy cutting
of his throat no more than I feare thy cutting of mine.
Gui.
Ile doe't by this hand.
D' Amb.
That hand dares not doe't; y'ave cut too many
Throats already Guise, and robb'd the Realme of
Many thousand Soules, more precious than thine owne.
Come Madam, talk on; Sfoot, can you not talk?
Talk on I say. Another Riddle.
Pyr.
Here's some strange distemper.
Bar.
Here's a sudden transmigration with D' Ambois, out
of the Knights Ward, into the Dutches bed.
L' An.
See what a Metamorphosis a brave suit can work.
Pyr.
Slight step to the Guise and discover him.
Bar.
By no meanes, let the new suit work, wee'll see the
issue.
Gui.
Leave your Courting.
D' Amb.
I will not. I say Mistresse, and I will stand unto
it, that if a woman may have three servants, a man may have
threescore Mistresses.
Gui.
Sirrha, Ile have you whipt out of the Court for this
insolence.
D' Amb.
Whipt? Such another syllable out a th'presence,
if thou dar'st for thy Dukedome.
Remember, Poultron.
Mons.
Pray thee forbeare.
Buss.
Passion of death! Were not the King here, he should
strow the Chamber like a rush.
Mons.
But leave Courting his wife then.
Buss.
I wil not: Ile Court her in despight of him. Not Court
her! Come Madam, talk on; Feare me nothing: Well mai'st
thou drive thy Master from the Court; but never D' Ambois.
Mons.
His great heart will not down, tis like the Sea
That partly by his owne internall heat,
Partly the starr's daily and nightly motion,
Their heat and light, and partly of the place
The divers frames, but chiefly by the Moone,
Bristled with surges, never will be wonne,
(No, not when th'hearts of all those powers are burst)
To make retreat into his setled home,
Till he be crown'd with his owne quiet some.
Henr.
You have the Mate. Another.
Gui.
No more.
Flourish short.
Exit Guise, after him the King, Mons. whispering.
Bar.
Why here's the Lion skar'd with the throat of a dunghill
Cock; a fellow that has newly shak'd off his shackles;
Now does he crow for that victory.
L' An.
Tis one of the best Jiggs that ever was acted.
Pyr.
Whom does the Guise suppose him to be troe?
L' An.
Out of doubt, some new denizond Lord; and thinks
that suit newly drawne out a th' Mercers books.
Bar.
I have heard of a fellow, that by a fixt imagination
looking upon a Bulbaiting, had a visible paire of hornes grew
out of his forhead: and I beleeve this Gallant overjoyed with
the conceit of Monsieurs cast suit, imagines himselfe to be the
Monsieur.
L' An.
And why not? as well as the Asse, stalking in the
Lions case, bare himselfe like a Lion, braying all the huger
beasts out of the Forrest?
Pyr.
Peace, he looks this way.
Bar.
Marrie let him look sir; what will you say now if the
Guise be gone to fetch a blanquet for him?
Faith I beleeve it for his honour sake.
Pyr.
But, if D' Ambois carrie it cleane?
Exeunt Ladies.
Bar.
True, when he curvets in the blanquet.
Pyr.
I marrie sir.
L' An.
Sfoot, see how he stares on's.
Bar.
Lord blesse us, let's away.
Buss.
Now sir, take your full view: how does the Object
please ye?
Bar.
If you aske my opinion sir, I think your suit fits as well
as if't had beene made for you.
Buss.
So sir, and was that the subject of your ridiculous joylity?
L' An.
What's that to you sir?
Buss.
Sir, I have observ'd all your fleerings; and resolve your
selves yee shall give a strickt account for't.
Enter Brisac, Melynell.
Bar.
O miraculous jealousie! Doe you think your selfe
Such a singular subject for laughter, that none can fall into
The matter of our merriment but you?
L' An.
This jealousie of yours sir, confesses some close defect in
your selfe, that wee never dream'd of.
Pyr.
Wee held discourse of a perfum'd Asse, that being disguis'd
in a Lions case, imagin'd himself a Lion: I hope that toucht
not you.
Buss.
So sir: Your descants doe marvellous well fit this
ground, we shall meet where your Buffonly laughters will cost
ye the best blood in your bodies.
Bar.
For lifes sake let's be gone; hee'll kill's outright else.
Buss.
Goe at your pleasures, Ile be your Ghost to haunt you,
and yee sleepe an't, hang me.
L' An.
Goe, goe sir, Court your Mistresse.
Pyr.
And be advis'd: we shall have odds against you.
Buss.
Tush, valour stands not in number: Ile maintaine it, that
one man may beat three boyes,
Bris.
Nay, you shall have no ods of him in number sir: hee's
a Gentleman as good as the proudest of you, and yee shall not
wrong him.
Bar.
Not sir.
Mely.
Not sir: Though he be not so rich, hee's a better man
than the best of you; And I will not endure it.
L' An.
Not you sir?
No sir, nor I.
Buss.
I should thank you for this kindnesse, if I thought these
perfum'd musk-Cats (being out of this priviledge) durst but once
mew at us.
Bar.
Does your confident spirit doubt that sir? Follow us
and try.
L' An.
Come sir, wee'll lead you a dance.
Exeunt.
| Bussy D'Ambois, [1641] | |